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##                           ##
## Phoenix Valley Wrestling  ##
##       Burning Effect      ##
##           02.27.08        ##
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Presenting....

-> Rob Cole
-> Prophets of Rage
-> The Spectre
-> Wild Cards
-> The Thrillers
-> Chase Williams
-> Johnathan Monarch
-> Livestock and the Gutch
-> Extreme Conditions
-> OmniFly
-> Urban Legend
-> Outlaw
-> RJ Souza
-> Caleb Foley
-> Christopher Michaelson
-> Chris Hartt
-> Johnny Oakes



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

[The office door opens and the camera follows Rob Cole as he steps
into the office of Matthew Willingham.  The Outcast sits politely
without being invited and folds his fingers in front of himself as he
watches the head of the company stare at him in confusion… ]

MW: Alright, Rob… I'll bite.  What can I do for you?

[Rob Cole leans forward and takes a deep breath… he offers a smile,
and picks up a glass paperweight.  He weighs it in his hand for a
moment before placing it down gently.]

RC:  You took out the tables.  You took out the chairs.  You took out
the ladders.  You even took away the tools for putting the ring
together.  Over the past few weeks, you wanted to bring good old
fashioned competition into the sport… you've been clipping my nails,
filing my teeth, and you've wrapped a pretty little bow around my
fists to keep the blood from flowing.  I'm calm right now, kiddo…
calm, gentle, and soothing as can be.

MW: You weren't calm in that ring…

RC: I'm not done.

MW: Alright… go on.

RC: I've asked, begged, pleaded, and demanded to be placed in the ring
with Paul Styles.  I fought in your little tag team matches, I fought
in your little battle royal, I fought in your little four way dance…
and I resisted the urge to walk out with my fist wrapped in barbed
wire, Matt.  I resisted the urge to peel off Styles’ pretty little
face.  I've been playing the nice guy… just like you asked me to do.
I've been patient… just like you asked me to be.  I've stood back,
I've played by your rules, and I kept the claws in check, the weapons
in check, and the nightmare in check.  You asked and I delivered.

MW: Where is this going?

RC:  I want to know who the masked menace is.  I want to know why you
keep refusing to book me and Paul.  I want to know why you even
bothered to ask me to come to your company, why you bothered to sign
my pay-check, and why you tracked me down if you had no intention of
letting me do my thing.  If I don't get the answers, this is going to
go someplace you don't want me to go… this is going to go to the one
place you've warned me to stay away from every night since I walked
into Phoenix .  You only think you know me, Matthew… I assure you that
you do /not/.

MW: I already booked you to face Jonathan Monarch next week… that
should help you get Paul’s attention.

RC: I already have his attention… that’s why he’s ignoring me.  That’s
why he refuses to say my name once… twice… or thrice.  I do not want
Monarch… that was not on my list.  The Masked Man.  Paul Styles.
Violence.  Are you toying with me, Matthew?  Are you provoking me into
the actions you tried so hard to bottle up before?

[Cole stands and lifts the paperweight in his hands… he gives the
snow-globe a little shake and watches it flutter for a moment as
Matthew finally stands and reaches out for the toy.  Cole places it in
his hand, and the two gazes meet one another.]

MW: You face Jonathan Monarch next week, “Monster”…. You do whatever
it is you think you have to do.  You haven't managed to gain one
single pin fall since you walked through my door, “kiddo”.  Maybe you
just don't have it in you anymore… maybe you're not as bad as you
pretend to be… and maybe Paul Styles is ignoring you because you
simply stopped being important.  I haven't seen one bit of proof that
you're everything you used to be… so prove me wrong.  Maybe we'll have
this conversation again.

RC: You have no idea what I used to be… and you have no idea what I am
right now.  But if you want me to play with Johnny boy for a few
moments of my day, then I'll only be more than happy to accommodate.

[Cole turns and walks towards the door… he stops, reaches into his
pocket, and spins!  The glass snow-globe shatters and Willingham falls
back into his chair with a look of shock.  He looks down at his table
and stares at the medieval dagger that’s now embedded in his desk.  He
looks up, and the door shuts behind the Outcast.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Prophets of Rage
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Fade in:

Backstage at the 52nd Street Armory we are confronted once more by the
 beleaguered image of Swinging Dean Hayes.  Clearly from his
 expression  he's realising that there might have been better times
 for him in radio.  The wrestling business and all its colourful
 characters can be a drag sometimes.]

SDH: Ladies and gentlemen, my next guests have been blazing a path of
 destruction across Phoenix Valley Wrestling.  Maybe on March 5 that
 will all change.  The Prophets of Rage take on Sexual Energy.  This
 promises to be a barnburner, Phoenix.  You don't want to miss two of
 the most decorated tag-teams in the business going at ....

[Hayes trails off mid-sentence as Shadoe Rage enters stage right.  As
 usual, he upstages Hayes, passing in front of him while seemingly
 riding a imaginary donkey.  He's got his hair tied back with a
 fuchsia bandana and he's wearing a sleeveless Marissa Monet T-shirt
 and jeans.  He's thrusting his pelvis with obscene piston-like
 strokes.  He smiles towards the camera, flicking his long, pointed
 tongue at the viewers.  Hayes throws his hands up.]

SDH: What are you doing now?

[Shadoe doesn't answer.  He just continues dryhumping the air.  As
 Hayes watches the spectacle Derek Rage slips in downstage behind him.
 He settles against the PVW backdrop, arms folded across his chest.
 He smirks at the scene.]

SR: Almost there ... almost ... OH YEAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

[He thrashes obscenely before he throws his head back and howls.  He
 starts laughing insanely as he composes himself and regards Dean for
 the first time.]

SR: Just letting loose some pent up sexual energy.  Yeah, gotta get
rid of it sometimes.  You know all about that, don't you, Dean?  All
alone on a Saturday night ... nothing to do but break out the hand
lotion and Victoria Secrets catalogue.

SDH: I resemble that remark!

SR: Yeah you do, don't you?

SDH: Just so you know ... my eyesight's perfect.

DR: That's probably a little too much information, Dean.

[The cool, calm, collected giant detaches himself from the wall and
 leans down towards Hayes.]

DR: The point my brother is trying to make is that on March 5 we let
 off some more Sexual Energy ... in the form of a tag-team people are
 saying is more decorated than us.

[The statement makes Shadoe cringe with disgust.]

SR: (touching his glasses) I find that statement ... embarrassing.
Ian Rose and Andrew Tyler are simply poor examples of tag-team
wrestling.  And yet they want to be compared to the Prophets of Rage.
[He wheels on Hayes and jabs a finger at him so hard that Hayes
jumps.]  Someone's going to pay for that insult.

[Rage spins back to the hard camera.]

SR: Let's tell the truth, right here.  Wasn't everybody saying that
 Highway 44 were the team to beat around here?  Weren't all the
 prognosticators betting on Highway 44 to take it over the Prophets as
 absurd as that sounded.

DR: (cooly) Don't lie, Dean.  We were watching the broadcasts and
 reading about the fans' opinions.  We knew people were expecting a
 barnburner.  They were expecting Embrey and Bishop to not only hold
 their own but to beat us.  Didn't happen, did it?

SDH: No, it didn't.

SR: No, Embrey's on the shelf for half a year and Bishop took his ball
 and went home to cry to his wife and children.  So now it's time to
 send some more people home.  One more time to cull the pack.  Rose
 and Tyler, you've drawn the short straws.  It's time to demonstrate
 exactly who is the wheat and who is the chaff.  And trust me, we're
 100 per cent whole wheat.

DR: Sexual Energy, you've had the opportunity to be graced by our
 presence in the ring once before in PVW.  This second time around it
 isn't going to make a bit of difference.  You're going to be beaten
 soundly and you're going to find yourself on a one-way ticket out of
 Phoenix.  There are only a few teams out there that have shown the
 moxie to stand toe-to-toe with us.  Well, the problem is that you're
 not one of those teams.  You see, the promoters haven't seen fit to
 sacrifice the UFOs to the altar of the Prophets.  They haven't seen
 fit to give the greats to the greatest.  That makes sense.  They're
 protecting their money.  But you, Sexual Energy, you're not part of
 their big money plans.  It's clear they want you to just quit.  And
 if you won't quit you won't be in any shape to wrestle.

SR: See, the Prophets of Rage have had a long history of dominance.
  And Dean do you know what the secret to that dominance has been?

SDH: Chemistry?  Familiarity?  Hardwork and experience?

SR: All good answers ... yeah, but the real answer is much simpler.
  Desire ... yeah, right there that's the answer.  We simply desire to
  be great more than any other team we face.  Mix that desire with a
  little humility and you have a winner.

SDH: (incredulous) Humility?

SR: Did I speak a foreign language.

DR: We never take our opponents for granted.  We understand exactly
 what it means to face the Prophets.  You see the UFOs?  They're
 funky, they're charismatic.  They're two stereotypes but hey we don't
 mind that.  Do you, dogs.  Everybody loves the UFOs.  We know that it
 would be a big match to face them.  We understand that that would be
 a hell of a test and that we could lose it.  So we work not to lose.
 It's that simple.  We work not to lose.

SR: And a team like Sexual Energy ... we're always watching.  We're
 always scouting.  We know what you like to do and we take it away.
 We've got to see ourselves as the underdogs.  We've got to see
 ourselves as the losers because we know there's always someone out
 there crying moaning and pissing for our demise.  That's the hazard
 of being a Rage ... that's the price of success.  So Sexual Energy
 you better pop all the blue diamonds you can and get yourself all
 heated up.  The Prophets of Rage have come to make a statement and
 have come to reclaim our legacy.  Phoenix Valley Wrestling has the
 best tag-teams in the world.  And we will establish ourselves as the
 top of that food chain.  And you, Sexual Energy, will be left spent,
 limp and soaked in your own defeat.  You're going all the way down.

