****************************************
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** Phoenix Valley Wrestling Presents  **
**            SHOWCASE                **
**            07.29.11                **
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-> Uncle Frank
-> Max and Sal
-> Senor Cloak Dos
-> Nevermind #1
-> Rob Cole
-> Jaime Roberts
-> Marcus Manson
-> Chris Hartt
-> Christopher Black
-> The Berserkers
-> Sammy Knight
-> Mike Bisignano
-> Larry Gionet
-> Gibson Hayes
-> The Prophets of Rage
-> Tyson Cain
-> The Renegades
-> Caleb Foley
-> Sinister
-> Johnny Detson
-> Nevermind #2
-> Perry Fontana
-> The Spectre
-> Alex Epstein and The Mercenary
-> AsH
-> Gibson Hayes, Livestock and The Gutch

****************************************
****************************************
Uncle Frank
****************************************
****************************************

[Cut to a public park.  The weather is fantastic.  Clear blue sky,
bright summer sun and just a light breeze to keep the heat from being
too stifling.  Witting on a bench by a trail overlooking a duck pond
and a large, grassy field where people are relaxing and generally
enjoying themselves we find Frank Knight.  Uncle Frank.  Resident
cheerful nutter of the PVW.  Uncle Frank is dressed in a plain white
T-shirt, a pair of blue jeans and white sneakers.  His dirty-blonde
hair is, as usual, unkempt and messy and the red-blonde stubble on his
face makes it clear that daily shaving is not something he bothers
with.  An unpleasant smile is plastered across his face as he intently
stares at one person after another, obviously making those ho notice
him doing so more than a little uncomfortable.  Particularly when he
does not look away after being spotted, but rather stares them right
in the eyes until it is they who look away.]

FK:  A Bright Future and a Better Tomorrow.

[He locks eyes with a young mother playing with her kids.  Again he
appears to find nothing wrong with enganging perfectly innocent people
in a creepy staredown.  The woman quickly gathers her children and
hurries off.]

FK:  A Bright Future and a Better Tomorrow.

]The words are almost whispered, Frank's lips barely moving, then he
speaks out loud.]

FK:  It's all for a Bright Future and a Better Tomorrow.  It's all
necessary.  It has to be done.  Just like Mr. Gibson Hayes explained.

[That creepy smile grows even nastier.]

FK:  They'll thank Uncle Frank when they understand.  They'll all
thank him.  They'll all understand eventually.

[Pause.]

FK:  Besides, it'll be ever so much fun and educational, and everyone
knows a good education will take you far in life.

[A nasty chuckle. and then he speaks quietly again.]

FK:  And we learn nothing if we do not suffer and struggle for it.
It's all necessary.  It's all for a Bright Future and a Better
Tomorrow.  They'll all understand.  All of Uncle Frank's wonderful
friends will agree it was all necessary.

[And we fade out.]

****************************************
****************************************
Max and Sal
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in to Max and Sal.  Sal is walking out of the screenshot as Max
sits in his chair, bored.]

Max:  We should become Gazebo Architects!

Sal:  Hold everything!  Stop everything NOW!

Max VO:  Being a professional wrestler has some nice perks.  Lots of
travel, meeting great fans, very little paperwork.  It's a good life.

[Sal rushes in a grin on his face, opening a package.  He finishes
opening up the wrapping...]

Sal VO:  And sometimes, it's a great life.

[... and shows the camera the new PS3 "PVW Wrestling: Tradition" video
game.  We have a quick fade out to Max and Sal sitting in front of the
TV, duking it out.]

Max:  HEAT vs. HEAT... ten minutes in, nothing but nut shots from both
sides.

Sal:  It's _so_ realistic.

Max:  They even have both Arvelles talking and talking and talking,
but never actually saying anything.

Max and Sal:  JUST LIKE REAL LIFE!

Max VO:  Not only is the game fun, but this might help us prepare for
our rematch with Sex Appeal!

Sal VO:  Yeah, but... Powell's in the game, but "Offensive" Alex Adams
wasn't in the fed when the game was signed off.

Max VO:  I was thinking about that, but I found a solution...

[Cut to Max and Sal in an attic, with Max pulling out a dusty video
game.  He blows off the dust to reveal...]

Sal:  [Reading the cover]  Intellivision's "Stars of the Mat".
Starring the Prophets of Rage, "Crimson" Joe Reed, and "Offensive"
Alex Adams.

Max:  The graphics are a little blocky, but it's a start.

[Cut back to Max and Sal playing the PS3.]

Max VO:  Meanwhile, we decided to have a showdown, once and for all.
Max vs. Sal, Dream match.  Winner gets gloating points for eternity.

Max:  Let me just get a soda...

[As Max leaves the room, Sal turns to address the camera.]

Sal:  OK, I'm going to beat Max using a sleeper hold.  No one ever
uses it anymore, and Max can't break out of one in real life- let
alone a video game.

[Max comes back in just as a cell phone starts ringing.  Sal looks
down and grabs it.]

Sal:  Let me take this. [he walks out of the room to talk.  Now it's
Max's turn to speak.]

Max:  All right, time to break out my secret weapon.  This was passed
on down by my grandpa to my dad to me.  [He leans in conspiratorially
to the camera.]   This calls for the sleeper hold.  Sal will never see
it coming!

[Black screen with the caption "A SHORT TIME LATER..." appears.
Camera comes back up and the apartment is a mess:  broken lamp, tossed
chairs, crooked picture frame.  Max and Sal are yelling and pointing
at each other.

Sal:  What the hell did you do?!

Max:  Me?!  This was YOUR fault!

Sal:  Why would I even want Chip Lester and Fred Hoyle to suddenly
come out and attack us?!

[Indeed, panning over to the TV screen we see the two PVW commentators
doing what can be best described as a poor rendition of the Electric
Slide over the fallen, pixellated bodies of Max and Sal.  The real Max
picks up one of the controllers.]

Max:  Huh.  Must have been a programmer's Easter egg or something.
[He pauses]  Hey, we've got some new options unlocked!

Sal:  Whoa- new referees, new outfits... new matches

Max VO:  Some of the new options sounded like a blast.

Sal:  Two out of three falls..,  Texas Death Match...

Max VO:  Others... not so much.

Sal:  Evening Gown Match?

Max:  What type of sick sick person would want an evening gown match?

[Momentary Pause]

Max:  I call Gutch.

Sal:  I've got Livestock.

Max:  Make it a Lumberjack match- we'll spend the entire time running
out of the ring.

Sal:  Already on it- and Pete Hernandez is the referee.  He'll spend
so much time diving he won't count anyone out ever.  Very nice muumuu
on Gutch.

Max:  I went with the Cornflower Blue.

[As Max and Sal begin their next 'match', the camera fades to
black...]

****************************************
****************************************
Senor Cloak Dos
****************************************
****************************************

[Scene opens to a hallway in some hotel in Long Beach, California.
"Swingin'" Dean Hayes is standing outside a door dressed in his usual
spiffy suit and holding a microphone. Standing next to him, dressed in
a lime green button up pajama shirt and yellow pajama pants and
wearing a black mask that covers his entire head and has cherry
colored eye visors that prevent us from seeing his eyes and cherry
colored "SCII" on the forehead, is PVW's luchadore sensation.. Senor
Cloak Dos.]

SDH: Folks, with me at this time is Senor Cloak Dos! The man who is
set to face off against the MONSTROUS William Craven on the debut
episode of Shockwave and... *sniff*

[Hayes leans in closer to the masked man then pulls his head back.]

SDH: Goodness young man! You smell awful!

SCD: Lo siento, Senor Hayes. I have not been able to take a shower yet
because my room mate is still using it.

SDH: But you smell like an old couch and cigarette smoke!

SCD: Well, I can explain that Senor Hayes. I had to sleep on a couch
in the hotel lobby last night because my room mate.. Well.. He had
friends in our room.

SDH: Friends?

[Suddenly we hear the sounds of laughter coming from behind the door.
It sounds like a man and more than one woman are in the room. Dean's
eyes go wide.]

SDH: Who is your room mate? What is going on in there?!

SCD: My room mate is an amigo who wanted to share hotel rooms so that
we could both save money because I do not make as much money as some
people think that I do. Most of the money, due to licensing fees, goes
to Senor Original and PVW.

[More raucous laughter can be heard.]

SDH: I understand all of that but who is it? Who is in there and who
is he in there wit-

[Suddenly the door flies open cutting off Dean, who has to jump out of
the way of the opening door as does Dos. Hayes readjusts himself and
then his jaw drops as he sees The Masked Maniac, fresh from a shower,
wearing only his mask and a blue robe that is thankfully closed. On
each arm is a tall beautiful woman, one with dark brown hair and the
other with bleached blonde hair, both wearing only a towel wrapped
around them, covering up the naughty bits. Dean's lip begins to
quiver.]

SDH: M-m-m-masked Maniac?!

MM: Dean-O! What are you doing here?

SDH: I c-came here to interview Senor Cloak Dos because our interview
got cut short on the las Heatwave.. What on EARTH is going on Maniac?!

MM: What does it look like? A party! BWAHAHA!

[The women laugh as they rub Maniac's chest. Dean is still in shock
while Cloak looks away, not putting his eyes on the towel covered
women. Maniac looks over at the luchadore.]

MM: Dude! Where have you been?! I told you I brought some girls for
partying!

SCD: I ah... Had to get some chewing gum and got lost.

MM: What?! Dude! You just missed out on a night of...

[Cloak covers his masked ears while Dean becomes alarmed.]

SDH: Hey! Watch what you say, Maniac! This is being filmed!

MM: Being filmed? But you missed all the action! I have taught my
little buddy over here about Masked Bro's Before Ho's, Dean! But I was
going to show him last night another motto.. Masked Bro's Get All The
Ho's! BWAHAHA!

[The dark brown haired woman frowns and pulls on Maniac's mask.]

Woman: You said you would only call us that in the shower!

MM: My apologies, babe! I guess that means we better get back in that
shower!

[The women laugh and rush out of sight inside the room while Maniac
motions with his hand.]

MM: Dude, Masked Bro! I'll keep the party going, come join in!
Bwahaha!

[And with that Maniac closes the door and Senor Cloak Dos relaxes
while shaking his head. Dean stares at the door for a while then turns
to the masked man.]

SDH: How did he get those women?!

SCD: Apparently women are attracted to the masks that us luchadores
wear. Senor Maniac said that our masks are.. "chick magnets".

SDH: ... I wish I had a mask!

SCD: I thought he meant we could get chicken for free.

[Dean shakes his head in exasperation.]

SDH: My God, man! You could be in there with those women right now
doing.. PARTYING!

[Cloak shakes his head.]

SCD: No, Senor Hayes. There are many young fans out there who wear
this mask and look up to this mask. I am a young man, Senor Hayes. One
day I will meet my one and only and find the warm glow of true love.
But until that day I am happy fighting for truth, justice and all the
little amigos out there!

[Dean stares at the luchadore as if he grew two heads then he shakes
his head and snaps back to his duty.]

SDH: Dos, on this last Heatwave we were doing an interview when you
got a phone call from the Make A Wish Foundation. What happened?

SCD: Si, Senor Hayes. They called me about a little amiga I met
earlier this year who has asked to have a tour backstage at a Heatwave
with me.

SDH: Oh?

SCD: Si. I will be with her and her parents at this next Heatwave to
make her wish come true.

SDH: That is very admirable of you, young man. But before Heatwave, as
I mentioned earlier, you have a one on one match against William
Craven on the debut episode of Shockwave. In your recent match teaming
with Rob Cole against Craven and Christopher Black, both you and Cole
were lucky to be able to walk to the back on your own thanks to the
help of Sinister and AsH. How will you be able to survive facing off
against Craven one on one to make it to Heatwave to play tour guide?

[The small masked man nods his head.]

SCD: It is true, Senor Hayes, that Senors Craven y Black were quite
the tag team and had both Senor Cole and myself in much trouble. Mucho
Gracias to mi amigos Padre Sin and Senor AsH for saving us from who
knows what horrible fate those two had planned for us. Senor Craven is
a giant, Senor Hayes.

SDH: Yes.

SCD: He is massive in size. He is gigantic in his ability to cause
violence and harm on others. The heinous acts he has done to Senor
Cole are unspeakably cruel and mean intentioned. Senor Craven is rudo
through and through and he is trying to make Senor Black even more a
disciple to the ways of el rudo than Black is already. But there is a
young fan, who has been battling a fight that most of us can not even
begin to withstand, waiting for me to fulfill their wish on Heatwave,
Senor Hayes. Nothing and no one on this Earth will stop me from making
that little amiga's wish come true. Senor Craven is bigger, stronger
and he feels no pain but he is not bigger or stronger than the fight
this little amiga is going through, Senor Hayes. His lack of feeling
pain has put Senor Craven at a disadvantage as well.

SDH: What?!

SCD: Those who feel pain and still fight or put themselves in harm's
way know true bravery, Senor Hayes. Senor Craven can not in his
wildest dreams approach the bravery of this little amiga who is
waiting for me to be at Heatwave to fulfill her wish. I can not let
such bravery go unrewarded, Senor Hayes. I will do anything and
everything within the honorable ways to conquer Senor Craven or at
least survive so that I can be there to make her wish come true.

[Dean Hayes looks surprised and unsure of the luchadore's chances but
he nods his head.]

SDH: Well best of luck to you, Dos. I know you will not let this young
fan down.

SCD: Mucho gracias, Senor Hayes. But ah.. Can I ask a favor from you,
por favor?

SDH: A favor from me?! S-sure, what is it?

SCD: Could I use the shower in your hotel room? I can not use the one
in mine.

SDH: What I would give to use your shower right now... ah...

[Dean looks at the small masked man then nods his head.]

SDH: Sure. No problem.

SCD: Mucho Gracias, Senor Hayes. If I had one of those walkie talkie
phones everyone uses I would call Senor AsH and try to use his...

SDH: You mean a cell phone? I am going to take you cellphone shopping
later! I don't want anymore of my interviews interupted by that!

[The two men walk offscreen while the sounds of laughter from behind
the door carry on raucously loud. After a few moments Dean reappears.]

SDH: Let me just uh.. get your bags for you really quick.. Yeah...

[Dean adjusts his tie and with a big smile opens the door.]

SDH: I'll be just a moment!

[Dean goes inside and after a few moments...]

Man's Voice: HEY! What are you doing?!

Woman's Voice: EEEEK! HE DOES NOT HAVE A MASK ON!

Another Woman's Voice: HE CAN SEE EVERYTHING! HIDE US MASKED MANIAC!

Man's Voice: Don't worry, ladies! Yo, Dean-O... MASKED BRO'S HOS
BEFORE UNMASKED BROS!

Other Man's Voice: AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
[We hear the sound of running and Dean comes running out with some
bags.]

SDH: Feet don't fail me now!

[Hayes takes off running offscreen and a hand pulls the door shut and
the scene fades.]

****************************************
****************************************
Nevermind #1
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera opens inside a locker room.   A low wooden bench stretches
in front of a row of grey metal lockers.  Off camera, a locker slams,
the sound echoing  through the air.  Seated on the bench is the man
known to PVW viewers as Nevermind.   He is leaning forward, resting
his elbows upon his knees and his head down.  His hair is dripping
wet, and his upper body is bare and glistening with drops and streaks
of water.  He straightens his back and reveals a massive chest covered
with hair.  A thick beard full of water hangs several inches below his
jawline.  He wears his tattered black kilt and nearly destroyed combat
boots which are held together only by the thick strips of silver tape
wrapped around them.  He flips his head back, slinging the sopping wet
mop of unruly black hair out of his face and sending drops of water
flying everywhere.  One settles upon the lens of the camera as
Nevermind begins to speak...]

You would think that by now, I would know better.  But it seems that
no matter how low my opinion of humanity gets, I still find out that
it's not low enough.  Of course, lumping Perry Fontana and Johnny
Detson in with humanity may be a bit generous.   Don't get me wrong, I
can tolerate lying, cheating and general scumbaggery.  In this
business, it's all you ever see.  That doesn't bother me.  But what I
can't stand is hypocrisy.   I always figured you for a hypocrite,
Fontana, but I never expected you to prove it so fast.

