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** Phoenix Valley Wrestling Presents  **
**            SHOWCASE                **
**            09.12.11                **
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-> Rob Cole
-> The Berserkers
-> Devin Houlihan
-> Chris Hartt
-> Masked Bro's
-> Alexander Epstein
-> Tyson Cain
-> Christopher Black
-> Herscher von Donkerhardt
-> Sammy Knight
-> The Mercenary
-> Uncle Frank
-> Max and Sal
-> Perry Fontana
-> Phoenix
-> Larry Gionet
-> The Heat
-> Senor Cloak Dos
-> The Spectre
-> Livestock & AsH
-> The Biz & Devin Houlihan
-> Sinister


****************************************
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Rob Cole
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[Halloween is coming and the shops are open! Masks are lined up
against the wall... hockey masks, witch mask, vampire mask... cheap
and expensive, rubber and plastic, cloth and leather. Masks with wigs
and masks that tie around the back or just those cheap little masks
with an elastic string that wraps around back. Domino masks of every
color. Masks are everywhere... except on the face of one man, the
camera panning to reveal him in profile as he stares down at his own
hands. The tremble a little and a quirked grin pulls at the scar
tissue beneath his chin.]

RC: I am going to ask you a question, Larry. Now, I don't want your
very first reaction... you'll be angry, you'll be defensive, you'll
insult, and you'll threaten and we'll hear the same thing I could hear
from any one of a dozen guys in this very same locker room. So when I
ask you the question, I want... I already know I won't get it... but I
really do want you to take it seriously and to think about it. Here's
the question; "Why should I care about you?"

[Cole pauses and lifts a finger... he shakes his head quickly and
continues to speak.]

RC: You have beaten a lot of guys to get to this point in your
career... you've worn different faces, you've done terrible things,
and I'm not discounting a single thing you've done. I'm not that guy,
Larry... but I am the former World Champion, I am a sixteen year
veteran, and I am in the middle of a damn war with William Craven so
your petty little issues...

DON'T MEAN MUCH TO ME!!!

But, I think maybe it has got to mean something to you... it simply
HAS to mean something to you, Larry. Because you have been circling
this company for the past few years and you have been looking for a
foot-hold, a hand hold, something to grab on to and make your very
own. When you first walked through those doors I saw the potential for
greatness... is it my fault, then? I remember... sort of vaguely, in
this half-dream sort of way, talking about you in some sort of
interview. I remember saying you were someone to watch... and maybe
you took it the wrong way. Maybe you thought the world should lay down
for you after that? Maybe you thought that was all you had to do...
earn some praise then fizzle out into obscurity, thinking the world
owed you more than you deserved.

[Cole lifts his arm, wincing as he begins to unwind the sports tape
and reveal the nasty bruising beneath... where the triceps meet the
elbow. He pushes at it a little and sucks his breath between his teeth
before he turns his gaze back to the camera.]

RC: You betrayed good men, Larry. You broke hearts and you turned your
back on your fans, you tried to go back and revisit the good old days
when you put men on shelves and rode a wave of contempt through the
roster. But I don't care, Larry. I don't care about what you do in
that ring, I don't care about who you've hurt, I don't care about what
you've done... why should I start caring right this moment? Are you
wearing another mask... whispering in William Cravens' ear?

ARE YOU?!?!!

I thought about it, Larry... I thought about everyone I ever fought
and there were so many names, and then it hit me like a flash! Maybe
my masked admirer... maybe I didn't ever fight him. Maybe I just
caused him to believe a little too strongly, a little too wrongly, and
maybe the disappointment just crashed in on him... on you. You want to
make a name for yourself?

HUH?!?!!

Go for this arm... this arm right here. Put it through the wringer
with every take down in your arsenal, every submission hold, every
wear down hold... you hit it when it's open, you smash it into the mat
or whip it against the ropes and you do damage to it and you break it
down into paste, Larry. You had better destroy me, Larry... because I
do really care about you. I care because you are a broken promise. I
care because Chris Hartt was a decent man. I care because you just
/might/ be wearing a mask. I care because that's who I am and it's
what I do.

[Cole shakes his head in disgust and lowers his arm with a smirk.]

*FADE TO BLACK*

****************************************
****************************************
The Berserkers
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(Two big tough men ... Face Paint ... Intimidating freaks of nature
known as Doom and Wolf ... The Berserkers.)

Wolf: We aren't flashy.  We don't speak words of poetry.  We are big
... We are mean ... And we go out there show after show and we quite
simply get the job done.  Did we expect the red carpet to be rolled
out and the trumpets to start blasting the second we entered the PVW?

No ...

That is not why we came to the PVW.  We came her to face the best.  We
came here to climb, Mount Everest.

(Wolf glares into the camera.)

Wolf: We came here to earn all of your respect.  There was one team we
respected from day one.  We gave them their due.  We praised their
accolades.  We laid out a very honorable challenge and we sat back for
a few months waiting for them to respond.

The only problem is ...

They never did.

(Wolf shakes his head.)

Wolf: So where did that leave us?  We had only one chance.  One
opportunity ... And that was to take matters in our own hands.  Send a
message that was loud and clear.  Prophets of Rage the disrespect you
showed us will not go forgotten.

(Doom cuts right in with intensity.)

Doom: Prophets do you know our names now?  Or are you two moronic
has-beens who can't get over your own inflated ego long enough to
respond to a honorable challenge?  You speak of this being, Rage
Country ...  That you want to regain the PVW Tag Team titles ...  Yet
the only thing that is important to you is the Prophets of Rage.

(Doom snarls.)

Doom: The door is opened.  We aren't the only one who notices it.
Every time you get caught up in your self absorbing bull crap we will
be there to remind you that there is somebody better then you.  Every
time you talk about second rate promotions, but the PVW ... We will be
there to slap that garbage right out of your mouth.  And if your valet
wants to play dress up and become a wrestler again ...

Well we are an Equal opportunity Employment here in "Berserker
Country".

(Wolf laughs.)

Wolf: Prophets you got the message.  Your legacy called and asked for
a wake up call.  You can thank us later.  For now we have a little
jester parading around the back wearing a mask tossing out challenges.
 Masked Maniac you want a fight?  You want to join the big dogs?  You
want to find out who is better between Doom and I and you?

(Both men laugh.)

Wolf: Bring your Bro's ... Bring _all_ of them.  Because when we are
done with you ...  The Masked Bro's will become _our_ hoes.

(Doom time ...)

Doom: Masked Maniac I hope you watched what happened at Heatwave.  I
hope you saw first hand what we did to Pizzazz ...  Because that is
the same plan for you.  I am going to grab that skinny little masked
head of yours ... I am going to smash mine right into it ... Then pick
your limp carcass up and put you on my shoulders high in the air.

Then Wolf here ...

(Doom pats his partner on his shoulder.)

Doom: He is going to leap off and we are going to give you the ...

Wolf: BOOM!

Doom: BOOM!

Wolf: BOOM!

(This is where we usually fade ... But Wolf holds up one final finger
stopping the camera from turning off.)

Wolf: And Prophets one final thing ..

(Both men look straight into the camera and speak at the same time)

Wolf & Doom: Do we have your attention now?

(And now we fade.)

****************************************
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Devin Houlihan
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[The shot opens up, panning a large, empty apartment!?!? The place
look rather upscale and nice, especially with the nice island in the
kitchen.  The panning of the apartment stops as it finally come across
something other than emptiness... the 'it' being Devin Houlihan,
dressed in blue jean shorts and a Steeler's black and gold tie dye.
His sitting Indian style, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, as
he pans the room with his eyes much like the camera did.]

DEVIN: They say being out of yer comfort zone is good for the soul...
that's where the 'magic' happens or some shit...

[Big, loud dramatic sigh.]

DEVIN; Better be true cause I am certainly out of my BLEEPing comfort
zone now....

[Shakes his head, looking pitiful...]

DEVIN; All my life, Jay Dizzle's been there, right by my side.  yea,
we're twins but that doesn't make siblings instant friends.  Trust me,
I've been dragged through enough twin related bullshit to know
_PLENTY_ of twins that hate each other.  But me and Jay Dizzle? We
were best friends from the get go... always sharing, always playing
nice, always looking out for each other...

[Another big sigh...]

DEVIN: We pushed each other every day to be better... to be faster,
smarter, stronger....  When I had a bad day, he picked me up.  When he
had a bad day, I picked him up.  Guess you could say a truer example
of 'divided we fall, united we stand' probably doesn't exist.

[Devin looks up, gazing around the room once more.]

DEVIN: Shit, that better not be true now cause we are sure divided as
can be... I knew I was pushing the envelope.  I knew I was taking
things probably a bit too far and just not... listening to what he was
saying...

But... _DAMNIT_!

[Ya can tell there's some anger boiling underneath all that...]

DEVIN: I'm tired of not being invited to the party.  I'm tired of
being over looked and underrated! The Renegades are one of the best
tag teams on the Pee Vee Dubbya roster! It's why we've been here since
the reboot and aren't planning on going no where! How many tag teams
have come and gone in Pee Vee Dubbya since my brother and I came onto
the scene? HOW MANY?!?!

[Pause, letting an answer form in your brain.]

DEVIN: But surviving's only half the battle...  Being good enough to
just 'stick around' is one thing.  That could just mean we're idiots
and gluttons for punishment living in some fantasy world.  I want to
be better than just 'good enough'.  I want to be MORE than just a
filler to round out a division.

I want to be THE divison!

[Nods.]

DEVIN: And it can happen! We just have to turn the page... go that
extra mile... find that extra little bit that carries us over the top.
We have to lose our inhibitions and go out there to scratch, claw and
bite our way to the top.  We can't be worried about public opinion or
rules.  We don't have the ability to afford giving a shit the fans...
We gotta prove ourselves first.  We gotta show we can hang with the
big dogs and WIN, not just 'come close'...  so if this... I gotta give
up all this?  I gotta turn my back on my family. and walk into battle
alone with my head held high?