DR: (putting an arm around Hayes's shoulder) You know that we didn't
 lie about a word that we said, right?

[Swinging Dean can't speak.  He simply nods.]

DR: Then we've made our point.  You might want to fade to black.

SR: Come on, Big D, let's exit stage left!

[And with that Shadoe Rage strikes a sideways "most muscular" pose and
 slides backwards out of the shot.  Derek gives Hayes a dap on the
 shoulder and follows, leaving Hayes staring after them.]

SDH: The Prophets of Rage are in rare form, ladies and gentlemen.  I
 hope Sexual Energy is up to the task.  This match is going to be an
 instant classic.

[Fade out]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The Spectre
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens on closeup shot of an large furnace.  The flames from
inside of the natural gas burner glow a soft blue in the dim lighting,
flickering rythmically.  The camera pans back to reveal The Spectre,
crouched and leaning down on the balls of his feet, staring into the
open grate of the furnace.

The dreadlocked grappler ignores the camera for a moment, his
expression an odd mixture of fascination and amusement.]

"We find it interesting...to see the way that the fire can consume
something...the way that it sears away the external surface and
reveals what lies beneath...

The difficulty, friend Lassiter is that in doing so, it ends up
totally consuming the thing that gives it life.
Fire...passion...burning rage...these are the ultimate parasites.
They fill you in a way that nothing else can.  They make you warm,
give you direction, fill you with a purpose and make you feel
accomplished.

In the end, they leave you a whithered husk: burned up and useless.

You've taken the first step, friend Lassiter...just as we promised
that you would.  You've learned to loose The Beast from its chains.
To let slip the creature that dwells within, and allow its flaming
hatred to consume you...but you still do not accept that you are The
Beast and The Beast is you.  There is no difference, only a thin
veneer of civility that you attempt to use to justify your self-image
as a 'nice person'.

Utter nonsense.

Friend Lassiter, the time has come for you to move beyond simply
allowing your rage to carry you through.  You must learn to harness
your Beast...to bring it into your heart and leave it there...burning
cold.

Make no mistake, friend Lassiter.  You've come far in your
education...but your metamorphasis is not yet complete.  You are less
than you could be, and we will ensure that you reach your potential...

or die trying.

The time has come, friend Lassiter...the time as come for you to learn
to fear the dark."

[cut to black]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Wild Cards
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens on "Showtime" Rick Marley sitting alone at a
conference table with manilla folders stuffed with paper spread about
him in what can be best described as an explosion of files.  The
dark-haired cruiserweight is busily reading, muttering to himself as
he goes.]

RM: Could take the Ultimate Thrasher approach...no, that ends in
death.

This guy did pretty well against Craven...but ended up in the hospital
 too.

Or this one...but I don't know that using a car is gonna be allowed
here in Phoenix.

[Marley's rubs his temples, shaking his head.]

RM: How exactly is it that you're supposed to deal with a guy that
seems to be immune to conventional weapons?  I'm not a hardcore guy to
begin with...and Homeland Security has absolutely no sense of humor
when you ask for WMD's to use during a wrestling match...

Well...most of them, anyway.  That guy with the anthrax was a bit
 creepy.

[Shaking his head, Marley goes back to reading a file as his brother
Judd and Black Jack Baldwin enter.  Seeing Rick studying Jack frowns,
while Judd's jaw hits the floor.]

JM: Rick?

RM: (not looking up) Hrm?

JM: You're studying my match notes.

RM: (still reading) Mmm hmm.

JM: I thought you were allergic to paper.

JB: He DID mention that before...something about it causing herpes.

JM: He DID indeed say herpes.

[For his part, the younger Marley seems uninterested in the banter, as
he continues to read files.  Judd picks up one of the files himself
and scans it briefly.]

JM: Still obsessed over Bill Craven, Rick?  You could just call him.
He's a sicko...I'm betting he'd take your call just to listen to you
squirm.

RM: I don't WANT to talk to Craven.  I don't want to look at him, I
don't want to deal with him.  The guy's severely wrong in the
head...and no matter what anyone says, and no matter what briefings
the lawyers file, I KNOW it's him under that Major Damage mask.

JB: (quietly raving to himself) Oh I hate those lawyers...

JM: Speaking of hating the lawyers, don't you think it'd be a better
idea for you to focus on Livestock and Gutch?  THEY'RE the guys you're
in the ring against, not Bill Craven, or Major Damage, or Corporal
Kurshner, or Bill Cosby...

JB: (patting Judd on the back)  Judd, leave the jokes to us.
Seriously.  Yeah.  All of this thinking causes brain cancer.  I read
that someplace once.

JM: Is that the same place you heard that saliva causes stomach
cancer, but only if swallowed in small doses over a long period of
time?

JB: Exactly!

JM: (Looking up) Why God?  Why do you do this to me?

RM: Look guys, I know you either don't believe me about Craven, or
just don't care...

JM: I'm not convinced.

JB: I really don't care either way.

RM: But you guys weren't around the last time he went on one of these
rampages.  There's nothing he won't do.  If anyone's family is here,
he'll go after them.  Craven doesn't play by any set of rules...and
this is coming from someone who takes 'em as a light suggestion to
start with.  We cheat for laughs...Craven doesn't so much cheat as
just try to cripple people...and not anyone he's got issues with.
Just people that happen to be there.  He's seriously deranged.  He's
like a rabid dog, just lashing out and tearing into anything that
happens to be nearby.

When you're dealing with something like that, you have two choices:
You can either try to stay out of his way, or you have to bloody his
nose so badly that he never comes back...and I don't have the stomach
to get into that sorta blood and guts match just for the fun of it.  I
don't want Tami to have to visit me in the hospital...I don't want her
to have to see me like that.

JM: (putting a hand on his brother's shoulder): Look Rick, I know
she's in your ear about this...I know that she had to deal with her
dad getting hurt on a construction site...

RM: Don't pin this on her, Judd...I'll be perfectly honest, as much as
it'd be easy to say it's all her, it's not.  Craven just SCARES me.
There's something about him that cuts straight to the core...

JB: Well, then the best way to make sure that you don't need to worry
about it is to take out Fabio and Mr. Staypuff.  You take them down
and Billy-boy leaves you alone, half pint.  Plus it means you get to
smack around some lawyers, and that's gotta be pretty sexy, right?

RM: (smirking slightly) This IS one of those times that it's hard to
believe they pay us to do this, isn't it?

JB: EXACTLY!  The only way this would be better would be if they were
Lawyer Mimes...I mean...mimes...

[Baldwin pauses, looking off into the distance, his hands clenching
and unclenching.]

JB: (quietly) hate them soooooooo much...

JM: Aaaaaand now Jack's gone bye-bye.

RM: That's fine...I'll get to say it this time!

JM: What?  That Livestock and Gutch are about to find out how Wild
things can get?

RM: Dammit!

[fade to black]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The Thrillers
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[We open to the dominate tag team known as, The Thrillers. On the left
we have 'Greek God' Jimmy Lane. The larger man of the team stands
proud in a sleeveless shirt. His muscles have that oiled up look as he
flexes here and there for the camera. On the right we have 'Handsome'
Steven Hayes. The smaller, but more wrestling sound member has on a
nice silk shirt half buttoned of course. He has a sly grin across his
face.

In the middle is the brains of the operation, The older respectful
southern gentleman, Samuel Cunningham sits in a wheel chair in a
tailor-made white suit and matching neck brace.]

Cunningham: PVW we finally embark on the path of cleansing this fine
establishment from the filth and injustice that corrupts it from the
inside out. Darius Walker the sleezeball that spits on children and
smacks the elderly has to be removed at all cost. Shawn Covell's and
Gideon Frost's parents may not care about them, but I do. His guidance
has done nothing, but bring failure and heart ache to those two fine
young men.

[Cunningham begins to shake his head in shame, but the pain is just to
unbearable and his hands shoot up as a look of dire pain sits across
Cunningham's face.]

Cunningham: On Heatwave Darius Walker has been banned by ringside
thanks to the outstanding work of my representives. Steven Hayes and
Gideon Frost can have themselves a competition that won't be quickly
corrupted by Darius Walker.

[A look of total disgust forms across the face of the respected
Thriller manager.]

Cunningham: I have gotten thousands of get well cards from the great
PVW fans. Jimmy read a few for us.

[Jimmy Lane pulls out a pair of glasses and puts them on. He removes a
small envelope and removes a letter.]

Lane: Dear, Samuel; Mine name is Timmy and I am thirteen. I tune in
every Heatwave to see you and the Thrillers. I can't believe the gaul
of that Darius Walker. I cry myself to sleep every night thinking
about how much pain you are in. Please help rid the PVW of that scum.
Your fan, Timmy.

[Samuel Cunningham wipes a tear from his eyes.]

Cunningham: That is a touching letter Timmy. I stand here...

[Cunningham pauses.]

Cunningham: Sit here right now and promise to you and every other fan
inside the PVW that we will not rest until we rid the PVW of this
infection known as the HIWalker. He has infected this company long
enough!

Lane: Shall I read another?

Cunningham: Please.