For all your talk about wanting to prove who's the better man against
Donkerhardt, at the end of the day, you're just another lying piece of
crap who wants a title.  That's why you got your girlfriend Detson to
replace Donkerhardt and put you against me in a number one contender
match.  All you wanted was to insure your chance at the American
title.  If I had wrestled Donkerhardt, I would be the American
champion right now, and your match with him would actually just be for
pride and to prove who's the best technical wrestler.  But you never
wanted that.  It sounds good and makes you seem like slightly less of
a joke admittedly, but if you really wanted to just prove you were a
better wrestler than Donkerhardt, you'd just do it without bringing
any titles or anything else into it.

But just like everyone else found out that you're totally full of
crap, you found out that you may be able to delay the inevitable, but
you can't prevent it.  I'll still get the American title.  The only
thing you managed to do was to see to it that it may be you instead of
Donkerhardt that I beat for it.   You better hope the little Dutch Boy
beats you, Perry, because if it's you that I face for that title,
we'll find out just how "undying" you really are.  I'll get my match.
Time is nothing to me.  Just like you.   But next time you and Detson
are stealing a smooch out behind the bleachers, remember this:  Just
because I don't care, doesn't mean I'll tolerate people interfering in
my business, and just because you mean nothing to me, doesn't mean
I'll forget about you.  Then again, who knows?  I just might.  I have
a lot on my plate right now.

For example, the 6 man tag match I have coming up in Long Beach, not
that it will actually require a lot of thought.  Why think about it?
Why should I worry about Sammy Knight?  For that matter, why should I
even acknowledge his existence since I have absolutely no idea who the
crap he is?  Marcus Manson, it wasn't too long ago that you and I were
wrestling as partners.  I think we won.  I really don't care enough to
remember.  I told you then you didn't have to worry about me.  Just
stay on your side of the ring, and tag out if I'm in and it will be
the same way this time.  And once again, I find myself across the ring
from Chris Hartt.  Paladin, exactly how many chances are you going to
get to try to beat me?  Not that winning some six man cluster would
exactly be a meaningful victory, but you've already shown us all that
you don't necessarily care about that.  A win's a win, right?  In your
case, you could use all of them you can get, regardless of how tainted
or pointless they may be.  You better hope your team pulls this one
out, Paladin, because this is the last chance you'll get against me.
I'm done with you, Hartt.  What's the point in beating a dead horse?
Other than for the sheer pleasure of it, I mean.

But you probably won't win, Hartt.  It's not that I have faith in my
teammates.  I don't.  I mean, I'm teaming up with the king of the
scumbags, and some guy who wants to grow up to be the boogey man.
Gionet, Spectre, I'll tell you the same thing I tell all the guys I'm
forced to be partners with.  Do your job, and don't try to pull
anything stupid and you'll have no problems with me.   Get in my way,
and well, just never mind...

[With that, Nevermind bows his head once more and leans forward to
look at the concrete floor, completely ignoring the camera, which
pulls back slightly and fades to black...]

****************************************
****************************************
Rob Cole
****************************************
****************************************

[He paces back and forth, his body covered in sweat and his eyes a
little wild as be tries to control his breathing. He turns to face the
camera, shaking his head as a deriding chuckle escapes his lips and he
closes his eyes for a moment. He holds an ice pack to the back of his
head. He opens his mouth to speak and stands still in order to regard
the camera. He shuts it after a moment and shakes his head with
disgust.]

RC: I can't believe I fell for it... for even a second! For even a
moment! You know... it makes sense now, what with hindsight being
twenty-something. You walk out there, you win yourself some accolades,
you hurt a good man, and then you wear HIS face and try to get a
monster ta' do the rest of the work for you. It's a simple game played
far too often enough, but I guess it still works on occasion.

[Cole laughs again, slaps his palm to his forehead and looks a little
stupid.]

RC: Silly me!

[Cole spins and tears down the PVW banner, his eyes flaming with
hatred as he breathes in deeply... his voice cracking with the fury of
the moment. Tears begin to pour from his eyes as he speaks.]

RC: I don't need a two-bit punk like you getting mouthy with me,
Chris! I've been living with the nightmare of your buddy, your friend,
your pal; Bill Craven! He came after my family, Black! He came after
my son! You think I don't feel "it"?!??!!! You think your lingo and
your demeanor mean a dang thing to me?!?!!! 1995!!!! I've been in this
sport since 1995.... I have wrestled all over this world, I have won
titles, I have been in veritable wars, and you have the GALL to say I
don't understand "it"?!?!!!  You haven't even scraped the hindquarter
dandruff from "it", yet!

[He grabs the camera... eyes filled with hatred.]

RC: You think this is going to be "glorious"?!?!!! You punk-bucket
pile of dung... rat filth!!! I'm going to tear you apart in that ring!
One piece to the fans in the third row, south side... one piece all
the way up to the nosebleeds.... Another piece for the time keeper...
on and on and on! I'm going to tear at you, rip at you, break you down
and then tear that belt off your waist and shove it down your
miserable gullet! When they gather the pieces....

[And now the camera falls, and Cole follows it to the ground. Leaning
in hard, spittle dripping from his mouth.]

RC: ... no! You listen to me... when they pick up the little pieces
and they bring them back to your buddy, your friend, your pal.... When
William Craven puts you together again and winds you up, I want you to
tell him that you made a terrible mistake! I want you to tell him
about how you used to be a champion, how you used to pick on good men,
but that Rob Cole did things to you and now you don't know if you can
sleep, if you can close your eyes, if you can ever be the same. I want
you to tell him about your horrible encounter with me, about your
horrible decision to get involved in our business! Tell him! TELL
HIM!!! YOU WILL TELL HIM!!!!!

[Cole laughs maniacally... and then sobers. All you can see are his
eyes as he moves a little bit above the camera. His voice is deep.]

RC: I know you will, Chris. You're a proper British gentleman, aren't
you? You wanted a lesson in violence? You wanted to sip from the cup
of horror? You have no idea, little boy...

*BLACK*

****************************************
****************************************
Jaime Roberts
****************************************
****************************************

[As the PVW cameraman catches up with Jaime Roberts in his well
appointed home gym, he's moving from side to side, running his hand
through his hair. A generous observer would call it dancing, although
for a reasonably athletic star he's got no rhythm at all. The
cameraman coughs.]

JR: Hey!

I love this dance, man. You know what it's called? The Dougie.

[He grins happily.]

JR: I don't get out much these days, what with the kids, so the whole
dance craze stuff was passing me by. Then I saw this...

Where DID I see this?

[He looks puzzled. Well, he looks like someone pretending to be
puzzled. Can't dance, can't act, can wrestle a little.]

JR: Oh, yeah. AsH did it. AsH is awesome! And coincidentally, he did
it against a guy I'm lining up against to make my Heatwave debut,
Tyson Cain. Looked like everyone was really enjoying that. Apart from
Tyson, of course.

[He smiles even more widely.]

Tyson, Tyson, Tyson. Buddy, can I give you a little advice? I know you
haven't had the best of starts, but attacking an official like you did
after your loss to AsH? That's not cool, man. I mean, you just kinda
snapped there. And no wonder, you're so tense, with the start you've
had.

[He pauses.]

I used to be like you. Such a hot young superstar that everyone
thought I had the world at my feet, and I started to believe the hype.
I think that's where you're going wrong, to be honest, kid.

[He winks.]

Don't mind if a grizzled veteran of 12 years, like myself, calls you
kid, do you?

[A shrug.]

Anyway, my advice, loosen up a bit. Have some fun. Say hi to the fans
- they're surprisingly cool people. A few years ago I'd never have
believed that, but it's true.

And look forward to Heatwave, because something tells me we're going
to have ourselves a real fun time!

[Cut.]

****************************************
****************************************
Marcus Manson
****************************************
****************************************

[Marcus Manson sits in the examining room of a doctor's office. He is
hunched over, staring at the floor. The white paper on the examining
bed makes crinkling dounds as he shifts his weight. His long black
hair is hanging loose around his face, obscuring most of it in shadow.
He holds a large ice pack on the back of his neck.]

Manson: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Spectre, you've gotten the better of me two weeks in a row now. I've
taken the rebirth two weeks in a row, and now PVW has sent me here to
make sure my neck's not screwed up and that I'm cleared to wrestle on
Heatwave.

You had better pray that I am not. Despite the fact that I am paired
with our resident hypocrite, Sammy Knight, I am not going to let that
stop me from heart punching the hell out of you.

[Manson lifts his face to look into the camera,  eye narrowed.]

I know your game, Spectre. You want me to lose my cool, and submit to
my inner beast. You want me to let this fictional thing take over and
go on a murderous rampage inside that ring.

[Manson grins a malicious grin.]

Spectre, I've got news for you. If there is a beast, it's not
something that lives inside me like a spirit, I am the god damned
beast made whole.

And then there's Gionet and Nevermind.

Gionet, you've already come face to face with me and were found
wanting. I've beaten you before and I will do it again.

As for Nevermind... well, just never mind.

[Manson smirks.]

Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

Fool me three times...

[Manson shakes his head.]

You don't want to know what happens then.

Spectre, next week I will get my hands on you again, and this time I
will tear your heart from your chest. Sammy Knight and Chris Hartt
will bear witness, and if I have to go through Gionet and Nevermind to
get to you, so be it. When all is said and done we will see what
should really be feared. The Dark, or The Misery.

[Fade.]

****************************************
****************************************
Chris Hartt
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera opens to the master bedroom of 'The Paladin' Chris Hartt.
The bed is a mess, covered in clothes and sheaves of paper. At a
reclining chair next to the bed and by the window sits Chris Hartt.
The ragged look to his features shows that if he's seen any rest at
all in days, it's been fitful.  He rests his chin in the palm of his
hand and looks lost in concentration.]

Hartt: [sighs heavily]  It wasn't meant to happen this way.  There's
no call for it.  And now it's all lost.  I thought I had the match on
my own.  I never saw Nevermind get involved and now that I know it,
the match is all lost.  The purpose is lost.  Meaning is lost.  I had
a purpose in that match and once again, that flea-ridden walking
garbage pile had to interfere.

I had a point to prove to my former friends.  I had to show them that
their choices had consequences.  I had to show them that I still stood
strong while they gave in to weakness and temptation.  But now that's
all blown to bits because of you, Nevermind.

I've called every official I can.  I pleaded with Dex Willingham to
hear me out.  I even suffered the laughter and derision of Johnny
Detson, hoping that ass-puppet would hear my case. But no go.  The
record stands as it is and my tainted victory is mine to bear. All
thanks to you.

Does it make you laugh to know you gave me that match?  Do you think
you're going to take pleasure in driving me crazy, reminding me that
you aided me?  That you gave me what I couldn't do for myself?  I bet
it just warms your filthy heart to watch as I squirm because you were
the key to my victory.

I can sit here and do all I can to try and look past it. I can try to
forge ahead and think about the next match, but you're in my next
match. A 6-man tag match with me, Sammy Knight and Marcus Manson
against you, Spectre and Gionet.

So. F***king. What?

All I want is you, Nevermind.  I want to feel your throat in my hands.
I want to hear you groan in pain as I beat the life out of you.  I
want you to scream. I want you to beg me to stop.  Because then, all
I'm going to do is look into your eyes and say 'No'.

You've driven me to an edge, Nevermind.  You continually interfere in
my life, my business and my peace of mind.  You pick and pick and pick
and now you've managed to chip through to the real me.  I'm not gonna
lie.  You wanna smirk and mock me as a choir boy?  Well, that's gone
now.  All that's left is rage.  All that's left is my urge to hurt
you.  The only thing I care about right now is pain.  Your pain.  You
think you can't be hurt because you have nothing and are 'King
Nothing'?

Let's see how regal you look when I stick that crown where nobody can
salute.

I'm going to make sure that you suffer for every intrusion you've
caused. I will take you down and make sure you don't get up again.
And if you won't meet me in that ring, then I'll just have to come
find you, no matter what nasty alley you've holed up in that night.
You can't -- you won't -- escape me, you son of a b!

****************************************
****************************************
Christopher Black
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in on the sitting area of a hotel room.  It's obviously not the
economy suite with its deep leather chair and couch, cherry wood table
and lead crystal tumbler with matching seltzer bottle.  Though it's
daylight outside, the curtains are drawn shut, giving the sun little
chance to penetrate and leaving the inside as shadow.  By the seltzer
bottle is an ice bucket and a bottle of Glenfiddich.

Disturbing the stillness of the room is one Jacob Rose.  Dressed in a
yellow oxford shirt, red tie and black dress slacks (forgoing the
matching jacket for a change), the large Londoner is clearly agitated
as he paces around the room.  In stark contrast, however, is his
client, PVW Television Champion "Bad Wolf" Christopher Black.  The Bad
Wolf sits in the middle of the couch with his eyes shut and the TV
belt laid across his lap, willfully oblivious to his financial
advisor's distress.]

JR:  I cannot begin to understand--!

[Jacob pauses, scrambling to drop a couple of ice cubes into one of
the tumblers.  He fumbles a bit with the stopper of the Glenfiddich
before getting it open and splashing the amber liquid into his glass.
Rose then reaches for the seltzer bottle, but stops himself and
instead quickly drains the glass dry with one swallow.  He sets the
glass back down with a loud clatter, but Black remains maddeningly
silent, neutral expression on his angular face.]

JR:  No.  Let me start again.  I don't _want_ to understand these
obsessions, Mister Black!  With Mister Cloak Dos and now Mister Cole
and Mister Craven. You're turning this into some sort of war -- an
unnecessary war at that!  What's the point of it all?!

[With a grunt of frustration, Jacob rubs his forehead.  He stares
pleadingly at his client to say something -- anything.  Black only
raises his head, eyes still tightly shut as if he's straining to hear
some secret siren's song or sacred hymn.  Or, more likely, Craven's
vaunted muse of violence.  One hand clamps its grip down onto the
leather strap of the TV belt and at that, Jacob's eyes widen, perhaps
sensing a possible opening.]

JR:  Mister Cole...he's a former World Champion, Sir.  If you're not
careful, you could lose--

[A dark chuckle suddenly erupts from the Bad Wolf.  Jacob
instinctively takes a step back, but the look on the financial
advisor's face is one of uneasy relief at finally getting a reaction.]

CB:  Lose?  To Cole?!  [Black's eyes snap open.]  Once upon a time,
maybe, but the "Monster Under the Bed" -- [A sneer] -- is nothin' but
a toothless trickster.  A snivellin' shell o' his former self!

[Now the Bad Wolf rises from his seat, grip tightening protectively on
the belt.  A manic grin spreads across his face as Jacob takes another
step back.]

CB:  Cole...oh, he'll say all the right [bleep], the Wolf reckons.
Justice.  Honour.  Righteousness. [Mockery drips from every snarling
syllable]  An' he's just so eager to go belly up an' offer the Wolf's
belt to Dos with a doe-eyed whimper.  [The Bad Wolf's face hardens
into an icy scowl.] Ain't gonna happen, mate.  Ya can't hide behind
Cole an' the rest o' your pals forever. Sooner or later, the Bad
Wolf's gonna rip that pathetic hide off your bloody face!
Faces...  [Black's eyes narrow.]  False faces together, him an' Cole.
Them yobs can't bear to look at their mewlin' mouths in the mirror
anymore.  An' all they can do now is lie to themselves an' their eager
sheep!

JR:  But about Mister Cole--

[The Wolf's lanky frame shakes with laughter, cutting Jacob off.]

CB:  Oh, Cole...  Old King Cole an' his miserable soul.  [Black shakes
his head in mock pity.]  Craven's given his blessin' for the Wolf to
take his pound o' flesh from your gutless carcass an' take his share
o' the feast.  [An eager growl escape him.]  No man or monster can
stand against his hunger!

[Jacob eyes his client cautiously, trying to find the right words.]

JR:  [voice low]  Sir, if...if you beat Mister Cole -- and Mister
Cloak Dos -- will it finally be enough?

[Standing in the shadows, Black is silent for a few moments,
fingertips stroking the TV belt.  Then the Bad Wolf frowns.]

CB:  Not yet.  Somethin's still missin'...