[Shrugs.]

DEVIN: Then that's what I gotta do! No need to sit around bitching, or
complaining.  I just need to go out there and do it.  I need to just
keep showing Jay Dizzle how right I am over and over and over again
until perhaps he'll wake up and understand...

And that's where you come in Sinister!

[Nods, as he turns his stare back on the camera.]

DEVIN: You will be the first wrestler I will be making an example of.
I've  put everything on the line here.  I've put all the apples in one
basket and counted all my chickens.  I got no one and nothing left to
lose but my pride...

That just makes me a dangerous man Sinister!

[Brief smirk...]

DEVIN: Cause you see... I gotta win this match.  I gotta go out there
and find a way to put the  'locker room leader' down.  I
have to, there's no real choice.  If I'm ever going to get my brutha
man to understand... to see what I see....  Then my application of my
theories unto the real world must be successful!

And successful they will be!

[Nods.]

DEVIN: This is the dawning of a new age, my friends. I hope you have
all come well prepared because it's going to be one helluva ride! Do
_NOT_ miss this week's Shockwave, that's for certain!

[Cocky smile forms and won't go away!]

DEVIN: Cause I'm going to put ona show that you _ALLLLLL_ will be
jealous of!

[Fade.]

****************************************
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Chris Hartt
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[In a quiet park, the day is sunny and bright. People stroll casually
about,  enjoying their day. Children play, folks walk and talk, old
men play games of chess in the shade.  Seated on a park bench, just
outside the range of it all, is Chris Hartt. Dressed in jeans and one
of his own t-shirts, he looks back and watches for a little bit before
addressing the camera.]

Hartt:  All that back there is what life is really all about. Nothing,
yet, everything. Just the simple pleasure of enjoying a bright day
with other folks.  Few cares, few worries, just the pleasure of
spending your own free time in any manner you choose.

And it's all this that seems to be the antithesis of everything you
are, Nevermind. You rail against the everyday and the average, feeling
proud of the fact that you live in a gutter and eat cast-off scraps
because it keeps you free from anyone's control. But the real sad
truth is, you're lazy. You say you're above all that, but the truth of
the matter is, you don't want to do the work involved to be where they
are.  Being where you are means you have to do the least possible and
you can sit on your filthy ass and do nothing to earn it.

You've driven me mad with your talk, your intrusions, your presence.
You call me out for not being a man true to my own ideals, but who are
you to say word one about who I am?  I'm being chastised by you, the
guy who crawls through dumpsters for a bit of non-waterlogged food
because holding a job is too much for your fragile psyche?  It makes
you too much of the system to put any effort toward it?

You're pathetic.You're a waste. Worst of all, you are a coward. You
talk all sorts of rhetoric about who should be what and what I say and
do, but you have no ivory tower under you.  You're on a garbage heap
thinking you're King Turd of Crap Mountain.  There isn't a word you've
said so far that can really be valid because you're the worst case
scenario in all things.

At Tradition 6, I faced Perry Fontana over a chance to confront you
after your match with Hersher von Donkerhardt. Perry won and managed
to protect his interests with HvD. I confronted you, but what did you
do?  You ran away.  You nearly peed yourself when I got close.
Because you know when I do get a hold of you, I'm gonna tear you
apart.  Nothing about this has been about even a match.  I want a
fight, Nevermind.  I want to break you and make you hurt for all the
laziness. All the cowardice.  All the misery you've caused simply
because you have no courage to stand up for your own convictions.

Hell, I fought with Perry Fontana, and whatever he may have done in
the past, as it stands right now, he's a solid, true man. I can count
on him to be true to his words and his actions. I doubt I can ever say
that about you.

Now, we come to the next Heatwave and I'm going up against Tyson Cain.
Everyone's talking about what a time-bomb he is. So unstable. So ready
to explode at a moment's notice. I get it and I con only be so ready.
I don't know what to expect against him, but I'm gonna give him a hell
of a fight. Cain's issues are his own. If he's good to go for the
match, that's all I care about. Channel your anger, Cain. Be focused
or be done.  It's all that simple.

Go ahead and explode. You think I'm not on a hairtrigger right now,
pal? There's no counting to 3 with this Holy Hand Grenade.  I'll be
sure to cause just as much destruction in my path.  We're speeding
trains on a collision course, Cain. I'm gonna be in that ring, ready
and waiting for you. I dare you to underestimate me.  It'll be the
last time you make that mistake.

I have so much on my mind, right now, that being in the ring is the
only thing that makes sense. Facing down so many only fuels me to go
further, fight harder, fight more.  I may have stumbled, but I'm never
truly lost as long as I make it in the end.

And I'm pretty sure I will. Because I know that all this [gestures
behind him] is exactly why I fight so hard.

[Hartt stands up and walks away, as the camera pans back to the park
and the people within it.]

****************************************
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Masked Bro's
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[Deep voice ... like one that compares to the famous voice of the
Movie Previews.]

V/O: In a world with darkness ...

In a world with evil around every corner ...

[Camera shows the grinning face of Spectre .... Then cuts to the
jagged teeth of William Craven ... Then to the painted faces of, The
Berserkers.]

V/O: A world filled with sorrow.

[Cut back to T6 ...  Fans signs in support of a young child.]

V/O: There is only one hope in our future.   A hope to raise your
children in a world where there are rolemodels you can be proud of.

[Various clips of famous masked men ... Spiderman ... A majestic ninja
from a Japanese movie ...  Saint Valentine of the ASLL ... Our very
own Senor Cloak Dos ...]

V/O: There is one who fights for the mask in us all.   One who looks
to shine light on the darkness and cast out the evil the lurks in
PVW's shadows.

The man who taught us that paint makes chicks faint.

[Wolf leaps off the top ropes clotheslining Pizzazz down to the mat
with the Dooms Day Device.]

V/O: The man who has prophesied the phrase ...

Masked Bro's before hoes.

[Cut to the PVW Merchandise stand ... The latest PVW shirt:  "Masked
Bro's before Hoes" sit ready to be sold in areas around the globe.]

V/O: A hero we can all turn to ...

And bring to us all, Masked Mania !!!

[The simple but symbolic black mask of, The Masked Maniac.]

****************************************
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Alexander Epstein
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****************************************

[It's hours after Shockwave at the Valley View Casino Center in San
Diego. The building once teaming with life and PVW fans now darkened
and now empty--save one, Sitting in one of the upper decks of the
building sits the man once known as "Mr.Excitement" Alex Extreme.
Today he's known as Alexander Epstein. Epstein looks a little worse
for wear, as he often does. He's wearing some Zubas and UWF t-shirt.
He peers out into the empty arena. He then begins to speak loudly into
the empty darkened arena as if he thinks someone might be
listening...]

AE: "You should never come back."

That's what they all keep telling me.

It wasn't that long ago I ruled the world. When night after night the
best of the best came after me and I stepped to the challenge. From
Last American Badasses to Large Samoans to Pissed off Mexicans, I took
them all on.

And now...

[He chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief.]

Now they tell me it's all over. That my time has come and gone. That I
should just hang it up. That I'm a step to slow. That I seem off. That
everyone has my number now.

That I am done.

[He pauses for a moment..]

Truth is I was done a long time ago--16 years ago to be exact.

That's when after I got off the train that cold and snowy night in
Montreal and they said that I'd never make it.

In New York they said I'd never win. They said I wasn't main event
talent.

Even in Toronto, I languished looking--hell begging for a chance.

The only time anybody ever believed was in St. Louis.

[He pauses again looking out in the darkness of the arena.]

I was never the best, at the top of any list, or the most popular.
Through dozens of pints of blood, countless hospital stays, scars all
over my body... because when others submitted, I did not.

[He pauses again...]

I got where I am because I wanted it more.

And I one of the things I want more than anything right now is to get
even with Jessica Marshall. If that means having to be a step slow and
limp to the ring so be it. Merc thinks he's knows me. Well if he knows
me as well as he claims, he knows once my mind is set on something,
I'm pretty much impossible to stop.

Merc, if you're going to retire me, you're going to have to go down a
very dark road. If I can comeback from Martinez twice and what Lopez
and Vasquez did then you're going to need to step up your game. And
while I know you're capable of doing it, the question is are you
capable of doing to me? Will you be able to sleep at night after it's
over? Will all the money she's paying you be enough after what you've
have to do to stop me?

I'm willing to sacrifice it all and frankly I don't think Jessica has
enough money to make it worth it. And deep down, I think you know it
too.

My time is not over and I will not be hanging it up. If I'm a step to
slow or I'm off a bit so be it. If people have my number it means I
won't be that hard to find when I whup their ass.

I may not be Extreme anymore but I'm back and nothing is going to stop
me.

****************************************
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Tyson Cain
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[The scene fades up from blackness to show Tyson Cain sitting on a
couch. Cain is wearing a PITT Panthers sweatshirt and blue
jeans...very different from his normal attire.]

Cain:  Doesn't this seem a little odd to anybody out there?

[Tyson looks almost annoyed.]

Cain:  This charade of "getting a peek into the minds and lives of the
wrestling superstars" thing?

[Tyson rubs his temples for a second and then takes his hands
squeezing his face back as he moves his hands around the sides of his
head to grabs his hair between his fingers and pull it back together
behind his head. Almost as if he is trying to relax his tensions.]

Cain:  This kind of stuff has been going on for decades. Cameras
invading private lives of men and women so that the people sitting at
home on their fat asses, eating pork Rhines and drinking their Pabst
Blue Ribbon discount brew can think they are getting to know the real
us.

They see a wrestler getting caught during a workout and they think,
"Damn! He must work out all the time to be as good as he is in the
ring." Maybe they see a dinner date interrupted for some rants and
raves toward an opponent. I think the best are the contrived spots for
charity to make you think of how generous and kind a specific guy is.

[Tyson grunts a half-hearted chuckle.]

Cain:  But it's fake.

