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##                           ##
## Phoenix Valley Wrestling  ##
##       Burning Effect      ##
##           12.06.09        ##
##                           ##
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Presenting....

-> Weinrib and Mubarak
-> Rob Cole
-> Bushi Boys
-> Doc Holliday & Jason Keening
-> Chase Williams
-> Dr. X
-> Jokers Wild
-> Masked Maniac
-> Tom Landis
-> Larry Gionet
-> Alex Martinez
-> Johnny Detson
-> Will Geddings
-> Perry Fontana
-> Caleb Foley
-> PAIN
-> Tommy Ryder
-> The Mercenary
-> Marcus Manson
-> Gibson Hayes
-> Hersher von Donkerhardt
-> Chris Hopper



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
      Weinrib and Mubarak
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[We fade in on a hotel room, where we find PVW newcomers Max Weinrib
and Salih Mubarak, still recovering from their after-match "welcome".
Both men have seen better days.  Sal gingerly puts his sunglasses back
on.  Max groans and winces as he rubs his jaw.]

Max:  We need to bring more aspirin next time...

Sal:  So there we were, fresh off our first PVW victory--

Max:  ...maybe some ice packs...

Sal:  --yes, we were excited!  Yes, maybe we had a little tunnel
vision--

Max:  ...a morphine drip.  Make that SEVERAL morphine drips...

Sal:  But that doesn't excuse them jumping us like that.

Max:  You know, I thought maybe we screwed up.  Broke some locker room
code, or something.

Sal:  Like that time in Asbury Park?

Max:  Something like that.  So I called my dad, and he actually
remembers wrestling on the same card as the Prophets of Rage.

Sal:  What did Bruno say?

Max:  I told him what happened, explained the situation, asked him if
we did anything wrong... and he paused for a moment and said, "Nah-
those guys were always jackasses."

Sal:  Great.  They just got crankier with age.  [Rubs his forehead]
Think one of them missed his geritol shot?

Max:  I don't think there's enough geritol in the world to get the
tree stuck up their asses finally out.  [He checks his jaw again.]  I
think I've got a filling loose.

Sal:  [sighs]  Even despite the decades, some guys just can't get out
of grade school.  They're only happy when other people get hurt.

Max:  Fortunately, we're sticking around.  It's gonna take more than
two past-their-prime bullies to get rid of US.  Besides, PVW already
booked us for our next match!

Sal:  Oh?  Who with?

Max:  "Mad Men".  [A beat]  Guess it makes sense.  They've already got
wrestling lawyers and doctors here.  Why not advertising executives?
It's gonna suck though...my cousin Judith has a crush on Don Draper.

[Sal mouths the words, "Mad Men?", then sits up and walks over to the
desk where the contract sits.]

Max:  I mean, our friend Andy's been raving about the show, but I
don't get TMC on our cable package...

Sal:  Max....

Max:  ...Though that blonde is supposed to have great legs...

Sal:  Max...  [Grabs a sheet of looseleaf paper and wads it up.]

Max:  But we can't let that distract us from continuing our winning
str...

[Sal pitches the paper wad, hitting Sal solidly on his bald head.]

Max:  HEY!

Sal:  "Made Men", Max.  Not "Mad Men."  "Made Men."  Nicky Wright and
Mark Masterson.

[Max blinks.  Then he finally nods in understanding.]

Max:  Ohhhhh...

[Pause]

Max:  ...you sure they're not ad executives?  I mean, from what I've
seen, they shill pretty hard for those Widowmakers.  [He grimaces,
this time in seriousness and not in pain]  I caught the tape of the
rest of the show finally.  First Mercenary, then Cole....  Wright and
Masterson might bring friends with them to the arena.

Sal:  You're probably right.  We should bring our friends to ringside
to counter them.

[Sal pauses]

Sal:  Except... we don't _have_ any friends here in North Carolina.

Max:  Hey!  There's Patty...

Sal  I don't think that blonde bartender you were hitting on last
night counts. [Sal goes back to the hotel couch and flops down on it]
So what do we do?

Max:  Hit 'em hard, hit 'em fast, pin them before their friends can
join in, and increase our win streak to 2?

Sal:  [sitting up]  Simple... but effective.  This almost makes up for
your idea of a tag team name this morning.

Max:  What are you talking about?  They're the World Series Winners!

Sal:  I don't care if we are from New York- calling ourselves "The
Wrestling Yankees" won't work- ESPECIALLY in North Carolina!

Max:  [shrugging]  Eh, you're probably right.  Steinbrenner might
testy.  Besides, we already have two old bitter guys mad at us for no
good reason.  No need to make it a third!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
           Rob Cole
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Maggots swarm and crawl through the bloody meat, a festering wound
pulled open to reveal the infestation within as pincers clamp tight
and yank one of the little buggers free from the mass.  It disappears
off camera, the pincers returning to repeat it's duty as another
worming thing tries to clamp down harder on the tender meat
surrounding it. The champions voice is angry, the bloody mass moving
and swirling with the crawling fetid things as he speaks.]

RC: Well, I guess I did give you a double dog dare now... I guess this
is my entire fault. And you came out to that ring, you turned the
company on it's damned head, and you laid out your little challenge
just like I dared you to.  Put away our childish things?  Put away the
monsters, put away the toys, put away the threats and the reputations
and face the cold hard reality of where we are and what we are
doing... I can do that.  I've had a little bit of trouble figuring
some of this crap out, making sense of the things in my head, making
sense of the things around me... I'm a middle aged brawler with a
belt, a guy who got a little sick of the world around him, and I'm not
immortal or unbeatable. I've got weaknesses, just like any other guy
in this world. This past Heatwave... well, Ricky, you decided to
expose me to the world, expose the fraud!  Expose the lie!  HAH!  And
you tore open a wound, you went out in the crowd and you snatched my
wife, and you took your little gang and put me down all sorts of
helpless and beaten.  And... and now here we are.

[The last of the maggots, pinched between the pincers and pulled from
the flesh, is pulled from the camera and a splash of fluid is poured
into the open wound.  Sizzling, bubbling, foaming at the contact as
the disinfectant soaks into the blood and pours down in milky foam.]

RC: I've been here before.  Surrounded by brutal men with sadistic
minds.... I made a career out of fighting these kinds of battles,
taking these groups apart, and ripping their flesh, pouring their
blood, and breaking their bodies.  I did it for these people, I did it
for belts, and I even did it for a few kicks and giggles. I've done it
before, motivated to do it time and time again... ad nauseum. I left
you alone for months... I left you alone, I let you do your thing, and
we just plain ignored eachother Rick.  But you want to drag me down to
that ring, strap me up and threaten my wife... MY WIFE?!?!!!  Maybe
I'm getting my signals mixed, Rick... The Widowmakers cement their
legacy by shattering the legend of a Monster, showing the world he's a
mortal man, proving that he's nothing but a catch phrase... lovely
display, Rick.  Good show, Rick.  You played your part real well,
taunted me up, and got me all kinds of crazy in the head... but I'm
not Will Craven.

[Cole chuckles softly. The needle pierces flesh, dragging the thread
through one fold before piercing the opposite side.  The thread
tightens, pulling the folds together before stitching the next bit.]

RC: Let's put away childish things, Rick... let's show the world that
Rob Cole is a middle-aged brawler waking up every morning with the
tugging aches a guy can get from collecting way too many scars.  We'll
show him he's a failure at being a husband, protector, and provider
and leave him with ... what?  Son, let me explain something that maybe
you don't quite get... being middle-aged, broken down, and crazy is
just about as hardcore as it gets.  You see, I don't need to wear my
monster with green ink on my skin, don't need to split my tongue, and
I'm not William Craven. That man hated you with a passion... I've been
where he was, hated like he hated, and I know what I'm up against.  I
don't want to fight you, Rick... I want you to understand this point,
because it's very very important and it is what separates me from
William Craven. I don't hate you. You spent the better part of your
career in his shadow, as a friend, a partner, and an enemy.  You went
round robin with him, trying to prove yourselves and climb above one
another... but you just wound up running in circles over and over and
over again.  I'm not really sure if you even beat Craven or if he just
got so worn down from beating you off his back that he collapsed from
exhaustion.

[The stitches are finished, and a cotton swap dabs the blood from the
wound as the camera pans back.  Revealing eyes that glare with hunger,
fury, and joy?]

RC: I'm not going to run in a circle with you, kiddo.  I did all my
running a few years back and my knees still ache from it.  I did the
dance, broke a few bones, and built a legacy in this sport... and I'm
at the point in my life when I just don't want to fight men like you.
I'd rather fight the real threats all around you... I'd rather take on
Feyr, I'd rather take on Manson, I'd rather walk down that aisle and
face the one of the real Widowmakers. You?  Who are you without them?
You're a glorified ring valet for better men, better warriors, and
you've danced your way through matches with a whole lotta' punks in
order to get that guaranteed shot for the belt.  You basically
snatched a briefcase off the top of a ladder when badder men did all
the damage to everyone else.  You beat the monkey off your back after
having him attacked week after week.  Now you're going to try the same
trick on me... and it's just plain pathetic.

[Cole rises from the gurney, the camera pans back to reveal he's in a
locker room... he points to the new stitching.]

RC: This scar belongs to Justin Cruise... this is a legacy he left
behind when I walked out of Shattered Dreams.  They stitched it
closed, put a fresh bandage on it, and I could look at it for the rest
of my life and remember Justin Cruise.  I could remember one hell of a
fight, a moment in my life that /will/ live on with flash bulb
memories and highlight reels for a few years to come.  We went toe to
toe, tooth and nail, and we had one hell of a fight... and you tried
to take that memory away, you cut this wound right back open, and you
pushed yourself into my life, you threatened my wife, and you laid out
your challenge like you meant something.  And when it's time to take
your shot, I'll walk that aisle and swat you down... but I'm going to
make sure that each and every one of your boys gets a taste of me
first.

[Cole suddenly reaches back and SHOVES the gurney against the lockers
with a loud crash!  He spins to face the camera... and shoves it back
against the wall, a gasp heard from the camera man.]

RC: MANSON!!!  They call you a 'tough guy' and maybe you are... you've
had some things to say about me, throwing my name out a little too
carelessly and I don't quite know where you were going with it.  But
then you went and delivered that heart punch to me... and you did what
you were told, just like the good little soldier you are.  Okay,
Marcus... I read you loud and clear.  You want to be taken seriously,
you want to prove you're the toughest man in this sport, and you're
sick of the garbage... right?  HERE I AM!!!!

[Cole rips his shirt down, exposing the deep dark bruise from Mansons'
heart punch earlier in the evening.  He grins wolfishly... spittle
flying with his breathing as he stares hard into the camera.]

RC: You go back there, you find someone with the authority, and you
get him over to the Widowmakers and you make sure this message gets to
Manson... you tell him that I will come for him and I will take pieces
of him and leave them scattered in bloody chunks all over that ring!
I don't care if the meat is hard, I don't care if the meat is tough,
but I will rend the meat and devour every last bit of it until I hear
Marcus Manson scream through a mangled throat!  At the next Heatwave,
you will find out just how childish a thing a monster can be... and
you will understand why your heart is beating so fast, why you
suddenly swallowed so hard, and why the "toughest man" in PVW is
suddenly shaking just a little bit and quickly trying to cover it with
a brave front.  You might make a few widows... but I create victims,
Marcus.  I am the fear you never knew you had and I am the World
Champion.

[Cole laughs... maniacally... gleefully...]

RC: I will make you scream, Marcus!  And it will be beautiful and it
will be glory and it will be horror like you've never experienced in
your miserable career!  You only think you know who I am... now say it
with me, kiddo!  "I am the Monster Beneath Your Bed!"

[... and we fade to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
            Bushi Boys
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Lady Kachiko stands before her Boys, both men dressed in two piece
suits with dark shades in front of their eyes.  The bald one folds his
arms as Kachiko speaks, her voice a soft and gentle thing in a world
of screaming madmen and arrogant bravado.]

LK: We seek perfection in all things.  We sip from a cup, our lips
pursed in acceptance and restraint... we deny ourselves the temptation
of gluttony and we lower the cup after each measured pull from the
tea. We turn the cup and slide it across the table, away from easy
reach, a challenge to the desire that burns within us.  We show
restraint where others might see no need, we measure ourselves, and we
are precise. Perfection in all things.

[Kachiko gestures with her hand, the red kimono swirling with the
movement.  We finally see that the red material is interwoven with a
black fiber to make it seem as though the material were actually
ripping.]

LK: We breathe and we wait.  The muscles are relaxed, though our minds
burn with anticipation for the moment.  We play the moves in our
minds, we study the tapes, and we look for the strengths in each of
our opponents.  The size advantage, the strength, we time their speed
and measure their flexibility.  Where is the breaking point of each
tendon? How do we exceed it?  We test ourselves and run a gauntlet of
exhibition matches, we prepare, we seek perfection in this thing.  We
seek perfection in all things.

[The lighter of the two men smiles a little, bowing his head in
respect to the words from his manager. Tanaka unfolds his arms,
drawing a thumb across his throat in overt threat for their future
opponents at Damage Control.]

LK: I guide them.  They are the tools, the focus of my strategy, and
the force of my will. As you consider your jests, your jokes, and your
little play dramas we are watching you.  We are studying you.  In
Damage Control, the watching comes to an end... the waiting will come
to an end.  We will find Perfection in victory.