[As Jacob shakes his head ruefully as if expecting such an answer, we
fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
The Berserkers
****************************************
****************************************

(Long Beach, California: We zoom in on two familiar men on the beach.
It's Wolf and Doom of the Berserkers wearing muscle shirts, black
jeans, and sun glasses.)

Wolf: What a change of scenery from back home in the Windy City.  It
doesn't get much better then this, Doom.  We are walking the sunny
beaches in California as we travel up the west coast knocking out tag
team after tag team.  And this week we have another a new challenge
when we take on Baltic Ave.

Doom: Baltic Ave what did you do in your life to receive such bad
karma?  You could have faced anyone in the PVW and faired much better.
 Instead you had the unlucky chance of drawing the hottest tag team in
professional wrestling today.  We are on the rise coming off two quick
wins in the PVW.  We have spent the last few years in Japan putting a
hurting on everyone that stood in our way.  Now on the debut episode
of Shockwave the only thing standing in our way of another victory are
you two.

(Big laugh.)

Wolf: Batlic Ave you two are about to find out why the PVW world has
been abuzz and talking about the Berserkers.  They are singing about
the dream match between the Prophets of Rage and the Berserkers.  Two
hard nosed old school tag teams.  Two teams the bleed tag team
wrestling.  It's in these very veins.  And the Prophets have beaten
everybody in this industry.

Doom: Except one.

Wolf: You are looking at the new gateway to the tag team division.  No
longer will the Rage brothers be the measuring stick around these
parts.  It starts with Batic Ave.  And it doesn't end until we have
the PVW tag team titles around our waist.  It doesn't matter if it's
Team Tomorrow or if it's Sex Appeal.  Heck it could be Livestock and
The Gutch for all we care.  Everytime we enter the PVW ring we are
ready to fight.  And the PVW has the greatest roster of tag teams in
over ten years.

Doom: This is why we are here.  We are here to prove that we are the
best.  Baltic Ave after Shockwave you two will become a footnote.
Another team to feel the pain.

Wolf: Another team to feel the hurt.

Doom: Another team to feel the boom.

Wolf: BOOM!

Doom: BOOM!

Wolf: And when we are done.  Derek and Shadoe we are coming.

Doom: We are coming for you.

(FTB)

****************************************
****************************************
Sammy Knight
****************************************
****************************************

"Long Beach, California."

[Fade in.]

"Sometimes known as Strong Beach."

[The growingly familiar voice of Sammy Knight is heard; filled with
that Angeleno, West Compton drawl.]

"Whatever the fuck you call it, it's one helluva city."

[PVW's Knight finds a moment of solitude along the bleachers of Long
Beach Polytechnic High School, better wise known as Long Beach Poly.
Knight sits alone at Veteran's Stadium, home of the Jackrabbits, and
the school that has placed more athletes in the NFL than any other
high school in America.

On a relatively brisk summer evening in the Los Angeles suburb, Knight
is wearing a black pair of basketball shorts, some white Nike Dunks
and a black hooded sweatshirt that reads, "Thou Shall Not Slander"
across the chest, Knight looks out pensively on the stadium, his brow
somewhat squinted together.]

"There was a time in my life when I wouldn't be caught dead on the
Eastside of Long Beach; a time that I remember far too well.  For a
nigga like me, representing what I represented; wearing the flag that
I wore, Long Beach was MY Vietnam, MY ultimate death wish."

[The Eastside of Long Beach, familiar to popular culture as a result
of such hip-hop acts as Snoop Dogg, Warren G, the late Nate Dogg and
Daz Dillinger, is an incredibly intricate neighborhood.  The
culturally diverse section of the city is also the home to a just as
diverse roll-call of countless notorious Mexican, Asian, Samoan and
Black street gangs.  To this day, this is a blue, that is Crip turf; a
reality that Knight knows all too well.]

"It's a good thing that I've changed."

[Knight reflects in a moment of peace.]

"Or else I wouldn't be able to be here right now."

[Knight looks out over the field; his pensive face seemingly avoiding
the camera.  The lights in the stadium suddenly click 'on' -
illuminating the Jackrabbit logo in the center of the field.]]

"But I remember my first time here.  In this very city.  In this very
neighborhood."

[He pauses, letting the memory of a past experience trickle through
the schematic walls of his memory files.]

"I was just a kid.  No more than 11 years old."

[...]

"The big homies thought that I was some brave little nigga; that
absolutely nothing about the grim reality of street life could ever
phase me.  And I played along.  I painted my face with the brush of
not giving a fuck; of nihilism.  But deep down?"

[Knight pauses and turns directly into the camera, and without a hint
of insincerity.]

"I was scared."

[Knight looks back away, looking out over not simply a neighborhood,
but a war zone.]

"This wasn't some recreational visit to another part of the greater
Los Angeles area.  Not at all.  This was a mission; a violent,
horrific, murderous invasion to a Crip territory by a group of Compton
Bloods.

It was an act of retaliation.

An act of war.

And an 11-year-old Sammy Knight was a soldier on the frontline."

[Knight stands up, over looking the legendary Southland football
field.  His sweat shirt ruffles slightly in the evening breeze.]

"His enemies?"

[Beat.]

"Anyone in blue.  Anyone who looked at him wrong.  Everyone."

[Knight shakes his head, obviously with a hint of shame at his
childhood mentality.]

"But I didn't care about THEM; or the their THREATS.  All I knew was
that one of the homies; a friend from our hood was killed by some East
Side Crips after a Centennial-Poly football game.  Wrong place, wrong
time.  Maybe.  Wrong color?

Absolutely.

But it didn't matter.  Not to them Long Beach niggas.  He was murked
for wearing red in a neighborhood monopolized by the color of the
ocean.  And he paid the ultimate price."

[The former champion looks into the camera with a look of pain and
remorse painted within his eyes.]

"Dannie Farber."

[He closes his eyes, bows his head slightly, and mutters a few words
of faith under his breath.]

"I still remember his face.  He was just a few years older than me.
Not even a super gangsta like that.  Just one of the kids that was
from the neighborhood.  Rules of the game really.  Not that I would
expect everyone to understand that though.  It's a tough pill for me
to swallow even now.  And back then?

I didn't understand shit.

All I knew was that a nigga from our hood was blasted and we were
expected to retaliate in kind."

[Knight shakes his head in a somewhat embarrassed manner.]

"And that's what I did.  Got my piece from the big homie.  Hopped in
that tricked out Camry and headed south on that 710 Freeway right to
Long Beach.  I acted like I didn't give a fuck.  I acted like I knew
what I was doing; like I had all the answers.  But deep down?

I was scared."

[His brown eyes quickly turn towards the camera and stare intensely.]

"But I did what I had to do.  I stayed in that car.  I made that
choice and I continued on that path to this very city; on a street not
to far from here."

[Knight points generally to a section of homes behind the stadium.]

"I couldn't turn back then.  I couldn't afford to lose face in front
of the big homies.  For their respect was my idol.

My Holy Grail.

My only sense of achievement.

And God-Damnit I was going to get it that night."

[Knight takes a couple steps down the bleachers closer to the field.
He calmly leans over the rail over looking the field, once again
facing away from the camera.]

"And I did."

[...]

"We turned on some street, and slowly approached a group of niggas.
We didn't know them.  They didn't know us.  They may have been Crips.
They may not have been.  But at that moment it didn't matter.

We wanted revenge.  And they represented the enemy.  And yeah..."

[Knight pauses and takes a deep breath.]

"...I was scared."

[He takes a moment to collect himself.]

"But I knew what I had to do.  And I did it."

[...]

"I found my Holy Grail that night.  But I also found out a lot more.
Because when the smoke cleared and my conscience became grounded I
realized that it wasn't worth it.  For it was fleeting.  Gone before I
knew it.  But ultimately I learned an even bigger lesson."

[Knight turns back to the camera once again, yet this time his pensive
glare has been swapped with a far more aggressive look.]

"That you can't let fear dictate your choices in life.  Not then.  And
certainly not now."

[He takes a few steps forward.]

"And Phoenix Valley Wrestling.  I ain't scared.  Ask any Sammy Knight
fan.  Not of Spectre.  Not of Marcus Manson.  And certainly not of
Gibson fucking Hayes."

[He pauses.  Absolute truth is painted across his face.]

"Because that night in Long Beach, I stepped into environment filled
with nothing but enemies.  Rivals.  People who hated me without even
knowing me.  And the same can be said for many of my so-called peers
in this PVW locker room; certainly the men who will meet together in
the ring only a few miles from this very site.

And fear simply does not faze me.  Because I remember where I come
from.  I remember what REAL fear represents.  And this?"

[Knight pauses.]

"It isn't like that."

[He continues.]

And real talk, if an 11-year-old Sammy Knight can survive even the
most nihilistic of situations, what more can be said about the 27-
year-old man who stands in front of you now?"

[Knight shakes his head mockingly at his doubters.]

"Whether it's a gang of Crips, five men in a tag match, or a locker
room full of skeptics, it really doesn't matter to a nigga like me.
Because I will survive.  And it doesn't matter who or what that
obstacle is."

[He continues to shake his head.]

"Larry Gionet.  We've been through this all before.  But as far as I'm
concerned, you can run your mouth all day long about the HOW and the
WHY but you can't tell me shit about the DO or the DIE.  That's not
you.  Not your PAST.  Not your PRESENT.  Not your future.

You say that you're hungry for blood, hungry for glory.  What's new
Larry?  That's your bondage Larry.  It always has been.  And it's
exactly why you consistently fail to break the glass ceilings in your
career.  Because when you are stripped down to your soul, to your very
essence of who you are as a man, there isn't much there.  The blood
and glory that you so desperately seek are fleeting and ultimately
worthless.

Is that really how you want your career to be remembered as well?"

[Knight shifts his weight slightly, still peering aggressively into
the camera.]

"Nevermind.  There is no NIRVANA when you step into the ring with a
competitor like Sammy Knight.  Because even if you COME AS YOU ARE,
even if you've been told by every Tom, Dick, and Hank in Phoenix that
your skills as a beast are IN BLOOM you can save those TERRITORIAL
PISSINGS homie.  Because none of that shit matters.

Not one God-Damned bit.

I am a different BREED; a type of man that will DRAIN YOU.  And in
this match, you're simply SOMETHING IN THE WAY; a LOUNGE ACT in the
violent path that will be dictated by the likes of Manson, Spectre and
myself.  Because real talk, my career path is ENDLESS; NAMELESS will
ultimately be how you are remembered."

[He pauses, a hint of veiled frustration starts to reveal itself
within Knight's tone.]

"And Spectre."

[...]

"The BIG, BAD, Spectre."

[...]

"You're nothing more than an apparition of deception.  A "Hound of the
Baskervilles" type of villain."

[Knight nods, his pace of voice picking up slightly.]

"Sure you're tough.  Sure you're talented.  Sure you're aptly capable.
But scary?"

[Knight leans into the camera.]

"No."

[He pauses.  No joking.]

"Not one motherfuckin' bit.  And you can rant week in and week out
about time lost, opportunities squandered, and windows closed, but
your ambiguously veiled threats are nothing but that.

Threats.

Because it's not the dark that I fear.  I've been living in the dark
damn near my whole life.  And it certainly ain't you.  But you'll
learn that.  Someday.  Sooner than later.  Because I don't fear
anything that bleeds and breathes.  And YOU do both."

[Knight lets out a small smirk.]

"And you do it oh-so-well."

[Knight takes a seat back on the bench now.]

"But enemies come in all shapes and sizes don't they?  Teammates at
that.  Marcus Manson?  Chris Hartt?  What exactly are your intentions
here in Long Beach?"

[Knight postures his hands as if to pose a question.]

"To win?  To gain revenge?  To co-exist?"

[He pauses, almost expecting an answer.]

"So Marcus you can keep ignoring the sermons if you want, but if your
ignorant pride wants to continue to neglect the TRUTH, then that's
between you and your life, your existence and YOUR soul.  So you can
make allusions to the deceit of Hollywood, you can bitch and moan
about Los Angeles, and you can continue to disrespect Sammy Knight OR
you can co-exist with a California King and bring about some
positivity and in-ring dominance for an evening.  THAT decision is on
you because we're way past the Honeymoon charades Marcus.

[Knight pauses.]

"Chris.  I'm glad you put that proverbial phone away last week because
you're exactly right.  True friends are hard to find in an industry of
serpents.  Too many of us entertainers are purely about themselves;
quick to change for a buck.  Quick to disrespect the very fans which
made them who they are.  And it's a tough lesson to learn.

But a necessary one.

This match, this night, you can bury that friendship with Larry
Gionet.  You can exorcize that demon of past naiveté.  And I'll be
more than willing to pass you the motherfuckin' shovel too."

[Another smirk escapes Knight's mouth.]

"It isn't some secret.  No master blueprint.  I'm trying to win.  I'm
trying to compete.  I'm trying to walk out of Southern California with
a motherfuckin' victory.  And you two can either choose to be part of
the problem or part of the solution. That choice is ultimately yours.

But you can count on me fighting to the very end."

[Knight smirks.]

"And if it's you that I have to go through to win, then so be it."

[...]

"That choice is yours as well.  I just hope that you two make the
SMART decision.  The RIGHT decision.  The BEST decision."

[Knight takes a moment and walks over the railing onto the field.  He
turns and faces the camera.]

"The odds don't faze me."

[Beat.]

"Never have.  They really didn't sixteen years ago.  And they
certainly don't now."

[Beat.]

"I'm used to being nothing more a statistic.  I've been that my whole
life.  3 on 3.  5 on 1.  1 on a million.  I don't care.  I won't quit.
Because against all odds -- I will rise."

[Beat.]

"I am Sammy Knight."

[Knight turns around and begins to walk towards the middle of the
field as the lights in the stadium suddenly go out.]

"Accept no imitations."

[Fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Mike Bisignano
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade up on the beige wooden sign in front of "Brannigans, Est 1909",
a pub in the heart of Dublin Ireland. The camera pans down to see 'The
Biz' Mike Bisignano standing in front of the pub wearing a black
leather jacket, white button up shirt, dark jeans, and black dress
shoes. Around his neck is a scarf worn by supporters of the Irish
Football Club "Shamrock Rovers". He's joined by a gentlemen wearing a
Sligo Rovers jersey with khaki pants and a newsboy cap.  Off to the
side, leaning back is JDM Superstar, Superstar Agent to The Biz,
wearing a thin navy tie and a Gilt designer dress shirt with rolled up
sleeves.]

Man: Dia Dhuit from Dublin, Ireland. And welcome to a very special
edition of "Dublin's Finest". I'm your host, Liam McIntyre and far the
next tharty minutes, we're going to be lookin at some of the more
popular spots around Dublin. But with a twist -- as we will be
visiting places that Irish born professional wrestler Caleb Foley
called home befar he left the Emerald Isle for the United States of
America. An jinin me today is 'The Biz' Mike Bisignano, who'll be
competin against Caleb Foley on an upcoming wrasslin event run by
Phoenix Valley Wrasslin in the States. Along with him is his business
agent, Mr. JDM Superstar.

[Liam turns to The Biz and shakes his hand]

Liam: Welcome to Dublin, Gents.

The Biz: The pleasure is all yours, Liam. All yours. Although I _am_
looking forward to seeing a more in-depth look at where Caleb Foley
came from so I can see just where he'll likely end up after his match
with me.

[Biz & JDM laugh as Liam stiffens up.]

JDM:  We're joking, my good man. We're here to see what Caleb Foley is
all about.

Biz: So where we going first?

Liam: Right here at Brannigans, of carse. The Wild West theme here is
definitely an attraction for a lot of the patrons - with the roifles
on the walls down to the mounted buffalo 'ead next to a Guinness sign.
Shall we go in for a drink?

[Transiition to inside of the pub as Biz, JDM, and Liam sit at a table
with three pints of Guiness in front of them.  It is obvious they are
not locals as they have drawn the attention of everyone in the bar.]

The Biz: So tell me Liam, what's this place have to do with Caleb
Foley?

Liam: Well, Mister Biz. Caleb Foley grew up right above this
establishment and went to work as a barback here at the ripe young age
of seven years old.

JDM:  Dickensian.