[He stands up in front of the black couch he was sitting on and
continues.]

Cain:  Don't get me wrong, some of the guys really do work out like
hell and others are generous to a fault. Much of what you see is an
amplified version of what we do in our regular lives. That is what
makes it seem real to you because we take what truly is real to us and
use it.

But it is still fake.

[He starts to slowly meander around his living room near the couch and
the piano sitting several feet to the left of the couch.]

Cain:  Truthfully answer this to yourselves...Do you think Merc really
lives in a bunker somewhere in the Canadian tundra?  Do you think Tom
Landis really has more than a hundred siblings? Do you think Spectre
and William Craven are the demented souls they appear to be?

The answer to every single one of those questions is a shocking no.

I've seen pictures of Merc's beach house. It really is a nice place.
Bill Craven actually owns several businesses and spends as much time
in a suit as he does in the ring. And Landis? Well yeah, he has a lot
of brothers and sisters, but the number isn't nearly as high as many
like to say...even though it is still higher than the amount of great
matches he has ever had.

[Tyson walks to the piano and leans on it.]

Cain:  The business is just that....a business. We put together a
product and sell it. I, however, am above that. I'm truthful to
everybody I speak with. I don't hide anything.

When I tell you I am going to do something, I do it. I don't play
games.

[Tyson pauses and actually contemplates a moment before continuing.]

Cain:  I have to admit I like you for that regard, Hartt. It is rare
that somebody can transition from recording a hit song in the eighties
to becoming a successful wrestler, but you have done it with sparkling
success. You don't like to play games. You don't like to beat around
the bush. And you don't like to go out at night without your
sunglasses on.

I get you, I really do.

I think that you have also benefited from being pursued by Nevermind.
Nevermind has dropped the ball and not finished you like he should
have. Perhaps he just decided to leave it for later and live up to his
name...or maybe the greatest insult is that you aren't worth finishing
off?

[Tyson raises a finger.]

Cain:  I disagree if that is what he thinks.

[He puts his finger back down.]

Cain:  You see, when I see you Hartt...I see a man on the cusp of
greatness.

[He looks to this side.]

Cain:  Yes I do!  Shut up, now is not the time!

[Cain's face goes back to his congenial smile.]

Cain:  Where was I....oh that's right....cusp of greatness. You are
finally showing yourself to be a solid hand all the way up and down
the card. I remember watching you fighting guys like RJ Souza and
thinking  you had such class and skill. I couldn't wait to test myself
against men just like you. The men with potential to be the next
superstar in the wrestling world.

Ok, so the potential thing isn't working out as well as it maybe ought
to be. But the skill and tenacity is still there! You have the ability
to prepare me for my end game. You have the ability to be the great
flame that begins my blood rising to its boiling point.

[Tyson's face contorts in a nasty facade.]

Cain:  Unlike that pansy-ass Canadian, Landis.

[Tyson looks back up at the camera.]

Cain:  He is nothing like you, Hartt. He is not the fighter you can
be. He is not the warrior you can be. He is only a ham in a world full
of steaks. He isn't as real as we are. He needs this kind of garbage
to get the sheep out there to baa out his name and fork over cash for
his shirts.

We don't.

I'm an honest man, Chris. I'll be the first to tell you that I do
respect you, but I'm going to beat you. Come Heatwave, I hope you are
ready and put Nevermind to the back burner. If you don't focus on me
as I am on you...

[Cain chuckles.]

Cain:  Then you fate is already sealed.

[A very cocky grin.]

Cain:  I'll see you on Heatwave.

[Fade to black.]

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

[Fade in, on the front porch of a modest bungalow-style home.
Currently standing in front of the door is the impeccably-dressed yet
somber-expressioned Jacob Rose.  While there appears to be no sign of
his now-infamous client "Bad Wolf" Christopher Black, the large
financial advisor fidgets nervously with his tie, then knocks on the
door.]

Female VO:  [muffled]  Just a moment, I'm com--

[The door swings open to reveal the hauntingly familiar sight of
Josie's mother.  Her face still raw and ragged with grief, she
stiffens as she recognizes who's at the door.]

JR:  Mrs.  Barrett?

Mrs. B:  [voice flat]  You.   What do you want?

JR:  I...I came to offer my condolences to you and your family.  I
know this is a difficult time, but--

[Jacob is suddenly cut off by a bitter bark of laughter from Mrs.
Barrett.]

Mrs. B:  "Condolences"?!  Is that another word for all that vile filth
that sonuvabitch you work for spews?!  We've had enough of THAT!

[The grim look on Rose's face shows he was expecting such an outburst,
but he tries to press on regardless.]

JR:  I admit that what Mister Black said was... [He struggles to find
the right word, then his shoulders slump, knowing full well anything
said won't justify that cruelty]  ...unnecessary.  But I came here
today of my own accord, not his.

Mrs. B:  Really...  [Eyes narrowing, she shakes her head in
disbelief.]  So what the hell were you hoping to get out of coming,
Mister Rose?  [She shoots an ugly look towards the camera]  A nice
little feel-good moment where you pat yourself on the back and I say
"I understand, thank you for your time"?  [She shakes her head again]
You're his manager...where the hell were you when that _creature_
opened his mouth and attacked us?  Attacked our child?!

JR:  I'm...I'm not Mister Black's manager.  I'm just his financial
advis--!

Mrs. B.:  [furious] I don't care if you're his [BLEEP]ING WIFE!  You
should have DONE SOMETHING!

JR:  I tried...I--!  You could have left the room, you could...
[Jacob desperately tries to compose himself.]  I know you're grieving
and upset, but I just--

Mrs. B.:  No...no, you don't patronize me, you sonuvabitch.  Get out.

JR:  Wait!  [Rose quickly thrusts a hand into his jacket, pulls out a
check and immediately offers it to Mrs. Barrett]  Please, please take
this.  To help with the hospital bills or... [his voice cracks]  ...or
funeral expenses.  Or if there's a charity in Josie's name....

[Mrs. Barrett glares at Jacob, then at the check.  She then hesitates,
eyes widening a little as she gets a good look at what's being
offered.  Then she grabs it with an unfriendly smile.]

Mrs. B.:  Fine.  For my Josie's sake.  But not for you, Mister Rose.
You don't get to be forgiven. [Her eyes now blaze with righteous
spite.]  Now get out.

[The door slams before Jacob can say anything more.  With a pained
look, he walks off the porch as the camera fades out.]

****************************************
****************************************
Herscher von Donkerhardt
****************************************
****************************************

(Scene: A gymnasium filled with various types of exercise machines and
weight stations. The room is empty save for one solitary soul in the
corner sitting on a weight bench. The man is Herscher von Donkerhardt
and he is clad in grey sweatpants and black athletic shoes. He is head
to toe covered in sweat, and is obviously at the end of a strenuous
workout. He looks into the camera and begins to speak.)

HvD: In my last match i had my hand raised and proclaimed the winner.
I had won my match and successfully defended my title. So why don't I
feel like a winner? The winner of the match isn't usually the one laid
out unconscious on the mat at the hands of the loser. He didn't lose
because of pinfall or submission, her merely was unable to get back
into the ring in time. I got the win, but who truly got the victory?

(HvD lowers his head in shame)

HvD: I've been telling my so called protector, Perry Fontana that I
don't need his help or protection. I'm not some newborn babe who needs
a wet nurse. I told the self proclaimed deathless one that i can stand
on my own two feet. So why was he there offering protection from
Nevermind while i lay knocked out?

(HvD runs his hand through his hair before exhaling deeply)

HvD: Others have said HvD is fading, that his injuries and past
battles are catching up with him. These are words from people who do
not know me. They don't know where i've been or what i've had to do
just to get my foot in the door, never mind to get where i am today!
There are many questions swirling around me, and there seem to be many
who are more than ready to answer for me. Did i really win? Do I
really need Fontana's protection? Have my injuries caught up with me?
Theres only one set of answers to those questions, and they come from
me and nobody else.


(HvD stands up and looks straight into the camera)

HvD: Did i win? Yes on a technicality. Did Nevermind win? He didt pin
or submit me. Yes he gave me quite the beating, but i gave him one in
return. Did I need Fontana's protection? No, what I needed was not to
have a lapse in judgement by not turning my back on someone like
Nevermind. I have done so against others like him and have paid a
heavy price. I didn't need protection i needed to learn from my past
history. Have my injuries caught up with me? Well, I haven't benefited
from them. But for those who want to write me off, go ahead. I've been
written off in the past by others who didn't think i could adequately
compete in the ring, they were counting on my being unable to compete,
and i proved them wrong time and time again. I have literally been
left for dead in the streets, but i somehow managed to recover from
that, and become one of the best technical wrestlers in the world
today!

(HvD takes a big breath and composes himself)

HvD: There will always obstacles to prove myself against, and critics
to prove wrong. My next match will be no exception. I find myself
facing even larger and more brutal men in Spectre who is tagging with
one Sammy Knight. If that wasn't enough of a challenge, I have the,
privilege, of having my self proclaimed protector Perry Fontana, as a
tag team partner. I think i would rather take my chances with Spectre
and Knight on my own. Understand this Fontana, I am here to win this
match. If you work with me, and put your little politics with me
aside, we will be winners. Work against me or on your own, and you
have only yourself to blame for the loss. Do that and it will be your
turn to answer the questions of your own critics, the biggest one
being, yourself.

(HvD walks out of the shot. The scene fades to black.)

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

"In San Diego.  At Tradition.  I survived."

[In an accent that can simply be best described as West Compton, you
hear a familiar intonation.  The south Los Angeles drawl simply gives
too much away.]

"Bruised.  Battered.  Bloodied.  Forgotten.  Left for dead.  Thrown
into a den of two vicious lions.  Somehow.  Someway.  I survived."