[fade to black]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
  Doc Holliday & Jason Keening
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene dissolves from black to an interior shot of a crowded
playroom in a children's hospital. Colorful posters are scattered
across the medicinal white walls as plastic toys lie discarded on the
ground. A large crowd of children dressed in hospital gowns and
pajamas are seated on the floor around two male figures who are
sitting on chairs. The one on the left is Doc Holliday, who is wearing
his 1880's era clothing and who has a large cardboard box at his side.
Beside him, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and jeans is his new
"manager", Jason Keening. Keening has a mildly disappointed look on
his face as he keeps glancing over at Holliday to see if he's showing
any signs of stress. For his part, Holliday looks completely relaxed
as the children raise their arms in the air and clamor for attention.
In the background, a pair of watchful nurses look on, smiling and yet
still ever-observant.]

DH: (pointing) Awright, who gotsa ques-chin? Young man [he points to
indicate the child he's referring to], th' floor is yers.

C#1: Mistuh Howwiday... aw you weally a cowboy???

[Keening chuckles, waiting for Holliday to express his exasperation
but the laughter dies quickly as he realizes that Doc is still quite
comfortable with the situation.]

DH: Heh, naw. Cowboys're called cowboys on account of they raise
cattle. They milk cows, move 'em aroun' ta where th' good grass is,
shoot wil' animals an' rustlers whut try ta eat or steal 'em, an' keep
th' bulls in line. Thet's whar th' 'cow' in th' name comes from.
Cowboy life ain't really so in'nerestin'. Ah believe th' word yer
lookin' fer is 'outlaw'.

[Another child breaks in.]

C#2: I know him! That's the guy who always says...

[Keening interrupts with a panicked expression on his face as he
realizes what the little girl is about to say.]

JK: We don't really need to hear any direct quotes now! Ummm... next
question?

[An older boy raises his hand and grins widely when Holliday nods in
his direction.]

C#3: Is it true you're gonna wrestle Alex Martinez in the PVW? He's
awesome!

DH: Ah'm glad yer so easily impressed, young man. He's real big, yup,
real big. If it took talent ta be big, ah suppose ah'd be rightly
impressed mahself. An' he's tough, sure, it's real hard ta hurt 'im on
account of his brain don' process pain so quick. Or much o' anythin'
else. An' then thar's his track record in 'is love life...

JK: [interrupting again] OK, kids, we're going to take a short break
for a few minutes and then Mr. Holliday and I will be right back with
some souvenirs!

[The children cheer and leap to their feet except for those wearing
casts on their arms or legs who move a little more slowly. As the kids
mill about and begin to play, Holliday and Keening retreat to a water
fountain set in one wall. As Holliday fills a paper cup with water,
Keening looks at him with an appraising expression.]

JK: I must confess, Doc, that I'm both surprised and impressed. When I
booked you to make this appearance, I was convinced that it would
drive you absolutely crazy.

[Doc just grins.]

DH: Ya did this ta me before, ya know. Back when ah was on parole many
years ago.

JK: Really? I remember the whole parole thing but... I've forgotten a
lot of the details. You'll have to remind me.

DH: Well, ah ain't fergot. Ah learnt somethin' then. Ah learnt thet
th' wrasslin' business is lak a farm. If ya don' tend ta it an' feed
it an' weed it, ya cain't git nothin' outta it. An' if ya don' git
nothin' outta it, ya starve ta death. Ya know, it was you whut taught
me thet.

JK: I'm... I'm... frankly I'm amazed. I never thought I'd ever managed
to teach you anything.

DH: You... an' Marley.

[Doc's expression goes dour.]

DH: Rick an' ah was real tight. He was second genera-shin, so he had a
lotta insight on biz-ness thet ah didn't have. In return, ah taught
him howta win at all costs.

[Keening scowls.]

JK: Yeah... and in a way, doesn't that make you just a little bit
responsible for what happened to the Tucson Kid?

DH: Ya kin teach a man howta shoot a gun, ya kin even give 'im
bullets. But only one man pulls a trigger. Ah enabled 'im, gave 'im
th' power ta do as he wants. An' make no mistake, mah vengeance is not
moral. Mah vengeance is personal. You ain't no differ'nt.

[Keening is about to take a sip from a paper cup but looks up in
surprise and frowns.]

JK: I'm no different? What's that supposed to mean??

DH: S'pose ah went around clubbin' random folks with mah cane, just on
account of ah wan'ned ta do it. Ah don't reckon ya'd think thet was
right. Wouldja rush in an' git vengeance on me?

JK: I wouldn't be looking for personal vengeance. You know that I'd
express my opinion of it but...

DH: Now say ah went ta yer Uncle Ken an' did it. An' yer brother
Mikey. Then ah know dang well ya'd come aftah me. See, it'd be
personal then. Ya wouldn't do nothin' while ah was clubbin' Joe Blow
from Idaho, but ah start hittin' yer family, then suddenly ya care.
An' thet's exactly why yer doin' whut yer doin' right now with
Martinez. He's been cripplin' people up fer years, an' ya nevah went
outta yer way fer 'im before. But now he slaps YOU aroun', an' now all
of a sudden, yer gittin' Doc Holliday ta do yer dirty work!

[Keening's face darkens in anger but he pauses for a moment before
responding.]

JK: First off, Doc, you know me better than that. I _WOULD_ care if
you were clubbing Joe Blow from Idaho and you know it... why do you
think I took that Head of Security job in the first place? It was to
stop guys like you from clubbing innocent people just because you felt
like it! And as for Martinez, I had no idea that the two of you were
going to start butting heads. I thought you were going after Marley.
My whole interest in this managerial position was because up until a
few minutes ago, I never thought I'd been able to influence a single
thing about you and how you do things. When the PVW Board decided they
wanted someone to rein you in, I jumped at the chance because I
thought there was a tiny inkling of an opportunity to do some good.
Martinez doesn't scare me...

[Holliday scoffs but before either man can say anything more, a nurse
interrupts them.]

N: Excuse me, gentlemen, but the kids are ready for you now.

[Holliday and Keening both turn, looking past the nurse to see the
crowd of children eagerly sitting on the floor once again and staring
at them both. The nurse turns around to face the children and smiles.]

N: All right, kids! Who would like a souvenir from Mr. Holliday or Mr.
Keening?

[The children cheer enthusiastically as Holliday chuckles.]

DH: Ah got a slightly-used half-locket if anybody wants one!

JK: WHAT?!

[And we cut.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
          Chase Williams
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The Reverand Juliane Caine stands, resplendant as usual in a blinding
white suit with matching cane. A matching white Fedora is tipped upon
his head, and his smile is _wide_.]

RJC: Ladies and gentlemen, the crusade continues, unfettered!!

[He spreads his arms wide.]

RJC: I give to you, the once and future king!! The savior!! THE HAND
OF GAAAAAAWD!!!

[with great fanfare Chase Williams walks into the camera's view.
without looking at the camera he lowers his head.]

CW: And 'lo, did he come down from the mountain to smite all that dare
stand against him.

[A mirthless chuckle interrupts his speech as he finally raises his
head and brushes away the stringy blonde hair that obscures the
absolute _hatred_ in his eyes.]

CW: Tommy, Tommy, Tommy... I thought you would be smarter than this. I
prayed that you would accept your punishment as the inevitable result
of standing against the Hand of God. I was hoping you would be
intelligent enough to realize that _walking_ away from an encounter
with myself was my gift to you.

[He lowers his head again, shaking it from side to side in disgust.]

"I ALLOWED YOUR CAREER TO CONTINUE... Then you go and bite the hand
that feeds you. Your pride, your ego... These are things that are
going to get you buried. I get the emotional response Tommy, I really
do. Your a man, at least you _think_ you are, and as a man you have
this inherent need to defend yourself, your standing, your legacy
here in Phoenix Valley."

[Beat.]

"But agreeing to this match.... Was not a good career move. Unless
you're trying to end it sooner than later, because if thats the case,
I'm the man to give you what you want. And I'm not Nick Wright son. I
will make you wish you where never born without the assistance of four
or five other people"

[The glare has returned.]

"I will do things to you that will make you beg for when WMI was
beating you five on one. I will beat you until you're begging for me
to just end it, then I'll snap off your god damn arm. WHAT MAKES YOU
EVEN THINK YOU DESERVE TO CLIMB IN THE RING WITH THE HAND OF GOD?!?"

[The reverand places a hand on the shoulder of Williams and steps
forward.]

RJC: If I may interject, I see that my man here is getting a little
emotional, and we _don't_ do emotional. No, its more of a calculated
response if you will, and that being the case perhaps I need to
attempt to enlighten you, Mr. Ryder.

[He sweeps a hand across the shot, "presenting" Chase Williams to the
camera. For his part, he stands, stoic, angry, with arms crossed]

RJC: Standing before you, is the destroyer. The first Phoenix Valley
Wrestling heavyweight champion. The man that destroyed Caleb Foley,
Bryan Young, Rob Cole, and Larry gionet. The man that has only been
defeated through acts of _absolute_ treachery. He _forced_ Bryan Young
to cheapen his entire legacy and turn on his friend, so he could
_steal_ Chase's belt. Rob Cole's survival depended on cheap tactics
and a crooked referee. The man standing before you has _dominated_ the
best this meager federation has to offer, and your belief is that you
Tommy Ryder, will be the one that derails the crusade?"

[A quizzical eyebrow is raised by the Rev. Chase laughs openly]

RJC: For your insolence Tommy Ryder, you will pay dearly. _NO_ _ONE_
that has stood against this man has ever been the same. Foley is
broken, Gionet is a shell of his former self. Where is Centurion
Morgan? Rob Cole belongs in alooney bin simply because in his own
screwed up little mind, he _knows_ that even he, the mighty monster
under the bed, your champion, knows that on his best day he cannot
defeat the Hand of God. and it's driving him insane"

[The Rev pauses as Williams again steps to the forefront.]

CW:And if all that wasn't enough Tommy, don't forget that last
Heatwave, the PVW brass stupidly took the shackles off. No more Zero
Tolerance policy, means no more Phenom. Your last will and testament
will be as an example to the two pretenders to _my_ throne."

[He spits.]

"Rob... Rick... You two can have your little war. Marley can round up
his girlfriends and make a mockery of the title when it takes him and
four of his bitches to even beat you Cole, but when the smoke clears,
I'll be standing right in front of you, ready to take back my belt.
Which one of you has it when I rip it from your hands, it simply
doesn't matter. I'm coming for what was stolen from me"

"And it all begins next Heatwave, when I send Ryder's remains home in
a shoebox."

RJC: SO SAAAAAAAYS THE HAND OF GAAAAAAAWD!!!

[Fade]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
            Dr. X
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera fades into a shot of a doctor's office. Various degrees
are framed on the wall - the name of the recipient being covered in
black electrical tape. The cameraman swings further to the right, up
on a table is a large golden retriever laying on his side. Dr. X is
clad in a surgical cap and surgical mask as he works on the dog sewing
up a deep laceration.]

Dr. X: It's been a while, hasn't it? I have to admit that after the
incidents in New York the long delay in hearing back from the powers
to be in Phoenix Valley Wrestling had me worried a little.

I mean a week or two is one thing but this? Well yeah that's a
different story. When they called this morning I thought for sure it
was to tell me that they were tossing in the towel or something but
no, it was just a camera crew and the lineup for Charlotte. Of course
I don't wear my mask during office hours but as you can see - I wear
another.

[He smiles under his surgical mask, left hand reassuring the dog with
a tender pat on it's side]

Dr. X: Charlotte, North Carolina holds a very special place in my
heart. Shortly after my first match in May of 1982 I went and spent a
few months in good ol' Mid Atlantic Championship Wrestling. I was
just an opening match guy who didn't know anyone there but for some
reason one of the veterans took a shine to me and told me he wanted me
to ride with him to the different towns. After each night's action was
over, and more often than not me helping him fight his way back to the
dressing room, we'd stop at some 7-11 get a six pack each and head out
to the next arena. Can't do that nowadays can ya? Well it was a
different time. He asked about my past and at that time I was
halfway done with veterinary school and wasn't sure if I wanted to
keep with it or not. He pulled over to the side of the road - thrust
his finger right in my face and said "Kid, you keep going to those
classes! You might have a bright future in this sport but one day
you're gonna be an old man and you're gonna need that degree!" He made
me promise him right then and there, 20 miles out of New Bern, North
Carolina that I'd get my veterinary degree, and as you can see I did.

[He pauses, looking down for a moment before returning back to the
camera]

Dr. X: That man was Wahoo McDaniel. He was my daughter's godfather. I
miss him like hell.

[Another pause, his hand stroking the dog's head as it pants on the
table, before continuing.]

Dr X: Before talking about the tag match let's go back to my Madison
Square Garden debut, shall we? I told you that story because that
night, that night I felt like I was that greenhorn rookie kid all over
again. Butterflies in my stomach and that nervousness so bad that you
feel like you gotta run and piss every five minutes. Make no mistake,
I'm not making any excuses with what happened during or after the
match. But the fact remains that Caleb Foley didn't beat Dr X.

[taps his chest with his surgical glove covered hand]

Dr X: I beat Dr X. Everything building up to it, everything that went
down after...yeah, I beat myself. Which leads us to the fella right
here.

[He pats the dog's side tenderly]

Dr X: He went out on his owner's ranch, running and playing like dogs
tend to do and found himself stuck in a well. Out there all night in
the rain yelping and whimpering I'm sure until the family went out
looking for him and they had their happy reunion. He's got a few bad
scrapes and is sore as hell no doubt but he'll be allright. Now some
people, in my experience, come in all pissed off and upset at the dog
for getting themselves in that mess. But you can't blame the dog. He
didn't know any better. Just like you Caleb.

[He replaces one of his gloves]

Dr. X: Just like this dog here You just don't know any better. I can't
get mad at you for running off at the mouth about this and that. I
can't get mad at you for being so insecure that you need that fancy
dancy ring entrance with all the pyro and the laser lights and the fog
machines and the music blasting so loud and so long that you can
almost go deaf. You're like this big ol' dog here - you just don't
know any better. After this match in Charlotte, however, I think  you
will know better.