Biz: Wow. Now I see where he gets his amazing work ethic. The fact he
has gone through so much trial and tribulation since entering
professional wrestling and PVW in general yet he continues to march
on; that is what makes Caleb Foley who he is. It's no wonder he is
loved by so many PVW fans; I mean how can you not love a guy who
clearly had alcoholics for parents and thought it would be wise for
their son to be around alcohol as well at such an impressionable age.

JDM:  Biz, it's the sign of a hardworking people, they work hard, they
drink hard.  They earn what little money they can, and then spend it
by drinking it up and sending it right back down the drain.  It's not
their fault though, it's just systematic of a lower class society.  Do
you see why I flew us here?  It's because we need to understand the
machinations that make this man tick.  Liam, wasn't he known as "The
Fighting Irishman" back in the day?

Liam:  Aye that he was my lad!  Yes he'd come in his black jumpsuit
marked "Irish Pride" and be just as home here sitting in the bar among
his people as he would be out performin' in the big ring on the TV.

JDM:  And his parents, solid stable pillars of the community, more or
less?

Biz (interrupting): Ha! As solid as the head on a pint of Guinness.
Hey Liam, do you happen to know Caleb's mom?

Liam: Not really, but it's easy to find someone if you know the right
people.

Biz: Well tell whoever you have working in research to find Miss Foley
and tell her that if she can get off from working whatever one of her
seven jobs she is tasked with that night, we'd gladly fly her out to
Long Beach, California to see Caleb wrestle live and up close.

Liam: That's mighty nice of you, Mr. Biz.

Biz: Yeah. It's just a shame his dad isn't around anymore to see what
little Caleb has become.

Liam: ...

Biz: Exactly. It leaves me speechless as well.

[The Biz grabs his pint and just throws back the lager in a quick
swoop.  JDM slaps Liam on his shoulder.]

JDM:  No disrespect meant my good man. It's just that Foley's been
doing this Irish thing to death, well, for the last twenty seven years
now, it seems, and we've come all the way out here to see if there's
more to him than that.  But even a beloved population, heck even
family can be fickle. Just watch!

[JDM puts his finger up in the air]

JDM: Barkeep!  A round of drinks for my friends and a round of drinks
for everyone here!

Pub Crowd: Hurrah!

[JDM looks to Liam and scrunches his face.  Liam looks back at him and
Biz then grabs the pint in front of Liam and throws that one back too.
The people are hurrying to get their suds as JDM sits back with a
smile to fold his arms.  Biz shakes his head.]

Biz: Who're the national heroes now?  So... where to.

[Liam just looks at The Biz in astonishment. The Biz gets up from the
table and walks out of frame. We do a fade out/fade in transition to
see The Biz inside Dublin's City Center gym as he works the heavy bag
with swift leg kicks followed by a straight shot combination. Sweat is
flying off his forehead and body as he throws his shots harder and
faster each time. The gym is a local one and very popular, a place
where Foley grew up and trained himself to become a future PVW
wrestler.  You can almost smell the feet.  Biz continues training with
the local populace as the camera pans out to show JDM in a brown cap
and white and blue seersucker blazer with white polo shirt.]

JDM: I realized very quickly that Liam was kind of a buzzkill and
since I took the time to fly us over here first class, I thought we'd
stick around and do our own tour of Dublin. As you can see, we're at
the Dublin City Center Gym where Caleb Foley began his training as a
boxer and later on when he chose to become a professional wrestler.

[The Superstar Agent looks around at the surroundings... pale,
decrepit, yellow, humble.  Yet, drenched in an honest history.]

JDM: And I must say it's certainly a fine place to attempt to hone
one's skills. I see now why The Celtic Distortion is such a
devestating move in your arsenal, Caleb. Why I bet it's exactly what
got you that amateur state title at Notre Dame. Am I right?

Now, before we proceed any further... I can bet a lot of you sitting
at home watching in TV Land might have a little confusion running
through your minds.  You might be asking yourself "Why are The Biz and
JDM here?  Why are they in Ireland?". Rest assured, it's not because
we're here to put down Ireland or its shoddy economy or its muted
morass of blue collar philosophy faced in the helpless regurgitation
of dilapidated socioeconomic beliefs.  No.  That's not why.

No, what we are here to do is actually compliment Caleb.  I know, Aye
& Begorrah!  Ha ha, compliment him on his rise from all this nothing.
Compliment him on his talents and abilities and being smart enough to
take the best parts of Dublin and get the hell out of it to the States
to make his real life and career.  Caleb, just like you, this place..
this whole town is "piss and vinegar" as they say- so much you can
practically smell it dripping down the walls.

[The camera pans to look at the walls which definitely look like the
paint is chipping and then back to JDM]

JDM: Oh wait. ...ya can.  Well that's disgusting.

[We dissolve once more as The Biz is working on the gym mats with a
sparring partner who is currently in a crossface chickenwing
submission hold. The agony on the man's face shows how deadly the move
can be when applied properly. After a few seconds, the partner taps
out and The Biz releases the hold.]

JDM: When The Biz locks you in his patented Dragon Hook, THAT is when
true pain and turmoil will be felt.  Now Caleb I am sure you won't be
focusing on his past or even taking The Biz all that seriously.
You're probably going to bluster and talk about you.. what you want to
do, what you're going to do, maybe how this is your time or you're
going to be a champion and all that. Well, whatever, but not us.  No
insults are needed.  You see we didn't come here to talk you down.
And The Biz is a very, very talented competitor; let's not make any
mistake about that.  To clear the air right now, we have zero
intention of going into that ring to mock you, to cheat, to use
weapons, or do anything except outsmart you, outwork you, and
outwrestle you at your own game.  Because that's the kind of win that
Biz needs over a man like you in this federation.  To step it up and
to show the fans of PVW that he truly is the better man.

...And I have to say, from the way they talk about you around here,
you are proving quite a man so the task won't come easy.

[Dissolve to the exterior of Aviva Stadium. The undulating roof is a
spectacle to the eye of the viewer. Cross dissolve to inside the
stadium and The Biz running up the full height of the stairway from
the pitch to the top of the main level. The Biz gets to the top and
takes a moment to breathe in the air before speaking. JDM leans
against the guardrail, puffing on a Black & Tan.]

Biz: Ni... breac e go mbionn se ar an bport...

Caleb Foley... The Biz... many are saying this is a match for the ages
as PVW's golden boy meets the biggest asshole in the industry today.
But those critics would be foolish to predict you over me.  Ni breac e
go mbionn se ar an bport.  It isn't a trout till it's on the bank.

And to be honest... I don't blame them for thinking that because this
is a contest that should've happened a long time ago but well... maybe
you got a stay of execution. Maybe not. But now as for the asshole
part, you don't get to where I am in this business without pissing off
a few chaps along the way. And what's that they also say?  Da Fhaid e
an la tiocfaidh an trathona.  No matter how long the day, the evening
will come.

[The Biz pauses, hands on knees... and through his heavy breathing, he
smirks.]

Biz: Because just know this, Caleb... I thrive on competition. That's
why I've walked out on so many of my matches so far in PVW. The
problem was always them, and never me.

But this time around... I know _EXACTLY_ what you bring to the table
and I'm not going anywhere.

JDM:  Ha, all those matches before. They were wastes of time.  Those
matches never challenged Biz.  And that's what we've been saying since
day one.


NOW....


[JDM opens his arms to let his voice echo across the Aviva Stadium!]


JDM:  NOW!  FINALLY!!!  WE CAN HAVE SOME COMPETITION!!

In the Long Beach Convention Center you will all know what this man
does when he can finally fight at one hundred percent.  No holding
back.  No playing around with lesser individuals. CALEB!!  CALEB, can
you hear me?  Caleb..thank GOD that you have what it takes to meet
this man in the ring and stand on your own two legs, look him dead in
the eye and say "Let's fight fella!"  And finall.. finally PVW gives
The Biz some damn competition after the months and months of wasting
his time with abysmal mediocrity!

This is what he wants.. what he NEEDS.. and we had to come half way
across the entire world to find this out. But it doesn't matter
because we will go anywhere and do anything to prepare The Biz for
what he was always going to grow up to be. A Champion, an Icon, and a
Legend in this business.

[Biz raises his head to smile wide, sweat dripping down off his chin
to the dirt below.]

Biz:  John D. Rockefeller once said "Competition is a sin." And I
don't plan on going to church anytime soon so show up to Shockwave as
the "Fighting Irishman" and I'll treat you like a second-class
citizen. Show up as the "Celtic Crippler" and the fans can forget
about Rob Cole and Christopher Black because by the end of the night,
they'll be a fading glimpse compared to what you and I will have done
to each other in the squared circle.

JDM:  Caleb Foley.. Fighting Irishman, Celtic Crippler, Hometown Boy
Made Good.  You will have the toughest fight of your life on your
hands in California.  And we didn't come here to mock you, to talk
down to you, or to patronize you . No..  in fact, I am becoming a fan.
Noir bris focal maith fiacal raimth.  That means a good word never
broke a tooth.

Biz:  Nice.

JDM:  Thank you.  But that being said... we could be your biggest fans
in the world and it still wouldn't change the fact that after drinking
down all of your life.  ...Which is very impressive my friend...

Biz: It doesn't matter much to me.

JDM: Indeed! You may have trained to be a wrestler, Caleb but The
Biz... he trained to be the BEST.  After Shockwave, you'll know it,
IRELAND will know it, and there is no shame in that.

Biz:  And the fans... well they'll quickly forget about The Celtic
Crippler and see nothing but a crippled Irishman who bit off more than
he could chew stepping in the ring.  But until then.  To your health.
Slainte.

JDM:  Slainte.  Caleb Foley, for all your life's work, I hope you will
take some time to learn after your fight what this man is all about.
Because you can only learn by being beaten by the best.  You spent
your entire life training to be a National Hero.  Biz spent his entire
life training to be a World Champion.

The Biz will elevate you to the next level by putting on the match of
the night and the single best one that Shockwave will have ever seen.
And in that match my friend, you will see and you will learn while you
may be a great countryman and a hell of a wrestler, maybe even a boon
to the industry, The Biz _IS_ this industry. And that's why of all the
nicknames and training and years building his reputation, that's why
his name is.. THE BIZ.

Biz: Just a shame you won't be conscious enough to realize it.

JDM:  Five more laps to go laddie.

Biz:  Oh, this country.  An te a luionn le gagharaibh eireoidh le
dearnaithibh.

JDM:  Be nice.

[Biz runs back down the stairs as we fade out on the sounds of his
sneakers echoing down the stadium.]

****************************************
****************************************
Larry Gionet
****************************************
****************************************

[Seething, hostility frustration. These three words describe the man
standing before you. The PVW warrior stands in front of a blue PVW
backdrop in a white shirt and tan khaki shorts.  He wears sunglasses
while looking down at the ground. Without even seeing his eyes one can
see his demeanor is at an irritated rate to say the least.]

Larry Gionet:  Are you proud of yourself Hartt?  Getting a win after
two men have been laid out by Nevermind.  How does that make you feel
Chris?  What do you feel vindicated in your own warped sense of
normality?  I hope that shame hangs over your head like a dark cloud
that you couldn't pin me in the middle of the ring like a wrestler
should.  I didn't need anyone to help get victories I do it with my
own merit.  Love me or hate me but I get the job done.

[Larry Gionet begins pacing back and forth with his white Adidas
sneakers booming like hoofs of a bull ready to charge a china shop
destroying anything in its path without remorse.. He rips off his
sunglasses putting them on his shirt He stares into the camera with
his piercing blue eyes.with his lower lip trembling like an earthquake
ready to unleash upon a sleeping town in California.]

Larry Gionet:  And look at PVW's golden child. The poster boy for what
is good in this world Caleb Foley. After getting taken out by
Nevermind he had the audacity to put his hands on me like a crazed
maniac from behind.  What kind of ship is being run here huh?  It is
becoming total anarchy around here and I'm getting sick of it. If I
have to be the man that stops this madness on my own so be it.

[Larry Gionet pulls back his jet black locks trying to contain his
agitation.  He shakes his head back and forth trying to comprehend
what has been laid out in front of him the past few weeks in PVW.  He
sticks his for-finger out looking to make another point as he
violently strokes on his black chin goatee that has grown out a little
more. The wire-ry look of them makes it appear to be tarantula legs
trying to come at the camera with its venom to unleash.]

If that wasn't enough I have a lot to deal with at Heatwave in that 6
man tag match.  I am paired up with men that I would not trust my life
with.  We have Spectre a man that can't even trust himself so how in
the hell do you expect me to?  Then we have Nevermind a man who has
been nothing but a pain in my ass ever since he debuted here.  I don't
know what your issue is but if you stick your nose in my business
again in this tag match I will not hesitate to drop you on your skull.

[Larry Gionet has an intense look in his eyes. He breathes in and
exhales loudly  like a steam pipe ready to explode.  He crosses his
arms exposing the muscle tone in his forearms and biceps.  He moves
his neck in a counter clockwise fashion as you can hear crackles of
his neck muscles releasing tension.]

Larry Gionet: As for the men who stand on the opposite side of that
ring; Marcus Manson. A man who has such potential to be the monster
that the can be. The only thing holding him back is HIMSELF. Unless
you bring your inner beast out you will be forever a slave to THEM!
As for you Sammy you came in here like a house of fire. As if you own
this place. This isn't Shootfire Pro this is Phoenix Valley Wrestling
MY HOUSE.  You stole my thunder for the last time Knight and I promise
that you will regret ever stepping foot in my ring.  Since I've wasted
enough of my time on you Hartt let me say one last thing. You call
yourself Paladin this heroic figure this strong supporter of a cause.
Well at Heatwave you will become a sacrifice a lost cause.  I will
make that ring my colosseum. Where it rains down with those who oppose
me with their bones shattering like no tomorrow.  Where I smear the
ring with my enemy's blood. In the end I'm a wrestling I'm a fighter
and God dammit I'm the WARRIOR of PVW!

[After finishing his last sentence one can almost see a gleam in
Gionet's eyes. Mixed in with terror and bad intentions a smile begins
to form. Happy with himself, Larry Gionet leaves the backstage area as
the only thing left breaking the silence is footsteps gearing for
battle. We then fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Gibson Hayes
****************************************
****************************************

[An eagle flies across the screen while God Bless America hums in the
background.]

My fellow Americans - we are surrounded with threats from without and
from within.

[The master of the campaign ad, Gibson Hayes, narrates the majestic
eagle soaring across the skies.]

As the last hope for a bright future and better tomorrow, I would be
remiss if I did not deliver this news myself. There are foreigners
polluting our shores, whether in masks of cloth or masks of ink. There
are thugs wandering our halls, pretending to "do the right thing".

[Images of certain PVW wrestlers show up!]

Imbeciles and idiots play election while filthy domestic abusers
ignorantly forget their place. A false champion parades around his
filthy lucre, a prize he stole by selling out his very principles when
faced with a decision.

[A steel cage looms large while the eagle zooms by.]

Two large slabs of meat puncture and prod one another to the delight
of no one. A man-child plays his silly little game of hide and seek
with just how serious a situation he has gotten himself into. A
"leader" finally gets his chance to show his monicker isn't just hot
air.

[A padded room is briefly shown.]

I could go on about the dregs polluting our shores. I could go on
about how bleak the situation really is when viewed as a whole. I
could go on... but I won't.

[The eagle has perched itself on... Gibson Hayes's shoulder! Gibson is
wearing his blue suit with red tie, white shirt and has the PVW world
heavyweight championship around his waist! His afro is in fine shape.]

Why? Because there is hope.

[The sky behind Gibson becomes a picture of the Constitution of the
United States and the Liberty Bell.]

Gibson Hayes and his cohorts pledge to you, the unwashed and huddled
masses yearning to be free, the gift of hope; the gift of that bright
future and better tomorrow. Take heart! Gibson Hayes will tear at the
throats of those so-called challengers. Gibson Hayes does not wait for
them to strike from the shadows.

[Gibson pounds his left fist into his right palm.]

Hope fights its own battles and wages its own wars. The campaign
begins now; join the fight!

[The preceding message as been paid for by American Society for
Safety, Honor, Obedience, Leadership and Ethics.]