[Sammy Knight appears on your screen.  Sweat furiously drips down off
of his entire body.  The Los Angeles summer has extended into this
early September, creating a humidity that is uncommon in the Southland
at this time of the year.  Knight has his shirt off, and it is tucked
into his baggy red, mesh Centennial High School basketball shorts.  He
pauses momentarily, looking directly into the camera with a glare that
is not malevolent, not angry, yet unapologetically sincere.]

"And now that I survived that night of terror, of pain, of horror; now
that it's over I can finally move on.  I can finally move away from
the various boogeymen of Phoenix Valley and proceed onto the next
chapter of my story in this company.  Or can I?"

[As the camera slowly fades away from Knight, you see that he is on
the corner of El Segundo and Broadway -- Athens Park to be exact.
Tucked behind a baseball diamond is a small exercise station.  Knight
is sitting on the sit-up bench at dusk.]

"Now don't get me wrong.  I will always remember that battle between
Marcus Manson, Spectre and myself.  And I was humbled by the energy
that my fans brought to that building that night.  And I am more
impressed than ever with the sheer abilities of both of those men.
And at the end of night, that moment was absolutely triumphant.  That
moment was special.  That moment will not be forgotten.  However, that
moment is _OVER_.

[Knight wipes the sweat from his brow.]

"And you know what they say.  The show must go on.  Because there is
always another battle.  Always another challenge.  Hell, in these neck
of the woods, there is always another date with Spectre.

[An exhausted Knight stands up, his tattooed body glistens as the sun
begins to rise over the Compton park.]

"Everything about that night says that you aren't finished with me:
your eyes, your actions, your emotion.  I know that.  And I know that
you are relentless in your pursuit of pain.  You won't stop.  You
always get your man.  Well if that's simply what it is homie, then
neither will I.

[A police car slowly approaches in a parking lot behind Knight.  The
officers turn off the engine and simply take a moment to observe.]

"Because I told you before.  You _CANNOT_ bully a wolf.  And I
absolutely refuse to be some sacrificial lamb.  Not for you.  Not for
anyone.  Because I've already lost too much in my life.  I'm already
playing catch-up for the time that I've wasted due to my horrible
decisions.  I do not have time to appease people like yourself.  So go
ahead and peg me however you want to.  You can call me stupid for
standing up to you.  You can tell the world that we share the
similarities of darkness.  Hell, run and tell anyone who will listen
that I simply don't belong here in Phoenix Valley.

I don't care.

Because I don't run.  I don't back down.  I don't quit.  And I'm not
scared of you."

[As Knight puts on his shirt and begins to walk east on El Segundo,
the police officers quickly start their car, conduct a u-turn, and
drive the opposite direction.]

"So here we are.  Seemingly back at square one.  Nothing solved.
Nothing resolved.  You and I are back in the ring together once again.
But this time?  We're on the same side.  I wonder how _THAT_ is going
to turn out.  You see, I can be civil Spectre.  I can forgive.  I can
even forget.

But can you?

I don't think so.  Even so, I dare you to show me an ounce of
humanity.  Just an ounce.  Surprise me.  Because as dangerous as you
are, your actions are sometimes predictable.  Yet imagine how
dangerous _WE_ could be if you could control your sinister urges for
even 10 minutes.  What on earth would be going through the head of HVD
if he actually saw us co-existing, if only for a wrinkle in time?

Now _THAT_ is a question that only God can answer.  But a brotha can
pray can't he?"

[Knight walks by 2 adolescent girls who smile at him.  They say,
'Whuttup Slim?' and Knight replies in kind.  Even covered in sweat,
the 2 young ladies offer him a hug as he keeps on walking through the
beautiful dawn in Compton.]

"You say that you know me, that you know my inner darkness.  Shoot,
you've even _PRETENDED_ to walk in my shoes for quick interview.  And
even though you tried to paint me with the brush of simplicity your
attempt to understand me did not fall on deaf ears.  I heard you loud
and clear.  In between your simple shots were morsels of truths.  Yet
the lies were simply too much.  Because with that being said...

...You don't know me.

You don't want to know me.

You only want to destroy me."

[Knight shakes his head.]

"And I won't be destroyed.  Not again.  And certainly not by you."

[Knight pauses momentarily in his speaking, in a sense just enjoying
the scenery that is his home, his heart, his roots.  Knight is weary
of leaving Compton behind.]

"And if you're going to continue to see me as the proverbial thorn in
the side of your heinous agenda, then hey, I got a dozen more roses
for you."

[Knight smirks.]

"Hell, I got a whole God-d[censored]d rose garden with your name on
it."

[Knight continues walking until he gets to a small side street, where
the street sign is illegible, obstructed by bullet holes and
graffiti.]

"Tradition was simply the beginning for Sammy Knight.  An appetizer
for the ultimate feast that I ultimately want to taste.  And I know
that the road is hard.  That the road is long.  That danger lurks
around every corner.  And that there will be consequences for every
word out of my mouth.  I get it.  And I wouldn't expect anything
less."

[Knight walks onto the porch, each step creaking from the old, worn
down house.  As Knight reaches for the screen door, it furiously pops
open.]

"So if this match is the next pit-stop on this detour of my career.
Then bring it on."

[He looks down for a moment.]

"And HVD?  Please don't think that you're being ignored.  Not at all.
Because as much as I am weary of Spectre; your skills, your belt, your
history in PVW are just as noticed.  You're a champion.  I'm not.

And that's important.

You're talented.  You're dangerous.  You're a threat to anyone inside
of that ring.  However..."

[Knight pauses and spits on the grass next to the porch.]

"...You're in the wrong place at the wrong time."

[Knight stares into the camera with that dead honest glance from his
eyes.]

"Because once we hit that ring in Fresno, there will be no innocent
bystanders.  Only victims."

[Knight doesn't blink.]

"Donkerhardt.  Spectre.  I'm not coming to Fresno to play games with
either one of you.

[Knight stands up and walks towards the door.]

"I'm coming there to _AIM_ at you.  I am coming to win."

[Fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
The Mercenary
****************************************
****************************************

(Scene opens. We're in a parking lot at some typical fast food
restaurant. The Mercenary comes out, and he's carrying a couple of
paper bags and a large fountain drink. You'd think he was going to go
get into the black hummer that is parked beside the building, but
nope...not this time. Instead he makes his way to a 1950's style
ambulance... you know the type... 100% American steel, painted white,
a red cross on the door, red lights and siren on the roof.)

Merc: Hey there Alex...I hope you're feeling well and recovering from
that nasty beating you took last week. Oh, but wait, how can I be sure
that you're seeing this? I mean, not all hospitals are as nice as the
Chicago Hospital for Old Wrestlers and have the premium cable
channels.

Oh well, maybe someone will send you a beta copy of this for you to
watch. Its just too bad that your big in-ring comeback came to such a
crashing end. But I tried to warn you... The wrestling world has
passed you by and your time in it is long passed. Would you listen to
me? No. You had to be stubborn about it and try to show the world that
you were still relevant. And in turn, I had to be just as stubborn and
show you that you were wrong.

Granted, I was kinda hoping you would have held out a little longer
than just one tag team match. I had all these plans for you, including
having you riding off into the sunset in this bad boy (pats the
ambulance). But alas, it wasn't meant to be. Instead, you got carted
off in a .... well, I don't know exactly how you got carted off, but
I'm sure it wasn't in anything as classy as this.

Now, I was just going to return this ambulance to the home as is,
empty, but then I get told that I've got an upcoming match with
another old-timer who should have hung it up long ago, one Tom Landis.
Ok, maybe he's not as old as my buddy Alex, but after the multiple
thrashings that he's suffered over the last couple months at the hands
of his brother-in-law, he should hang them up as well. But no, the PVW
brass, in its infinite wisdom, decided to put him in a match with
yours truly as his comeback match. I've never much agreed with
authority figures in this business, but I'm beginning to get the
feeling that the talking heads here in PVW think the same thing as I
do when it comes to wrestlers who are past their prime.

They've seen what I've done to Epstein, so all I can assume is that
they want me to do the same thing to Landis, and that is to put yet
another old dog out to pasture. Not the most glamorous of jobs, but
I'll take it.

Gotta pay for these gourmet meals somehow.

(lifts up the now grease stained sacks of food and gets into the
ambulance. Fade to snow)

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

[Fade in to a closeup of the smiling, ever-friendly face of Uncle
Frank.  Oh yes, he's so friendly it hurts.  A lot.  That wide, nasty
grin just promises fun and games for everyone!  More "entertainment"
than a man can stand.  The background is simple enough.  Just a wall
with the PVW logo, like the one you'll often see in the interview area
during a show.  Frank's dirty-blond hair being matted with sweat and
the sound of a crowd in the background all points to this having been
taped just after the six man tag team match on Tradition against
Whitecross, Max and Sal.]

FK:  Uncle Frank is displeased.

[He lunges forward towards the camera, but it seems something off-
camera is restraining him, pushing or pulling him back in the shot.]

FK:  Gabriel is out there!  He has not been taught why he should
embrace a Bright Future and a Better Tomorrow yet!  Uncle Frank needs
to educate him!

[Again a lunge.  Again he is forced back in place.  A voice from off
camera says something we can't make out.]

FK:  No!  Uncle Frank must play with Gabriel!  It is important!

[He makes another attempt at escape, but gets nowhere.  The smile he
directs at someone we can't see off to the side promises that Uncle
Frank will not forget this.]

FK [softly, almost whispering]:  Let Uncle Frank Go.  You know it is
the right thing to do.  Everything will be okay if you just let Uncle
Frank do what Uncle Frank needs to do.  Everyone will be happy.  We
all want to be happy, don't we?  Uncle Frank just wants everyone to be
ever so happy. Especially Gabriel.

[Again a voice speaks from off camera.  Again we can't make out the
words. Frank looks puzzled.]

FK:  For a Bright Future and a Better Tomorrow?  Really?

[And more muffled speaking from the unseen person.]

FK:  Ooooh.  Oh, yeeeeeeesssssssss...

[And all of a sudden Uncle Frank looks dangerously relaxed and
pleased. Never a good thing.]