[The good doctor finishes the last of the sutchers as he continues
talking]

Dr. X: A tag match, well we know what happened wiht my last partner
don't we. Yep - Mr. Armbar himself Perry Fontana. I swear that stuck
up prick must be related to Ole and Lars and Gene with all those
armbars he tries and stuff. Alex Martinez, him I have a better feeling
about and hell if not then he's destined to be a champion with my
track record of tag team partners!

[chuckles]

Dr. X: As for yourself Caleb it seems you get Doc Holiday to try and
watch your back. I say try because this time.... this time Caleb I
won't have those butterflies in my belly like I did back at the
Garden. I'm going to be focused like I haven't been in a long time
Caleb which is good for me but for you?

[The Doctor sets the sutcher kit down on the table]

Dr. X: I think you'll be the next one who will need this.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
           Jokers Wild
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The shot opens with a view of a road, at night, through the
windshield of a moving vehicle. The camera swings round to the left
and we see a man at the wheel. Despite the shadows on his face,
members of the Phoenix Valley Wrestling audience might recognise him
as one-half of Jokers Wild, Harley Quinn O'Connor, sans the clown
make-up. Without taking his eyes off the road, O'Connor starts to
speak.]

HQ: Some people might still be wondering; why did Jokers Wild stick
their noses in the lawyers' match against Weinrib and Mubarak last
Heatwave? If the answer isn't obvious enough to you, I don't think I
can help you out much more. But why the sneakiness, why can't we just
prove ourselves worthy as contenders? That's exactly it, I think we've
proven time and time again that we can hang with the big boys of the
PVW tag team division. Going into Unholy War, we laid it out for
everyone; if it's war they want, it's war they'll get, and when Jokers
Wild goes to war, we go in and plan to win it, by any means necessary.

Now, this week, we get to prove ourselves again, some more, when we
face the team of Scott Nielsen and Mike Cox. Two young men, two hungry
men, much like my partner here [Gives a nod towards the camera.] was
when I first met him, working with the last company that employed the
both of us. That company dropped the ball when it came to their
handling of our careers...

[The camera is swiveled around once more, so we can see who is
operating it, 'El Savaje' himself, Jose Rizal Estrada, who lays it on
the vehicle dashboard, so he can look into it as he speaks.]

ES: See where that company is now. The PVW suits need to realise that
they need the young guys; guys like Nielsen, guys like Cox, like
Weinrib and Mubarak, like myself, even someone like my partner... And
I'm pretty sure they won't drop the ball. At Heatwave, when Jokers
Wild and Nielsen and Cox meet in that ring, the PVW fans can expect a
good, clean, competitive match. That is, if the rat-bastard lawyers
don't stick their vulture beaks where they don't belong, because
unlike Jokers Wild, unlike Nielsen and Cox, unlike Weinrib and
Mubarak, those guys aren't company men; those guys don't have the
interests of PVW at heart. Nielsen, Cox, we look forward to facing you
at Heatwave. Unfortunately for you, we also look forward to proving
why we, Jokers Wild, should be the team that wears the PVW tag team
gold with pride. See you in Charlotte.

[Estrada reaches over and the shot goes dark.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
         Masked Maniac
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Fade in from black, and it's a circle of chairs filled with a series
of lumpy, sallow-skinned and middle-aged men and women.  The plastic
junk on which they sit is complemented by thin, lime green, nylon
carpeting that more closely resembles AstroTurf than anything you
might put on your floor. Suddenly, one of the yellow-skinned lumps of
meat stands up to speak.]

Carl: Hey, uh, ,my name's Carl … and I'm an alcoholic...

Group: Hi, Carl...

Carl: I've been clean and sober now for about ten days now.  As you
remember, I'm sure, I fell off the wagon a few days before the meeting
last week.  I couldn't talk about it then, but y'know, I guess I can
now.  I, uh, just saw some old friends and ... I just thought we could
have a few beers.  But next thing I know, they're buying shots.  I
tell 'em I'm broke, they foot the bill...  Next thing I know, I'm
waking up in a gutter...  They didn't just get me drunk, but … but
they stripped me naked and stole my wallet.  Sons of bitches ran up
ten grand on my Mastercard...  Thought they were my friends...

[Carl Sniffles and staggers backwards slightly, and plops back down
into his chair, becoming choked up with tears.]

Jojo: That's fine Carl.  Just take a break, and you can finish your
story later if you feel up to it.

[Stepping forward, a creepy, thin man with a blond ponytail and tiny
glasses with no frames steps behind Carl, placing his hands on Carl's
shoulders.]

Carl: Thanks Jojo.  Thanks...

Jojo: You're welcome, friend.  We're all friends here.  Real friends.
Nobody's going to hurt you here, Carl.  Maybe we could hear from
someone who hasn't spoken yet, hmkay?

[Everyone looks around, muttering, and the camera pans until it finds
a familiar masked figure.  Said figure's mask has the letters “SSN”
across the front, but below the neck, he's wearing streetclothes
including a leather jacket.  As the camera settles on him, so do the
eyes of everyone in the room.]

MM: Hm?  What?  Me?

Jojo: Well, yes *BLEEP*, when last we saw you you were talking about
an intense craving for a drink.  Did you maintain your sobriety,
*BLEEP*?

MM: Hey, uhm, please don't say my name.  Call me Maniac this week.

Jojo: *BLEEP*, I don't know that it's healthy to maintain your
professional persona here in the circle.  I'm still not sold on having
this camera here in the room.

MM: Oh, okay, yeah, I'm sorry.  I mean, y'know ... call me Maniac and,
for that matter, ignore the camera, or I'll drop you on your head.

[Eyes widening drastically, Jojo puts his hand to his mouth and takes
a step back.]

MM: But y'know, I've kept it together.  When I want a drink I do some
curls or take a run.  I've lost most of the last of my spare tire in
the last month, actually.  I found a flask I'd stashed in the back of
the toilet at home.  Coldest water in the house, y'know.  Long story
short, I felt weak, and ... well, my wife beat me with a plunger
before I could take a drink. Disaster averted.

Jojo: Good lord!  *Ble--*, I mean “Maniac”, you mean you're a victim
of domestic violence in the home?

MM: Well, my wife's the daughter of a wrestler, so … I mean, it's how
we roll, y'know?

Jojo: I think you may be using violence as a crutch in your fight with
addiction, Maniac.  Have you been experiencing more violent urges than
usual since going on the wagon?

[Beat.  Maniac purses his lips behind his mask.]

MM: Well, no, but I find I'm a lot _better_ at being violent when I'm
sober.

[Gasps and mutters around the room as Maniac slouches in his chair,
looking increasingly uncomfortable.]

Jojo: I don't quote know what to say.

MM: Hey, I'm a professional wrestler, and I've been doing this for a
HELL of a long time, let me tell you.  Kicking the sauce is helping me
get back in shape.  My lung capacity is up, my vascular health is
vastly improved and … well, apparently, my bowel health is rapidly
improving too.  I just emphasize that 'cause that's what my doctor's
been emphasizing too.

Carl: Aw, God why?

MM: Look, wrestling's my life, okay?  It's all I've ever wanted to do,
and it's what's going to help me stay clean even when my wife's broken
out a bottle of 1944 Port Rose' and is on her way to getting nockered.
Sex is better when she's drunk and I'm sober anyway.

Carl: AW, GOD!

MM: Okay, y'know what, you wanna hear about what's really keeping me
clean?  I'll tell you.  See, recently, one of MY friends [speaking to
Carl] proverbially rolled me into a gutter naked with no wallet.
Rather, I helped him win the wallet, and it was part of the deal that
I got first shot at that wallet.

Gail: You guys fight for wallets?  I thought it was belts.

[If you're wondering, Gail's a whorish-looking lady whose body is half
decent, half exposed and looks wholly ridden hard and hung out wet.]

MM: It is a belt, just, don't interrupt me!  So I fight back in any
way I can find 'cause I'm mad and I don't wanna let go.  Him betraying
me made me smash a 1920 bottle of Jim Beam against the wall.  Do you
know how strong 'Beam is after 90-some years?  That *BLEEP* was
EXPLOSIVE, but in a fit of rage, I smashed it.  Next thing you know,
I'm partnered with Perry, uh, that's the guy.  We have to get along,
and I know that if there's anything slowing me down, he's gonna beat
me up good.  If anything I have more to worry about from him than our
opponents.

Jojo: How did your relationship with this Perry deteriorate so far,
Maniac?

MM: That's not important, really.  He's just a brain-damaged inside-
out jackalope narcissist that doesn't know how to co-exist.  Our
opponents are Tom Landis, his new brother-in-law and a guy who slipped
one in on me.  I would've just shrugged off that loss even a few
months ago, but now I feel DRIVEN to avenge it.  And the other
guy ... I just wanna beat him up because of his name.

Jojo: Again, that doesn't seem healthy.

MM: No, you don't understand.  His name's A-Drain.

Jojo: It's ... what?  That's not right, is it?

MM: It's the only way I've ever heard it said.

Jojo: You're sure it's not Adrian?

MM: Adrian?  That's a girl's name!  Haha.  Seriously, I think it's
like old Gaelic or something.  Anyway, this A-Drain guy goes back to
his old grade school or something and rambles for an hour for no
apparent reason.  I never really heard a point to the whole thing.
He's apparently a former world champion somewhere.  I was a world
champ once too, y'know.  For like a minute, but still.

[A squinty, incredulous look from Jojo.]

MM: So A-Drain makes this big, splashy entrance, and I guess he just
wants to be a bigshot right off the bat.  And I'm thinking “A-Drain,
I've been here from day one, and your name sucks, so get in line!”
But A-Drain just keeps running around, acting like he's awesome.
Beats up poor Freddy!

Jojo: I'm sorry; Freddy?

MM: A friend of mine.  He's related to Randy Travis, the musician or
something.  Try to keep up.  Near as I can tell though, in spite of
his incredibly annoying overall behavior A-Drain is supposed to be a
good guy.  Imagine the most annoying jock ever to lace up the boots
and throw a football, put him in the middle of a room full of nerds,
y'know, like this crew here, and we're all supposed to applaud him for
being better than us.  What the hell, A-Drain, right?

[Muttered agreement from the peanut gallery.  Jojo has removed his
glasses and is rubbing his temples.]

Jojo: Maniac, don't you think your anger is somewhat misplaced as
regards this A ... Drain?

MM: No, no not at all.  Look, he's not just a drain, he's the A-Drain,
like, y'know, the A-Train, the best train, the best drain. When he
flushes someone they stay flushed, I think, or something.  He's
threatening you, all of you, all the people in this room ... with
SWIRLIES!  Have any of you ever been hit with a swirlie?

[The chatter in the room carries a general tone of assent.]

MM: And not just swirlies, people.  A-Drain, the jock that he is, also
makes with the nurples, the melvins, the wedgies, the indian burns!
And you, Jojo, y'know what he'd do to you, Jojo?

Jojo: What?  No.  He doesn't even _know_ me, Maniac.  How--

MM: It doesn't matter to jocks, Jojo.  I can pretty much guarantee
that he would chop that ponytail off your head as a trophy … right
after he nailed your girlfriend.  It's just what they do!

[Growing angry, the assembled drunks are becoming more animated as
Maniac continues to rant.]

MM: I'm gonna get him, and y'know why?  BECAUSE IT KEEPS ME *BLEEPING*
SOBER, JOJO!

Jojo: Uh...

MM: Now who wants to help me beat up A-Drain Tanner!?

Group: YEAH!

[...And everyone  rises as one to follow Maniac right out the door of
the room.  Jojo stands, stunned, in the wake of their cultish exodus
to certain mischief.]

Jojo: What the hell just happened...?

[Fade to black.  End.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
          Tom Landis
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"Hi Em!  Sure, he's here.  Just putting Chelsea to bed, hang on.  Tom!
Phone!"

[We open on a shot of Tara Marshall, in a situation we don't normally
see the female grappler in often... everyday married life.  She's not
dressed in the usual slinky dress or tight-fitting spandex one would
expect in wrestling either, just an old pair of jeans and a Toronto
Maple Leafs baby tee, her hair pulled back.  Afterall, what would a
camera be doing in her home on a day off?]

TSM: Well he was blindsided by the news, but he's dealing with it.
The only way he knows how, of course, to completely bury it in the
back of his mind. [pause to listen] Yeah, we just left the building
and headed back to the hotel after the show, that's when he called
you.  I'm sure it'll be okay Em, it'll just take some time to get used
to the whole thing.

So how's everything going with Perry?  Still in the honeymoon period?
[pause to listen] Mmm, sounds pretty good.  The fanciest thing Tom can
make is french toast.

HTL: What's that about french toast?

[The camera turns to see Tom Landis coming down a flight of stairs,
presumably from tucking his two and a half year old daughter into bed.
Like his wife, he's not dressed for style, just a pair of track pants
and a black cotton baseball jersey.]

TSM: Nevermind.  Here, take the phone.  It's your sister.

[Tom's eyes light up when he hears this, and eagerly grabs the
telephone from Tara.  The blonde spins around and heads through the
doorway behind her into the kitchen.  Landis settles down on a black
leather couch, phone in hand.]

HTL: Hey baby sister, how's it going? [pause] Oh yeah, no trouble at
all. She misses her Aunt Emily though.  Looking forward to
Thanksgiving dinner too.  What's that?

[A longer pause this time, and Tom's cheerful expression darkens
somewhat.]

Oh... he said that, did he?  Well yeah... we're in the same match.
But... team name?  I'm not sure I understan... Mentor him?  Why would
I mentor him, he's already got himself a championship and seems to be
doing fairly well for himsel...