****************************************
****************************************
The Prophets of Rage
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in:

RAGE COUNTRY.  POPULATION: 3.  The PVW cameras pull back to reveal the
Rage brothers, Shadoe and Derek, flanking the ever-gorgeous Pizzazz
Elysee as she holds up the fan sign like a high-class ring girl.  The
contrast is so evident.  Even standing still, the shorter, fairer,
wild-haired Shadoe Rage looks like he's moving.  His bright hazel eyes
pop.  Derek, taller, darker, cooler, never looks to be moving, never
looks like he's making an effort.  And that is the heart of the
Prophets of Rage, that contrast that makes two halves better than the
sum of its parts.]

DR: We've been on some rough seas, the Prophets of Rage.  When you
know the heights of success that the Prophets of Rage have known any
drop can seem like an abyss.

SR: I'll be the first to say, I wondered if we were ready for the
scrap heap, but big Derek never told a lie.  Adversity was coming to
us because it needed to.  Greatness had to be regained because
greatness can never be taken for granted.  It always has to be chased
and it always has to be respected.

DR: For too long we've been satisfied being the gateway of the PVW.
Want to test a team?  Put them in against the Prophets of Rage.  We've
been happy to keep being the measuring stick of excellence, but it's
time for us to build up our own test of greatness and that is the PVW
World Tag-Team championship.

[Pizzazz stretches up to kiss his cheek.]

SR: For too long comedians, drama queens and politicians have
controlled our belts.  The Prophets of Rage must be two-time World
tag-team champions.  Thus every team in our path must fall.

DR: Rage Country is down to a population of three.  When we reclaim
our thrones there will be no hangers on.  The borders are closed.  No
tourists, no gawkers, no illegal immigrants.  There will only be two
wrestlers and the world's greatest manager.  And they shall be the
greatest!  Fade to black.

[Shadoe gives the camera a satisfied nod and the last three fingers of
his left hand.

Fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Tyson Cain
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in to the sight of a mini-van sitting in front of a nice
apartment building. We see a man walk out of the building with
muscular arms holding two large boxes stacked on top of each other to
where we cannot see his face. He turns to put them into the mini-van
and when he does we notice it is "Showstopper" Tyson Cain. Cain
notices the camera crew and looks almost annoyed.]

Cain:  You guys here to film my sorrow?

[No response from the crew.]

Cain:  No longer able to rent nice cars or fly to the cities PVW is
having events at. I'm stuck driving this piece of crap rental!

[He pauses and just stares at the van, then goes over and wipes a
smudge off the paint.]

Cain:  There you go...

[Cain looks back at the crew and gives them an odd look.]

Cain:  What?

[Nothing.]

Cain:  Just because it is a piece of crap doesn't mean I have to treat
it like one. I'm just doing here what PVW does to its talent every
day.

[He slams the back hatch down.]

Cain:  Think of it like this....Marley wrestles his heart out for them
and he gets shown the door. Craven is held together with stitches and
bubble gum, yet the trot him out there every show like he is the
second coming. Tom Landis has been around since I was a child and yet
they try to always place him in a spot of importance....or should I
say perceived importance.

And then there is my opponent, Jamie Roberts, who is the greatest
example of PVW's wish to treat crap like royalty.

[Tyson leans back against the van as he continues.]

Cain:  Don't believe me, do you?  How ironic.

[Tyson reaches behind him and pulls out a small piece of paper. he
unfolds it once and looks back up.]

Cain:  When the lineup was announced to the public, this is what it
said...

"TYSON CAIN returns from his suspension and will step inside the ring
with fast up and coming rising star from the UK, JAIME ROBERTS!"

[Tyson shoves the paper back into his pocket.]

Cain:  Did you hear that?  "Up and coming?!?!"  I will be the first to
tell you that Roberts has some skills, but he is no up and coming
superstar.  I know because it is PVW just trotting out another has-
been and putting a new coat of paint on him.

Still don't believe me?  Take a look.

[Tyson stands straight and pulls his shirt off to reveal the shirt he
is wearing underneath. It is a shirt that says "Sex Pistol" Jaime
Roberts and has pictures of revolvers with hearts on them.]

Cain:  This was one of the first wrestling shirts I ever bought. I
went to a show in Pittsburgh that the UEW held and watched a ton of
talented men. Some of those guys are even in PVW right now. On that
show was a guy with a nickname that made me laugh and I just had to
have a shirt with it on it...

[He points to the shirt on his body.]

Cain:  And this is it.

[He leans back against the mini-van.]

Cain:  Roberts, you have to be, at the very least, in your late
thirties or early forties. I watched you more than a decade ago and
you didn't look young then! The PVW signed your old ass up and has
painted you with this "young pistol" brush that they think will get
over with the fans, and they seem to be buying what you all are
selling.

But I'm not a buyer, bubba...not by a long shot.

I'm going to see you just as I have had to see everything in the past
few weeks....as a means to an end. You are a paycheck to me. You are
food on my table and electricity at my condo. You are the ability to
fly to the next event and not have to rent jalopies like this
anymore...

[He looks at the van and shrugs.]

Cain:   Uh....sorry.

[He focuses back toward the camera.]

Cain:  You are a stepping stone for me, just like you were for so many
people back in your earlier career. They say you were champion of 3DW.
I would like to say good job, but honestly I have never gotten a
chance to see any of 3DW's cards...

[He hits his head.]

Cain:  OH!  That's right, it closed down due to lack of....well,
everything!

[Tyson laughs before moving on.]

Cain:  I guess when you are allowed to be the standard bearer of a
federation, it shows just how strong its chances of survival are,
doesn't it? That would be like Tom Landis being able to be PVW
Champion. It would be like putting the shit-eating hyena in as King of
the Jungle instead of the Lion.

[He cracks a smile.]

Cain:  I mean let's at least be honest about that, Roberts. I like
your style and I like the old nickname. But I won't let anything stand
in my way every again. And whether you are the "sex pistol" or just
the wet noodle you seem to be now, to me you are...

...just another notch on the belt.

I'll see you and the rest of PVW on Heatwave.

[Fade out.]

****************************************
****************************************
The Renegades
****************************************
****************************************

"This is _exactly_ what I'm talking about!"

[Says Devin Houlihan. as he slams a copy of some sort of wreslting
magazine on the hotel room table, it's name blurred for copyright
reasons probably. JD almost jumps out of his seat as his attention was
taken up by the news that's blathering away on the nearby televison.
Devin, with a orange Faygo and bag of combos, turns the TV off before
plopping on the bed.  JD is pretty much staring daggers at Devin, his
spoon filled with Cheerios half way to his mouth.]

DEVIN: Oh, sorry... I know, interruping the precious _NEWS_...

JD:  There is _THAT_, but I'm more
speaking of the fact that you barged in here after a night of doing
who knows _what_, and slam a magazine in my face with some one liner
that I _know_ means there's a bunch more bullshit comign that I
_don't_ wanna hear!

DEVIN:  Really? Well, as you eat those cheerios, open that
sucker up, and take a look at... uh... page 62? 64?

[JD just takes another bite, not taking his eyes off Devin.]

DEVIN: Seriously, man, open it up and take a look before you go
popping off like that.

[With a shrug, JD starts to flip through the magazine, taking another
bite.. Devin taps his foot as JD musta' stumbled on what Devin wanted
him to see... considering JD's jaw just dropped three feet.]

JD: Are you _SERIOUS_?

DEVIN: I told you.

JD: This is... RIDICULOUS! We aren't even on here! Not one single
mention!

DEVIN: I _know_! Doesn't it just make you angry inside?!?!

[JD forgets about the rest of his cereal, choosing to stand up,
holding the magazine in hsi hand, right inf ront of his face.  He then
begins to pace back and forth.]

JD: No in the tag team rankings... Not in the overall top 100
category... _NOTHING_!

DEVIN: And them _bums_ from SPW even made the list!

JD: _WHAT_?!?!

DEVIN: There is a good side to it though!

[JD pulls the magazine down, stops mid pace, and just stares at
Devin.]

JD: How is there a _GOOD_ side to this?

DEVIN: _I_ have a solution.

JD: You... have a... solution?

DEVIN: Yup.

JD: What is it?

DEVIN:  Why thank you so much for asking brother man! And to
properly answer your question, I first must request you to sit back
down, finish your Cheerios and listen closely.

[JD looks at Devin with a look that screams "MAKE ME!", to which Devin
responds with a look that says "TRUST ME!".  With a shrug, JD retakes
his seat at the table.]

JD: Well... Get on with it.  This should be _GOOD_!

[Devin chuckles, as he pulls his hand behind his back, locking them at
his wrists.  With a devilish grin on his face, he begins to walk
around JD, as if he was giving some sort of heated political speech.]

DEVIN: Well, as you can tell, brutha man, the _entire_ wrestling world
has it's eyes upon the good 'ole Pee Vee Dubbya.  From best overall
weekly show to best commentator to the _best_ _overall_ _promotion,
the Pee Vee Dubbya cleaned up! It's contributions to the wrestling
archives widely considered some of the _best_!

JD: Okay, and your point is...?

DEVIN: The _POINT_ is that while the Pee Vee Dubbya is _dominating_
the wreslting landscape, and teams like Livestock and Gutch... Max and
Sal.... are being glorified and talked about! _THOSE_ teams are
getting noticed, collecting a following, and having their ability and
efforts a part of Pee Vee Dubbya being recognized world wide!

JD: Not helping there, bucko......

DEVIN:  Damnit, Jay Dizzle, don't you see it? _IF_ we were the
hottest and best tag team in Pee Vee Dubbya, we woulda' made one of
those lists! _IF_ we were as respected and admired like we think we
are, we wouldda' shown up in that magazine! But... We _DIDN'T_!

JD: We're rookies...... we haven't done any--

DEVIN:  Your not getting it... What it means, brutha
man, is that we are doing something _WRONG_! We are too bland, too
boring, too.. I don't know _what_, but something we are doing ain't
working! The critics aren't acknowleding us.  The fans are voting for
us.  No one knows cares about us or wishes for us to suceed! Shit, I
wonder how many people even know we _exist_!

[JD just falls silent, just staring at his cereal bowl, the look on
his face not very happy.  Seeing this, Devin sighs and sits down at
the table, forcing JD to stare at him.]

DEVIN: But like I said, Jay Dizzle... My brutha man! I got a solution.
Follow my lead.  You saw it last week! You saw what we accomplished!
We _DOMINATED_ that six man tag, and it was because we were willing to
_bend_ the rules!

JD: I don't think that's how we won, Dev......

DEVIN: Are you kidding me? I held the guy from the ring apron,
screaming free shots! I pulled down the top rope and sent one of them
jerks flying to the outside...

[JD goes to cut him off, but Devin doesn't stop.]

DEVIN: ....Sinister was _BULLYING_ the referee right and left, and not
to mention all those _illegal_ double team moves that helped us win
the match! Where exactly were we _NOT_ cheating?!?!

[JD begins to breath a bit harder, and bit faster. You can tell he's
angry.]

DEVIN: I get it.  I do.  You're the goody two-shoes, straight edge kid
that always played by the rules.  I grew up with you, don't think I
don't understand how hard this is for you.  But, brother... You gotta
accept reality.

[Devin taps on the magazine.]

DEVIN: If you ever wanna get your name in here... IF you ever wanna
make the Renegades one of the _BEST_ tag teams in wrest;ing... If you
wanna win those Pee Vee Dubby Tag team titles....... You gotta accept
reality.  This is _wreslting_. This is where cheaters win, and winners
cheat! That's just how it goes!

[JD looks right at Devin, fists clinched.]

DEVIN: You'll get used to the idea, Jay Dizzle... Once we start
tasting succes with this _NEW_ direction, you'll put your morals and
ethics aside, and do what you need to do to suceed.  I know you
will... _Sucess_ tastes that good!

[With a huff, JD slaps the ceral bowl off teh table, sending ceral
flying every where! he then gets up and storms out of the hotel room,
leaving Devin sitting at the table, wiping Cheerio's off himself.]

DEVIN: Knew it wouldn't be easy for him to accept fate, but shit... I
thought _I_ was the one with anger problems!

[FADE OUT!]

****************************************
****************************************
Caleb Foley
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera fades in and it is a very simple scene. You have Phoenix
Valley Wrestling backdrop right in front of you. The camera is on the
PVW back drop which seems like an eternity but it is no more than five
seconds as "The Celtic Crippler" Caleb Foley walks into the cameras
view. Caleb is wearing a blue Phoenix Valley Wrestling t-shirt. Foley
looks like he hasn't slept in a couple of days. His hair is a mess and
his beard is out of whack. Caleb begins to speak...]

Caleb Foley: First thing is first, what happened last week after my
match on Heatwave will not be discussed until I reach the Long Beach
Convention and Entertainment Center. I can not change what went down
but I will address my actions on Shockwave before my match. Though I
am not sure why we are even having this match since the Biz will walk
out half way through it.

[Caleb pauses a few seconds before continuing...]

Caleb Foley: There is no doubt about it that the PVW runs through my
veins.  The very essence this company was built on is my soul.  And to
see men like The Biz and Larry Gionet disrespect everything we have
built together in such a short time... it was just too much for me to
handle.  But this week I can do something about it.

[Caleb cracks his knuckles on both his hands...]

Caleb Foley: So Biz what are you gonna do this week ... Are you gonna
fake an injury to get out of a match? I know how about you do
something no one will expect and that is actually finish a match here.
Biz since you joined Phoenix Valley Wrestling you walk around like you
are God's Gift to the Business. I am surprised with your EGO and
ATTITUDE that you can even make it down to the ring without Let me
make something very clear to you...

[Foley's green eyes are staring directly into the camera like a fire
burning inside of them as he speaks.]

Caleb Foley: This is the best of the best. You will NOT find a more
talented roster anywhere in the entire world. This is not some Chicago
based organization that you win awards for just showing up in. You
want a title shot here you are gonna have to EARN it. And if by chance
you are a champion here you are gonna PROVE that you deserve to be it.
The way you have been disrespecting PVW is really starting to upset
everyone in the back.

["The Celtic Crippler" face begins to turn reddish as he continues to
talk...]

Caleb Foley: Biz your ARROGANCE will be your downfall in Phoenix
Valley. So go ahead come out here talking about how you are gonna
embarrass me. Go ahead and say that after you are down with me not
even my own mother will recognize me. I expect you to come out here
and say something about my deceased father. Guess what?!?! It has all
been said and done before Biz.

[Foley's takes a very deep breathe in and then exhales slowly as he
goes on...]

Caleb Foley: Do something innovator Biz?!? Act like a leader ... Come
on I want you to open my eyes and show me what a true wrestler is all
about. Your ego is writing checks that your body can't cash. Keep
listening to your manager JDM Superstar and let's see how far that
will get you. What is gonna happen Biz when he cost you a match? What
will happen when JDM Superstar tries to make a name for himself? Will
The Biz take a backseat to it? I DOUBT IT!!!

[Caleb face has returned to it's normal color. Foley smirks into the
camera ever so slightly before speaking...]

Caleb Foley: Biz ... I have fought the best this industry has to
offer.  Your name isn't on that list.  While you faked your death .. I
traveled the globe being a role-model the fans could look up to.  I
took my baptism in blood and I am standing here alive talking about
it.  It's time for your PVW baptism ...

[With those words the camera fades to black...]

****************************************
****************************************
Sinister
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene fades in to a gym where we immediately see Desert Pines
High School: Home Of The Jaguars on a large sign hanging overhead. The
gym is of good size and there are various people milling about as the
next generation of high school basketball players doing their best to
impress college scouts and coaches who watch display their athleticism
in various manners. Both teams that are currently seen have numerous
fans cheering for them with the usual suggestions of how to play being
shouted at various volumes as some comments cause laughter or spite,
depending upon who it is.

The camera pans the crowd and we see some sports celebrities who are
also taking in the basketball action, as well as Division One college
coaches. However, the celebrity of sorts who interests the PVW fan is
the man known as Sinister. He sits at the very top of a set of
bleachers and is wearing a white tank-top, red-and-black shorts and
shiny red Nike shoes. The large Chicago native appears to contemplate
life aspects as his eyes watch the basketball action occur.