FK:  Uncle Frank understands now.

[And he chuckles.  It is not a nice sound.]

FK:  Max....  Maxymaxymax!  Max Weinrib.  Weinrib?  Onerib?  One rib,
two ribs, three ribs, snap ribs.  Uncle Frank is so happy, Max.  So
very happy to hear that you want to learn about a Bright Future and a
Better Tomorrow. Uncle Frank believes yours is the attitude that is
needed for everyone to pull together.  To be told that you requested a
chance to learn from Uncle Frank, Max...  It brings a tear to Uncle
Frank's eye.

[Pause, then he looks curiously off camera and asks:]

FK:  How did he request a match with Uncle Frank already when he still
hasn't made it back from the ring yet?

[More speaking from off-camera.  Still too muffled to hear properly.]

FK:  Oh...  Yes, that makes sense.  It IS what he would request if he
had the opportunity to do so.  Uncle Frank sees the wisdom in not
waiting for Max to find a time in his busy schedule to make the
request in person.

[Pause again and Frank looks around idly, then speaks in what he
apparently thinks is an innocent and completely trustworthy tone of
voice.]

FK:  Uncle Frank should go out there again and thank Max.  A nice,
friendly handshake.  That's all.  Yes, no fun and games with Max...

[Slight pause while Frank tries his best to look innocent.]

FK:  ...or with Gabriel at all.  Nope.  You have Uncle Frank's word.

[Yeah.  That fooled absolutely noone as he tries to move off, and once
more is restrained.  That sends Frank into snarling, struggling rabid
dog mode! The camera pulls back to reveal that several big security
guards have been keeping a hold of Frank's arms, preventing him from
making a beeline for the curtains and the entrance ramp only a few
meters away.  Off to the side are the ones who presumably spoke to
Uncle Frank.  the tag team champs, Livestock and Gutch, and Todd
Johnstone himself, talking amongst themselves under their breaths and
occasionally looking over at Frank and the guards struggling to keep
him from breaking free.]

FK:  Let Uncle Frank go!  He needs to thank them!  He MUST thank them!
It's RUDE not to say thank you!  You're making Uncle Frank be RUDE!

Security Guard:  This job doesn't pay enough!

[And fade out.]

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

[Fade to... nope- still black.  Then the voice of Dean Hayes is
heard.]

DH:  Tonight's episode of "Uncle Frank's House of Fun" has been
postponed to bring you the following presentation.

[Classical music plays as we finally fade in to see Salih and Max,
each dressed in a suit and tie, seated in a living room.  Sal takes a
sip of hot tea as the music fades.]

Sal:  Hello, and welcome to "Better Than Bacon."  I'm Salih Mubarak,
with me as always is Max Weinrib.

Max:  Today, we're going to discuss the presence of psychopaths on the
roster of Phoenix Valley Wrestling.  William Craven, Christopher
Black, Uncle Frank, Marcus Manson, Spectre, Rob Cole.  What is it
about Phoenix Valley that makes it such a home to the clinically
deranged?  Is it the warm climate?  The lax refereeing?  The
impressive logo that draw them here?  We're going to discuss that.

Sal:  But before we begin, I believe there's another issue that
deserves some attention first.

Max:  And that is?

Sal:  How come you always get the solo matches?!  I mean, you're the
one who wrestled Gibson Hayes.  You're the one who's wrestling Uncle
Frank.  And...

[Sal pauses, thinking things through]

Sal:  On second thought, Nevermind.  Have fun with Uncle Frank.

[Max gives Sal a death glare.  Sal grins and continues.]


Sal:  And Nevermind- just another psychopath in PVW, or a trendsetter
in terms of "Homeless Chic"?  Given the Hootchie mamas he hangs around
with, I'm incline to support the latter.

Max:  We'll be back in a few minutes.  In the meantime, we'd like to
remind everyone that "Better Than Bacon" is supported by viewers just
like you.  Thanks to your generous contributions, Sal and I are able
to point out the ridiculous comments of Livestock and the Gutch, HEAT,
HOPE, and other forms of silliness.

Sal:  As our way of thanking you all, for a $25 donation, we'll
include this commemorative coffee mug...

[Sal holds up a coffee mug, which shows Sal as Mister Roboto hooking
PACO's legs and getting the victory against HEAT.]

Max:  ...featuring us winning the first ever Heat Invitational
Tournament!  For $50, we'll send you this lovely commemorative tote
bag...

[Max pulls out a tote bag.  This time, the image is Max Weinrib
covering Livestock as the referee counts three.]

Sal:  ...featuring our very first match, where we pinned the
champions.  And for a $100 donation, we are proud to send you this...

[Max now wheels in a life-sized poster of himself and Sal, dressed in
their wrestling gear.  Max flashes a grin that now matches the one his
poster counterpart is now bearing.]

Max: ...FANTASTIC poster signed by both me and Sal!  This makes the
perfect addition to any room, whether it's the game room or the
bedroom.  And really, who wouldn't want to wake up to us?

Sal:  And this is a limited volume item, as Max Weinrib will be facing
Uncle Frank this week.  Given Uncle Frank's psychoses, Max will soon
be in the hospital...

[Max gives Sal another death glare.  Sal grins and continues.]

Sal:  ...which makes future pictures of us a rare and collectable
item.

[The classical music starts playing again]

Sal:  This is Sal Mubarak.  Thank you for joining us on "Better than
Bac-"

[The classical music drowns out the other sounds as Max walks up and
begins throttling Sal as the camera fades to black.]

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

[Fade in to the front door of an end-unit, three-story townhouse with
basement garage. The man repeatedly pressing the doorbell's button
wears work boots and jeans, but also his customary fire colored
boxer's robe, featuring a flaming phoenix on its back, "Le Phenix"
emblazoned across the shoulders. With his head tucked under the robe's
hood, the man who rings the doorbell again can only be the Deathless
One, known as "El Hombre Lobo" in Mexico, "Le Phenix" in Quebec and
Western Europe, "Il Eterno" in Italy, and "The Phoenix" in Japan...
but in America, we call him "The Everlasting" Perry Fontana, the King
of Armbars. For every one of those nicknames, Fontana rings the bell.

Still no answer.

He shakes his hood covered head, and turns to the camera
apologetically.]

Fontana: Sorry, cousin. I thought they might answer if you guys were
here, but it makes no difference. No one's there, just like this
morning. Guess J-D Neptune was _wrong_, after all.

Cameraman: Maybe they closed the lights to pretend they're not
there... That's what I do on Halloween...

[The Deathless One tilts his head up slightly to give the cameraman a
quizzical look.]

Cameraman: ... Hey! I am so not the only person who does that, man!

Fontana: They're gone. Or... they're pretending to be. I imagine
that's probable. I made a lot of enemies, inspired too much
jealousy... and maybe I've burned a few too many bridges. Back then, I
didn't care what I had to do, or who I had to betray, ouais... But
rebuilding a bridge is a lot harder than you'd think...

["Le Phenix" leans on the balustrade and dismisses the camera with a
backhand.]

Fontana: You can go, cousin. Nothing's happening here.

Cameraman: Sorry, bud. We flew in from California for this, so we're
not leaving without some kind of promo material.

Fontana: Think we established that _nothing's_ going on here. [He
rings the bell again.] ... See? No answer.

Cameraman: Then something else, man. The non-title match Herscher von
Donkerhardt was supposed to have against Spectre, why did you get it
changed to a tag team match?

Fontana: Ben voyons! After the Dutchman almost suffered _setbacks_ in
his rehabilitation at Tradition Six, letting him compete against
Spectre _mano_ a MANO?... Trop FOU, OUAIS! Herscher von Donkerhardt's
a _hard_ man that specializes in _doling_ out the PAIN, cousin!

... and unfortunately, pain is something Spectre enjoys. That's an
unhealthy _love_ story right there, ouais! You know how it goes.
Submissionist meets the masochist, masochist loves it too much so he
plays too rough... then the submissionist can't wrestle at Boiling
Point anymore. Early reviews predict a box office flop, ouais.

But if Spectre would like playing with friend Donkerhardt a little too
much, he'll be completely _enraptured_ with ME, aaaaah OUAIS! He'll
forget aaaalll about Herscher when I make him _taste_ a new level of
PAIN he never even knew _existed_.

Unfortunately, he'll never be able to truly savour it the way I can.

Cameraman: Thought you just said he was a masochist.

Fontana: Which is precisely why he can never get the true experience.
You can't be _courageous_ if there's no _fear_ to overcome. And you
can't be TOUGH if you actually _enjoy_ the PAIN. In any case, HvD will
keep healthy on the apron, and I'll take care of pain distribution.
And in just a few short weeks, the American Champion will be fir as a
fiddle, ready to face the biggest wrestling challenge of his career.

Cameraman: What if it costs you your own health?

[The King of Armbars grins, soundlessly scoffs, then shakes his head.]

Fontana: No. After dying... - no, no! - ... After _piledriving_ the
Grim Reaper off the top corner onto a solid _boulder_ of ROCK not
once, not _twice_, but SIX~! _TIMES~! ... aaaah OUAIS! ... well,
there's no amount of punishment in this world that I can't handle.

It's a curse more than anything else, really.

[Perry crouches down, and sits on the steps that lead to the
townhouse's entrance door.]

Fontana: I _NEED_ to feel physical pain, cousin. And I'm talking about
pain you don't enjoy, here... actual _pain_. It's become real hard to
find, because after over a decade of stretching in my uncle's pit,
you're pretty much desensitized... yet that elusive pain, that's half
of what keeps me _human_, cousin.

Without that _pain_, you don't truly appreciate _pleasure_, ouais! I
HATE feeling pain as much as any normal _man_, tu vois? But I'm a
passionate man, which is why I love wrestling so much... the sweetest
joy, the wildest woe. Pain begets _pain_... but without it, you forget
the tingling sensation on your naked skin on sunny days, you forget
how awesome things like television and the internet are, you forget
the sensation of warmth you get with a sip of old Scotch whiskey, you
forget the pleasures of gastronomy, or how absolutely mind blowing it
can be to hold hands with the woman you _love_... to make... romantic
love to your beautiful wife...