Sure, the guys down in ACW like to pick my brain a little bit now and
then.

[Tara's voice bellows from the kitchen.]

TSM: AND THE GIRLS TOO!

HTL: [shouting back] Stop acting so jealous! [back to the phone] Sorry
Em, had to set the wife straight.  Well I don't really know if he'd be
interested in having a mentor... I don't know, I guess...

[At this point, Tara wanders back into the living room and sits on the
arm of the couch next to Tom.]

Okay, you have to go?

[Denoting a twinge of sadness in his voice, Tara places a comforting
hand on her husband's shoulder.]

Take care, Em.  Bye.

[Landis hangs up the phone, and Tara gives him a quick hug.]

TSM: You're still taking the marriage hard, aren't you?

HTL: I don't trust him, Tara.  There's something about the guy I don't
like, and I just can't shake this feeling about Fontana.  Being on the
other side of the ring this week isn't going to help matters either.

TSM: You know how guys are in the locker room isn't a true reflection
of what they're like behind closed doors.  And she seems happy,
genuinely happy with him.

HTL: Uh huh, she seemed happy with Cam too.  And Josh.  And the less
said about them the better.

TSM: Look, she's not a kid anymore.  She's a young woman who can make
her own decisions.  And like it or not, she doesn't need big brother
to give her husband grief.  Or a black eye, for that matter.

HTL: He's not going to go away because I want him to, is he?

TSM: 'Fraid not, sweetie.

[Tom sighs.]

HTL: Well at least the tag name is pretty self evident.

TSM: Oh?  How so?

HTL: Two words.  Everlasting Hell.

[Tom sighs again and rests his chin on his fist.  Fade to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
         Larry Gionet
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[It is 6:30 in the evening at D.W. Fields Park in Stoughton
Massachusetts. The sky is dark as coal as the moon is full in the west
and the stars twinkle with delight. The leaves are off the trees
signaling the end of fall as we enter the season of winter. Every
bench is vacant except one where we see one Larry Gionet with a navy
blue sweatshirt with a hoodie, jeans and sneakers. He stares into the
camera with his fierce blue eyes.]

Redemption

Retribution

Revenge

Larry Gionet: These are the words that have swirled around my head
like a cyclone for the past week. People would stop me on the street
asking what the deal was with Hopper. Asking how I am emotionally and
physically as I enter my match against you Chris. You want to know
what I tell them Hopper? I'm dealing with a man that holds on to too
much. That lets a grudge build up inside him before he explodes in
outbursts. I tell them maybe if he learned to let go of what ails him
maybe just maybe he could be a better person. To tell you the truth
I'm VERY pissed off.

[Gionet lifts his head as he pulls off the navy blue hoodie from his
head showing off his growing dirty blond hair. He thrusts his head
back for a split second exposing the scar above his right eye that was
split open thanks to Chris Hopper. If one didn't know his eyes were
blue, one would think Larry's eyes were red with rage.]

I am here to pop your little fairy tail Hopper! That you are the best
in Phoenix Valley Wrestling and the Wrestling World in general. Let's
face it Chris you live off other peoples careers. A man that has been
unable to live up to his own hype.

Let's face it I ran off your protege. That never was Sugar Shayne
Grissom. Believe me I received months and months of thank you cards
for shutting that wind pipes' mouth! Now the king of drama has entered
this promotion for payback?! The first thing this hypocrite does is
try to rectify what his "protege" couldn't do? You came out on
Heatwave to say that I ruined a young man's chance of being a success
in this business; when I know for DAMN sure he would have done the
same exact thing to me if he were in my shoes. Why, because he was
trained by the man who will cut corners and stab friends in the back
to reach the top. For once in you're career why can't you be a true
fighter and MAN UP?!

[Larry looks down rubbing his hands togethre as his knuckles crack
releasing tension. He queitly let's out a sigh before exhaling louly
like a man trying to compose the monster within. He looks back into
the camera as he crosses his arms to stop The Warrior from losing it.]

Yeah I may not be always proud of what I have done in my wrestling
career and in life but truth be told I learned from every experience.
Something I am sorry to say Mr. Hopper you have failed to do. In he
end that makes me a better professional in the workplace, a better
leader for my community and a better man than you. Just like I cracked
your man's ribs many moons ago, I will crack your career into a
million pieces! Your inflated ego has you flying high on cloud 9 well
Hopper your bubble is about to get popped and your little magic carpet
ride of narcissism comes crashing down to reality!

[Larry stands up off the bench with authority His hands remained
locked like a steel chained link fence. The camera angle makes it look
that Larry Gionet is looking down to Chris Hopper. As if a parent
ready to teach their child a very harsh life lesson.]

Hopper you talk about being a legend in this sport but your nothing
more than a coward. Chris you talk a BIG game but the time for talking
is over and at Heatwave I am gonna show you how a TRUE MAN takes care
of BUSINESS...

[Larry Gionet quickly walks off as we can only seea cloud of dirt
hovering over the horizon. With the stars shining from the heavens the
only sounds that can be heard is the commanding boom of his storming
off into the distance. We then fade to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Alex Martinez
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[It doesn't make sense. Why is the Last American Badass standing in
front of the camera, holding a pink dress in his left hand. He holds
it  up, his expression as severe and grim as its ever been. But why is
Alex  Martinez holding this pink slip dress? We're about to find out.]

AM: Let's get somethin' outta the way right off the bat.

Caleb Foley, consider this your night off. You don't even need to show
up. And if ya do, bring yourself that book you've been meanin' to
read. 'Cuz there ain't no hope of you seein' any action. I'm not
lettin' you in the ring. And if by some slim chance you happen to end
up in the ring, don't expect to stay conscious for long.

Same goes for you, Dr. X. All you gotta do is stand on the apron and
get yourself a free lesson in ass kickin'. There ain't no call for you
to do anythin' but stand there with your eyes open, watchin' how the
pros do it.

I suggest the two of ya review those words, 'cuz I ain't a man given
to bein' generous, and I damn sure ain't a man that's generous twice.
I'll hurt either or both of ya, if ya get in my way.

If ya get in the way of this.

[Martinez shakes the dress, his face turning red with rage.]

AM: Ya recognize this Holiday? Its been a long damn time since ya last
saw it. The place ya last saw it has been dead and buried for so long,
only a couple of people on the planet remember it. I dunno where ya
bought it. I don't know what its origin is. All I know about this pink
dress is...

It's the same dress ya put on me.

[Martinez pauses, to let that thought sink into everyone's head.]

AM: Remember now? Remember the name Organized Chaos? Remember how you
and your buddies gave me and some others our "pink slip?" I hope ya
do, Holiday, 'cuz I ain't never forgotten it.

See, there's a lot ya like to brag 'bout. Ya like to talk 'bout
smackin' my ex. Ya like to talk 'bout pinnin' me. But Holiday, my ex
is a dirty little skank that I was lucky to be rid of. Hell, smackin'
her is the only good worthwhile thing you're limpin' ass has ever
done.

And pinnin' me? Well, ya stick around as long as I have, and ya get
pinned occasionally. If ya really think that's a feat you'll be
repeatin', well, your delusions of grandeur ain't really somethin' I'm
gonna lose sleep over.

But this... this pisses me off.

You humiliated me in front of millions of people Holiday. You
disrespected me, and made me a cross dressed laughin' stock. You
attacked my pride. You left me unconscious and in a freakin' dress.
And in my book, that's worse than smackin' a woman I don't care 'bout
or pinnin' me in some match that only you remember.

No one disrespects me and gets to keep breathin'. No one gets one over
on Alex Martinez. I've owed ya an ass kickin' for a good, long time,
and now its comin' due.

[Martinez tosses the dress away in disgust.]

AM: See, once more, ya think you've gotten one over on me. Ya and
Keenin' both think you're so smart. Ya think that you've denied me
gettin' what I want. But that's so damn far from the truth, once again
your delusions are funny.

I will get my hands on Jason Keenin', one way or another. Ain't no
rules now to save his dumb ass. And if he wants to stand at ringside
as your manager, well then, that's nothin' more than a sign of his
volunteerin' to be collateral damage.

But let's tell the truth. Keenin' is afraid of me. He's usin' ya
Holiday, to fight a fight he's too cowardly to fight himself. He's
usin' ya to get at me. You're nothin' but a pawn in all this. The pawn
of a coward bein' used to attack someone that Keenin' knows he ain't
got a chance in hell against.

I pity ya that you're nothin' but a patsy. But that pity won't take
you very far. Because, I still remember the dress. I still remember
what ya did to me. And I'll remember it until I've hurt you so bad
that I know I'll never see ya again.

You disrespected me Holiday. And I ain't a man that forgets, and I
ain't never been someone to forgive either. Laugh it up all ya like.
Wear your fancy little clothes and tell your jokes. Because when it
comes time for us to be in the ring together, ain't gonna be no
laughter. Just a lotta your tears.

I'm gonna teach you a lesson Holliday.

I'm gonna teach ya why Keenin' is usin' ya as his surrogate, rather
than gettin' in the ring himself. And I'm gonna teach ya what happens
to people who disrespect the Last American Badass.

It's a lesson in pain, written in your blood. And ya can't run from
it, or hope it passes ya by.

Be ready.

[Fade to Black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
         Johnny Detson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Detson:  Tracy Hudson.

(The scene opens up on our hero Johnny Detson leaning up against a
brick wall wearing a plain white tee shirt, jeans and his designer
shades.  A much smaller bandage then from previous weeks is applied to
his forehead and a large scowl appears on his face.)

Detson:  Well what the hell am I suppose to do now?

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  You seem to have an answer for everything else Trac, where's
your answer for that?  Don't have one?  Don't care?

(Detson stifles a small laugh.)

Detson:  Well now you know where I'm at.  Do I go along the lines of
paying you back for sticking you stupid little misguided nose into my
business at Shattered Dreams?  Do I reach out my hand and try to help
you out after Gibson turns his back on you, like we all knew he would?
Or should I just go out there and do what I always do, and go out
there and out wrestle you and win?

(Detson leans back further against the wall and jams his hands into
his pockets.)

Detson:  I don't know and maybe that's the problem, or maybe that's
just the answer.  I don't know.  Now I'll admit I was surprised to see
you at Shattered Dreams.  Of the reoccurring character in my life
known as a wrestling career, you'd be down at the bottom of people I
thought I'd see again.  And then when I heard you help train Gibson
Hayes I was even more shocked.  And then when you decided to help him
out, for the sole purpose of being able to pay your rent well that's
the icing on the cake.

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  There's not much difference between you and I Tracey.  I mean
the whole lot of our group back in the day were and still are self-
serving, manipulative, narcissistic, egomaniacs that did anything we
could and anything we wanted just for our own sheer enjoyment.  But
Gibson Hayes, regardless of his connections and training isn't that.
He's the shadow of stuff we all did eight years ago.  A clone, a
carbon-copy, and imitator of things we all did in the past.  Surely in
the back of your mind you realized that that little jack-o wouldn't
have an original thought and just do whatever's been done before.

(Detson laughs.)

Detson:  So he betrayed you, walked out on you, used you for whatever
purpose he had and then left the fight.  A Hayes betrayed Tracey
Hudson; well that's not the most shocking thing of the 21st century.
You know, I listen to you talk and how you say things are different,
and you're right they are, but you seem to have a problem with that,
and for the life of me I can't understand why.

(Detson shrugs his shoulders and pushes off the wall to stand on his
own two feet.)

Detson:  What's so great about the past that you need to relive it?
Is it because you never lived it in the first place?  So in you're
world Hudson needs to listen to everything Johnstone and Hayes says,
Upper Crust or CaT or whatever you're favorite incarnation was gets
reformed and we all become our dominant selves.  The Craven of old
comes back and you get to fight the monster and not the puppy dog two
year old he's become.

Detson:  Nice thought, but you can do better.  Hayes and Johnstone
have already surrounded themselves with enough lackeys that they don't
need someone with independent thoughts in their little group and
they've proven that.  And you got some grudge against Craven well no
one can really blame you for that after what he did to you; I mean the
man literally brought you to the end of the line, so no one is going
to question your motives for that.

(Detson casually waves a finger between the camera and himself.)

Detson:  But where does that leave us?

(Detson again lets out a small chuckle as he shrugs his shoulders and
leans back against the wall again.)

Detson:  You're not my friend and you're not my enemy.

Detson:  Win or lose, our goals remain the same.

Detson:  I sit here racking my brain for some reason... any reason...
some slight, injustice, or slander... any reason... any at all.  I
want so desperately to find some motivation good bad or in between to
care about this.

(Detson stands up straight and takes the shades off his head and
giving a rather nonchalant look towards the camera.)

Detson:  But I don't.  Tracey, I don't care.

(Detson sighs and leans back up against the wall placing his shades
back on the bridge of his nose.)

Detson:  And that, Tracey, is what we have.  Apathy.  A total
apathetic feeling towards this match and it should be so much more.
Because quite honestly its not you I want, its not you I expected and
after the initial shock of it wore off its been this constantly state
of apathy.  My only saving grace might be if Gibson Hayes shows up and
we can punch him back and forth like a tetherball...

(Detson sighs.)

Detson:  You see even my metaphors lack effort.  But that's what its
become.  And honestly Tracey

(Detson stops for a minute before taking a deep breath and exhaling.)

Detson:  That's just sad.

(With that the camera cuts to black.)

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
         Will Geddings
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens to Will Geddings sitting on a couch. He's wearing a
black "PVW" shirt and a pair of jeans and appears to be uncomfortable.
It would seem that it took great effort for him to position himself in
such a fashion for this interview.]

Geds: It may not have been my prettiest win. It certainly wasn't my
most impressive or dominating or even one that I am particularly proud
of. I suppose I should apologize to Donkey for openly flouting the
rules and good taste.