He reaches to his right and picks up a large bottle of his customary
drink, cranberry juice, and takes a few large gulps before sitting it
back down. He motions for the PVW camera man to sit nearby and the
camera man does exactly that. Sinister extends his left arm and
gestures with his open palm for the camera man to sit to his left
side. The camera man positions himself and Sinister speaks]

"Hello good folks of the PVW. I'm in Las Vegas enjoying some
basketball since the NBA is still locked out and no one can tell how
long that will take. Since I'm an avid fan of college basketball I
very much look forward to the upcoming season and I decided to get a
first-hand look at the next generation of ballers. These young men
have an opportunity to showcase their talents, prove themselves worthy
of college scholarships, and possibly make a very good life for
themselves through basketball as a medium."

[He pauses a short while to say "Ooooh", along with the majority of
the crowd, as a 6'5', 225 lbs. young man leaps high into the air and
dunks the ball hard over two opponents. He then shakes his head, takes
another drink of cranberry juice, sets the bottle down then continues]

"Oh man, that was just plain nasty! That kid is definitely going to
get recruited by some of the major colleges. Speaking of young men
with talent, I want to thank The Renegades for working with me against
Heat and The Biz. Now that was fun, especially since Biz showed his
true colors and demonstrated to the PVW that he not only has no
patience but also acts like a spoiled ass. Mr. Cheap Shot himself
couldn't handle not being tagged in fast enough, at least according to
him, and instead of being a man and handling business, he tucks tail
and runs, leaving Heat in a handicap situation. "

[Sinister chuckles a few times while shaking his head again, then
folds his thick arms across his chest]

"Biz, what in the hell makes you think you can handle me in a one-on-
one situation if you can't even handle that situation? Maybe you have
a better chance if you kick me in the temple again, but something
tells me that won't happen anytime soon. I'm a fool, no doubt, but I'm
not stupid Biz. However I have the gut feeling you don't believe me so
I'll be more than happy to demonstrate just how much I realize in this
life, and in the world, Biz. So-called men like you make me sick
because you shout to the world that you're a real man yet you perform
actions that suggest otherwise. Real men can handle adversity Biz so
when you and I cross paths again, we'll see how diverse the situation
can become."

[He slowly rolls his neck in a circle and audible pops can be heard.
He takes a deep breath, cracks his knuckles loudly, then exhales while
rubbing his chin in thought with his right hand]

"On to more important business. Mr Detson and the PVW executives have
decided that I'm worthy of a shot at the PVW Heavyweight Championship
and I am very grateful for that. As soon as I was notified of this I
could hear numerous others in the PVW say that I don't deserve it,
especially after just losing the Network Title, but I don't give a
damn what they think. It's obvious to me that Mr. Detson and the
executive recognize the hard work, dedication, leadership and
willingness to push others as attributes worthy of a champion. From
the first day I stepped into the PVW, I have done nothing but handle
business as best as possible, no matter what the circumstances, and I
was thrust into battles that some others in the PVW would avoid like a
virus."

[He unfolds his arms and steeples his fingers while taking a few
moments to watch more basketball action unfold. He nods his head
approvingly when a point guard lobs a near-perfect alley-oop to a
shooting guard who leaps very high in the air and reverse dunks it in
one smooth motion]

"Anyone who knows me understands I have never backed away from a
challenge, no matter the situation or my physical health. One very
interesting aspect about Mr. Hayes is he, like myself, is skilled in
the martial arts and approves of causing various types of damage. Mr.
Hayes is well-versed in Taekwondo and I, Muay Thai, as well as
Hapkido, in particular. I understand Mr. Hayes is a dangerous opponent
but he's also a man who resorts to tactics that not only dishonor
himself but the teachings of martial arts. Some may call this
intelligent wrestling but I am not one that subscribes to that school
of thought."

[He grabs the bottle of cranberry juice, takes a few more long gulps,
and sets the drink down. He exhales loudly and glances upwards at
nothing in particular, his thoughts pervading his focus for a few
moments. He blinks a few times, snapping himself out of his brief
trance, and continues]

"Sadly enough I can relate to some of the actions Mr. Hayes has
performed in the ring because my mindset was far different during my
younger years. At that point in time it didn't matter to me how I
accomplished my goals, as long as the ends justify the means, or at
least I thought. A real man does not cower behind an official, or
resort to underhanded tactics or even tactics that can permanently
damage a man and end his career because he is unable to battle the
opponent like a man."

[He rubs the top of his head with his left hand while closing his
eyes, muttering to himself and again shaking his head. He opens his
eyes, inhales and exhales deeply, rubs the back of his neck and
continues]

"You know something Hayes, believe it or not this battle between us
for me is not about merely trying to win the title. I have won various
championships in various leagues over time, but honestly none of that
matters here in the PVW.  This league is about what you're able to
accomplish presently and as it stands, I am one of many who are in
line for various title opportunities, thus this match is case in
point. This battle represents an opportunity for me to demonstrate to
Hayes, myself, and everyone else that I'm a man who is capable of
accomplishing what I set out to do.  Is being the PVW Heavyweight
Champion one of those goals? Absolutely. However I'm the type of man
who looks at the long-term picture. What sends a louder message?
Winning a title by any means necessary, or besting a champion with
skill, technique, heart and honor? For me there is no doubt but for
you, Hayes, there is much doubt."

[Sinister's demeanor changes to one of absolute intensity and focus,
as is made very apparent in his large dark-brown eyes. He peers
intently into the camera]

"Men like you sicken me Hayes! You, Christopher Black, The Biz, so on
and so forth, all of you seek shortcuts, easy ways out, cheap shots,
underhanded tactics...overall just a bunch of sorry excuses for men!
You
disgrace those who work very hard, sacrifice much, and truly have a
love and passion for this business. Men like you, Hayes, squander
opportunities to truly prove yourselves worthy of being called
professionals and instead present yourselves as individuals who are
incapable of being true warriors. In me, Hayes, you will be facing a
true warrior and as I told Biz and the rest of the PVW, I'll tell you
now. My mindset is that of the hunter and you are nothing but one
target of prey amongst many I have. I will not apologize for what
happens in that ring when we battle Hayes. I just hope for your sake
that you're as ready as you've ever been. Until then, prepare
yourself."

[The picture fades as Sinister's demeanor softens as he returns his
attention back to the basketball game being played]

****************************************
****************************************
Johnny Detson
****************************************
****************************************

(We open in the executive office of Johnny Detson.  There sits our
President and CEO, Johnny Detson wearing an expensive three piece suit
and a huge politician smile.  With his hands folds together in front
of him resting on the desk he begins to speak.)

Detson:  It sure is nice to have friends.

(Detson's politician smile morphs into a sly smirk.)

Detson:  Friends that support your efforts and fight for you when you
are threaten by treason and traitors.  Friends that know you are
fighting the good fight, and you and you alone are the only reason
that success has finally found a home.

(Detson nods, satisfied with himself.)

Detson:  Now as we all witnessed last Heatwave, I, Johnny Detson,
President and CEO, have those types of friends.  They saw what Mr.
Daniels was trying to accomplish and they were dissatisfied with his
methods and his message.   They did what they thought was right.
Right for the PVW and also what was right for your LIFELONG President
and CEO.

(Detson flashes a cocky smirk.)

Detson:  Now I know that Mr. Daniels and many of you, the little
people, think that I, your President and CEO had something to do with
that message that aired during the World Title match last week, where
I am here to tell you that nothing could be further from the truth!

(Detson glares at the camera and shakes his head.)

Detson:  I am your President and CEO and as such I am above such petty
ways of slandering any fictional opposition that one particular
delusional wrestler has dreamed up.  I hold this position as I have
stated repeatedly for LIFE and therefore I have no need to get
involved in the mudslinging that befalls so many of our leaders.  I
have no need to slander Mr. Daniels because Mr. Daniels is unqualified
and unfit to lead, and seeing how there is no election to speak of the
effort it would take to run the production of that so-called ad that
ran last week would be a waste of my executive time.  The highly
efficient and effective model I have set place here in the PVW would
be thrown into chaos.  And you, the little people, would be the ones
who would suffer...

(Detson shakes his head again.)

Detson:  As would my bottom line when you all stop paying top dollar
for our merchandise, ticketing, and Pay Per Views, but the most
important thing here is you, the little people, you and your money
matter to me, your President and CEO.

(Huge politician smile.)

Detson:  So I sit here tonight, as your President and CEO, to
personally condemn the use of that ad, which I had nothing to do with.
I am truly appreciative of the fact that I have many supporters out
there and I am in no way admonishing that support for it is truly well
placed.  And as loyal as your hearts may be, please stop accusing Mr.
Daniels of heinous crimes such as murder; even though the fact remains
that no one has SEEN Jack Griffin in quite some time.

(Detson flashes his cocky smirk.)

Detson:  And even though the thought of a ninja chasing, alleged
murderer becoming President of this fine Company that I created from
scratch might scared the heck out of my most diehard supporters,
please refrain from the mudslinging and negativity.  I would tell my
supporters to focus on the positive.  Positives like how I, Johnny
Detson, President and CEO, saved this Company from bankruptcy.
Positives like how Johnny Detson is the most successfully executive in
the wrestling business.

(Detson nods in agreement.)

Detson:  Positives like how your highly skilled executive is so
innovative and creative that his ideas are been used in wrestling
companies throughout the nation from all the way down South through
the state of Texas!

(Detson again flashes his cocky grin.)

Detson:  And when the rankings came out a short while ago, it was
Johnny Detson's Company who was at the top, it was your President and
CEO's Company receiving all the praise, and it was Johnny Detson,
President and CEO, and all who fall under his employ who were
receiving top wrestling awards!

(Detson pauses for a moment and then begins to reach under his desk as
he continues to speak.)

Detson:  And it was Johnny Detson, President and CEO of this great,
top-ranked Company, who was named the very best and number one overall
Executive of the Mid-Year!!!

(Detson finally reemerges with a golden plaque which reads, "JOHNNY
DETSON: EXECUTIVE OF THE MID-YEAR 2011" with a large "#1" on the
bottom.  Beaming Detson rests his arm on the plaque.)

Detson:  PVW ran away with every single award, every single prize, and
who made that possible?

(Detson taps the plaque with his index finger.)

Detson:  Who resurrected this Company back to life?

(Detson taps his finger again on the plaque.)

Detson:  And who turned this money sucking succubus into the highly
profitable Company that you see today?

(Detson, again, taps his finger on the plaque.)

Detson:  And who is currently in charge of running the single greatest
wrestling federation going today?

(Detson, for a final time, taps his finger on the plaque.)

Detson:  And you're going to replace me?

(Detson, incredulously, shakes his head dramatically back and forth.)

Detson:  I don't think so.  That is why Mr. Daniels poses no threat,
that is why my supporters should not fear, and that is why I, as
President and CEO, would never lower myself to such negative ads.

(Detson waves a finger in front of the camera.)

Detson:  I, Johnny Detson, President and CEO, am the face of this
franchise, but also I'm its heart and soul.  You take the heart out of
something, it withers and it dies.  You simply cannot remove the
heart, and therefore I cannot, for the sake of you, the little people,
remove myself from office and watch this place die.  And for that I
say...

(Detson flashes his cocky smirk.)

Detson:  ... You're welcome.

(With a curt nod from our President and CEO, the screen slowly fades
to black.)

****************************************
****************************************
Nevermind #2
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene opens on a rock strewn vacant lot which is serving as a
homeless camp.  Desperate and hopeless looking people meander
aimlessly or lay sleeping on pieces of cardboard.  Empty liquor
bottles litter the ground, along with discarded cans and other trash.
As the camera moves through the lot, a handful of filthy children run
by, laughing as they chase one another.  In the center of the lot is a
stained, sagging sofa.  Seated in the depression in the center of the
couch is Nevermind.  His gnarly black beard hangs below his chin, and
his greasy black bangs hang forward over his face, almost totally
obscuring it.  He is dressed in an old hole-filled black t-shirt and
tattered black kilt, with a greying old flannel shirt tied around his
waist by the sleeves and his taped together combat boots.  He is
flanked on either side by a woman.  To his right sits a tall, thin
woman with long, dirty dishwater blonde hair dressed in a dirty pink
baggy hooded sweat shirt and loose-fitting old grey sweat pants.  To
his left is a pudgy girl who's black hair is a rat's nest.  She wears
an oversized turquoise t-shirt and too tight black stirrup pants.
Their dead eyes stare into the camera as Nevermind brushes the oily
hair out from in front of his face with one huge calloused hand and
looks into the camera's lens with his lifeless sunken eyes and no
expression at all upon his face...]

I am cursed.

I am haunted by the knowledge that only I can see the world for what
it truly is.  They say that ignorance is bliss, and they're right.
Wherever I look, all I see is bliss on people's faces.  They also say
the truth shall set you free, but I know the truth, and I don't feel
free.   I'm trapped.  I'm held prisoner by the responsibility I have
to make everyone else see the truth like I do.  And let me assure you,
I take that responsibility very seriously.

So when someone comes along and starts telling lies and blinding
people to the truth, I take it personally.  As personally as you can
when you don't feel anything, anyway.  Chris Hartt, for a long time
you've been trying to convince people that there's such things as
honor and fairness, but it seems like lately people don't seem to be
buying it.  I'd like to think that has something to do with me, but
I'm afraid I can't take the credit for it.  The reason why people
aren't falling for your act anymore Chris is because of you.

I gave you a gift, Chris.  I gave you the perfect opportunity to show
me and the whole world that you're everything you say you are.  I laid
out Foley and Gionet and gave you the best shot you'd ever have to
show everyone that you're the Paladin you claim to be.  And you took
that chance, and you threw it away.

All you had to do was refuse to cover either of them.  You could've
waited for one or both of them to get back on their feet.  You
could've helped them up.  You could've jumped over that top rope and
come after me.  But you didn't do any of that.  Instead, you covered
Gionet and took a cheap win.  Just like every other piece of crap
around here would have.

Do you think for one minute that I or the entire world believes that
you didn't realize what happened?  I throw you in the ring, and
there's Foley and Gionet laying there ripe for the picking, I'm
walking away and you don't get it?  No one buys that, Chris.  No one
with half a brain, anyway.

[Nevermind points to the women on either side of him.]

Not even these two buy that, Chris.  And no one ever accused them of
having anything resembling intelligence.

[The black haired girl to Nevermind's left gets a hurt expression on
her pudgy face, but the skinny blonde on his right looks as
emotionless as ever.]

 But dumb as they are, they still see you for what you are, Hartt.
 The only person who still doesn't see you for what you really are,
 Chris, is you.   And as much as I'd love to teach you once and for
 all, I've already given you all I intend to.  Why should I bother,
 anymore?  I already gave you as good a gift as I could, and you took
 it...

[Nevermind makes a disgusting rumbling sound in his throat and hocks
up a monstrous white glob of saliva that he launches directly at the
camera.  It splatters across the lens and begins to slowly run down
the screen, obscuring Nevermind and the two women...]

And spit in my face.  But you also spat in the face of all the people
out there who were dumb enough to believe in you and your lies.  I
should make you pay for it, Chris.  I should punish you for your
ingratitude.  But instead, all I'm going to do is never mind...

[As Nevermind settles back into the sofa, the camera turns away and a
cloth starts to smear the saliva all over in an attempt to wipe it off
before cutting to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Perry Fontana
****************************************
****************************************

[Two men sit at a coffee shop's recluse corner table. One wears stone-
washed jeans, but a red, orange and gold boxer's robe covers the rest,
including his head. On the opposite side of the table sits a handsome
Haitian man with a close shave coif. Before addressing the man in the
robe in a formal tone, the Haitian takes a toothpick out of his
mouth.]

Haitian: Hiring Jean-Daniel Neptune PI was the right move, Mr.
Fontana.

Fontana: I hope so, cousin.

JDN: Given the time, JD Neptune always find the answers, you can count
on that.

[The private detective puts the toothpick back into his mouth before
placing some files on the table.]

JDN: And lucky for you, some of the answers have already been found.

Fontana: Like _what_?

JDN: There's nothing Italian about Chance McKenzie except for his
current home address. He's been living in Milan for a while, but he's
actually from Illinois.

Fontana: No Italian blood?