Lane: Dear Jimmy and Steven; I can't wait until you get revenge on
Darius Walker. That slime ball and his smug attitude needs to be
stopped. Please inflict as much pain on that slime ball as humanly
possible. Your fan, Heather.

Cunningham: Heather that all sounds rather good, but my
representatives plan to hit Walker where it hurts the most. You see
Covell and Frost are just tools to Walker's sick game. When he is done
using them up he will find two more poor saps to use and abuse. We are
going to ruin this con artist and expose him for every SICK thing he
stands. We will do this not for ourselves, but for every one of you.
HIWalker will be stopped and cured if I have to kill myself in the
process!!!!!!!

[Hayes and Lane look a little concerned.]

Cunningham: Don't worry boys it's not going to be that difficult. Now
let's go!

[Hayes walks behind Cunningham and begins to push him off screen.
Jimmy Lane stops and begins flexing infront of the camera right before
it fades to black.]


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

[Open in a lavish study, a scene fit for masterpiece theatre, if
you'll indulge. Lining one wall is a gigantic bookcase overflowing
with many leather bound classics, from Hemingway to Shakespeare. The
far wall is a doublepaned window thats view is an enormous Japanese
Garden with a fountain in the center. As we circle the room the third
wall is enxompassed by mostly paintings. In the sparse light, its hard
to tell if they're real or prints, but Da Vinci is recognizable. In
short, its an amazing room.]

"I'd rather be a king in hell, than a servent in heaven."

[The camera swings to the voice and Chase Williams is relaxed in a
large leather chair, lounging in a black silk smokers jacket and
slippers. A snifter of Brandy sits on a small table to his left. To
his back a fire crackles in the fire place set into the wall. He
practically radiates arrogance as finally speaks through a smirk.]

"But to be the king of such a pathetic rathole as PVW?"

[WHAT!!?!?!? The champ is trashing his new home????!]

"Don't misunderstand me. Perhaps I should shed some light on the
previous statement. Phoenix Valley Wrestling in itself is not
pathetic. But it's [Beeping] roster sure is. You guys have the
audacity to even _pretend_ to be my competition after what happened
last week?!? I for one am appalled."

[He shakes his head in disgust.]

"I'm trying my damndest to elevate this title to an elite level, and
whose the first guy to try and steal some of my spotlight? The great
and Amazing Paul Styles? The Monster under the Bed, Rob Cole? Major
Damage? Spectre the friendly ghost?"

[Under his breath, he forces the next name through pursed lips, almost
gagging as he does so.]

"Caleb Foley..."

[Pause. You can see his face getting red as he contemplates the task
at hand. He finally looks back to the camera, veins bulging, and red
faced with Rage!]

"FOLEY!!! YOU WANNA DO THE MILLION DOLLAR DANCE WITH THE ONLY GUY
WORTH A DAMNED IN THIS FEDERATION, IF YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WITH THE
_BALLS_!!! AND I'M TALKING TO YOU COLE!! AND YOU CHRISTOPHER
MICHAELSON!! IF YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WITH THE GUTS TO TAKE ME ON, I
WON'T BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT I DO TO YOU. YOU STILL BELIEVE
SOMEWHERE IN THAT NAIEVE LITTLE SKULL OF YOURS THE LUCK OR FATE HAVE
ANYTHING TO DO WITH CHASE WILLIAMS. I _MAKE_ [BEEP] HAPPEN YOU SMUG
LITTLE PRICK! YOU'VE DISRESPECTED ME OVER AND OVER AGAIN! NO MORE!"

[Realizing he's losing it, he stops and breathes for a moment, finally
running a hand over his head and chuckling to himself.]

"Heh. No. I'm not gonna get mad. Its not my fault that the PVW front
office is irresponsible enough to allow a red-headed step-child like
Foley anywhere near a guy like me. As for the rest of you schmucks,
how sad are you? How about you Michaelson? The "Golden Clone?" I heard
what you where saying, and let me be the first to say, jealousy is the
ugliest human emotion. Paul Styles is too busy listening to Carl
Stevenson tell him how great he is to prove it. I'm sure the Spectre's
too busy perched in a tree with binnoculars watching Charles Lassiter
change into his pink footy pajamas to worry about my title."

"Pathetic."

[He retrieves the sifter of Brandy. He swirls, he sniffs, he sips...
He even makes Julianne Fries!]

"Chris Hartt's too busy praying that I don't break him in two. Oh
oh... How about RJ Souza. Mr. Black Bat and Ray Bans.... That is
sooooooooo badass. Gimme a break, I would't let that clown shine my
shoes. My sock drawer is worth more than Outlaw's entire Career.

[Oh Snap!]

"You guys are all so much better than me? Then how in the hell does
some washed up never was local hero end up the first guy in line for a
shot at my title. If any of you had any pride, you'd come to the ring
and kick Travis Tate's sorry ass, which incidentally, most of you
would fail at _that_, and at least try and show a little spine."

[Another swirl, another sip, a smirk.]

"I don't blame you chicken[beep] assholes though. I wouldn't want to
be the first example of what I will do to anyone stupid enough to try
and get between me and my belt either. And after you all see what I do
to that sorry bastard Tate, you _really_ won't want to face me.
Foley'll probably just castrate himself too and join the rest of you
nutless wonders in Eunich's Anonymous."

[He drains the glass.]

"Until then... [beep] yous for all."

[He raises the glass and smiles at the camera as it fades to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Johnathan Monarch
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Johnathan Monarch stands with Carl Stevenson in Carl’s den. Carl
stand beside his desk looking over some paper while Johnathan folds up
a paper he was obviously reading and tosses it on a chair. Carl is
dressed in a three piece suit, while Johnathan is wearing a gray dress
shirt with black pants and suspenders. A radio is playing classically
music in the background. Carl finally looks up from the desk]

CS: Wow, Rob… what happened to you? When I last saw you six years ago
you were the loudest screaming maniac in the business. I remember you
almost killing some people in the ring. You were in some really stupid
fights back then… I figured you’d be dead by now. Instead you’re just
a broken down old man… whining because Paul Styles doesn’t care as
much about your past as you’ve hoped… And training.

[Carl smiles to himself thinking about it]

CS: Rob Cole… A tortured soul finds solace teaching rookies
ineffective counters to a figure four leglock… that’s bad ass.

[Carl throws up his right hand sarcastically to high five Rob Cole’s
weak marketability. Johnathan leaves him hanging so Carl grabs a piece
of paper on the desk]

CS: So what do you think of the company’s pitch for the match?

Johnathan Monarch: What do you mean?

[Carl reads the press release PVW sends the Arizona media on upcoming
events]

CS: Johnathan Monarch v. Rob Cole. On Heatwave he –Rob Cole- gets one
step closer to Paul Styles as he steps into the ring with five hundred
and seventy five pounds of Johnathan Monarch… That’s kind of
insulting.

JM: Yeah… that IS kind of insulting! I help this company with my
return and end up being promoted as a step closer to Paul Styles?

[Johnathan turns to Carl who just shrugs]

JM: And that’s the only promotion I’ve gotten! I made my returned at
Blood Bowl and all Chip and The Putter had to say was that I was big.
And while that’s true, it isn’t really the insightful analysis of how
great I am that fans, especially kids, need… So now I have to
introduce myself since good old Putts can’t do his own job properly.

[As Johnathan sits down Carl looks at him like he was an idiot]

CS: Kids? What are you talking about?

JM: I’m very popular with children.

[Johnathan continues before Carl can follow up, speaking as though he
was telling a story]

JM: Johnathan Monarch is one of the largest, and most successful,
wrestlers in history. Standing six-foot-seven and weighing five
hundred and seventy five pounds Johnathan intimidates smaller men like
The Paladin and The Golden One.

[Johnathan mockingly throws a fist up to the camera to be intimidating
with a smile]

JM: And on the first night of his career Johnathan Monarch
accomplished what The Unrivaled Funky Ones will never accomplish…
become a champion. And Johnathan’s reign as a champion was long and
glorious thanks to his managers, his best friends, Paul Styles and
Carl Stevenson.

[Johnathan pauses as he smiles at the memory, then his eyes begin to
look sad and he quickly continues]

JM: And with his legacy created, Johnathan Monarch retired. But not
before repaying the favor to his friend Paul Styles by forming a tag
team, managed by Carl, to get Paul use to being in the ring. And they
won three tag titles together… that was a great time…

[Johnathan’s voice has gradually softened, becoming blissfully
distracted by his own memory]

CS: Kids? Seriously?

JM: I’m asked for hugs all the time.

[Carl just stands in quiet disbelief for a few seconds so Johnathan
carries on]

JM: And those kids know what Rob Cole is… a bully. A bully that
refused to wrestle Paul Styles after the original Rob Cole stole the
AWMC title. A bully that played backstage politics to force Paul
Styles out of the title picture. A bully that is threatening Paul
Styles weekly, even though it’s obvious Paul has no interest in doing
business with the new quietly intense Rob Cole. I can’t blame Paul
after being professionally backstabbed by the old loudly intense
Rob Cole.

[Johnathan leans forwards in his chair and grabs his paper]

JM: Heatwave… win, loss, or draw… the New Rob Cole isn’t going to be
wrestling Paul Styles because Original Rob Cole was a dick seven years
ago… so new Rob Cole doesn’t get to wrestle the biggest star in the
company. All the new Rob gets is the bodyguard… Johnathan Monarch.

[the camera starts to fade]

CS: I heard he’s really big.