[Combing his fingers through his jet black hair, Fontana peels off the
hood of his robe.]

Fontana: ... you take it all for granted, and you become just another
jaded, sheltered sixteen year old girl of Beverly Hills that has no
appreciation for all the extraordinary things she has. The more
intense the pain, cousin, the _better_ the PLEASURE!

... And pleasure, aaaah ouais, is the other half of what keeps me
human. Pain begets pain, but when I came back to Emily's bosom, aaah
ouais... it also lead to the greatest pleasures of all.

... Without her...

... Without her, all that remains is pain.

[He sighs.]

Fontana: And if only pain is left, it's safe to say that Spectre will
have a lot of _fun_ with me...

[The Everlasting One's thoughts are interrupted by the light creaking
sound of an opening door. Suddenly, a woman appears in the shadows of
the doorway.]

Woman: What's going on, here?

[Her voice... it's sort of familiar to wrestling fans. It's certainly
not the voice of Emily Landis, but it still rings a bell... alarm
bells, for some. If only the lighting was better, we could put a face
to that voice! Hearing the woman's words, Fontana stands and turns to
face her.]

Fontana: May I come in?

... please?

[A tense, awkward beat.]

Woman: Do you... have a subpeona?

Fontana: Uh... no.

Woman: Are you offering to save us money on our natural gas or
electricity?

Fontana: You know I'm not.

Woman: Are you a Washington Capitals or a Baltimore Ravens fan?

Fontana: Jamais!

Woman: Alright. Come on in, please...

[As the Deathless One steps into the shadowy depths inside the
townhouse, the image fades...]

****************************************
****************************************
Phoenix
****************************************
****************************************

[The man's head is lowered, obscuring his identity as he sits on a
wooden bench.]

"Tetsuo"

[He flexes and unflexes the fingers of his right hand as he lets the
name sink in a little.]

"I'm not gonna sit here and pretend I don't understand why you did
what you did. Because I get it. I can even appreciate the kind of
emotion and passion behind your actions. But to talk of respect and
then act like a spoiled child that was given the wrong toy, well...
I'd like to think you're better than that."

[Finally raising his head Phoenix smiles wearily behind his blazing
montage of facepaint.]

"I'd like to believe that your actions last Shockwave were more out of
frustration than anything else. But I just can't. I look at you
Kimura, and all I see is a spoiled brat that tried to throw a tantrum
that got cut off by yours truly. Well let me clue you in on something
my friend. Uncle Phoenix has arrived, and its time for your trip to
the woodshed."

[His eyes blaze with intensity as he rises to his feet.]

"You want, you crave, you _must_ _have_ competition... Take a good
look at the guy thats going to beat the respect you yearn for so badly
out of you. An honorable man would have never acted the way you acted,
and in the name of Brom, and for the fans, I'm taking you out. You
wanna be an angry little prick, you can take your act somewhere else.
I won't be bullied, and I won't be intimidated by your actions or your
reputation. I see straight through your little act and come Shockwave,
its exposure time baby! Wooooooo!"

[He begins pacing now, a frantic ball of energy.]

'Can you feel it Kimura? The electricity in the air? I can practically
taste it. The people are abuzz, the little 'nixers wanna see what
Phoenix is all about against the big bad monster from the Orient. They
wanna see Phoenix fly high, and triumphant over the Japanese scourge
and you know what?"

[he stops pacing and flashes a smile for the benefit of the camera.]

"With the people behind me, I can't lose. I have no reason to fear. As
bad of a man as you think you might be Tetsuo, at the end of the day
thats all you are, a _man_. But I'd say, you're not even a man, you're
more of a coward. You tither on about respect and honor, as if you
even know the meaning of either word. You're pathetic Tetsuo, an act
that nobodies buying. Flesh that can be ripped, bones that can be
broken, blood that can be spilled."

[Beat.]

"Just a man. A man I plan to teach a little something about respect,
and honor. Come Shockwave Tetsuo, you better strap in, cause I'm
taking you on one wild ride. And you are going down in flames..."

[Fade]

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

[We pan to the backstage area of the Selland arena before Heatwave. On
the left hand side stands PVW's Warrior Larry Gionet shirtless wearing
his trademark red and black wrestling tights, black kneepads and black
boots.  With a PVW backdrop behind him, he stares into the camera with
a serious look in his cold blue eyes.]

Larry Gionet:  So there I was putting on this wrestling clinic.
Showing the world that I can adapt to any situation and I take this
thing one match at a time.  As I was proving I could brawl with the
best of them and moped the floor with Robert's blood WHO should stick
their nose in business that does not concern them?  WHO YOU ASK?!

[Larry Gionet shakes his head in utter disgust.  He spits as if trying
to let the bad taste out of his mouth from mentioning who got involved
in his business.  He puts his right hand through his dirty blonde hair
before continuing on.]

LG:  Who other than that red headed son of a bitch Caleb Foley.  At
least when I was talking about your daddy, I told it to you like a
real man would.  At least when I attacked you, it was to your face
Foley!  Meet me in the back hell meet me in the God damn parking lot
but NEVER stick your big nose when i am out there getting the job
done.  It is painfully clear that your rage has consumed you like a
virus eating away at your vital organs. Starts at the blood stream
then it attacks your kidneys, then your lungs before it creeps its way
to the brain and finishes you off.  Sooner rather than later Foley I
will be the one to finish the job!  As for you Roberts be thankful
Foley got involved because I was about to snap your neck like a twig
and wash it away with the blood that came pouring out of you!

[As Larry Gionet begins pulling up his elbow pads, a snarl comes
across his mouth.]

LG:  Which brings us to Rob Cole.  The big man on campus. Perhaps the
most dominating world champion Phoenix Valley Wrestling has ever seen.
You ran rough shot over this place for years ever since PVW opened
it's doors yet I never got my shot.  The Monster Vs. The Warrior it
would have sold houses all over this place.

[Larry Gionet looks up staring off into space picturing that vision in
his mind.  He strokes his chin goatee thinking hard before snapping
himself out of his trance.]

Larry Gionet:  It never happened why? Maybe because you were a little
intimidating. Perhaps you saw me as a threat to your dominance over
PVW as champion.  I think in your heart of hearts you knew where I was
going and what I could become: a bigger monster than you could ever
be.  That in the end with one full swoop I'd slay the monster by
becoming a monster myself. You may be no Nostradamus but you Cole
would have been right.  I sent people out of this company on
stretchers without giving it a second thought. Unfortunately for you
Rob you can't hide anymore.  The monster will hide under the bed for a
different reason and I will pull you up kicking and screaming.  You
will no longer be able to duck me when your head is danging by a
thread after a yakuza kick.  Your words of disrespect will be no use
when I'm choking you out.

[Larry Gionet steps closer and closer to the point where one can only
look into his piercing blue eyes.]

LG:  When you are gasping for air Cole and your eyes are rolling in
the back of your head, just remember that your premonition back then
came true.  That in the end I would have become even more vicious than
you ever were in your past.  That when it is all said and done Cole, I
was the better man.  That I wanted this more than you ever could in
your path to redemption.  It's not about how or why, it's all about do
or die!

[Larry Gionet storms off into the chaos as people go on with their
duties.  Nothing appears to be steering the PVW warrior of his focus
as he exits to the left. With the door slamming shut, we fade to
black.]

****************************************
****************************************
The Heat
****************************************
****************************************

[Dean Hayes, still in his mask and ugly Hawaiian shirt, is standing in
front of a PVW backdrop. Much to his chagrin the quartet known as The
HEAT have arrived. PACO is wearing a pancho and aviator sunglasses
while Maxime is rocking a Sacramento Solons jersey. Miss Florine is
wearing an old Hollywood Stars replica jersey with a San Fransisco
Seals cap. Arvelle, on the other hand, has a bandage on his forehead
and a neckbrace on.]

SDH: Oh just my... HA!

[Dean cannot help but double over laughing at how Arvelle looks.]

SDH: All that... ha! From one... one chairshot?! HAHAHA

[Still laughing and barely able to breath, Dean is "assisted" in his
duties by Maxime, who takes the microphone out of Dean's hand. Arvelle
looks quite unhappy.]

AML: Oh ha-ha-ha! Very funny Dean! Do you like laughing at human
tragedy? I bet you had a real heck of a time on the last Tradition,
what with all the horrible things that went on. You jerk! I bet you
loved seeing two tragic occurances at the same show, right Dean?

[Dean's eyes would be saucer wide if you could see them fully. Hayes
is incredulous at the comparison that Arvelle is making.]

SDH: Wait, wait, wait... you have the nerve to compare taking a single
chair shot to a little girl dying of cancer?

AML: Who's the what now? Someone died? Where have you been, Dean?
That's not important. What is important is that I, Arvelle Lafayette,
the Magic One, stopped a cruel assault by some sort of scum dweller
masquerading as a mere "assistant" by throwing myself in front of a
chair shot intended for Miss Florine!

SDH: Didn't Florine...

[And before Dean can finish, Florine has her arms around his neck...
and Dean doubles over in pain. Looks like her knee met his "lower
abdomen.]

AML: As I was saying: the Prophets of the Range thought they were
ready for the HEAT. They thought they could put one past us, trying to
steal a win through cheap tactics when, instead, the true gateway of
PVW's tag team scene, the GOLD STANDARD of PVW's tag teams once again
found a way to win. Now, I don't know why the Beserkers felt it was
right for them to try and get the Prophets a DQ victory, but I do know
that those guys had best watch their backs too.

PACO: And I don't look like Sal; he's ugly like a half shaved burro
from a donkey show.

[Arvelle looks at PACO.]