[Geddings forces a shrug]

Geds: Of course, if not for this nonsensical and short-lived Zero
Tolerance, I'd never have been put in this position. I never would
have allowed myself to become this...this...shell of what I used to
be. So if you want an apology, go talk to Jason Keening.

Geds: Although I'm not sure he's accepting calls. Anyways, I reviewed
the tape last week. I reviewed everything. I saw Jamie's little
scheme...her setting up the match with HvD. I'm sure she's
doing...something...to get me booked in this scramble match. I don't
know what her end game is, and truth be told, it doesn't matter.

Geds: I am going to keep knocking down opponents until I get what I
want. Until I get Cole. Until I get Cruise. I will face this entire
God-*censored* roster, simultaneously, if that's what it takes. And
that's almost what's happening on Heatwave.

[Geddings shifts his weight, trying to increase his comfort]

Geds: Five men doing whatever they want, essentially. You want to
fight? You fight. You want to run? You run. You want to suck? You're
Xavier Feyr. It's going to be a good time.

Geds: And I will survive this match. I will survive it like I've
survived all of them. It's going to hurt. It's going to make me
question my decisions, no doubt. And there's going to be blood. But
here's the thing, mes amis...

Geds: I will NOT lose 2 hours from my hometown. I will NOT go into
Charlotte, NC, and lose to the likes of Chris Werner or Donkey. I will
NOT allow my legacy to be tarnished by athletes who are great...and
they are all great, even Donkerhardt. They are great. But they're not
Will Geddings. They're not "wrestling legends". They did not reinvent
what the light heavyweight can be. I did.

Geds: They do not bring federations to a stand-still when they sign. I
did. They are not able to take a group of miscreants and make them
into a powerhouse federation. I did.

Geds: And Outlaw? Dear, sweet Outlaw. If I have to beat you until
you're in the ICU room next to me, I'm going to. You will go find your
buddy and tell him I'm looking for him. I know he lost to Cole. There
was no shame in it. He lasted longer than Alex Martinez or Jason
Keening could or than Marley will. Why's he hiding, 'law?

[Geddings shakes his head. His excitement level building, Geddings
takes a moment to calm himself down.]

Geds: I need him to pull it together. You will tell him for me, right
'law? Right? Tell him his old friend needs him to step up for the
first time in years...years...before said old friend ends up dying in
the middle of the ring.

Geds: Please tell him.

[Scene fades]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
         Perry Fontana
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[On screen appears "Every Man's Fantasy" Brianna Landis, her blond
hair carelessly tied back in a ponytail, wearing a burgundy turtle
neck... except that it's not Brianna. Not quite. She looks more
delicate, her face rounder, possibly younger by a couple of years. One
thing is for sure: she's a Landis. If asked, Slush could confirm it.
That man can sense the presence of Landi in all shapes and forms like
a man dowses for water with a forked stick, like old men sitting on
their porches can feel an imminent storm in their kneecaps.

This particular Landis - the one who can only be Emily Landis - pushes
an empty plate from her place mat, smiling softly in satiated
delight.]

Emily: I don't know how you do it. That was the best pasta of all
time, bar none.

Fontana: All self respecting Italian men can prepare a mean plate of
pasta.

Emily: No, but that linguine... you can tell it's special.

Fontana: It's a family recipe you'll soon know everything about, mon
amour.

[Perry Fontana grabs the empty places and places them on a nearby
kitchen counter. It must be said, though, that he looks like a
completely different man than we're used to seeing.]

Fontana: It comes from my great-grandmother.

[First, he's not wearing his usual orange, red and gold boxer's robe.
Instead, he sports a buttoned up striped shirt in brown, tan and
powder blue.]

Fontana: Be prepared to put on a chef's hat of your own, Emilia,
because you'll have to learn it.

Emily: I don't think I could ever prepare it that well, though.

Fontana: You can do it. Once you know how to make your own pasta,
it'll all come together, amore mio. Ho la moglie migliori del mondo!

[Mostly, it's the man's voice that seems out of place. That, and the
conspicuous absence of spittle. The Everlasting One's voice is as
raspy as ever, but in this context, it suddenly sounds warm,
inviting... suave.

As if summoned my a magic spell uttered in whispered Italian, Emily
rises to amorously kiss her beau on the lips. The scene is strange.
Alien. From a nearby chair, Emily grabs a backpack and slips it on her
shoulder.]

Emily: I'd love to stay, but you know I have to get back to campus
soon. I have some finals I need to prepare for.

Fontana: How will I ever survive?

[Emily softly laughs, won over by her husband's charm... Charm that
seems so extraordinarily out of character you'd think we're in fact
seeing Terry, Perry's mild-mannered twin brother...]

Emily: A tough guy like you? I'm sure you'll manage.

Fontana: Stay over tonight. Leave tomorrow. Tu verras, ma cherie, je
ferai en sorte que tu savoures pleinement cette soiree, Emilie...

Emily: Oh... all right. That double combo of Italian and French is
simply impossible to resist.

[She turns and as she bends over to drop her bag back on the floor, a
sudden look of lecherous greed flashes in Fontana's eyes. The same
kind of abject avidity that can be seen when he looks at his Network
Championship. And as his wife turns back to him, that lustful gaze
turns into a look of tender longing so believable you could almost
believe it's genuine. He smiles.]

Fontana: You won't regret it. You look like someone that couldn't live
another day without a good massage.

Emily: Oh, yeah, that would be so awesome. I'm so stressed with the
finals coming up and the family dinner soon... Tara says Tom could be
taking the news a little better.

Fontana: That's a shame, Emilia. Believe me when I say Masked Maniac
will be dealt with appropriately.

Emily: That's your friend that spilled the beans, right? There's no
need to make a fuss on my account, Perry. Maybe it's better this way.
Maybe it's all for the best, you know? Tara suspects it could have
been worse if we'd waited until the family dinner... Don't get mad at
Tom, OK? He's just a little bit over protective.

[Bizarro World Fontana softly chuckles.]

Fontana: Don't worry, amore mio, I'm Italian. If I had a sister, I'd
make sure she remained a virgin until her mid-forties. Your brother
Tom is my brother too, now. I love him because I love you.

Emily: I'm so happy to hear you say that, Perry. You know, with that
business you guys are in, it would have really sucked to see you two
fighting or something.

Fontana: Oh, uh...

Emily: My brother and my husband hitting each other? No thanks to
that!

Fontana: Well, about that... we're sort of in a tag team match, mon
amour...

Emily: They made a team with you two? That's such a relief! You have
each other's backs, and I won't ever have to worry about seeing you
two fight!

Fontana: I thought you didn't watch the shows...

Emily: I don't watch them. I never could. Seeing people beat up my
brother is not my idea of fun. Can't watch Brianna either. And I
already know I couldn't watch you either. I'd worry too much. But a
lot of people know who Tommy and Bree are, so I always end up hearing
about it anyways.

Fontana: Ah. Yeah... You hear about it...

Emily: You'd be surprised at how many wrestling fans you can find on a
university campus. Drunk frat boys quoting Slush at me gets old fast.
But since you and Tom are teaming up, now, everything is fine! I won't
be bothered by another situation like Tara and Brianna again, because
fielding questions about that gets old just as quickly. I'd much
rather they ask me for autographs of the new tag team champions
instead... Fontana and Landis?

Fontana: Right... Yeah... No hitting Tom. I got it, Emilie, no problem
about that.

[Fontana says this while mentally calculating, possibly searching for
scenarios in which he can "amputate" Tom Landis without his wife
hearing about it.]

Emily: Could you imagine how awkward next week's family dinner would
have been if they'd make you two fight each other? Like the incident
all over again...

Fontana: The incident?

Emily: Just Brianna being herself. Long story. My family's a little...
messed up.

Fontana: It's not a real family if it's not a little messy.

Emily: But now there's such a huge weight lifted off my shoulders,
suddenly. I already know mom will love you, and with my two favorite
boys teaming up... Now I only have French literature to stress about.
Did you find yourselves a good team name?

Fontana: A team name?

Emily: Yeah. You know how you wrestling guys always find yourselves
real macho team names like the Beastly Butchers or the Hairy Kamikazes
or something.

Fontana: We... have not had a chance to talk about that yet.

Emily: You two just make sure you win your first match together, then.
We wouldn't want both of you nursing wounds or moping about at the
dinner table next week, now would we?

Fontana: I guess not

Emily: I don't know if you'd heard, but Tara – That's Tom's wife – and
my sister, they fight a lot.

Fontana: Will Brianna be at the dinner, then?

Emily: I don't know. Probably not. I think they're still a little bit
mad at each other.

Fontana: Those things can happen in that sport of ours, amore mio.

Emily: Thank goodness I don't have to worry about any of that with you
and Tom! I couldn't forgive either of you if you did the same kind of
stuff to each other Bree and Tara did.

Fontana: In a manner of speech, of course.

Emily: No, for real. It's so much heartache... And it's even worse for
mom. If you two did that to her, there's no way I could forgive either
of you.

Fontana: Yeah... But Tom and I...

Emily: You're a team! I'm real happy you have so much respect for my
brother.

Fontana: Sure. He's... a real veteran. But our team will probably just
be a one time thing. One match and it's back to business as usual. You
know, I have a championship to defend and everything that entails...

Emily: Maybe I should call Tom. I'm pretty sure he'd be up to
mentoring you. He does that for a lot of newer faces.

Fontana: Oui, je sais. But, ah... I wouldn't want to impose. Doesn't
he have a kid, now? He'd be too busy I think. Probably best not to
pester the guy.

Emily: I'll call him anyways. Where's the cordless?

[He sighs.]

Fontana: Dans le salon.

Emily: Thank you! I'll be right back.

[Emily Landis - or is it Emily Fontana, now? - gives her husband a
quick kiss, and excitedly saunters to the living room in search of the
telephone.

Left alone, Fontana's true visage reappears, animated by anger and
aggression. His humongous muttonchops frame a snarl.]

Fontana: Maudit _bordel_ de MERDE!

[A geyser of spittle erupts from his volcanic mouth, like the release
of something that had been pent up for too long. From the adjacent
room, Emily's melodic voice can be heard.]

Emily [off camera] : What was that?

Fontana: Nothing. Stubbed my pinky toe on the table leg, that's all.

[A lie. But what's one more lie among so many others?]

Emily [off camera] : I'd kiss your boo-boo all better, but it's
already ringing. H-Hello? Hi Tara! It's me... Is Tommy there?

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
        Caleb Foley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[ The camera fades in and you are in the center of Charlotte, North
Carolina. You are nestled between the rising steel of Uptown Charlotte
and the Bobcats Arena you see a sign that reads "Whisky River". All of
a sudden, you see a familiar Phoenix Valley Wrestling Superstar
standing directly beneath the sign ... and it is none other than "The
Celtic Crippler" Caleb Foley. Caleb is wearing a pair of blue denim
jeans and a black t-shirt with a photo of a red Phoenix, that looks
like it is bleeding and white lettering that reads "Only Home Grown
Superstar". Caleb seems to be talking to a few of the town locals
before he sees the camera and begins to speak ... ]

Caleb Foley: "Many people said I did not have a chance going up
against a legend like Alex Martinez. Many people said I would have had
better luck at winning the lottery, than beating a man of his caliber.
The critics gave me no chance of winning this match, but what do they
know. I guess I proved everyone wrong because since my return, I have
defeated both Dr. X and Alex Martinez. I get this funny feeling that
people still don't take me seriously. But I must of made somewhat of
an impression with the upper management in Phoenix Valley because this
week I am teaming with another legend named Doc Holliday and in our
corner will be Jason Keening. We are going up against the team of Alex
Martinez and Doctor X..."

[Foley shakes a few hands outside of the Whisky River before
continuing  ... ]

Caleb Foley: "So Alex Martinez came out here and basically talked a
big game. "The Last American Badass" came out here talking about how
he is beyond the law ... How I was nothing more than just another
lesson ... How he doesn't care about fines because the people
associated with him, Strickland Sports Network, can cover all his
fines and if he gets suspended he'll just go somewhere else. Still he
considers himself a legend in this sport. How can Alex Martinez be a
TRUE legend if every time he gets suspended he tucks his tail in
between his legs, packs his bags and walks out on the promotion? It
proves Alex is nothing more than a big bully. He throws his weight
around and uses his size to advantage to intimidate people. And if
that doesn't work he then attacks you from behind, like the coward
that he is. Alex has turned into the same type of person who used to
bully him when he was growing up."

"Hey A-Mart, you're pretty smart and you gather correctly. I DO MEAN A
LOT TO PHOENIX VALLEY WRESTLING. My name does carry weight and I am
SOMEONE. I am important because my fans make me so. My fans say that I
am a LEGEND, not just a legend in my own mind like you are."

"You contradict yourself ... First you say I am someone important,
then you say I aint nothing.  If you wanna see a jackass, all you have
to do is look in the mirror. If you think you're going to ambush me
like you did to "The FlyKing" then you're in for a rude awakening.
While Geddings was once a great superstar, the wear and tear on his
body has taken it's toll and he has seen better days."

"True legends don't attack people or continuously break the rules to
gain the upper hand and SSN did do the right thing by bringing you in,
because you need to be taught a lesson. Rules apply to everyone and
that includes YOU. The only people beyond the law are the ones behind
the bars."

"Sometimes those that break the rules need to be taught a lesson. So
Alex, you can come out here complaining about how the only reason I
won was because Jason Keening distracted you and I took full advantage
of the opportunity at hand. And while I might have grabbed the tights
to secure the pin fall, a win is still a win. So let that be a lesson
to you, that what you have done to others will be done unto you."