[Johnathan gives a deep but quiet laugh and pats Carl on the back]

[black]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Livestock and the Gutch
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[In what must be the most bizarre juxtaposition ever, three gray-
suited  men stand before a drop cloth that reads “PVW” and try to look
 menacing.  The two large men in the back stand more than a head
 taller than their friend.  The shortest, thinnest of the three wears
 a neck brace.  Yes, it's everyone's favorite redheaded stepchild;
 Broderick Ezekiel Craven, Attorney at Law...]

Zeke: Okay, let's dispense with the formalities.  People of Earth,
 rather, PVW fans, at the risk of losing your interest, we're going to
 break with tradition by giving you a traditional professional
 wrestling promo.  This suggestion brought to you by the stuffed
 shirts at the top of the food chain in Phoenix Valley, who apparently
 don't understand that structure is not my junior partners' strong
 suit.  Gutch?  Demonstrate.

[Staring off, seemingly into space, the towering, balding, ape-browed
 tub of man tries to focus his eyes on what just has to be a
 teleprompter.  His wooden, deadpan delivery is somewhat akin to
 Bernie from Weekend at Bernie's if Bernie were treated as a
 marionette.]

Gutch: Wild.  Cards.  You guys is gonna get whooped.  I'm gonna sew
you good!

Livestock: Sue.

Gutch: Naw, I'm the freakin' Gutch!

Livestock: The word's sue, Gutch.  As in lawsuit.

Gutch: Ohhh ... heh, so that's how you pronounce that.

Livestock: Oh, for the love of Cochran.

Zeke: Gentlemen!  The script!

Livestock: Fine, fine.  I'm ... gonna hurt you so bad ... you gonna
 wish I din' hurt you so bad?  What the hell is this?  Who wrote this
 garbage?

Zeke: I did, and it's genius.  Please continue.

Gutch: I don' wanna!

Zeke: Damn you Gutch, you're making a mockery of these proceedings!

[Stepping down onto the same level as Zeke, Livestock inadvertently
 reveals that both he and Gutch were standing on some sort of riser
 that made them seem more than seven feet tall.]

Livestock: Zeke, how about we just make more jokes at one another's
 expense?  It was working.  I had this great bit worked up about
 Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer!

Gutch: Hey, what's that supposed to mean?

[Stepping down as well, Gutch assumes his normal stature of about
 6'6”, but still over 400 pounds.]

Gutch: I ain't a caveman, and that guy was played by Phil Hartman.
  He's dead, Livestock.  You don't speak ill of the dead, my grandma-
  ma Rosetta always used to say.

Livestock: You're just saying that because you're just a caveman ...
 our cellphones, motorcars and other modern accoutrements frighten
 you.

Gutch: Shut up!

Livestock: They make you want to run, screaming into the hills in
order to escape the evil spirits of engines and ringtones!

Gutch: I said SHUT UP!

[At that, Gutch grabs livestock by the neck, and the two re-enact the
 time-honored tradition started by Matt Groening's “The Simpsons” ...
 a fat bald guy strangling a blonde kid.  The only difference is that,
 in this case, while the kid is smaller than the fat guy, he's not
 actually a minor, and they're the same height.  Gutch's sudden fury
 enables him to knock Livestock to his back, and Gutch mounts him,
 beating his head into the floor.]

Livestock (choking): Sorry!  S-gak-sorry!

Gutch: I ain't no caveman!  NNNGAHHH!!!

[Looking back at the pair of gigantic idiots he calls junior partners,
 Zeke grimaces slightly, then looks to camera, his eyes half closed,
 while shaking his head.]

Zeke: Predictable.  Still, no point in letting this time go to waste.
  You, lens jockey ... c'mere...

[Zooming in, the cameraman puts Zeke in the center of the screen, his
 face filling most of it.  Loosening his neck brace, Zeke lowers his
 gaze, glaring at the lens.]

Zeke: While it's true that these two guys are more like squabbling
 school children than seasoned professional athletes, they are,
 nevertheless, two very powerful, dangerous men.  Then there's me...

[A slight ripping sound is heard as Zeke further loosens the brace,
 then runs fingers through his white-streaked red hair.]

Zeke: There was a time when they thought I was a pretty scary guy.
  Kinda like my brother, only less ... blunt.  A man with a cutting
  wit, a blinding intellect, and a blasphemous bent, who was capable
  of anything...

[Finally popping the brace off his neck, Zeke takes a step forward,
 finally blocking out the lunacy behind him just as Livestock rolls
 Gutch over, and suddenly both men have each other by the neck.]

Zeke: Eight years ago, I was the Bloody Jesus.  Seven years ago, I was
 cut down in my prime.  So, I went back on the meds, and put my law
 degree to work for me.  I never stopped thinking of what might have
 been, given the chance to truly shine as a professional wrestler.

[Chuckling, Zeke glances back at Livestock and Gutch, who have each
 other in headlocks, and look like a pair of little kids who haven't
 yet learned how to fight.]

Livestock: Let go!

Gutch: You let go first!

Zeke: These two, they're dangerous because of me.  And me?  Well, I
 won't do anything to get my team disqualified, but last I checked,
 the Wildcards have a retired wrestler in their corner as well...

[Giving a knowing smirk to the camera, Zeke holds perfectly still as
 the two great goofballs he manages continue to squeeze one another by
 the head.  Fade to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Extreme Conditions
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera slowly fades in from black; revealing an office. The
camera focuses upon the back of a brown leather couch where the back
of a figures head can be seen looking forward watching the flat screen
television mounted on the wall before him. The figure is wearing a
black top hat and is watching highlights from a past PVW Heatwave.]

[Lane slams his fist on the mat as he rises back up with a handfull of
Covell's hair. Cunningham leaps up onto the apron and distracts the
ref once more, Lane slams Shawn's face straight down into the mat
before picking up the chair and reading to use it.]

CL: It looks like Darius Walker has had enough...

[Walker grabs Cunningham's ankle and yanks him off the apron as the
two managers begin to brawl on the outside of the ring.]

PW: He just yanked down a 50 year old man!!! WHOOAAA??!?!

CL: Hey no one told Cunningham to stick his nose in the match. He got
what was coming to him...

[The figure begins to laugh audibly and the on screen image begins to
rewind.]

Figure: I’ve got to see that again.

[As the onscreen image continues to rewind two additional figures
enter the room and pause for a brief moment. Suddenly one of the
figures walks forward and slaps the back of figures head and quickly
the television is turned off. The figure on the couch spins around to
reveal the face of Shawn Covell as he stares at his tag team partner
Gideon Frost and Darius Walker.]

Frost: What did I tell you about watching that in his office?

Covell: Sorry, I was going to play guitar hero while I waited for you
guys but it was in there and I couldn’t resist …

Walker: Do not worry about Shawn. Gideon as I was trying to explain to
you earlier that is not what has been bothering me the last few days.

[Darius Walker walks past the couch towards his desk and sits behind
his desk. He removes his glasses as he looks at his tag team who has
taken seats in front of the desk.]

Walker: For the past few days I have paced this office up and down
wondering why the PVW management feels the need to screw with Extreme
Conditions every single step of the way. On the inaugural Heatwave
Gideon was attacked by the Thrillers and lost his opportunity to try
and qualify for the Blood Bowl. In order to keep Shawn from extracting
revenge the PVW management begged with me and made the agreement was
made, Covell will be the bigger man and The Thrillers and Extreme
Conditions would met on the third edition of Heatwave.

[Darius Walker sighs deeply.]

Walker: The third edition of Heatwave has just passed and did Extreme
Conditions face the Thrillers?

[Darius Walker slams his fists into the desk with authority.]

Walker: NO!! Instead we have to bear witness to the Kentucky Fried … I
mean Samuel Cunningham and his associates try and get pro-bono work
done for a bogus lawsuit that they wish to file against me.

Covell: It’s not complete …

[Gideon Frost just glares at Shawn out of the corner of his eye and
Shawn stops speaking in mid thought.]

Walker: And to make it worse Extreme Conditions is kept off of the
card. Honestly, who cares if Mr. Cunningham is over reacting and
faking an injury to can the sympathy of the mice in the arena ‘cause
no one cares about him or his Thrillers.

Covell: Don’t we care about them?

[Gideon Frost smirks.]

Frost: No Shawn, all we want is to beat them senseless from pillar to
post.

Covell: I’ll let you do that to them. I’m a former champion; people of
their caliber are not worth my time.

[Gideon Frost and Darius Walker look at Shawn Covell for a moment.]

Covell: It’s true guys. I only see them as a stepping stone in our
quest to obtain the PVW Tag Team Championship.

[Darius Walker smiles as Gideon Frost nods his head in agreement.]

Frost: Sometime Shawn you amaze me.

Walker: Shawn that is exactly what the Thrillers are. A stepping stone
in the path of Extreme Conditions and the PVW management realizes
that! They know that once you two step into the ring with the
Thrillers you will outclass them and embarrass them to the point that
those two grown men will cry in the ring of humiliation.

[Darius Walker looks into the camera.]

Walker: Yes Mr. Cunningham I called Mr. Hayes and Mr. Lane men. They
might be a little slow but they are still men. And unlike you I will
give them their due respect when it is required. You see Mr.
Cunningham I do not make people under contract chase my golf balls,
and I do not tell them to wash and wax my car. Extreme Conditions is
under contract to wrestle not be my personal assistants.
So Mr. Cunningham, you can tell Gideon and Shawn that you feel bad for
them that … that I am going to run their careers into the ground, but
that’s far from the truth. You see Shawn and Gideon are going to make
at a bare minimum double what your Thrillers are going to make. I
spent three weeks making a deal that made sense and would make my
talents a profit. So while you call yourself a ‘manager’ I am much
more than that. I am their Agent, their Lawyer and their Manager
wrapped into one.