JDN: Not a drop, mon ami.

Fontana: Good.

JDN: Otherwise, everyone knows the rest. Got into modeling at a young
age, travelled the world, did a few campaigns for-

Fontana [Interrupting]: I don't care about modeling.

JDN: Ah... well... Getting into wrestling... he has always displayed
flashes of true greatness, only dampened by streaky performances. He's
often accused of... fading away for prolonged periods of time..

Fontana: Ouais... In true _model_ fashion, he looks spectacular JUST
_long_ enough for a few _photos_, only to turn into some _bland_,
POMPOUS _DOUCHE_ for the rest of the year.

JDN: That's one way of putting it. On the other hand, JD Neptune PI
found out more... Did you know that, in Italy, it's not gay if the
other guy's a tranny?

Fontana: Ouais... It's clearly not a _man_ if she's dressed like a
woman, I know. But _what_ does this have to do with the way he
WRESTLES?

JDN: Umm...

[He shakes his head]

JDN: Nothing.

Fontana: Then I don't care.

JDN: Alright, mon ami, that's all I have for that...

[There is disappointment in the PI's face, but he soon cheers up with
a new topic.]

JDN: ...But Herscher von Donkerhardt wasn't difficult to track.

Fontana: What's he up to.

JDN: Training. That's what he does.

Fontana: Ouais, but... How _much_ training?

JDN: A lot. Every day, like clockwork.

Fontana: But... What type?

JDN: JD Neptune PI's no fitness instructor, but he seems to start with
a lot of stretching, then does a lot of running and cardio things.

Fontana: Ah! C'est bon, ca.

JDN: Oui, mon ami. Then he does reps on this... machine, repetitive
but not strenous...

Fontana: Rehabbing. That's good too, cousin.

JDN: And after, he fights some guys...

Fontana: Sparring?

[Panic taints Il Eterno's voice as he pulls back on the hood of his
robe.]

Fontana: Tell me it's _light_ sparring. It makes a HUGE difference!

JDN: I'm not sure I can tell the difference.

Fontana: With _light_ sparring, he'd just be keeping the ring rust
away, make sure his reflexes and _instincts_ are still SHARP, OUAIS!
But if he's fighting for real... he could UNDO _everything_!

JDN: I couldn't say, however... I did find some answers that were
considerably more challenging to obtain.

[The private eye hands over a folder. As he consults it, the Deathless
One's eyes grow wide with astonishment.]

Fontana: His _medical_ files??

JDN: Only some of them... my contact got too greedy. But here... look
at this one from May second. See? They're convinced surgery is the
only solution. And now here, two weeks ago...

Fontana: ... Full recovery expected before September... Without
surgery?

JDN: That's a miracle. The man is blessed by God.

Fontana: He isn't.

[Still, the King of Armbars cocks his head in a show of respect.]

Fontana: But the dedication needed to rehab an injury that way...
that's impressive. The men with enough discipline to do that can be
counted on the fingers of one hand, cousin. This is good.

JDN: Dis-moi, mon ami... Why would a man care about the health of an
opponent?

[Perry looks up, his dark piercing eyes locked in on his
interlocutor.]

Fontana: If he's not healthy, how will we know who's the best?

[Nothing could be added to that, and the silence grows. Putting the
folder back down on the table, the Everlasting One breaks the
silence.]

Fontana: What about the other answer?

JDN: I have not found her.

Fontana: You got Donkerhardt's _medical_ files, but you CAN'T FIND my
_WIFE_?

[Spittle flies with the sudden outburst.]

JDN: Not yet. But sooner or later, Jean-Daniel Neptune PI always
figures it out. It is just a matter of time.

Fontana: Time's running out, cousin.

JDN: Look. When people start calling private detectives, it's over. I
have a good friend, Antwone Gregory, he's a very good divorce lawyer,
I'll ask him for a special fee.

Fontana: I don't need a _lawyer_. I just need to _find_ her... and get
her BACK~!

JDN: Whether you admit it or not, mon ami, it's over.

[Fontana's glare hardens, and he slowly rises out of his chair to loom
over the private eye, murder in his encircled eyes.]

JDN: Hey, now! Simmer down...

[The toothpick falls out of Neptune's mouth.]

JDN: ...I'm not the one who made her leave, mon ami. I'm just the one
who can find her. I'll find where she is, who she's been sleeping
with, everything!

Fontana: SHE'S NOT SLEEPING WITH _ANYONE_ BUT _ME_!

[Spittle rains down on JD, but he remains as cool as he can.]

JDN: First comes denial, then anger... I see it all the time, and I
see it in you, mon ami. There's all that rage building up inside, and
you feel completely powerless to do anything about it.

[The Haitian PI's tone is understanding and sympathetic, like he had
to do this many times before with many more desperate clients.]

JDN: But you're one of the lucky ones, trust me. You can step in a
ring and take all of that rage out on your opponent... Chance
McKenzie. You can bottle it all up, and let it all out in that ring.

[Trembling, the Everlasting One balls his fists.]

JDN: But the Joe Schmoes... they can't do that. They end up blowing a
fuse, go postal on the little family, blow their brains out, and make
the news for a few weeks.

[Slowly, a numbed Fontana sits down.]

Fontana: You don't und[Sitting at a coffee shop's corner table are two
men. One wears stone-washed jeans. But a red, orange and gold boxer's
robe covers the rest, including his head. On the opposite side of the
table sits a handsome Haitian man with a close shave coif. Before
addressing the man in the robe in a formal tone, he takes a toothpick
out of his mouth.]

Haitian: Hiring Jean-Daniel Neptune PI was the right move, Mr.
Fontana.

Fontana: I hope so, cousin.

JDN: Given the time, JD Neptune always find the answers, you can count
on that.

[The private detective puts the toothpick back into his mouth before
placing some files on the table.]

JDN: And lucky for you, some of the answers have already been found.

Fontana: Like _what_?

JDN: There's nothing Italian about Chance McKenzie except for his
current home. He's been living in Milan for a while, but he's actually
from Illinois.

Fontana: No Italian blood?

JDN: Not a drop, mon ami.

Fontana: Good.

JDN: Otherwise, it's all stuff everyone knows. Got into modeling at a
young age, travelled the world, did a few campaigns for-

Fontana [Interrupting]: I don't care about modeling.

JDN: Ah... well... Getting into wrestling, he has always displayed
some flashes of true greatness, only dampened by streakiness... He
often tends to sort of fade away.

Fontana: Ouais... In true _model_ fashion, he looks spectacular _just_
LONG enough for a few _photos_, only to turn into some _bland_,
POMPOUS douche for the rest of the year.

JDN: That's one way of putting it. On the other hand, JD Neptune PI
found out more... Did you know that, in Italy, it's not gay if the
other guy's a tranny?

Fontana: Ouais... It's clearly not a _man_ if she's dressed like a
woman, I know. But does this have _anything_ to do with the way he
WRESTLES?

JDN: Umm...

[He shakes his head]

JDN: No.

Fontana: Then I don't care.

JDN: Alright, mon ami, that's all I have for that... but Herscher von
Donkerhardt wasn't difficult to track.

Fontana: What's he up to.

JDN: Training. That's what he does.

Fontana: Ouais, but... How _much_ training?

JDN: A lot. Every day, like clockwork.

Fontana: But... What type?

JDN: JD Neptune PI's no fitness instructor, but he seems to start with
a lot of stretching, then does a lot of running and cardio things.

Fontana: Ah! Molto buono!

JDN: Oui, mon ami. Then he does reps on this... machine, repetitive
but not strenous...

Fontana: Rehabbing. That's good too, cousin.

JDN: And after, he fights some guys...

Fontana: Sparring?

[Panic taints Il Eterno's voice as he pulls back on the hood of his
robe.]

Fontana: Tell me it's _light_ sparring. It makes a HUGE difference!

JDN: What's the difference?

Fontana: With _light_ sparring, he'd just be keeping the ring rust
away, make sure his reflexes and _instincts_ are still SHARP, OUAIS!
But if he's fighting for real... he could UNDO _everything_!

JDN: I couldn't say, however... I did find some answers that were
significantly more challenging to obtain.

[The private eye hands over a folder. As he consults it, the Deathless
One's eyes grow wide with astonishment.]

Fontana: His _medical_ files??

JDN: Only some of them... my contact got greedy. But here... look at
this one from May second. See? They're convinced surgery is the only
solution. And now here, two weeks ago...

Fontana: ... Full recovery expected before September... Without
surgery?

JDN: That is a miracle. The man is blessed by God.

Fontana: No he isn't.

[Still, the King of Armbars cocks his head in a show of respect.]

Fontana: But the dedication needed to rehab an injury that way...
that's impressive. The men with enough discipline to do that can be
counted on the fingers of one hand, cousin. This is good.

[A beat.]

Fontana: Surviving Death six times remains more impressive.

[He nuances.]

Fontana: After all, these also say HvD shouldn't be cleared to
compete. With this, there's no way they can book him in a match. Not
until the fall. I'm starting to feel _bad_ for Nevermind, though.

JDN: Why?

Fontana: Looks like I'll be _depriving_ him of another title shot,
cousin. I'll have to think of a solid to balance it out. Maybe I could
_rip_ Chris Hartt's ARM OFF, aaaah OUAIS! You know, a little gesture
that says it's nothing personal... I just have to make sure
Donkerhardt gets back to full health, that's all.

JDN: But why would a man care about the good health of a future
opponent?

[Perry looks up, his dark piercing eyes locked in on his
interlocutor.]

Fontana: If he's not healthy, how will we know who's the best?

[Nothing could be added to that, and the silence grows. Putting the
folder back down on the table, the Everlasting One breaks the
silence.]

Fontana: What about the other answer?

[Neptune takes a deep breath before replying.]

JDN: I have not found her.

Fontana: You got Donkerhardt's _medical_ files, but you CAN'T FIND my
_WIFE_?

[Spittle flies with the sudden outburst.]

JDN: Not yet. But sooner or later, Jean-Daniel Neptune PI always
figures it out. It is just a matter of time.

Fontana: Time's running out, cousin!

JDN: Look. When people start calling private detectives, it's over. I
have a good friend, Antwone Gregory, he is a very good divorce lawyer,
I will ask him for a special fee.

Fontana: I don't need a _lawyer_. I just need to _find_ her... and get
her BACK~!

JDN: Whether you admit it or not, mon ami, it is over.

[Fontana's glare hardens, and he slowly rises out of his chair to loom
over the private eye, murder in his encircled eyes.]

JDN: Hey, now!

[The toothpick falls out of Neptune's mouth as he shrinks back.]

JDN: ...I'm not the one who made her leave! ... I'm just the one who
can find her. I'll find where she is, who she's been sleeping with,
everything!

Fontana: She's NOT _sleeping_ with _ANYONE_ BUT _ME_!

[Spittle rains down on JD, but he remains as cool as he can.]

JDN: First comes denial, then anger... I see it all the time, and I
see it in you, mon ami. There's all that rage building up inside, and
you feel completely powerless to do anything about it.

[The Haitian PI's tone is filled with understanding and sympathy, like
he had to do this many times before with countless desperate clients.]

JDN: But you are one of the lucky ones, trust me. The Joe Schmoes...
they end up going postal on the little family. Then they blow their
brains out, and make the news for a few weeks.

[Trembling, the Everlasting One balls his fists.]

JDN: But you... You can step in a ring and take all of that rage out
on your opponent... Chance McKenzie. You can bottle it all up, and let
it all out in that ring.

[Slowly, a numbed Fontana sits down.]

Fontana: You don't understand.

[He looks up, repressed tears swelling in his eyes.]

Fontana: I love her.

[JD Neptune sighs, nods, comfortingly claps Perry on the shoulder.]

JDN: I'll find her, I'll find her. Jean-Daniel Neptune always figures
it out.

[The handsome Haitian gets out of his chair as the image fades out to
black...]

****************************************
****************************************
The Spectre
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene opens on a stark cinder block room.  Trash litters the
floor, exposed pipes run along the ceiling, water dripping from the
poorly sealed joints.

Rats and other vermin scurry back and forth among the refuse on the
floor, casting surreal shadows in the harsh incandescence shed from
the single bare light bulb hanging from a wire in the middle of the
room.

Sitting directly below the bulb in a folding steel chair is PVW's
resident madman, The Spectre.

The ghoulish grappler stares straight ahead, the slightest hint of a
smile playing at the corners of his mouth...]

"Well done, little Samuel...well done!"

[He leans back, clapping slowly as his pale eyes stare, unblinking,
into the camera's lens.]

You were able to interject yourself into the dance between friend
Marcus and us...to reach down deep within and gird yourself for
battle, baring your teeth and leaping upon your prey from behind while
they were otherwise engaged.

You tapped into your fury and used it as fuel...allowing it to propel
you to great heights...

And all this did was prove one thing to all of those sheep that watch
your every move and hang upon your example:

You.

Are.

Just.

Like.

Us."

[Spectre rises smoothly to his feet, that same unblinking stare still
boring into the camera as his head tilts forward and the smile spreads
slightly on the left side of the goth madman's face.]

"Gaze upon what you've done, little Samuel.  You felt your Beast
raging within you...the personification of all of that hate...all of
that anger...and you let it wear your skin and lash out.

You looked upon what we did to you and felt sick...that something like
us, a circus sideshow could lay you low.  That you, a former champion,
beloved by the people, could have been left laying and helpless in the
middle of that ring by The Spectre.

How it must have eaten at you...wearing away like a maddening canker
that will accept no relief.

You saw what needed to be done: you needed to exorcise The Spectre by
beating us at our own game...so play our game you did...and in doing
so, you've ceded the rules to us.

When you dance with the Spectre, little Samuel...you lose...so be
prepared for the next movement, fallen hero.  Gird  yourself for
battle once again, and prepare to attempt to survive another
confrontation with us...and most of all, little Samuel...

Fear the dark."

[fade]

****************************************
****************************************
Alex Epstein and The Mercenary
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera opens to Flo's diner outside of New York City. All is
quiet until the front door opens and a stream of bright sunlight pours
through. A shadowy figure comes into view with the sun playing tricks
on the viewer, as it seems there is a halo around the head of the
person entering the diner. The person stops in the doorway, surveying
the diner. He steps forward and as he does so, the door closes,
causing the shadows and halo to dissipate, revealing that the man is
not an angel of any sort... it's none other than the Mercenary. ]

Flo: Hey sugga! Long time no see! The usual?

Merc: Hey there Flo. Sure thing ... A Fresca and meat lovers skillet.

[Merc's gaze moves from Flo across the empty diner to the only other
person in the diner: long time "friend" Alex Epstein. Epstein is
sitting at a table for four with his leg draped across one of the
chairs. Epstein, wearing a Chicago Bulls t-shirt, black sweats, and
shades, finishes a bit of his omelet and takes a sip from a coffee
cup.]

Flo: More coffee Alex?

[The former world champion looks at the waitress.]

AE: No thanks Flo but y'all still make that apple pie, I could use a
few to go.

Flo: No problem sugga!

[Flo makes her way back behind the counter and Merc takes the seat
kitty-corner to the one Alex is seated in, 'accidently' bumping the
chair that is holding up the bad leg.]

Merc: [smirks] Oops... Sorry about that. So, let's get right down to
it. Why did you ask me to meet you way out here in the middle of
nowhere?

AE: Because in UEW it was always neutral ground.

Merc: Yeah, well, I shouldn't have to tell you this, but I don't think
we're in the UEW anymore Dorothy. And this is just more evidence of
you having problems letting go of the past, isn't it? Here we are,
back in a place that takes you back to when you were at the top of
your game. You had some of your biggest career defining moments happen
in the UEW. But that was years ago, and since then, you've declined
and deteriorated so far that you don't even know your name anymore.
But at least you haven't forgot that this is a no-violence zone,
otherwise you'd be laying in a puddle out by the dumpster.

[Alex cut a piece of omelet and stuffs it in his mouth while listening
to his "friend".]

AE: Well keep in mind the only reason I haven't stabbed this fork
through your left eye is because of that truce.

Merc: And there we go... you sliding back towards senility. You know
that there isn't a chance in hell that you'd be able to do something
like that to me. You never could, and you never will be able to...
especially now.