AML: Look, ladies and gents, the HEAT is sending one of our own
against one of the Prophets. And while I, the MAGIC one, would be more
than happy to show off my 'rasslin prowess, I will be sitting this one
out. Instead it is gonna be a one on one where the HEAT will bear down
on the Prophets yet again - showing all y'all that those two washed up
has-beens need to get back on their Social Security and leave the
business of winning to the younger, hungier and better looking.

[Miss Florine blows a kiss to the camera and the HEAT exit stage
left.]

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

[The scene opens to inside the Phoenix Children's Hospital in Phoenix,
Arizona. We focus on a display case with a photograph of a little
caucasian girl wearing a child sized Senor Cloak Dos mask with daisy
stickers on it. She is posing next to a man at an autograph table
wearing a black t-shirt with cherry colored text that reads "PVW Fans
are Numero Uno", blue jeans and a black Senor Cloak Dos luchadore mask
with one daisy sticker on it. There is text next to the photograph but
we do not need to read it to know it is a photograph of Josie, the fan
who recently passed away, standing next to her favorite wrestler,
Senor Cloak Dos. Standing next to the display case is the luchadore
himself dressed in his black luchadore mask with cherry colored eye
visors that prevent us from seeing his eyes and cherry colored "SCII"
on the forehead. He also is wearing ugly olive green cauderoy pants
with a tan button up shirt and an eye jarring mustard yellow tie.
Black dress shoes finish the ensemble off. The PVW masked man looks at
the display case and then hang his head sadly.]

SCD: Lo siento. I.. It is all my fault.

[Standing next to the luchadore is Josie's Father, dressed all in
black and gray, and an Indian man with black hair, glasses, and a navy
blue suit with a white button up shirt and a black tie.]

Josie's Father: It's not your fault.

SCD: No, it is all my fault. I did not think ahead. I had no idea that
someone would want to steal the mask! With all of the crazy things
that happen in the place I work for I should have known that something
like this could happen. I am so stupid.

Man with Glasses: Mr. Cloak, no one expects you to be able to think
steps ahead of deranged lunatics who are bent on doing terrible
things. It is a shame we do not have the mask for this display but I
think the story that is told in what we have put together will carry
on her memory in a respectful way. I know none of us here in this
hospital will forget that special little girl.

Josie's Father: Thank you Doctor. That means alot to my wife and me.

[The sad father looks at the display and nods his head.]

Josie's Father: All of this. Everything, has meant alot to us. To our
whole family.

[He looks away, choking back his emotions, then he nods his head.]

Josie's Father: Thank you, gentlemen.

[With that he turns around and walks offscreen. The doctor and the
luchadore watch the man walk away then Dos turns his attention back to
the display. The doctor looks at the luchadore with a consoling look.]

Doctor: Find peace, Mr. Cloak. You did above and beyond for that
little girl. Take solace in the knowledge that she is now at peace and
is no longer suffering.

SCD: ...

Doctor: Find comfort and peace somehow, Mr. Cloak.

[The doctor pats the masked man on his back then walks offscreen. The
luchadore stares at the ground for a while then looks back at the
display.]

SCD: Lo siento, amiga. Even though we won the battle I fear I failed
you in the end anyways. Please forgive me.

[Dos stares at the photograph for a few moments before hanging his
head sadly as the scene fades.]

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

[The camera cuts to a black screen.]

Voice: We are not amused.

[Followed by silence...it drags on for what feels like forever...each
second taking its time, dragging its fingernails down the chalkboard
of the viewer's patience until a noise begins.

ThaThump...ThaThump...ThaThump...]

Voice: Since the inception of Phoenix Valley Wrestling, we have
quietly awaited the opportunity to be presented to us...terrorizing
our foes...laying wasted to those unfortunate enough to be pitted
against us, yet since the beginning of Phoenix Valley Wrestling, we
have been denied one simple thing:

A title match.

ANY title match...

[ThaThump.  ThaThump.  ThaThump...]

Voice: So, it was with a certain amount of interest that we noted that
we had been granted just that: An opportunity to wrest the title from
the current champion, Hershel von Donkerhardt.  For a moment, we
cherished this, and the opportunity that it represented.  We clasped
it to our chest and cherished the knowledge that we would have the
opportunity to take something that meant so much to so many.

[Without warning, a floodlight flares to life, nearly blinding the
camera...and standing in front of the light is The Spectre.  Details
are difficult to ascertain due to the glare, but the goth madman is
pacing back and forth, his trench coat flaring behind him as he
stalks, clearly agitated.  His voice switches from its normal calm,
gravelly tone into a near growl.]

Spectre: So...imagine our surprise when that opportunity was taken
from us by friend Fontana in his quest for self aggrandizement.  He
wishes to stand across the ring with what we thought would be our
target as we stand side by side with little Samuel.

Clearly someone has a much more refined sense of humor than we...

F...no...LITTLE Fontana: Do you think we would be amused by this?  Our
mission with little Samuel is not yet finished, but you have now
placed yourself between us and our prey...and after the...lack of
events at Tradition.

You disappoint us, little Perry.  Trying to hard to be fearsome, when
all you truly crave is attention...well...now you have accomplished
something:

[Spectre comes to a stop as the light fades to normal, revealing the
man's dreadlock-topped features...and the furious mask that makes up
his face.]

Spectre: You have our attention...and for this, your suffering shall
be legendary, even in hell.

Tag match?  We think not.

We will inform you all of our intentions, just so none can claim
surprise: We will arrive and will will rain down pain and horror upon
you all the likes of which you have never faced.  You will be baptized
in pain and will will feast upon the flesh of your bodies and sup upon
the blood that pours forth from your wounds.

In short, you  have unleashed a nightmare upon PVW, little Perry.

Fear the dark.

It comes for all of you.

[cut to black]

****************************************
****************************************
Livestock & AsH
****************************************
****************************************

[Scene: It's Livestock Zappa in a hazily defined warehouse-type
setting.  He's wearing his nice gray T with a suit and tie
silkscreened onto the front.  He's looking a little hyper.]

Livestock: C'MON!  JUMP!  DON'T BE A PUSSY!

[Livestock shotguns a Red Bull.  Pan up.  Hey, it's AsH!  The guy with
an extra capital letter in his 3-character name has fairy wings on.]

AsH: Uh ... no?

Livestock: But WHY!?

AsH: Because this is an incredibly stupid idea.  Aaaand, I've got a
heinous wedgie from this rigging.

Livestock: You've got rigging?  I thought it was just a bungie cord.

AsH: What's that?

Livestock: Nothing!  Look, we're getting big bucks to act stupid so
JUMP!  RED BULL GETS YOU WINGS!

AsH: Gives!

Livestock: Gives, gets, shivs, *BLEEPS*!  *BLEEPING* JUMP ALREADY!

AsH: I don't see you up here, you mutated pituitary gland.  You want
to do something stupid? Do that 5 story drop in from the skateboard
ramp or flip the truck or whatever those other commercials were.
FLUGTAG!  YES! LET'S DO THAT ONE! You build a float, get it to the top
of a 3 story structure, and then DRIVE that [BEEP]er straight into the
ground.

Livestock: I thought that one was into the water.

AsH: I thought we're getting big bucks to act stupid?!

Livestock: You're ALREADY in the wings. SO JUMP!

AsH: WHERE?! We've gotten NO framework to understand where we even
are.

[AsH and Livestock are on the set of a TV commercial, with AsH 15 feet
into the air in front of a greenscreen, standing on a rickety set of
scaffolding]

AsH: Oh, gee. Thanks.

Livestock: Who the hell said that?

AsH: Don't worry about it.

Livestock: I hope that isn't just 15 feet.  The bungee's 20.

AsH: WHAT!?

Livestock: This is taking too long.  Get ready to fly!

AsH: Wait, what're you--

[Gripping the scaffold tight Livestock rams his 275 pounds into it
then jerks back hard.  AsH looks for a moment like a cowboy at the
rodeo but he doesn't quite last the 8 seconds before plummeting.]

AsH: AHHH!

*WHUDD!*

AsH: *groans*...

Livestock: Well, that settles that.  The bungee was definitely too
short.  Good thing for you there was a crash bag waiting under the
scaffold.

Gutch: GERONIMO!

AsH: Who's that?  Who's there?

[Suddenly an overweight torpedo hurtles towards the landing mat on the
floor.  It's Gutch!  Gutch, apparently, thinks he's supposed to be in
this segment.  Leaping in a way that a 400+ pound man really shouldn't
be able to Gutch lands, seated, on AsH.  The cruiserweight sensation
disappears into the mat and beneath Gutch's horrible fat ass.]

Gutch: Got him!  No way he's gonna be able to back up Whitecross on
Shockwave, 'Stock!

[AsH's legs kick feedbly.  Wow, the soft bag conforming to both he and
Gutch is probably worse than if he was on the bare floor getting
splattered.  Chances are ... he can't breathe.]

Livestock: What are you doing?  This is a commercial shoot!

Gutch: Oh, I thought we were taking out our opponents today.

Livestock: No.  We are not doing that _today_.

Gutch: Uh-oh ... I probably should've had something else for lunch
then,
eh?

Livestock: I'm sorry but ... what are you driv--

*FFFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTT--PPPPPT!  PPPT!*

AsH: MMMMMMMMMMMPH!

[Well apparently he can breathe well enough to produce a muffled
scream.]

Livestock: Okay, you really really REALLY need to get off him.  That
mat isn't letting the stink escape.

[More kicking.  Good thing too.  It was looking like AsH was dead or
something.  A rough cut leads us to the next scene.]

AsH: Alright, this time, no wings, no harness wedgies. Just a simple
idea.

Livestock: Do tell...

AsH: Redbull gets you up when you need it. What's the new slogan,
"Nobody ever wished they slept more in College?"

Livestock: Personally I just wish I'd slept with more female
cheerleaders and not been a male one.  But go on.