"You have made it perfectly clear you have no rules, that is fine with
me. Let's throw the rules out the window and see what "The Last
American Badass" is truly made of ... Are you a BADASS ... or that
JACKASS in the mirror ... Time will tell ...."

"Alex are you ready to walk your talk or are you just all talk and no
action ..."

"And when it comes to Alex Martinez, there is such a thing as CAN'T
because Alex Martinez CAN'T beat me, and that is a lesson you will
learn in Charlotte, North Carolina ..."

[Caleb pauses for a brief moment and starts to walk down the street
...]

Caleb Foley: "So let's talk about your tag team partner in this match
... Doctor X. A man who is coming off of a month suspension for his
attack on me, after our match at Shattered Dreams. I told you Doctor
X, that we will meet again and while it might only be a tag team match
that is okay. I will get my hands on you at some point in this match
and when I do, I want you to remember that groin shot you gave me,
because while that might have been painful, all it did was light a
fire under me. You see Doctor X, that swift kick you gave me made me
open my eyes."

"Times have changed ... Twenty seven years ago wrestlers didn't have
songs and pyros when they made their entrance to the ring ...
Wrestlers didn't have to worry about their merchandise sales ...
Wrestlers didn't have to travel on planes across country, they
traveled in cars to local promotions ...  And Doctor X, the only way
one can survive in a business like this by adapting to their
surroundings ..."

"I don't need all the flash, all the pomp, all the smoke and mirrors
and laser light shows, it comes with the territory. That is why
wrestlers are making the big bucks these days. If times did not
change, most wrestlers would be getting paid fifty dollars a match and
getting stuck in the ass with a hat pin or hit over the head with an
umbrella by some little old lady.  I don't have to hide anything,
unlike you who hides his face behind a mask. Why do you hide your
face, are you ashamed of yourself, Doctor X? Or maybe your family is
ashamed of you being a wrestler and they don't want to be made fun of
..."

"Dr. X, you don't deserve to be mentioned in the same paragraph as
those true legends of wrestling. Last I heard some punk little kid
beat you at Shattered Dreams. My hand was raised the victor at Madison
Square Garden and what happened after my name was announced... Yeah
your integrity really showed by kicking me in the balls while I was
coming out of the corner ...I guess that is what you consider being a
MAN ..."

"It is true that I have only been wrestling for two years, and it is
true I had to take some time off when my father passed away ... But
that doesn't make me any less of a MAN ... When your father died most
women were stay at home moms and many fathers had to work two jobs to
put food on their tables. It is unfortunate if you didn't have a good
relationship with your father as I did with mine. If I was your twenty
two year old son and you took me out to the woodshed I would slap you
along side the head with a shovel and stick a pitch fork up your ass.
Maybe your dad beat you, but my dad did not have to stoop to the level
of brutalizing me to get his point across ... And if that is the way
you treat your kids, when you are old and unable to take care of
yourself, they will be shipping you off to a nursing home where you
will reap what you have sewn ..."

[Caleb stops walking and then looks up and he is now standing in front
of the Bobcats Arena. ]

Caleb Foley: "So Martinez and Dr. X, you can say that I am a punk ...
tell me I don't deserve to be in the same ring as you two ... or that
I am not a real wrestler ... perhaps you think I should be shining
your wrestling boots. I have been called worse, and I am sure people
have said things behind my back ... But you see none of that matters,
because once that bell rings, anything can happen and anyone can beat
anyone else ... It doesn't matter how many years you have been
wrestling or how many titles you have won ... All that matters is that
you give it your all and leave it all out there inside of the ring
..."

[Caleb winks at the camera as it slowly fades to black as he is seen
walking up to the ticket booth of the Bobcats Arena ... ]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
          PAIN
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[SCENE: A conference room, presumably somewhere at some hotel where
PVW's athletes are staying before and/or after a show.

The room is pretty large, with speckled medium-grey walls and dark
blue carpeting. Generic artwork and a world map line the walls.  One
side of the room features a large whiteboard, while the other side of
the room is essentially a large window looking out onto a cityscape.
A big round table is in the middle of the room; this table is adorned
with telephones, laptops, files, and everything else you'd want for
a power meeting.  Seated around the table is the entire entourage that
surrounds the Physicians Advocating Innovative Neoprocedures, which is
why such a large boardroom was needed.

On opposite sides of the table are Dr. Mal Practice MD and Dr. Ohno
Ow, the tag team in question.  Mal is, as always, sporting his
pristine white labcoat, stethoscope, and headmirror; today he's
wearing a light baby-blue polo shirt and near-white khaki slacks
underneath the open labcoat.  OOOOOHNOOOO sits in a chair on one side
of the boardroom table with his feet propped up.  He sports a pair of
expensive-looking sunglasses and is dressed in a black leather, T-
buttoned jacket, and black pants. To his left is Meili, the pretty
young Chinese girl wearing a camouflage baby-T that she fills out
quite nicely, her hair in an odd spikey look that is possessed only by
anime-characters and those who use WAAAAAAY too much mousse.
Currently, she sits hypnotized by the perpetual motion balls on the
desk.  At Ohno's right, the beautiful Violet, wearing an orchid blouse
and a black skirt, sits with her arms crossed, looking as though she
REALLY doesn't want to be here now.  Lastly, their illustrious manager
Todd "The Rod" Johnstone sits between Meili and Mal.  The rotund
ringleader is rocking a tooth-decay brown jacket, first-degree-burn
orange shirt, algal-overgrowth green pants and his ever present Brown
Belt from Sears. Oh, and he's stuffing his face with pizza bagels with
a giant, 64 ounce Coke.

Mal stands up and calls the meeting to order.  Practice, whose dark
brown flattop hairstyle has broad bands of grey on the sides, smiles
one of his more geniune smiles (it only looks vaguely phony!),
stretching his pencil-thin mustache out wide.]

DMP: Alright, this meeting is called to order.  Today on the agenda,
we're going to discuss the upcoming procedure on Jack Baldwin.
Obviously, the man is in dire need of brain surgery; in fact the type
of surgery he needs is so invasive that it hasn't even been invented
yet.  I'm thinking it'll involve some searing of unused neural
paths, we'll stuff some of that gel in there that they put in sneaker
boxes to keep the leather pliant, and we should probably involve high
voltage if at all possible.  Ohno, as the surgeon in charge of the
procedure, please tell us what you've come up with.

Ohno: [standing up and adjusting his sunglasses] FIRST, we need se-
date, sub-ject, so need clo-ro-form.  Work wonder on OUTLAW.  If NOT,
may have had dis-lo-cat-ed toungue FLY OFF into BRAIN.  Very, se-vere
case.... could not SPEAK in-te-li... in-te-li-big-b-b-b.... com-pre-
hen-si-bl-ble-ble... coherent English.

DMP: If only those short-sighted fools on the security team hadn't
pulled him away from us, we could have also fixed that slight limp he
has with a few precision fractures... ah, well, such is life.  We'd
probably have had to accept a Medicare payment for that anyway; hardly
worth the trouble.  Please continue.

Ohno:  Once on op-e-ra-ting table, we NEED open cra-ni-um... we DO
with air com-pres-sor... put TUBES in EARS.  Sud-den CHANGE pres-sure
BLOW TOP.

Meili:  OOOH!  Fire-worksa!

DMP: The only concern there is that Baldwin's skull is so thick that
normal air compression may not be enough.  We need an inexhaustible
source of hot air in order to power the compressor.  So we'll need to
get Baldwin talking first.

TJ: Obviously we could get that cervical cancer stand in Rob Cole to
start lamenting about whether he's the boogey man or a piss-poor
husband/father if you want to skimp on the cash and go singles
wrestler. Then there's the angry roid jockey stereotypes,
the Rage retards. They'd need their favorite spit roast boy-toy,
"Swinging" Dean Hayes to hold onto while they cry about blowing more
than a male prostitute in the restrooms at the Republican National
Convention. Hell, even Detson could unlock his lips with that cheap
plastic Oscar replica he is always gibbering on about to help
you two knock that shining example of the plight of retards, Baldwin,
out for weeks... of course he may never wake up but I doubt either of
you care... I know I don't.

Ohno:  Then, once HAVE skull open... door BURST open, and BLACK NINJAS
ATTACK!

[Ohno jumps over to the open area near the window, and assumes a ready
martial arts stance.  Meili applauds excitedly, Violet facepalms, Todd
brushes off stray pizza bagels off his shirt, and Mal raises an
eyebrow.]

Ohno:  So, I throw Baldwin BRAIN at first one, but it ve-ry small, so
just BLIND him when get in HIS eyes.  Then kick him into the next
one...

DMP: Ohno!  This is a delicate neural excavation, not a ninja attack!
You can play kung-fu with the ninjas after Jack Baldwin is cured and
recuperating from his brain surgery in the ICU for the next five
months.

Ohno: [scratches head] How make good SCENE without ninja ATTACK?

Meili: [raises hand] Oooh!  Oooh!  Zhidao! ["I know"] [whispers
something to Ohno]

Ohno:  Oh!  Great idea!

VY:  Did he just listen to Meili and say "good idea"?

TJ: The only way that is a good idea is if she attacks their blades
with her face - repeatedly. Maybe step in front of an on coming train,
lose a few limbs and be out of my misery while Ow wrestles Baldwin, I
find it unlikely at best.

Ohno: [continues] So, we BEGIN searing  BRAIN, and adding... stuff Mal
SAY earlier... when one of a-ssis-tant grab Violet, RIP mask OFF and
say, "OHNO!  You KILL my mas-ter!"

VY:  Hey!  Wait a minute!  I didn't agree to be a hostage in this
scene... er, I mean...

Ohno:  But I THROW top Baldwin SKULL like fris-bee, and...

[As this goes on, Mal wheels in a cart from offscreen.  The cart has
an old-style overhead projector on it.]

DMP: Now, now, Ohno.  I realize that it's easy to be distracted while
discussing such boring subject matter as Jack Baldwin.  That's why
I've brought along some visual aids to help us envision how the brain
surgery should go.  Or, well, the space-where-a-brain-should-be
surgery anyway.

VY:  Yeah, let's get back to discussing surgery... er, I mean the
movie... DAMNIT! ...I have a headache...

[Mal turns on the overhead projector, and a schematic of the human
brain is beamed onto the whiteboard.]

TJ: And here I thought Al Davis was the only one senile and dementia-
stricken enough to believe that the overhead projector was cutting
edge technology.

DMP: As you can see, the normal human brain is a complex organ with
multiple layers of intricate structures, each of which serve a unique
and integral purpose to making us what we are.  Needless to say, Jack
Baldwin is missing most of this crap and there's simply no room in
that cinder-block shaped skull to put any of it in.  I'm thinking we
just rip the circuitry out of an old Teddy Ruxpin doll and stuff that
up in there.  The personality improvement alone would win us two or
three Nobel Prizes.  Especially if this year's winners are any
indication.

Mal's Secretary: You're just jealous because they didn't elect you to
go to every sporting event you can reach.

[Violet and Mal both spin suddenly, as if Mal's secretary had just
appeared in the chair between them out of thin air.]

VY: What?  How did you...

Mal's secretary: The description at the beginning said the _entire_
entourage.  Aren't I invited?  Or am I being convieniently forgotten,
just like when it comes time for the *ahem* Christmas bonus.

DMP: What description?  And what Christmas bonus?

Mal's secretary: I rest my case.

Ohno:  WOW!  A-ma-zing STEALTH.  And that FACE!  YOU be part of NINJA
zom-bie horde that attack AFTER BRAIN fris-bee THROW.  Only need lit-
tle make-up.

VY: Wait, the ninjas are zombies now?  What?

Ohno:  Yes, and ra-di-o-ac-tive.

VY: [jaw drops]

[Mal is scribbling on the whiteboard now, marking off different
partitions of the brain.]

DMP: There will be no zombies or ninjas, or basal ganglia or corpus
callosum.  Radiation therapy is a tremendous idea, though, we'll put
some uranium here under the incision we'll make in the cingulate gyrus
of the limbic cortex.

VY:  The what now?

Meili:  Xiang tounao dongxi, "zombie" xihuan chi. [I think it's the
part of the brain the zombies like to eat]

TJ: I don't know why this surprises you; there are always twenty
thousand zombies at every PVW show we attend. If zombies feed on
brains then every last one of them is malnourished to the point of
starvation considering the average IQ of the non-zombie fans and
wrestlers. I still say Landi are just dumber, more prolific zombies.

DMP:  The cingulate gyrus of the lymbic cortex, it's right next to the
chimerical figment center.  I explain these terms quite clearly in my
book.  In fact, I've personally redefined many previously-inadequate
medical terms.  The medical community has even named my new
terminology after me!  But you haven't been studying your Malapropisms
like I suggested, have you?

Ohno:  Then I throw Baldwin through win-dow, but ra-di-a-tion TURN
Baldwin in-to God-zil-la, he go smash city of TO-KY-O... then Power
Rangers come, but they BEAT UP by paper air plane mon-ster, and I kill
Baldwin-zilla with my pin-ky fin-ger.  But then, ra-di-a-tion ALSO
affect bodies of, people I threw from WIN-Dow earlier in movie, and
they, MERGE with Baldwin to create,
JackBaldwinBillGatesMichaelJordanGodzilla!  Then Out-law says


VY: [clutching her head and screaming at the top of her lungs]  THIS
IS A MATCH!  DO YOU HEAR ME!?  A MATCH!  M-A-T-C-H!  A MATCH!  AS IN
_WRESTLING_!

[The others all stop dead in their tracks and look at Violet as if
she's gone completely mad.]

DMP: Violet?  Do you need me to prescribe you some Prozac?  I think
perhaps you need some rest... and counseling.

[All of the ancillary characters agree with this.]