[Darius Walker begins to flip through a pile of papers upon his desk.
The camera pans to focus upon Gideon Frost.]

Frost: Steven, this week I have the shot at revenge against half of
the Thrillers …

[The camera focuses upon the ice cold blue eyes of Gideon Frost.]

Frost: … and like you did to me I will knock you out and force you to
spend two days in the hospital. But unlike me Steven you will not be
thinking of revenge you will contemplating retirement.

Covell: Thriller’s you need to realize that you are just a stepping
stone for a former HRW Champion and a man as cold as ice …

[Shawn Covell stops and begins to hum Cold as Ice by Foreigner. Gideon
Frost rolls his eyes as Darius Walker just smiles and slowly shakes
his head.]

Walker: Mr. Cunningham, your Thrillers and you may believe you have
the advantage because I am barred from ringside … but when all is said
and done …

Frost: I will be victorious as you lie motionless in the center of the
ring.

[Gideon Frost just stares at the camera as Shawn Covell plays air
guitar as he begins to sing the chorus to Cold as Ice.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
OmniFly
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[...static...]

Voice: Insignificant. All of you.

[A picture of Chase Williams slides across the screen]

Voice: Ephemeral. A whisper in the wind.

[A picture of Outlaw slides across the screen]

Voice: So very...fragile.

[The letters "KGB" appear on the screen as laughter is heard. It is of
the same sort as was heard on last week's card. As before, the
laughter ceases quickly. The KGB fades out and is replaced by...

OMNI...]

Voice: All will fall. None will rise.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Urban Legend
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Tombstone, Arizona.  Along the path of Allen Street, some of the
almost gaudy "Wild West" themed businesses are starting to open up
for the day.  So far, only two figures appear to be walking among the
living tourist attraction.

[Johnny Styles, Urban Legend's Stalker, seems to be deciding where to
head first -- though the buttoned black duster and wide-rimmed hat
make him seem almost like one of the cast.  For his part, Semi is
bundled up as much as possible in grey and green sweats, complete
with a beanie.   He looks at Styles with a bit of disdain, his breath
visible as he speaks.]

Semi : Ya know, yer trend of going to B-F-E at odd hours in the
morning to "train" ranks up there with 'law's loony-bin romps.

Stalker (smirking slightly) : The right mental mindset can do as much
t'win a match as that extra set'f pushups.

[He looks at the road itself, half covered in dirt and dust, shifting
absently in the morning wind.]

Stalker : I'm decidin' which way t'go for the match comin'
up.   Start playin' it cautious and work off the dust that's left, or
fly like every other cruiseweight in th'world 'cept Paul.

Semi (grinning) : Been talking -- [He hitches a thumb towards one of
the saloons] -- 'bout these two... the way he sees it, they're the
promising out of the bunch, so may be worth feeling em
out.  (Pause)  'Course, this is him saying it.  (Another pause.)  And
he said that bout Maniac too.

Stalker (shrugging) : Best treat 'em as such.  I've got some ol'
aggression t'get out, and it'll actually, be easier t'get in the
swing'f these guys provide a challenge.

Semi : Fair nuff, I gotta crack some joints myself.   Tell ya what --
trade ya targets midway, we get the best of both worlds.

Stalker (smiling a bit morbidly) : Suits me.

[A voice is suddenly clearly audible from the saloon.]

Outlaw (inside) : [bleep], you dragged me all the [bleep] way here
for this [bleep] beer?  (Pause.)  [bleep], you [bleep] genius!  Get
the [bleep] in here and try this [bleep]!

[The two outside look at each other, shrug, then begin making their
way towards the swinging doors.]

Semi : Least it gets him quieter between swigs.

Outlaw (still inside) : What?

Semi (louder) : Nothing!

[Stalker pauses on the way in, remembering something.]

Stalker : "Loony-bin romp?"  When was this?

Semi (suddenly very uncomfortable) : Ahhh, don't remember which
match, it's been a while... forget if that one even wound up
happenin.... ya know, that beer's sounding mighty tasty.

[Semi quickly enters the saloon, on a mission.   Styles thinks about
it a moment, shrugs, and begins following as the camera fades out.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Outlaw
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Cut to inside of the saloon.]

[Semi and Outlaw at sitting at the table, and judging by Semi's
 expression, Outlaw is obviously recounting some sort of tale.]

Outlaw [slurring]: So I [bleep] says to him.  [bleep] you Bobby Cole.
  This is my [bleep] extremist title.

[Outlaw chugs another beer as Semi stares on.  The table is littered
 with beer bottles, most of them in front of the foul mouthed one.
 Semi opens his mouth as if to say something, but thinks better of
 it.]

Outlaw: And another [bleep] thing.  Chase [bleep] Williams called up
 the [bleep] PVW owner and had my [bleep] title shot taken away from
 me.
  What the [bleep]?

Semi: Ya, it's a shame.

Outlaw: To top it all off, I've got this [bleep] Michaelson guy
 cheating to [bleep] beat me!  Imagine, [bleep] cheating to win a
 [bleep] match?

Semi: Shocking.

Outlaw: I'd never stoop so [bleep] low.

Semi: What about the time you nailed Geddings in the head with a
chair?

Outlaw: Fine, one [bleep] time, but you can't say Geddings didn't
 [bleep] deserve it.

Semi: That's true.  What about the time you hit Eclipse with one of
 your belts.

Outlaw: The [bleep] Extremist title.  But It's and extreme [bleep]
 belt, isn't it [bleep] made to hit people with?

Semi: Possibly.  Ok, how about when you nailed Hight Times with a
 singapore cane?

[Outlaw pauses.]

Outlaw: Yeah I had no [bleep] reason for that one.  But still..  To
 [bleep] cheat to win against me?  I think he's [bleep] scared of me.

Semi: Oh for sure.

Outlaw: [bleep] Michaelson!

Semi: I can drink to that.

[Johnny Styles walks up to table, three more beers in hand.  He gives
 Semi a look before giving Outlaw another drink.]

Semi: He's so far gone right now, it won't change much.  Maybe he'll
 pass out soon.

Styles: Think he should be drinkin' like that?

Semi [shrugging]: At this point, I think Amy's the only one who could
 stop him.

[In the background Outlaw mutters something incoherent as he finishes
 his beer.]

Styles: You'd think we'd be a little more shocked hearin' that kind of
 language from him.

Semi: Yeah, I'm starting to understand this whole desensitized thing.

[Outlaw bursts out laughing.]

Outlaw: At least I don't have a [bleep] match this [bleep] week.  You
 two [bleep] have to wrestle my boys Gaines and Green.  I've been
 giving
 them [bleep] advice every [bleep] week.  You'll [bleep] see.

Styles: Uh, 'law, you've gotta possibly a few matches this week.

[Outlaw pauses, his bottle pressed up against his lips.]

Semi [chuckling]: Oops?  Didja forget?

Outlaw: What [bleep] matches?  I looked at the [bleep] card, I wasn't
 [bleep] booked.

Semi: Did you think to look at the tournament?

Outlaw: [bleep] tournament?  [bleep], how [bleep] drunk are you?

Styles: He's right 'law, there's a tournament for the Heritage title.

Outlaw: And you [bleep] brought me out drinking?  I need [bleep]
 research!  How am I supposed to [bleep] fight in a [bleep] tournament
 without my [bleep] research?  Who's my [bleep] opponent?  Who else is
 in the [bleep] tournament?

Semi: CKD Abdullah is your first round opponent.

Outlaw: [bleep] Abdullah huh?

[Outlaw knocks back the beer in his hand, and slams it down to the
 table.  He grabs Semi's untouched beer and chugs that one too.]

Semi: Oh this is going to be good.

[Outlaw's eyes roll back in his head as it smack down onto the table
 with a resounding thud.]

Styles: He out?

Semi: I don't know. He's been drinking pretty good.

[He pokes Outlaw on the shoulder.]

Semi: Stil with us?

[Outlaw's head snaps back up.  ]

Outlaw: Damnit.

[Semi and Styles exchange a confused look.]

Styles: Say again?

Outlaw: Damnit.  I'm sick of this.

[Semi counts on his fingers. He looks at Styles.]

Semi: That would be six words without being censored.

Styles: Let me know when he reaches twenty.

[Outlaw's expression hardens.]

Outlaw: Why does it always have to be this way?  Why do I always have
 to be the joke?

Styles: That's twenty.  Now things are serious.

Outlaw: I'm tired of this, I'm tired of always being the comedian,
 always being the joker.

Semi: Uh.

Outlaw: No Mark, you don't understand.  You don't.  You're respected.
  People look at me, and what do they see? They see a jackass walking
 around with old title belts.  They see the idiot who swears just
 cause he can.  Do you think any of the guys in the back have any
 respect for me?

Styles: But --

Outlaw: No buts Johnny. I'm the clown.  It's always "Oh what crazy
 thing is Outlaw going to do today." or "What's that crazy kid going
 to say now?"

[he pauses.]

Outlaw: You think anybody expects me to walk out of that tournament
 with a title belt?  Of course not, they all expect me to do something
 stupid like I did in the Blood Bowl, eliminating myself while I was
 still in contention. What kind of dumbass does that?  I'll tell you
 what kind.  Me.

You think guys like RJ Souza or Johnny Oakes are threatened by me?
You think Chris Hartt and Caleb Foley sit up at night trying to figure
out how to beat me?  No.  Because crazy old Outlaw will take care of
himself.