AE: You realize this isn't like when you sided with Colby right? That
at least I understood. Plus he had more money than me back then.

[Alex cuts another piece of omelet and scarfs it down followed by some
coffee.]

Or that one time with Hopper right? I let that slide because if you
weren't there I'd killed that giant fat ass and drowned him in the
Chicago River.

[Alex downs some more coffee.]

Merc: Yeah, well everyone makes mistakes. For that I apologize.

AE: Bastard throws me in a river strapped to a gurney and he wants to
be friends.

Merc: Yeah, but if would have done that to him instead, he would have
floated out to the Atlantic and probably get himself harpooned.

[The two of them both laugh.]

AE: By the way you were right about one thing: I'm not Alex Extreme
anymore.

Merc: And that's too bad.Extreme was the real you. And now you're just
a pale imitation.

[Alex stops and stares at one of his longest friends in all of
wrestling...]

AE: Well that's where you're mistaken. Alex Extreme--was a creation
from the mind of Alex Epstein.

Always was.

A creation which allowed me the courage to do things that I thought I
couldn't otherwise do. Well courage and nightly bottle of Jack
Daniels.

Merc: That's a load of psychiatric bullshit and you know it.

[Alex stops eating and looks Merc dead in the eye.]

AE: I don't think you get it buddy: I'm not the kid who showed up in
Montreal on cold snowy December night with a name promoters didn't
think would sell tickets. For a long time I thought I needed to be
Alex Extreme to be great.

[Alex pauses, snickers to himself, and smiles looking far more
confident than his old friend has seen him in a _VERY_ long time.]

Yeah, I did great things as Alex Extreme but my greatest
accomplishment came when I stopped being my creation and started being
me. Alex Epstein captured the UWF title--something Alex Extreme never
could or would do.

Merc: You consider THAT to be the greatest thing you've ever done? The
UWF title? Now I really know that you've lost it. You and I both know
that the UEW title is, was and always will be the pinnacle of this
sport. Not to belittle the PVW, but the competition back then can
never be duplicated. Sure, some of the old names have made their way
into PVW as well, but you've seen that they couldn't handle here. Rick
Marley... gone. Doc Holliday... gone... Alex Martinez... gone. All big
names that made it in the biggest and best federation of all time. But
they, just like you, couldn't keep up any more. Time has passed you
all by. They were smart enough to get out while they could. You need
to learn that same lesson.

AE: And the lesson you never learned was the UEW was bullshit. Yeah I
made money, friends, and fame but I was NEVER going to be the
franchise there. Hell the minute I won the title, they wanted it in
Holliday's hands.

What you missed was what happened after I lost the UEW title. The day
I picked myself up off the ground, traveled to St. Louis and signed
with Fletch and RCW.

[He pauses for a moment.]

That was when I stopped being a sideshow and became the main event
Merc. I went to St.Louis took that title and helped build a small
promotion into one of the hottest and biggest in the world. That's
when I stopped just being in main events and started winning them.

[He takes another bite of omelete.]

Oh,and you seem to have missed something else: this isn't just another
feud. This is beyond Keening and way past Styles. Alex Extreme was
dangerous. I'm done with dangerous. It's time for deadly and you my
friend are in the way.

Merc: And I'm going to stay in your way. I'm not doing this to hurt
you. I'm doing this to save you.

AE: Are sure you want to do this? I'm not Magnum, Kolinski, or
Nevermind. You think taking out a bad leg is going to stop me?
Martinez put me through the hood of a limo--three times. When you blew
up the cage at War Games--who was crazy enough to be inside? I bungee
jumped through a thunderdome cage with no insulation.

Merc: Right... that was back in the days when you could handle stuff
like that. You can't do that shit anymore. You try that now, and
you'll be crippled, or even worse, laying in a morgue. And I couldn't
live with myself if that happened.

AE: Fine, I'm done being reasonable and I upgraded my insurance plan
three weeks ago. You want me to hang'em up Merc?

MAKE ME.

Merc: That's what I figured. Don't worry, Alex... I will make you hang
'em up. And you should be glad that's it's going to be me. With me, at
least you'll know that I'll just go far enough for you to see the
light. Others, well they won't stop until you are on a cold slab, your
body being donated to science. I'm giving you the chance to live out
the rest of your life in a nice warm retirement village with most of
your faculties and limbs intact. Nobody else would do that for you.

AE: I saw what you did to that kid Ash last week. I got your message
loud and clear. Next time you want send a message, you just come find
me--I ain't hard to find.

Now I have one for you:

You tell Jessica if she leaves PVW now and high tails it back to UWF,
I won't deal her the worst embarsement of her career. I ain't Kyle
Lee--game time is over. She started all this and I'm going to finish
it.

[He looks at Merc.]

I hope she gave you a lot of money. Because that retirement village
you'll be joining me in isn't going to be one of those rundown
shitholes.

[Merc gets up, pushing his chair over. ]

Merc: Well, I'm sorry to hear that. You want to play it that way, then
that's the way we're going to play it. Give this to Flo for me...

[Merc drops a $20 on the table, and heads back out into the sunlight,
this time the sun giving off an eerie red glow around Merc as he
exits. Alex looks at the door for a moment. He puts the fork and knife
down, drops a $50 on the table, grabs his pies and follows his former
friend out the door.]

****************************************
****************************************
AsH
****************************************
****************************************

[Camera opens on the living room of AsH and [EDIT: AsH's Wife]. The TV
is on, showing a loop over and over of AsH's single leg takedown on
Jessica Marshall and ensuing leg-loving. It gets to the part where AsH
is hit with the Halliburton and then loops back to the single leg
takedown again. AsH walks downstairs, in a rumpled t-shirt and pajama
pants, slippers, a five o'clock shadow and his hair matted and pointed
every which way. He yawns before looking at the TV and visibly
cringing as his wife enters the frame, remote in her hand and eyebrow
cocked]

AsH: Uh... so. Saw the match, huh?

[EDIT: AsH's Wife]: Yes. Yes I did.

AsH: Even after I told you it was uneventful and I won?

[EDIT: AsH's Wife]: No, after it became a trending topic on Twitter, I
got nine emails from MY family, and a clip was run on HLN's morning
blunders.

AsH: Huh... Nancy Grace say anything nice about it?

[EDIT: AsH's Wife]: Does she say anything nice about anything?

AsH: I think I remember her touting the joys of eating child flesh.

[AsH slowly takes a wide berth around his wife as he makes his way
toward the TV and attempts to turn it off, only to have the remote
flung at his head. He ducks and it hits the TV, causing it to fuzz
momentarily. No breaks, but AsH still looks perturbed now]

AsH: WHAT?!

[EDIT: AsH's Wife]: You know WHAT! You humped another woman on
NATIONAL TELEVISION! In PUBLIC!

AsH: Are you SERIOUS?! That was the best way to take care of the
situation without knocking her damn teeth out.

And we were CLOTHED!

And I wore protection!

[EDIT: AsH's Wife]: WHAT?! What kind of protection?

AsH: A cup.

[It may actually be possible that the whistling steam sound could be
imaginary, but [EDIT: AsH's Wife] is definitely about to lose it]

AsH: Before you start getting all bent out of shape around something
that is no more or less sexual than a pumphandle slam on a GUY, I got
you a present.

[EDIT: AsH's Wife]: What?

AsH: Close your eyes...

[Kieran closes her eyes. And then immediately opens them, shocked]

AsH: SURPRISE!

Kieran: IT'S GONE?! I'm no longer EDITTED?!

AsH: Yup, got the papers signed today. Kieran Rae Crowe is free to be
whoever she wants to be...

Kieran: And that won't be at all confusing, since Kieran Rae is the
CEO of SP---

AsH: Aaaah, don't go pressing buttons, honey. We all know that's an
imposter.

Kieran: Right. I mean, I can't really remember much of before we
met... in fact, I don't remember every really saying much before we
met. It's like... almost like I was just background piece as a referee
and ---

[The image begins to fuzz and fade]

AsH: Listen, honey. I love you. But if you keep up that line of
thinking, the fourth wall will collapse and---

Kieran: Fourth Wall?

AsH: Trust me. Let's just move on to something else.

[Kieran, still happy at no longer being editted, smiles at him
somewhat blankly as he looks back at her, mouth cocked to one side in
a half smile and put his thumbs in his pants pockets. Both kind of
look at the ground and then around at the ceiling.]

AsH: *cough*

Kieran: Did you say something?

AsH: Uh, no.

[More staring at the ceiling]

Kieran: So... the world doesn't know what to think of you being
seriously lately.

[Thank God, she broke the silence]

AsH: Yeah, not quite sure why. I was a much more intense and serious
guy before coming here. Then I guess I just realized that I'm getting
one last chance to make that run and hey, why NOT be happy about that?

Kieran: Right... but, does that mean we're going to be more serious
these days?

AsH: Maybe. Probably. I don't really know. Guess it depends largely on
how the world wants to take it.

Kieran: If current trends are any indication, they'll assume the world
is ending and/or you're suffering a nervous breakdown that may or may
not end in your death.

[AsH grabs the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes]

AsH: You get in a few fights with imaginary cereal characters and
people assume that's your whole life. I mean, didn't I SAY that I had
obviously been suffering some sort of brain damage?

Kieran: I figure agreeing to a one on one with the Biz would've been
tip off enough for that.

AsH: No joke. I've wrestled with more talent after catching my dick in
my zipper.

[Kieran looks at him, eye cocked]

Kieran: Really? To your wife, you said that?

AsH: Listen, Mrs. Farts-In-Her-Sleep, are we going to start playing
the modest game?

[Kieran gasps and punches him in the arm before walking away,
grumbling]

AsH: Hmm... I think I squarely nailed THAT coffin, shut. [AsH shrugs]
M'eh, I've got a comfy couch anyways. [He turns back to the camera]
And you? I don't know what to tell you, folks. I may or may not dance
with smurfs and argue with fraggles and carebears, but I'm still a
threat in that ring. And these days, as I watch my son grow and
evolve, and realize that he's going to want to see his Dad at his
sports matches, and recitals, and plays... I know my time is ticking.

I'm wrestling with a big 'ole hour glass on my shoulders and can feel
the sand landing harder and heavier each day. But to be honest, when I
do finally hang the boots up, it won't be something I cry about or
even frown at. It means I'll go back to being a father and a husband
who doesn't come home bloodied up and bruised, unable to get out of
bed for weeks.

It doesn't mean I'm looking forward to that day. Doesn't mean that I
can't wait to hang them up so I can go be Mr. Mom. What it does mean
is that I'll be moving on to the next phase in my life, where I can
take care of my family and not have a single regret about the career
which is paying for their way of life. It means knowing that I left my
mark on a sport that I love... and nothing can take that away.

[AsH smirks and shoots a finger gun at the camera before it fades out]

****************************************
****************************************
Gibson Hayes, Livestock & The Gutch
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene is a large meeting room. A large round table takes up most
of the room, more of a horseshoe shape than circle. Seated at the
farthest northern point on the horsehoe are a fat guy and a pretty
boy.  For the uninitiated they're strangers but to 99% of the
wrestling audience they're 2.5X PVW Tag Team Champions Livestock and
the Gutch.  The boys appear embroiled in some sort of tandem video
game on a pair of Nintendo 3DS consoles.  Gutch appears to be
winning.]

Livestock: You fat bastard.  You fat bastard!  I don't know how you're
doing it but you're totally cheating!

Gutch: C'mon Stock, take it easy.

Livestock: No way, I grew up in the arcades on this game while you
were touring a series of fat camps.

[The 3DS's ring out with a stereo “Hadouken”.]

Livestock: Gah!

Gutch: Dude, you grew up on one and two.  I got kids and all my kids
have played the *BLEEP* out of number four.

[A grunt of defeat is heard in concert from the game and Livestock.
The dirty blond muscle man drops his hands in surrender, closing his
handheld.]

Livestock: Unreal!  This is a new game!  How have you mastered it!?

Gutch: It ain't new!  It's just new on this little thing.  Dude, I
been getting schooled by my youngest, Fredo, for over a year.

Livestock: Well the DS is the only system I've owned this millennium
so...

[The camera changes and we see the entrance way. Two figures emerge
from the all to bright hallway: Gibson Hayes and Todd Johnstone.]

GH: Mr. Zappa and Mr. Bartilucci! I am so glad to finally meet the
both of you.

Gutch: Whoa, it's the champ!

Livestock: Hey, Gibby, uh, we've met?  Remember that whole nonsense
with Bubba?  Thanks for loaning him to us by the way.  He was a great
help when he wasn't breaking up the team.

[Glare from Gutch to Livestock who then looks back to Gibson with a
scrutinizing eye.  Todd is dressed in a charcoal black suit with red
tie and is yapping on the phone while Gibson is in his white shirt
with his red tie loosened. His sleeves are rolled up and his shirt has
marks of perspiration.]

Gutch: Wow bud, you look like me after I been eatin' Nookyoular
habanero chili.  Too soggy for even my sweet Rosa to wanna hug on.

GH: Oh, right, forgive my appearance. I've been... busy, to say then
least. To answer your question: yes, I do remember meeting you at
least once before but that was formal hogwash; this is a social
occasion.

Livestock: Social?  Where are the girls?

Gutch: Heyo!  Oh yeah, now you're gettin' the idea, 'Stock!

Livestock: Every party is serious business to Livestock Zappa.

Gutch: And you don't get paid unless we get paid!

Livestock: Yes, yes he does, Gutch.  He's the freaking World
Heavyweight Champion.  The World Champ gets paid.

Gutch: I just wanna emphasize the lawyer thing.  We work better when
we emphasize the lawyer thing!

[Hayes drops the smile and a full on sneer crosses his face.  Both tag
champs snap back to.]

GH: Alright, then let's get to brass tacks. You two aren't idiots, so
I'll cut the crap--

[Gutch raises his hand.]

Gutch: I pretend to be one!

[Smack in the fat shoulder.]

Livestock: Quiet Gutch.

Gutch: 'Kay.

GH: --We all want certain things out of life: money, power and the
satisfaction of running folks out of town, correct?

Livestock: Indeed.

Gutch: I think about it all the time!

Livestock: It's become a hobby for us, really.

Gutch: There's a wall of broken dreams in my basement with pictures of
all the guys whose careers I ended with the eyes all scratched out!

Livestock: Gutch … you are never allowed near my cooler of Red Bull
again.

[It's hard to read whether Hayes is becoming annoyed or not.  He must
be at least tolerant of these guy's schtick as he does continue on.]

GH: You two are the scourge of the tag team ranks, the creme that
rises to the top. You retire people or run them out of town; I do the
same damned thing. We held, collectively, every single thing that
matters in PVW... but that isn't enough, is it?

Gutch: Yes.  No.  I don't know!

Livestock: Not enough to cement a place in history if that's what
you're driving at.

[Gibson grabs a glass from the table and pours water from one of the
pitchers while Todd finally gets off one of his phones.]

TJ: Guys, we're getting this shit started. I gotta plan, a good
plan... a great plan!

GH: With Frank on somewhat of a leash, such a dangerous man, we have
the single greatest threat to people's career, outside of us, in our
corner. Frank is the cherry on top of a misery sundae.

TJ: Careful with that guy and the little game you're playing with him,
Gibby. Frank ain't all there - he'll believe you for a moment but you
don't know if he'll snap your neck... or should I say when. We gotta
make a little to do list of yak slurping pus mongers for Frank to
"educate".

GH: Right; 'stock, Gutch, what laundry list do you have? Suggestions?

Livestock: Suggestions?

Gutch: Max and Sal!

Livestock: Well...

Gutch: Max and Sal!

Livestock: Gutch, please stop.

Gutch: They stole our bit!

GH: People, we represent hope. The hope that idiots have that nice
guys will win in the end. Hope that little Mary's favorite wrestler
won't end up a cripple. People want to believe in heroes. We will give
them all the heroes they desire. We will build up as many damned
heroes as possible.... and then snatch them away; breaking their
heroic little necks and countless hearts and dreams. The plus? We get
fame, fortune and to humiliate people.

Livestock: Agreed.

Gutch: You're the bossman.

TJ: Enough of this little circle jerk - we gotta talk real turkey, ya
jackoffs.