Bubba Hayes: Hells yeah!

TJ: Bubba, you giant ball of lard and peep show drippings, why are you
*TV EDIT* here?

BH: Uh, I haven't gotten any TV time in a while, and the action
brackets said _all_the ancillary characters...

TJ: Wrong damned people, you retard/hermaphroditic love child of
RuPual and Tiny Tim! Shut your gravy dripping drool box and move your
lumbering flab stack out that door before you say something so dumb
you fall down to an intellectual purgatory populated by Melli and
Vonnie Whittershins!

DMP: Bubba!  You're not allowed to break the fourth wall!  There's no
telling what might happen!

Big Mean Tough Guy: yea u tel himm

VY: *sigh* We need more specific action brackets... whatever those
are.

Meili: What's the 4th wall?

VY:  I thought you couldn't speak English?!

Meili: Oops!

DMP: Much like the new health care bill, it's an invention of the
weasels in Washington who want to drive us all ins... craz... who want
our brains to bleed a lot.

Ohno:  SomeONE re-su-rect Uwe Boil!?

[Ohno goes offscreen to find his chainsaw.]

VY: [mumbling to herself while banging her forehead on the table] I've
finally figured it out... I died back at the boat fire, and I was a
very bad girl, and didn't go to heaven.

TJ: Well, if you're already in Hell and already dead then you won't
mind if I just stick my *TV EDIT* in your *TV EDIT* and invite a few
amputees to balance on your *TV EDIT* with a donkey and...

VY: TOUCH ME AND I WILL STAB YOU IN THE EYESOCKET WITH A BANDSAW!

DMP: ORDER!  We're here to discuss the surgical options for Jack
Baldwin; we're not operating on Todd's cataracts until January.
Though I guess I must have told you the procedure for that one,
Violet.

TJ: The odds of any of you sticking anything in any of my possible
orifices is about as likely as a those cud chewing, *TV EDIT* lapping
audience members discovering that what they did with their uncle in
the toolshed is not proper Thanksgiving behavior.

DMP: AS I WAS SAYING, *ahem*, ah, hell, I totally lost my place.
We'll have to start this meeting all over, from the top.

VY: [half-muttering, half-chanting]  This is the part where I wake up
from the nightmare.  This is the part where I wake up from the
nightmare.

[Mal stands back up and starts speaking again, exactly the same as he
did at the start of the meeting.]

DMP: Alright, this meeting is called to order.  Today on the agenda,
we're going to discuss the upcoming procedure on Jack Baldwin.
Obviously, the man is in dire need of brain surgery; in fact the type
of surgery he needs is so invasive that it hasn't even been invented
yet.  I'm thinking it'll involve some searing of unused neural
paths, we'll stuff some of that gel in there that they put in sneaker
boxes to keep the leather pliant, and we should probably involve high
voltage if at all possible.  Ohno, as the surgeon in charge of the
procedure, please tell us what you've come up with.

VY: [half-muttering, half-chanting]  This is the part where I wake up
from the nightmare.  This is the part where I wake up from the
nightmare.

Ohno: [standing up and adjusting his sunglasses] FIRST, we need se-
date, sub-ject, so need clo-ro-form.  Work wonder on OUTLAW.  If NOT,
may have had dis-lo-cat-ed toungue FLY OFF into BRAIN.  Very, se-vere
case.... could not SPEAK in-te-li... in-te-li-big-b-b-b.... com-pre-
hen-si-bl-ble-ble... coherent English.

VY: [half-muttering, half-chanting]  This is the part where... I wake
up... from the nightmare.  This is... part where... I wake up...

DMP: If only those short-sighted fools on the security team hadn't
pulled him away from us, we could have also fixed that slight limp he
has with a few precision fractures... ah, well, such is life.  We'd
probably have had to accept a Medicare payment for that anyway; hardly
worth the trouble.  Please continue.

[Screen blurs and cuts in to Violet's sleeping face.  She tosses a bit
and mumbles... then wakes up.]

VY:  This is the part where I wake up... This the part where I wake
up... [eyes open] Oh... thank God it was just a terrible, HORRIBLE
dream.

DMP: Violet!  You fell asleep during the best part.  That's it, we'll
have to start over from the beginning AGAIN.

VY: [blood curdling scream] NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

DMP:  ...Ohno... get the Cloroform.

Ohno: Third, TIME, this week!

[And we cut.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
          Tommy Ryder
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

["The Phenom" Tommy Ryder is standing on a balcony overlooking the
ocean.]

TR: So the reverend Julian Caine and Chase Williams have decided that
I'm the first objective to take out since Zero Tolerance has fail and
the good reverend has embarked on his own crusade to bring justice to
PVW... Is that suppose to scare me?  Am I suppose to be worried?  This
is what I've wanted!

Caine, I don't know how deluded you are, but bringing in the muscle
and  jumping a guy backstage before a match isn't exactly playing by
the rules.  And I suppose that you received divine information that
you should have your cave man use brass knuckles in the match too.

Maybe I have you all wrong.  Maybe your crusade is to prove that Zero
Tolerance doesn't stop anything.  Maybe you're looking to get away
with anything and everything you can.

[A smile comes over Tommy's face.]

Then maybe God did have our paths cross for a reason.  Seeing as I'm
on a new crusade of my own.  I'm tired of people around here breaking
the rules and benefiting from it.  I'm tired of seeing people like you
telling everyone about everything that's wrong and that they are
judged unfairly and that they are going to set things straight.

I won't argue with you.  Zero Tolerance doesn't work because you and
you're gorilla still have jobs here.  How about this... I'm going to
be your Zero Tolerance.  I will no longer tolerate what you are doing
and I will put an end to it.

Chase, I didn't forget you.  How could I?  I've had cars smaller than
you.  Don't worry.  I understand and forgive you for jumping me before
the match last week.  I am quite the intimidating figure standing 5'9"
and coming in at just under 200.  How can you not find some one that's
almost a foot shorter than you and a hundred pounds lighter threating.
Since that's the case you can imagine how I feel every time I pass an
elementary school.

Let's look at it from another angle.  I'm tired of the rule breakers
and want to prove that I can beat them while still following the
rules. I have something to prove to the fans and I'm hungry to do it.
You on the other hand are pushing some one else's agenda.  A former
champion. What if this young kid, that has a purpose like that, beats
you?  Scary thought isn't it?  You're starting off on some one else's
crusade and fail on the first mission.

If I were you, maybe I would be worried.  Maybe I'd jump him before on
the way to the ring too.  What if that kid beats you?  But wait, I'm
not you.  I'm not the guy who takes a short cut.  I'm the guy that
wants to work for it.  I'm the guy that wants to prove it can be done.
I'm not the guy taking the short cut to try and improve my chances.  I
am the guy that kept it together enough to get the pin on your team
and win it for mine.  Chase, just how will it feel if this kid beats
you?

Don't worry Chase, you don't need to answer that yet.  Our match isn't
until Heatwave.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
      The Mercenary
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(Scene opens. The Mercenary is seated at a table outside the
Greensboro arena, the PVW banner proudly hanging from the outside of
the building behind him. A line of autograph and photo seekers is off
to the left, held back by arena security. It's still a few minutes
before the official autograph session begins, so the Merc takes
the time to address the camera that is there to record the event)

Merc: Here we are, in Greensboro (a slight hometown pop from the
people in the crowd who can hear what's going on), another night of
exciting PVW action just around the corner. And on this card, I meet
someone by the name of Ronan Benedict. Now, admittedly, I don't know
too much about the guy, so I did a little recon on him, and saw that
he's had some pretty tough matches here in PVW, and that amongst them
was some kind of war with Chad Grimmsom, who I am more than just a
little familiar with. Yeah, I know this hasn't come up before, but
yes, in another fed, Chad and his brother, along with myself, Alex
Martinez and another who shall remain nameless, formed one of the most
dominant forces that federation had ever seen. As a group, we held all
kinds of titles and ran roughshod over the entire organization. Hell,
the world title over there is still being held by the unnamed member.
That in itself should tell you just how dominating we were and what an
impressive group we were.   Now, Ronan, you have personal experience
and know very well just how tough Chad is. And as for Martinez...
well, everyone in this industry knows his history and how much of an
ornery SOB he can be. But you know what? No matter how tough those
guys were and still are, it was me who was considered to be the
enforcer of the group. That's right...me. So, that should give you a
clue as to what I am capable of.   You thought you had it a rough go
of it before with Grimmsom, but just imagine what's in store for you,
when you've got to get in the ring with me. No disrespect to Chad,
he's as tough as they come. But, he's not me. And you're going to find
that out the hard way.

(Fade to snow)

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
        Marcus Manson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene is dark. A bright square hanging in mid-air lights the
tall, muscular form of PVW's Misery Machine, Marcus Manson. His dark
hair is pulled back into the usual tight ponytail, running just below
his shoulders. He stands before an LCD screen, arms crossed, staring
at a freeze-frame image of the PVW Heavyweight Champion.]

"Rob Cole.

The Outcast...

The Monster Under the Bed...

But most importantly, The World Heavyweight Champion."

[Manson 'hmphs']

"But not the toughest man in Phoenix Valley Wrestling. That title
belongs to me."

[Manson turns his head towards the camera, but his eyes don't leave
the screen before him.]

"You know Cole, with the way you've treated the title recently, and
some of the comments you've made, I can't help but be reminded of
another Rob - Rob Magnum.  I went back and watched the tapes, Cole...
Some of the comments you directed towards Cruise after Shattered
Dreams sound an awful lot like things Magnum had started talking about
before I scared him off. He talked about being ashamed. Ashamed of
things he'd done, and things he said. After Shattered Dreams, you
started singing the same damn song he did. You're ashamed Rob? You
hate yourself for some of the things you've done?"

[Manson pauses for a moment, and then shakes his head.]

"You disgust me."

[Manson rests his hands on his hips, eyes still locked on the
display.]

"Let's not forget how you got yourself to where you are. The catalyst
to all of this was nearly a year ago. You and I went blow for blow in
a battle royal, and I had you so worried about elimination that you
had to hide under the ring until the match was over. You won that
battle royal, which put you back in the tournament. A tournament
you somehow managed to win, along with the title."

[Manson fully turns to look into the camera now, his right side lit
from the LCD, shadows crawling across the left side of his body.]

"You call yourself a champion? I call you a coward."

[Manson shakes his head.]

"You talked about the terrible people you used to face. How you became
a 'cartoonish fiend'. Cole, there is nothing cartoonish about me. I've
put people out of this business. I have ended men's careers. I've
broken people's necks, and I will not hesitate to do the same to you.
I've done it all to prove that I am the best in this business, and I
have no remorse. If you're not ready to do the same come Heatwave,
don't waste my time."

[Manson turns back to look at the image of Cole briefly, chuckling to
himself before addressing the camera again.]

"You think Justin Cruise gave you a fight at Shattered Dreams? You
think that was rough?

Do you think that Chase Williams took you to the limit? Are you proud
of the fact that a referee basically _HANDED_ you the World
Heavyweight Championship because you caused Williams to lose most of
his blood?"

[Manson shakes his head again, running a hand over the top of his
head.]

"I'm not Justin Cruise. I'm not Chase Williams. I am the Misery
Machine. I will not submit, and I will not stop my assault until _MY_
title is where it belongs, around my waist. Cut me open, Cole, and the
only thing that will stop me from tearing you apart will be if I _DIE_
in the center of that ring from blood loss."

[Manson moves towards the screen and turns it off, plunging the room
into darkness before flicking a switch and turning on the overhead
lights.]

"Bring everything you have, Cole. I don't want an easy win. I want
there to be no doubt -- no question -- that on December 11th 2009, I
proved that I am everything I've said I am. I am the Misery Machine. I
am the Toughest Son of A Bitch in Phoenix Valley Wrestling. I am the I
will do whatever I need to do to be _THE_ Champion.  Come Heatwave,
what are you going to do Cole? You can't hide from me this time.
There aren't 8 or 9 other guys to draw my attention away from you.
It's one on one, for the biggest prize in this sport. I really hope
that you're genuine and that you aren't attached to that belt, Cole.
Because Heatwave is going to be a nightmare when you step into the
ring with me, and you won't be leaving with it. Mark your calendars,
because on December 11th, I will finally take what is rightfully mine.
I will strip the PVW Championship from the waist of the undeserving,
and the Misery Machine will stand tall. And all it's going to take, is
one Heart Punch."

[Fade.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Gibson Hayes
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Standard PVW logo covered tarp wit Gibson Hayes standing in front of
the tarp dressed in a green sweater with khaki pants. The PVW American
Heavyweight Championship is strapped around his waist.]

GH: Looks like I get a little holiday vacation as PVW elects to forge
on without their very best on either card. This is actually well and
good, considering. Every moment in that ring takes a toll and getting
a bit of rest and relaxation is good for Gibson and what is good for
Gibson is good for America.

[Gibson paces left and right for a bit before turning back towards the
camera.]

GH: America owes a debt to Gibson Hayes, her knight in polished armor.
I have protected her for almost two years and held onto a shiny gold
belt for almost that long in one form or another. This here buckle?
One year of blissful Gibby protection. America, that saucy minx, has
been under my wing, sheltered from the storm of ingrates and idiots
that would sully her good name.

[A nod.]

GH: But it is never enough, is it? The more I give the less I have
left for the long view. I have a world that needs Gibson Hayes.
America has been a jealous mistress, demanding Gibson Hayes keep his
eyes averted from the disaster that the globe has found itself in as
America flaunts her good fortune in having a man like Gibson Hayes to
fend off the retarded, the aged, the unstable and the vile shadowy
foreign puppet masters that wish only to cause harm to this good
nation and planet. No, America shall not be tossed aside but must
acknowledge that her rocky crevices and shapely mounds are not the end
all, be all for Gibson Hayes.