[Outlaw sighs]

Outlaw: Look at my opponent. CKD Abdullah.  What do you guys know
about him?

[Semi and Styles shrug]

Outlaw: Nothing. Neither do I.  The problem is I actually have to face
 him, and what have I been doing?  Nothing.  I sit around doing
 nothing.  Am I advancing in my career?  Am I taking the next step?
 No, I haven't done that in years.  It's just the same crap day in day
 out.

Semi: Wow 'law.  I had no idea you felt this way.

Outlaw: Well I don't think I knew it either.  I'm having a moment of
 clarity.  I'm finally seeing what I want.  I want to be a somebody
 here.  I don't want to walk around doing nothing of value week in and
 week out.  I want this championship.  I want to beat Abdullah, and
 Souza and Oakes and all of them.  I want Michaelson to see that yeah,
 the only way he'll beat me is to cheat his ass off.

I want to be on Rob Cole's mind.  I want Paul Styles to think of ways
 to get under my skin.  I want Chase Williams to be looking over his
 shoulder wondering when and where I'll make his move for his title.

And to do this, I need to become someone.  I need to earn respect
 around here, and it's not by acting like a jackass that that's going
 to happen.  This tournament, this is it for me.  This is the
 beginning of something much bigger.  CKD Abdullah is the first step
 to me becoming more.  Becoming the man I should be.  Not the man I
 am.

Styles: There's nothin' wrong with ya 'law.

Outlaw: Come on Johnny.  Remember POW?  I was the champion for
 godsakes.  I couldn't be beat.  I retired championship belts. And
 since then, what?  Lots of funny segments with jobbers?  Lots of
 being goofy with the crew?  I don't want to be remembered this way.

What happened to me?  What on earth made me reach this point?  Why in
 the hell ---

[Semi grabs Outlaw by the back of his head and smacks him onto the
 table.]

Styles: I don't think that was entirely necessary.

Semi: Eh, I think it had to be done.

[Outlaw raises his head up.]

Outlaw: So where the [bleep] was I ?  Oh yeah, I'm [bleep] facing
 Abdullah.. The [bleep] king of Saudi Arabia.  How [bleep] awesome is
 that?

Semi: That's much better now.

[Semi puts his hands behind his head, and stretches out enjoying the
 return to normal, as Outlaw blabs on about something incoherent.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
RJ Souza
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(Alone in a dark room. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling, The
PVW's Man In Black  steps into the light. Wearing his traditional Ray
Bans, hair slicked back and his tail, tied in rubber bands are
visible. The hooded sweatshirt catches some of the light, but not
enough to make out the color or any writing on it. The color slowly
fades until the picture shows shades of white, gray and black.)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: So, where do we go from here??

(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza:  Many people have tried to hurt me where it
hurts most. Every time, I came up stronger. They went for my weakest
link, tried to get the best of me.....only I came back...Stronger,
Harder and More Insane than when I started. They went and tried to
hurt my wife. In the end, I left a trail of broken bones and bloody
bodies in her honor. I put everyone of those cowards in their place.

(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza:  But what do you do to the man who called you
friend? The same man who hides behind the cross of the holy. The man
who, like a priest, takes advantage of a situation. He caresses the
pain of others and uses it to gratify himself sexually. You saw the
tapes. You saw how she came to your aid. SHE STOOD UP FOR YOU OVER ME,
CHRIS!!!! SHE WAS MY WORLD!!

(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: How do I win back the woman who built me up? How
do I show her that I am worthy of her attention? Seven..... Seven is
the magic number.


(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: 'The Shark' Johnny Oakes is the only confirmed
victim on this list. Don't take this personally, pal. You were put in
the wrong place at the wrong time. I know we had a match, but why
could you take a moment to think about what was going on. You could
have used your common sense, realized that I was on a roll. You saw me
take down a freakin' referee in my fit of anger...... but your dumb
ass showed up anyway. WHAM!!! Instant Victim... Just add a Karma Kick.
I went on a montage of poker references last time to promote my match.
I don't need it this week. I know it's just a matter of time. That
Karma Kick comes out from anywhere and BOOM!!! Game OVER!! I got you
John Boy. You know when I walked over your body last time you showed
up in the ring, you had no business in there with The Doctor of the
DDT, The Keeper of Karma....and the next PVW Rising Phoenix Heritage
Champion.

(RJ walks around as to gather his thoughts...before his next rounds of
rants.)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: 'The Fighting Irishman' Caleb Foley. What the
world are YOU thinking? You insult the "Conceited Bastard", Chase
Williams,The PVW Champion? You expect to walk away with your teeth??
Williams and I might not be on the same page. I know that we agree on
one thing. The only thing you got is balls, kid. Any illegal immigrant
who jumps out of the potato fields into the damn desert...he's got a
problem. I bet Chase has a few places for you. Maybe you can help mow
the lawns at his mansion with Pedro...or help Guadeloupe make a few
beds.You end up in the ring with me, Caleb... I will send your sorry
ass back to the land of four leaf clovers and shamrocks. I will
personally expire your Visa and dropkick your ass back on your side of
the pond.

(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: 'The Golden One' Christopher Michaelson. You
better know there is one Golden rule around here. You are in for some
Bad Karma when you screw with RJ Souza.  I know....been there, done
that line...Yada yada Yada. I know you and I share the same philosophy
on the rules. I know you and I could make a decent tag team. Paul
Sandler might even consider you for his "Agency". But this night will
be about one thing...and one thing only...ME!! You end up on the wrong
side of the ring, I can't help what I will have to do to you. But once
the Golden One falls short, I hope you don't take that personally.
There could be a Golden Opportunity later.

(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: 'International Excellence' Tyrone Parker, the
"Vet" of the bunch. Never met you, never known your history. Damn.....
 I wonder what high school gym you wrestled in to get that "Vet"
 status? International??  I don't even know if you are  "Interstate".
 Oh, and drop the "Excellence" part. That is reserved for such men as
 Paul Styles, Chase Williams and PVW's Man In Black!!

(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Outlaw. What a freakin' Joke. That guy can't
find his way to the right arena on the right day. That guy is so
stupid, he couldn't get laid in a woman's prison with a fist full of
pardons. Outlaw?? More like "Outwrestled, Outsmarted and Outclassed".
Outlaw should get "Out of the Business" and back into Juvenile hall.
Go get your G-E-D, Pray to the G-O-D and get you ass O-U-T of my ring.

(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza:  CKD Abdullah?? What kind of funked up name is
that?? What the Hell does the CKD mean? "Certified Krack Dealer??" Oh
wait. How about "Crazy Kid Drunk"? You get into the ring with me, I
will have a new acronym for you. Let's go with "Corpes Kicked Dead" by
RJ Souza? Abdullah.... I wonder if the Middle East will be safer for
you if you step into my war zone. You seen me talk about my opponents
from near and far. I know you seen what the Doctor of the DDT can do.
I'll make 9-11 look like jaywalking when I am done with you.You don't
need half a brain to see I am not a racist. I hate everyone equally!!

(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: And did I save the best for last. 'The Paladin'
Chris Hartt. We were partners. We were union. How do you return that
trust and faith?? You screw with my wife. It does not take a man to
realize what is going on when a friend and his wife  are talking
behind his back. They are plotting against him. "How do we get him out
of the picture?" You won't be able to Chris. You have pushed me to a
new level of carnage. I will be your Omega, Hartt.  There are not
enough words to describe the emotions that run through my body, The
hatred that runs through my veins that boils my blood. I hope to find
you in the finals of this tourney, Chris. I hope Destiny can get a
ringside seat. I want her to watch what I can do when the violence is
turned loose. You are the target of my attention. You have hid behind
the cloth of the holy while you covet thy friend's wife. You make me
sick, Chris. I will do everything I can to make sure you don't walk
away with the belt...  No matter where I finish in this damn thing!!!

(Silence)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Book it Monkeys!! All seven of you need to know
where on the food chain you stand. I am your next PVW Rising Phoenix
Heritage Champion.... LIKE IT OR NOT!!!!

(A sudden movement of RJ's arm reveals "Louisville" in his hands,
swinging at the light bulb.....and FTB)


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

[The camera fades in and you see PVW fans line up outside the areana.
One has to wonder who is gonna be coming out next. Could it be the
famous Rob Cole...Or how about the fan favorite and crazy son of a
b*tch Outlaw...or how about the PVW World Heavyweight Champion the
"Conceited Bastard" Chase Williams. All of a sudden the fans begin a
chant that has been heard a few times last night. A Foley chant begins
as none other than "The Fighting Irishman" Caleb Foley emerges from
the crowd. Caleb doesn't seem to care about the camera as he continues
to interact with the fans. Foley is signing an autograph for a little
girl who has a smile ear from ear. Foley hands her back her pen and
his autograph as he says something to her...]

Foley: "Now remember Alaina stay in school and get good grades. And if
you work hard at anything you can accomplish it as long as believe in
yourself and have a little LUCK..."

[Foley then slaps a couple of high fives and makes his way through the
crowd. Caleb then finally sees the camera and flashes a smile for the
camera. Then Caleb sees 'Swingin' Dean Hayes just standing there.]

Hayes: "Caleb may I get a word with you..."

Foley: "Go ahead..."

Hayes: "Well first thing is first congrats on winning your match
against Horse Thief..."

Foley: "Thank you but I must say Horse Theif is a great athlete and is
a very tough competitor. It was no easy win out there tonight and I am
glad that I came out of the ring almost a hundred percent..."