[Gibson is staring directly into the camera, his brown eyes are
focused on the dead center of the lens.]

GH: No one has challenged Gibson Hayes alone and emerged victorious.
Truly, it takes a village to combat Gibson "Righteous Defender of All
that is Good and Right in the World" Hayes and, even with that many
people, you cannot vanquish Gibson but merely inconvience him. Yet,
there is a whole grand world out there beyond my lovely America's
shores. This world cries out in anguish. This world is in desperate
need of someone like Gibson Hayes to rescue it from the mediocrity
that it has been wallowing in since pre-Gibsonian PVW. The PVW World
Title has never been relevant, even when it was just another little
regional belt in my America. No, without Gibson Hayes that belt is
nothing but a meaningless piece of dead cow flesh and some polished
rock. The belt does not make the man - the man makes the belt. Sans
Gibson Hayes, PVW is nothing; America is nothing. I, Gibson Hayes, am
the foundation of all that holds meaning for both my country and this
promotion.

[Folks, he actually believes this.]

GH: But you do not listen, do you PVW? You let your other
championships lie fallow. You let your other championships waste away.
You let your other championships sit on corpulant cretins who do not
deserve to be in the same hemisphere as Gibson Hayes, let alone share
the status of champion with a man of like Gibson Hayes. I am above
and beyond all others in PVW. No one has my legacy in this company.
When I came here Phoenix Valley was clawing its way out of Arizona.
PVW had placed its hopes on a batch of losers. The Tucson Kid? Awful.
"Sugar" Shane Whogivesaflying[TV EDIT]? He's probably out turning
tricks with aged senators in DC. The Dragon Kid? I buried that
son of a whore. Instead of complaining I put my best suit on and hit
the pavement; pounded the flesh and networked. I campaigned and I got
mine. As a result, I dragged this company up with me. America is
better for my work and PVW has extracted more than a pound of flesh
from America's only worthwhile person, me, Gibson Hayes. And
what was my reward?

[Gibby smirks.]

GH: My reward is knowing that it is never enough. America, you are
still plagued with parasites, old and new, that don't deserve to be
cradled in your arms. I have been lax in my duties; lax in my
protection. While the other champions play house or
try to decide if they're a sinner or a saint I am doing something.

[The camera zooms out and Gibson reaches into his right front pocket
to pull out a red marker. Hayes draws a red line on the floor and then
unstraps his belt, placing it on the ground.]

GH: I'm drawing my line; staking my claim. You want this belt? Do you
want this belt? Detson? Craven? Hudson? Werner? von Dorkerhardt? Merc?
Anyone? If you got the guts I have a fist to knock your god damned
teeth out. You aren't taking this belt from me. I'll let you try but
you'll end up like Doc Holliday or Tom Landis - with your hands full
of nothing but your own blood and failure. 2010 - Gibson Hayes takes
his campaign farther down the hardline. Someone has to rescue this
company *opens his arms* this nation *looks around* this world from
the [TV EDIT] you're being fed. PVW won't change by itself. All anyone
has done is go down old familiar, failed routes. We have the UEW [TV
EDIT] stains playing with one another again. You have the WWO idiots
forgetting that company is dead. This isn't any of those places!
There are other places with even dumber names that would have you
choke on how much of their own stupid, shit laden hype they spew
despite the fact they are either long dead with a few folks that can't
let go or as full of vim as a dinosaur after that meteor took them
out.

[Gibson is breathing heavily, he's kind of excited.]

GH: America does not need this crap. It's time for someone to draw a
line and break the backs of every last one of those responsible for
this situation. Gibson Hayes will save you. Gibson Hayes will save
everyone. Gibson Hayes will save America. Gibson Hayes will save the
world.

[The end of this segment... really!]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
  Hersher von Donkerhardt
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(Scene: A small gym with several types of exercise equipment, large
mirrors on the walls and an impressive array of barbells and weights
of varying size. This facility is empty,save for one man in the
corner, Herscher von Donkerhardt.  Clad in grey cotton exercise shorts
and white athletic shoes, Herscher lays on his back as he lifts a
considerable amount of weight from his chest upwards with both of his
hands. Herscher does this a few more times before putting the weighted
object back on its rest. The camera zooms in as Herscher sits up.
Herscher, red faced and covered in sweat, tries to catch his breath,
before focusing his attention on the cameraman.)

HvD: You are late, as was your predecessor! Is there anyone in this
promotion, or even this country who believes in being punctual!?

Camera man: I'm sorry the traffic was--

HvD: DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK!?!  Just focus the camera and
be silent!  Be assured that you really don't want more trouble with
me!


(Herscher glares at the camera man with his icy blue eyes. The camera
man is now startled and slightly nervous but manages to focus on a
close up of Herscher's face.)

HvD: I suppose you wish to hear my reaction to my match with Will
Geddings. Perhaps you would like to hear me whine over the result,
call it a travesty, or maybe make an excuse for the loss? I shall not,
I shall simply say Geddings pinned me to win the contest fairly, and
earned the right to hold his arm up to signify his win.

(Herscher stands up and faces the mirror closest to him. He begins to
do some arm stretches and bends before stopping to speak.)

HvD: Geddings got a win over me, this is true. It's in the record
books for all to see. However a win is not always a victory. Tell me
Geddings, did your plan for victory involve me beating you all over
that ring during the match? Is victory for you having another man stop
just short of putting his boot through your chest? Do the victorious
have to be helped up to their feet after the match, after being
stretched for all their worth?

(Herscher begins to pace around, looking towards the floor gesturing
wildly with his hands, as his breathing become more heavy.)

HvD: Was is a victory, when out of all the wrestling moves in your
arsenal, you had to revert to coughing blood in your opponents face?
Is that a real victory for a wrestler? Is that a victory you want for
yourself? Is it a victory you would have accepted, in your prime?


(Herscher stops pacing and faces the camera, His face is now blood
red, offset by the whites of his eyes.  He is clearly agitated and
sees a barbell laying on the floor. He picks it up. His eyes are
blinking rapidly and is clearly agitated. He motions to throw the
barbell at the mirror.)

HvD: IK ZAL DODEN DIE ZOON VAN EE TEEF!!!(Herscher is ready to throw
the barbell but stops himself.)  NEE!! Nee deze keer niet! (Herscher
takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.) There is no point in taking
my frustration out on this place! Not, when I can take it out on,
Geddings himself.

(Herscher puts down the barbell and takes another deep breath, his
look of rage is replaced with a wry smirk.)

HvD: Someone in this promotion saw fit to make another match involving
me and you Geddings. Someone decided the beating you were given wasn't
quite enough! It is clear the powers that be in this company, share my
sentiments that your best days are behind you. They also believe  you
to be a poor caricature of the great wrestler you once were.

(Herscher sits back down at the weight station he was originally at.)

  HvD: You disgrace yourself and your legacy by continuing to step in
that ring and carrying on the charade that you are still a force to be
reckoned with ,that you still have relevance in our sport. I say the
time for the charade is over. Apparently, so does the management, as
they have seen fit to see you be destroyed at the hands of not one but
four other men!

(Herscher lets out a small chuckle.)


HvD: The odds are stacked against you Geddings. I'm sure you'll put a
brave face on and  try to put up a valiant fight, but it will be for
nothing. Yet of all the people you will face in that ring, don't even
bother to worry about the others. You won't need to as you will be too
busy facing just, me. I  care less about this match and the other
people I face in it, than I do with getting back in the ring with you.
You did not achieve  victory over me, you just sowed the seeds of
revenge. The other men in that ring can do whatever they feel to one
another, as long as they leave you to me. Anyone who interferes will
share your fate. Whether or not I come out of that match with a win or
a loss, is irrelevant.  I will have my "Victory" by finishing what I
started with you. That is all I have to say. Go now so that I may
finish my exercises.

(Herscher lays back down at his weight station and prepares to do more
reps. The camera fades out.)

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
      Chris Hopper
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene fades up and we see "Too Cool" Chris Hopper standing by a
lamp post in a park. He is talking on his cell phone and seems to not
even notice that the camera is filming his segment already. Hopper,
standing there in blue jeans and a new Hopper T-shirt and leather
jacket keeps yapping.]

Hopper:  Seriously, get out here and check it out. Heatwave is going
to be off the hook because I plan on tearing Larry Gionet a new
asshole.

[Chris chuckles a bit.]

Hopper:  Yes, I realize that he might actually like it. Listen, I
don't have a ton of time to sit here and crack jokes about
Gionet....yeah, the crew is setting up now and I have to cut this
promo and then run across town to pick up my check for doing that
stupid commercial awhile back for UNICEF.

[Chris rolls his eyes.]

Hopper:  For the last time, yes I am cashing the check. They wanted
me to come out and do a commercial to help the little hungry bastards
over there and i did. I also deserve to get compensated for that time.

[Hopper is starting to get upset with the caller.]

Hopper:  No, nobody else asked to get paid for doing it.  Why the
hell would I care about some stupid kid that probably doesn't need to
live anyway?  It was four hours of my time and I earned every cent of
it. You will learn eventually that influence is power and that power
leads to a payday and more influence and power. It's a circle that
takes time to get into...but once you are there it is perfect!

[Chris nods.]

Hopper:  Alright buddy, I'll see you there.  Bye.

[Chris flips the cell phone closed and sticks it in his right front
pocket of his blue jeans. Hopper doesn't miss a beat and immediately
addresses the camera crew.]

Hopper:  Alright!  I see the red light, so I'm just going to start
talking and let you worry about editing. This better look good when
its finished, too.

[Hopper cracks his neck to the side and then shakes it out before
starting to talk.]

Hopper:  I'm seriously trying to figure out why on Earth you couldn't
just let it go. This was over, in my opinion. This was a one-time
need for justice and once exacted, I was done with you.

But you couldn't live with that, could you Larry?

[Chris just slowly shakes his head for a moment before continuing.]

Hopper:  I can just imagine the bitch fit you threw at Dex after
Shattered Dreams.

[Chris stomps his feet and does his best "spoiled little girl" act,
complete with annoying, high-pitched, whiney voice.]

Hopper:  WAHHHHH!!!!  Chris Hopper made me look bad at the
pay-per-view!!!  Why did he do that when I've never done anything to
him?!?! He's such a bad man!  WAHHHH!!!

[Hopper breaks into a small bit of laughter before continuing in his
normal voice.]

Hopper:  That is just your way, I guess. Where I come from, that
makes you a pansy-ass. Larry I have known you for years, you have
worked for me when I ran promotions and I have watched you perform in
other organizations. However the snow job that you have going here is
far and away your best job yet.

I mean really....convincing the PVW fans and executives that you are
actually a likeable, competitive and tough guy?

Damn, you are brilliant for pulling this off!

[Chris stares off for a second, contemplating the brilliance that is
Larry Gionet's PVW career and then snaps back to continue.]

Hopper:  You have never really been much more than a glorified
mid-carder your entire career. You are the guy others beat on their
way to creating their mark in a federation. It happened in ACW really
early, I remember...to a rookie that had next to no experience. In
SPW, you managed to somehow be crowned World Champion....but we all
know what that was about.

You were nothing more than a belt pillow.

That's right, I said it....you were a belt pillow. You were that guy
not good enough to get a long reign with the belt, but had been
around long enough that you could transition the title to the next
REAL champion the league had to offer. In fact SPW thought you did so
well with your transitional reign the first time...they did it to you
again!

[Chris chuckles about it before continuing again.]

Hopper:  Yes, you can claim to be a former, two-time SPW World
Heavyweight Champion...but how proud are you of those reigns, Larry?

How proud could you be really?

The best moments of your career truly being simply the need for a
league to move the belt from one wrestler to another. No successful
pay-per-view defenses. No drawing power. No programs that made people
turn their heads. In the end, they showed you exactly what you were
worth to them....NOTHING.

[Hopper cracks a grin as he keeps rolling.]

Hopper:  They sent you away. World Champion to locker room joke in
seconds. You went from World Champ in SPW to getting punked by a
young rookie in ACW in record time...then came other failures like
your stints in NEWF.

The only time you had a worthwhile opponent was when you finally
acted like the jerk you truly are and beat up my best student. Why?
Because he is more talented than you ever will be. Because he is
better looking than you? Or is it because he is better with the
ladies?

Eh...who am I kidding with that question?

[Another chuckle.]

Hopper:  You have somehow decided to turn a vicious beating into a
way of becoming loved for being a tough guy. Yet, you are
consistently getting punked out by guys smaller than you. Pietka was
smaller than you in SPW and he made you look like a rag doll with how
he whipped you. Billy McGraw was the same size as you with less
wrestling pedigree in singles competition...and he kicked your ass in
NEWF so bad you cried in a hospital bed for two weeks! Just a few
weeks ago at Shattered Dreams, Marcus Manson made you look like a
little girl with a beating that dropped you yet another peg on the
totem pole.

Not exactly a tough guy reputation, huh Larry?

And now you want to take on a guy that used one simple move to bust
your nose wide open?

Well that is just stupid. Did I seriously make a retard out of you
with that?

[Hopper takes a breath, almost a sigh.]

Hopper:  It's your choice and your funeral. I'm going to beat you
down and get my first victory. When the time comes, I will be a
champion in PVW many times over and you....

You'll be nothing but a joke...but you're used to that aren't you?

[That sly smile returns to Chris' face.]

Hopper:  I'll make sure it happens because I'm the often-duplicated,
never-replicated, constantly-berated, always-underrated King of
wrestling that can't be contained, controlled or denied!

You wanted this match and at Heatwave, you won't just get beat and
knocked down another peg in the title ranks...

I'm going to knock you the hell out!

See you soon.

[Fade to black.]