Hayes: "So your saying Caleb you injured something during your match
tonight..."

Foley: "No I am saying that after a match like that your gonna have
some bumps and bruises. It doesn't matter if your the PVW World
Heavyweight Champion Chase Williams or a wrestling legend like Rob
Cole. We understand that everytime we step inside that ring there is a
chance it could be our very last match. Anything can happen inside
that ring and after any match you need a couple of days to rest up."

Hayes: "Well many people are asking the question why did you interrupt
the World Champ Chase Williams tonight..."

Foley: "It is very simple Dean. Chase doesn't wrestle for the sport.
He doesn't wrestle for the fans. Chase wrestlers for three things and
three things only. Chase wrestles for accolades...the money...and
himself. I guess you can say his nickname fits him very well. I mean
he does call himself a CONCEITED BASTARD..."

Hayes: "Well it seems like you don't respect PVW World Heavyweight
Champion..."

Foley: "I respect Chase as a wrestler and that is pretty much it.
Chase is a great wrestler and that is exactly why he is the PVW World
Champion and I can't take away from him. But Chase has a very tough
opponent this week on Heatwave and it should be a very competitive
match for him. I mean he is facing a hometown favorite in Chris Tate
and I wish him the best of LUCK in his match against the World
Champ..."

Hayes: "Speaking of Heatwave this week your not scheduled to appear
this week..."

Foley: "That's fine with me. It actually gives me an extra night to
rest up for this one night eight men tournament for the vacant PvW
Rising Phoenix Heritage Title..."

Hayes: "Speaking of the mini tournament some would have to say that
your first round opponent 'The Golden One' Christopher Michaelson is
out for a little revenge. I mean you were one of three men who
eliminated him in the Blood Bowl..."

Foley: "The Golden One is one helluva a wrestler and he may be the
favorite to walk out of this tournament with some gold around his
waist. We all saw how Michaelson beat Outlaw at Heatwave. Christopher
has proven that he will do anything to get the W. He doesn't care
about the fans. All The Golden One cares about is how many women he
gets...how much he gets paid...how good he looks and what his win loss
record is. He doesn't care about the important things. He doesn't
realize how LUCKY he is to be living his dream. Michaelson doesn't
care about the fans. The Golden One is probably the best all around
wrestler on the PVW roster and I know that. I have all I need right
now I have the LUCK OF THE IRISH on my side..."

Hayes: "Not to burst your bubble Caleb but some wrestlers aren't to
pleased with your actions and they say your luck is about to run
out..."

Foley: "Let me tell you something I learned from my father. My father
always told me Dean it doesn't matter what other people think say or
do it. What matters is if you believe in yourself and if you have LUCK
on your side anything is possible. My whole life I have been an
underdog being the youngest sibling of eight I had to learn to fight
for what I wanted. Nothing was given to me. I was always the smallest
of my six brothers and still am to this day. But one thing has
changed. I now have the respect of my family and I did it by a little
hard work...a little determination and LUCK on my side."

Hayes: "Well Caleb one more question before I let you go rumor has it
that you and your father no longer speak. Can you tell us what
happened there?"

[Caleb seems to get a little emotional but composes himself before
answering...]

Foley: "Well honestly Dean that I rather not answer at this point and
time. I have only one thing on my mind right now and that is proving
all the doubters wrong once again. I have to show everyone once again
that last week wasn't a fluke that I beat Horse Theif and there is
only one way I can do that. I have to step inside that ring and do
what I do. I have to give it a hundred and ten percent out there. I
have to take risk...I have to be determined...I have to show
heart...But most of all I have to have LUCK on my side...So The Golden
One I have one question for you to ponder on...Do you feel LUCKY?"

[The camera fades to black as Caleb shakes the hand of Dean Hayes and
the camera man. One has to wonder why Caleb refused to answer the
question about his father. Did Hayes find a sore spot on this young
rookie sensation. Who will walk away with the PVW Rising Phoenix
Heritage Title? Will it be 'The Golden One' or The Fighting Irishman?
Is Foley's LUCK about to run out? There is only one way to fine out
and that is by tuning in...]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Christopher Michaelson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Slowly the camera fades in from black to reveal ‘The Golden One’
Christopher Michaelson walking out of an Aston Martin dealership. He
has a smile on his face as a salesman rushes back into the building.
Michaelson is wearing a black suit with a pale blue dress shirt
underneath and a black and blue stripped tie. He is wearing a pair of
sunglasses that he adjusts when he sees the camera. His smile fades a
bit as he enters interview mode.]

Michaelson: Recently some people have taken upon themselves to call me
generic. Generic …

[Michaelson pauses for a long moment.]

Michaelson: I guess in a way I have become generic. Seriously if you
take a look throughout every federation in the business today you
_will_ see a rip-off of Christopher Michaelson. You will see the
wannabe’s wearing the knock off Armani suits that they bought from the
Men’s Warehouse … not the five thousand dollar Armani Suits that I
wear. You see the rattlesnake shoes that they try to pass off as the
twenty five hundred dollar alligator shoes, and please do not get me
started on R-O-L-E-C-S that they want you to believe is the fifteen
thousand dollar real deal Rolexes. Every individual wants the perfect
bronze tan, the long hair, and the elegant robes ...

[Slowly Michaelson lets out a long sigh before speaking again.]

Michaelson: ... People want to be me so bad that it's as if you can go
into Wal-mart and buy me off the off the rack.  Yet, one look at me
and you know that this …

[Michaelson motions to himself.]

Michaelson: … right here is not a two bit Wal-mart rip-off. I don’t
stand in front of you smoking a cigarette trying to be cool … I don’t
stand here and tell you how much my newest car cost me … I don’t stand
here and tell what I did last night with the girl from the Bellagio.

[Michaelson removes his sunglasses with a bit of force from his
frustration.]

Michaelson: What I do is enter that ring each and every night and do
what I do better than anyone else in this federation … I WRESTLE … I
WIN … I DOMINATE. Just ask Tyrone Parker who feel victim to the G.O.D.
at the first ever Heatwave. I dominated him to the point where he has
yet to be able to return to his former glory. Tyrone Parker is a
broken man so broken that I would not be surprised if Chris Hartt is
able to defeat him at Tradition. But Chris Hartt that is as far as you
are going to make it in your quest for the Rising Phoenix Heritage
Championship. For you see this tournament is giving me two things …
Number One the Rising Phoenix Heritage Championship.

[Michaelson smirks.]

Michaelson: And Number two … which is just as important to me as the
Rising Phoenix Heritage Championship Belt … REVENGE!  You see Chris
Hartt I have already pinned ‘Mean’ Ed Outlaw … I mean ‘The Arizona
Kid’ Outlaw … wait that’s not his name … oh yes The Masked Outlaw
Maniac.

[The camera shakes side to side as if the cameraman is telling
Christopher Michaelson that he is still wrong. Christopher looks at
the camera perplexed for a split second.]

Michaelson: Look I don’t care what the future ditch digger of
America’s name actually is. All that matters is he suffered a defeat
at my hands! Now, where was I before this former PVW employee
interrupted me? Oh yes … Tradition and the nineteen year old rookie
Caleb Foley.  What does a nineteen year old know about tradition? I
mean honestly, rumor has it that it was just three years ago he was
potty trained.

[Michaelson shakes his head in disappointment.]
Michaelson: You think that the PVW management would put actual talent
in an event as prestigious as Tradition but I have control over that.
All I can do is bring Tradition to this tournament … but I digress.

Chris Hartt, Caleb Foley is a foregone conclusion that will leave
things to just you and I. Now there was a time when you were
considered an up and coming superstar in this business. A man who
could be groomed to become the face of a federation … but Chris those
days are long past for you. You see everyone has watched you embarrass
yourself with your so called wrestling talent … then again not
everyone can be Christopher Michaelson.

[Michaelson pauses and looks as though he is remembering. Suddenly
Michaelson smirks.]

Michaelson: Chris, Chris, Chris … the so called Paladin a man pure of
heart … tell me my friend how can a man who claims to be of high moral
fiber steal his friend’s wife? Forgive me Chris Hartt, your personal
life is your personal life and I have no business asking you about it.

[A sly smile crosses Michaelson’s face for a moment before replacing
his sunglasses.]

Michaelson: Back to business. Chris let me ask you a question. After
Tradition what will an Outlaw, Fighting Irishman and a Paladin all
have in common?

[Michaelson pauses.]

Michaelson: Each and every single one of you will have lost to the
Golden One Christopher Michaelson.

[ Michaelson smirks for a long moment.]

Michaelson: Tradition is the night of the Golden One. There will be no
miscarriages of justice as three individuals gang up upon me to take
away my glory and my championship! Tradition is the night I continue
my dominant wrestling in the PVW … Tradition will be the night a true
champion is crowned … Tradition is the night that Phoenix Valley
Wrestling rises above the ashes of the crumpling wrestling industry
upon the shoulders of The Golden One.

[Michaelson looks directly at the camera for a split second and begins
to walk away. He pauses and looks at the camera.]

Michaelson: One last thing I’m a man of my word so give this to ‘The
Wild’ Outlaw.

[Christopher tosses a business card at the cameraman.]

Michaelson: In case you decide you don’t want to continue being a part
of the ‘enhancement’ locker room feel free to give him a call. They
are building a new hotel in Las Vegas and need a ditch digger of your
ability to work on the sewer lines.

[Christopher Michaelson laughs as the camera fades to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Chris Hartt
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Backstage of the armory.  Chris Hartt sits in the dim lights, still
in his wrestling gear.  He holds an ice bag on the back of his head.
The sweat and dirt still cover him. Wrist tape dangles from each
forearm.  As he sits, it is easy to see the anger and frustration deep
within the troubled young man.]

Hartt:  Styles….Souza….Monarch…Cole!!!  The list just grows and grows
every week.  Each and every one of you cancerous douchebags have had a
hand in running me down, busting me up and trying to break me in half.
But…you all have come to learn the one lesson nobody ever seems to
remember!

[throws the ice bag across the room]

I…

Will not…

Break!!!

No matter what you may do, no matter how hard you try, I will stand
resolute!  Determined and focused in my beliefs and unwavering in the
truth that I do not have to say or show anyone that I am simply better
than all of you, but that it simply is so!

Right now, I'm remembering that quote from Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp
Fiction….

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities
of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the
name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley
of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder
of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great
vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my
brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my
vengeance upon you."

All around me, there is nothing but black-souled, hateful men who only
look to drag everyone else down so that their miserable outlook seems
bright by comparison.  It's my duty...my driving force in life to make
sure that none of you succeed.  I'm on top of the mountain looking
down on all of you pathetic souls.  I don't know whether to feel bad
for your sorry asses or be glad that I'm not down there with you.

Each one of you has helped to lower the possibility of greatness that
PVW hopes to achieve.  You've all had your chance to make this company
great, but instead, your greed, insincerity and total lack of respect
for your fellow human beings have made everyone look upon PVW with a
sad sense of shame.

Really, they should look at each and every one of you as sad, pathetic
excuses for human beings.

It's my job to hold you all back from destroying this company.  I am
devoted to preventing you from letting your evil, black souls pervert
and twist this

Paul Styles…congratulations on sneaking another win with help from
friends.  How many more instances of one-sided, self-benefiting
partnerships can you use to puff up your overblown sense of self-worth
before the entire world around you tells you to die in a fire because
we're all wise to your crap??  You strut and preen about being such a
great wrestler and championship material, but all you really are is a
gloating phony who has to use everyone around him to elevate himself
more.  Do us all a favor and choke on your own ego, Jack!

Jonathan Monarch…you interfered with RJ Souza to cost me a match.
You've drawn the line in the sand, and sometime soon, we'll see how
quick you really are to cross it.  You made a dangerous partnership
and it's gonna cost you dearly!  There's no way I'll quit until I've
made an example out of you!  Whatever pitiful skills you've managed to
pull from episodes of Mucha Lucha won't save you from my superior
technical skills. Once I'm done, you'll need a mask.  Or a paper bag
at the least!  Keep running behind the big dogs and all you'll end up
doing is running through their sh(beep)!

RJ Souza…I don't even know where to start with you, man.  What
happened to you?  You attacked me after my match.  You blamed me for
your problems with Destiny.  You drew a close to the friendship we
once had.  You used to be so cool, but now, you're a total whack-job.
You traded up having Destiny at your side for Paul Sandler.  What kind
of nonsense is that??  You'd rather have some dude holding onto your
big bat for you now?  Sounds kinda fruity to me, RJ!  You want to try
and blame me for your problems with Destiny?  Another poor choice!
You're the big fault of all your current problems, man!  Lay off the
cough syrup, really, I'm worried about you.  Thanks to you, though, my
head's ringing like church on Sunday morning.  But my time'll come and
I'll return the favor tenfold.  I'll step into the ring and show you
true judgement.  You aren't ever getting off of my list, nutcase!

And to the biggest nutcase of all, the Monster Under the Bed!  Rob
Cole tries to show me how to thwart all of Paul Styles' best offenses
and puncture any of his defenses.  Too bad Rob forgot Styles' first
weapon:  Superior Numbers!  But, as much of a 'teacher' Cole was, you
couldn't first bother to be a man! I guess it goes without saying,
being the Monster, and all!  It wasn't like I was trying to be your
best friend, or anything, just say thanks for the advice, but you had
to throw a big tantrum like an oversized 2 year old who isn't given
his total and complete way on everything!  So, from afar, thanks for
the advice, but next time, I think I'll stick with someone who can
actually maintain a sense of civil relationship about them!

What the fans of PVW want is someone who represents them and does it
the best way they can for the best reasons possible. You selfish jerks
all fight over who gets the microphone first so you can lay your
suddenly inspired insipid insults at everyone paying good money to
come to these shows!  Where do you all get off?  If life is that
miserable for you, do us all a favor and take a hike!  I know that I
don't need any of the dark depressive crap you jerks lay out, so let
those of us who aren't so jaded live our lives in peace.

I live for this business, but it's finest moment is the roar of that
crowd.  When they cheer for the things I do in the ring, it's like
being energized!  There's no greater thrill in life.  I wake up each
day ready to try and top myself to keep those roars and cheers coming.
After I face down Tyrone Parker, I'll be that much closer to holding
the PVW Heritage Title and can give the fans a champion to believe in.
Unlike our Heavyweight Champ, Chase Williams, who'd piss on your shoes
as much as speak to you, I will be a champion that fans can enjoy and
be proud of.  My hard work will be repaid by their adoration.  We all
go through our lives with so much misery and disappointment.
Shouldn't we get a break for something good once in a while? Like the
song says, through the fire and flames we carry on!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Johnny Oakes
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(Cut to earlier today, inside the arena the ring his half erected, the
lights are a mixture of up, missing or on the floor.  The whole place
is a hive of activity, leaning against a guard rail in the aisle is an
oasis of calm.

The Shark Johnny Oakes coolly stands and watches the crew go about
their business.  Wearing Jeans and  a T-Shirt he is expressionless and
slow to speak.)

JO: Bad Karma. RJ Souza. Oh man do we have a problem.  Last week I
said that I didn’t like you running round like a simple minded horse
with a thorn in its hoof.  I really don’t like the idea of you running
round smashing people up with whatever furniture you can get your
hands on… But as long as you play straight with me I’m gonna call it
none of my business.

(He stands up straighter and a flash of rage crosses is face)

JO:  But then you cracked me with a damn baseball bat… Now it IS my
business.

(Johnny brings his fist into the flat of his other hand and glares at
the camera for a second)

JO:  And thanks for making it mine.

(Johnny relaxes and spreads his arms in a more friendly manner)

JO:  RJ you seem frustrated and angry. Can I suggest becoming more
sexually active?… Oh I do mean with another person as well.  All this
rage just isn’t good for you man.  Now because I’m a decent guy, later
on tonight I’m gonna step into the ring with ya and I’m gonna beat
some of that frustration out of ya.

(Johnny actually smiles at this point)

JO:  I’m gonna hit ya in the face, then I’m gonna hit ya in the face,
then I’m gonna hit ya in the face!.  Think of me as like a good
psychiatrist. I will cure you of all your daydreams and delusions.  By
the time you get back to your feet the world will seem like a
different place.  You wont be rage filled, you wont be having the urge
to lash out… You will just accept that you are a basket case who
needed that ass kicking.

(Johnny walks over towards the ropeless ring. Talking as he moves)

JO:  I’ used to people going over the top, doing anything to get
ahead.  It's hard work. Gambling. Playing poker. Don't let anyone tell
you different. Think about what it's like sitting at a poker table
with people whose only goal is to cut your throat, take your money,
and leave you out back talking to yourself about what went wrong
inside. That's the way it is at the poker table. Its no different to
Mr Souza and his wooden friend tryin to make a name for himself.  The
fact that this is match one in a Title Tourney is almost beside the
point.

(Johnny slaps the ring apron a couple of times, staring at the centre
of the ring)

JO: I’m sure you’re gonna bring your A game son, and this will be a
proper fight.  That’s good, I like the idea that we are gonna be
putting it all on the line.  Is it worth it?  People will pay a
hundred dollars for a bottle of wine; to me that's not worth it. I'm
not going to say it is foolish to spend that kind of money, if that's
what you want. If a guy wants to bet twenty or thirty thousand dollars
in a poker game, that is his privilege. I am now betting my health on
taking you out of the picture, going on to a Title Match is a bonus,
but I ain’t even thinking of that until the guy who hit me with a damn
bat has fallen victim to a Shark Attack… You’re damn right this match
is worth it.

(Johnny turns around so his back is against the ring, he looks pretty
chilled out)

JO:  When you are done and dusted son, it’s gonna be nice to gun for
that gold.  I’m gonna wear it with pride.  I’m sure you couldn’t give
a Buffalos Ass about me, I’m probably just an obstacle infront of
where you wann be.  The commonest mistake in history is
underestimating your opponent; happens at the poker table all the
time.  That’s fine, if look over my shoulder I will make you regret it
son. I've always had confidence, but I never let my ego get to the
point that I think I'm the superstar, because I know that ego has
destroyed many a career.  I know you cant rely on nothing but your own
tough hide.  You get no breaks son, luck never gives it only lends.  I
gotta take you out because you took the wood to me.  I gotta take you
out cos I think you are a stain on this sport.  I gotta take you out
cos I’m a wrestler and that’s what I do.

(Johnny stands straight and glares into the camera)

JO:  What ever is pissin you off can it and sell it to someone else
little man. If I were interested in words I wouldn't have spent all
that classroom time in the Poker Room.  Look me in the eye.  Tonight
I’m gonna beat you up, I’m gonna hit you hard and I’m gonna lay a
Shark Attack on your ass.  You are in for a fight.  Deal with it.

(Fade out with Johnny glaring at the camera)