[AsH and Livestock are standing over a snoozing Gutch.  AsH has two
extra large cans of Redbull and Livestock has a funnel.  AsH nods and
the funnel is roughly jammed into Gutch's mouth, while AsH cracks open
both and pours them down, directly down Gutch's throat.  He may be
choking a little, what with Redbull coming out his nose, but he's
drinking a lot]

Livestock: Point of order; my partner is not technically supposed to
be part of this commercial.

AsH: Alright, release the funnel...

[Livestock shakes his head, and both men back out of arms reach as
they watch Gutch sputter to his feet, oddly quickly.  He begins
sputtering and--]

AsH: How do you feel, Gutch?

Gutch: I.. I feel great!

AsH: Would you say you feel energized? Even after waking from a nap so
abruptly?

Gutch: Yeah!

AsH: How energized?

Gutch: VERY!

[Livestock's eyebrows furrow.]

Livestock: Wait a second.  I'm getting a ping on my bull*BLEEP*-
ometer...

AsH: Gutch, would you say that you couldn't possibly get more
energized?

Gutch: TOTALLY! I FEEL LIKE I COULDN'T POSSIBLY HAVE MORE ENERGY THAN
I DO--

*BZZZZZT*

Gutch: HUUUURG GUR GURKKK!!!

[AsH takes a combo king-sized stungun (cattle prod, if you will) from
behind his back and presses it into Gutch's neck, dropping the oaf
like a sack of potatoes. Highly energized potatoes. High fat content,
highly energized potatoes.]

AsH: There, NOW, you're right.  Couldn't possibly be more energized.

[AsH kicks him lightly with his toe.]

AsH: Jeez, energy overload!

[Livestock looks down in shock and then to AsH]

Livestock: YOU AS---

AsH: It's actually pronounced AsH-hole, thank you.

Livestock: THAT COULD KILL HIM!  Look at him, he's not any any kind of
shape!  He's 40 years old and overweight and hopped up on glorious
Redbull and you just TAZE him?!

AsH: Stun, actually. I didn't use the tazer darts.

Livestock: HOW CAN THIS POSSIBLY HELP SELL REDBULL?!

[AsH shakes his head.]

AsH: Tsk, Tsk, cattle. The next step of the experiment. To see if
Redbull can bring people out of near-shock.

Livestock: There's no way you can get any more Redbull down him...

[AsH's smile grows to near-Cheshire Cat proportions]

Livestock: Ooooh, no.

[Livestock starts to make a break for it, but AsH, without even
looking, raises his hand and fires a thin cable from his stun gun,
sending his future opponent off screen in a crackling thump.]

Livestock: Guh!  Gak!  HATE!

AsH: Ladies and Gentlemen... Redbull can bring you back from being
stuck under someone like the Gutch.  So it's perfect for a pick me up
on the walk of shame, for revitalization after an all-nighter, or just
a quick pick me up during a crappy day.

Taser relief? We're working on it.

[AsH whistles serenely as he drops the taser, steps on Gutch on his
way out, and walks off camera.  Crossfade to a Red Bull logo with
floating, twisted versions of Ash and Livestock's faces orbiting
around it in the periphery.]

Livestock: Won't let you fall!

AsH: Insulation from electrocution!

Livestock: Laugh in the face-full of mace!

AsH: RETURN FROM THE DEAD!

Livestock/Ash: RED BULL!  IT GIVES YOU WIIIINGS!!!

[Cut!]

****************************************
****************************************
The Biz & Devin Houlihan
****************************************
****************************************

[Backstage at the Valley View Casino Center in San Diego. We're in the
men's dressing room where we find The Biz joined by JDM Superstar and
Devin Houlihan. The Biz is thankfully not in his boxers anymore but
rather wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Meanwhile JDM is
sporting a red leather jacket over a white cotton oxford with gray
stripe trousers, and Devin is still in his ring attire from earlier in
the night.]

Biz: Did you see what I did out there tonight, Jeffrey?

JDM: Took the winner's purse for once.  Always nice to get my cut.

Biz: Uh yeah, I guess that's true. But not quite what I was getting
at. You see, Jeffrey, from this point forward, Caleb Foley will
forever be known as the guy who tapped out to a man in a pair of black
boxer briefs. And that's not even why I stripped down in the first
place. I want people to know that it doesn't matter if I'm buck ass
naked in the center of the ring; I will _STILL_ get the job done at
the end of the night.

[He raises his arms up and shows off their definition.]

Biz: The only thing that I ever need in that ring are my two arms and
legs because with those as my weapons, I can bring down each and every
member of the PVW roster one by one.

[The Biz looks over at Devin who is sitting on a couch, reading the
new issue of Rolling Stone magazine.]

Biz: Of course a few aides never hurt one's mission. I must say, Jeff,
you certainly have a way of coming through in the end. Let's just hope
you courted the right Houlihan.

[Devin looks up for a moment, raises an eyebrow, but then goes right
back to the magazine.]

JDM:  I think we've made the right decision.

Biz: I guess we'll find out coming up in Fresno, the land of big
opportunities; namely _MY_ shot at the Television title. You know
something, Jeff... I'd say it's about damn time that I got some
respect around here. And if it means I have to bury Senor Cloak Dos
next to that Josie chick to prove I deserve it... then that's just
collateral damage.

[The Biz turns and looks directly at the camera.]

Biz: Ess See Dee, congratulations on your newfound glory but heed my
words very closely for your title reign may be a short one if I have
anything to say about it. Now that you are champion, you will have
every fool in the locker room looking to be your friend. And friends
in this business... well they can be a very fickle bunch.

[The Biz pauses to ponder something]

Biz: I remember a time not too long ago when I told a man that he
needed to be careful who he was friends with. And of course that man
didn't listen and he ended up face down in the middle of a wrestling
ring with his arm nearly snapped from his body.

That man's name was Caleb Foley.

And the same holds true for you, Senor, as long as you continue to
ride the same line that Sinister does. I know he's going to be
watching our match very closely, if only to make sure I don't pull any
fancy tricks. So allow me to ease his mind real quick.

Sin... i'm no magician. You can look all you want but you won't find
any fancy tricks up my sleeve or rabbits being pulled from any hats.
But if you still feel the need to come witness my match, well then be
my guest. There's nothing I would enjoy more than having you watch as
I dismantle another of your associates while you remain powerless to
stop me.

[Devin puts down the magazine and stands up, giving Biz a look, before
turning towards the camera himself.]

Devin: The good 'ole Big Daddy Sin, the locker room leader! 
Leader of _WHAT_? The caravan down the long hard road to the
_MIDDLE_?!?! There's been a changing of the guard in PVW, I'm afraid.
And part of this change.. This fresh wave of talent... is making sure
the spoiled meat ends up in the trash where it belongs.

JDM:  HaHA hahahaha.  You need to understand something, Senior Clark
Dos. Everything you know is wrong.  You want to cling to AsH's
bootlaces in hopes of turning from a midcard comedy act to a come from
behind underdog.  And I don't know, it's a good strategy... will it
catch on?  With these fans, probably. You see, everyone wants to
identify with the underdog.  It worked for AsH. Now... is he actually
an underdog? No.  He's more established than half the people here,
he's got more titles than most people here put together, he _IS_ the
dynasty, the legacy, and main event material but because he hides
behind a joke he fools everyone into thinking he's a nobody....

Yeah.

Trouble is?  He's not.  And you would be a nobody too my friend, and
I'm sure deep down, inside, you really truly are.

Except, for the fact, that you have a something we want.  You have a
title. And that by definition makes you important.

Biz: At least until I take that title belt away from you. Then you can
go back to being a midcard comedy joke.  Familiar territory.  Your
comfort zone, where I'm sure you'd rather be.  In essence, by beating
you, I'm actually doing you a favor.  Because we all know, no matter
how hard you try, you aren't AsH. You aren't a real main eventer, and
you most definitely are no champion.

JDM: I don't know about anyone else but in my world, a belt doesn't
make a champion. And that's obvious as The Biz here has more talent in
his little pinky than the majority of the current gaggle of gold
clinging geese put together. So why not do yourself a favor and just
forfeit the title right now?  We all know where the belt will wind up
in the end. Biz will be the champ, and you can go find a rewarding
career in orange picking.

[JDM smiles, and sits back as Devin shakes his head.]

Devin:  And it's that type of attitude right there that brought me to
where I am today! Sometimes in life, you just have to take the bull by
the horns and make something happen! There's only so many
opportunities to break through the glass ceiling and truly 'make it'
in this business.  I'm so tired of seeing them fly by because of
bullshit inhibitions!  This is the dawning of a new age, one where I,
Devin Houlihan, walk in company with those that are actually worth a
damn!

JDM:  The best money can buy.  And now we can use some of that dough
to buy you some pants, eh Mike?

[JDM chuckles at his own personal joke. The Biz turns and looks at
JDM]

Biz: Save your money, Jeffrey. There's bound to be some fines after
what I have planned for Senor Cloak Dos and that overgrown ape,
Sinister. Or better yet… let's get SCD the best private room money can
buy at Madera Community Hospital. After all, why should he have to
suffer once I take the title from around his waist? At least he'll
have his mask to hide behind in shame.

JDM: Nah, throw him in the trash with the rest of his kind. I think we
need to see his papers anyways, I'm sure that mask is hiding an
illegal. How about we do this, Biz… seeing as we're in a casino, let's
roll the dice and bet it all, I feel a streak of luck a-coming. How's
that sound?

Biz: Sounds good to me. And like I said back in the day, "always bet
on black".

JDM: Ha ha ha, touche. Senior Dos, bring Uno and Tres for all we care
because come Fresno, your luck is at an end, amigo. Don't worry
though, I'll put in a good word with my man Manuel, I'm sure he could
use a good dishwasher.

[And we fade out as JDM puts an arm around The Biz, ushering him
towards the door… and most likely to the nearest craps table.]

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

[The scene fades in to a still shot of the man known to the PVW as
Sinister. The intense gaze upon the Chicago natives face indicates the
very essence of his present mood. He dons a Chicago Bears short-
sleeved shirt, black jeans and dark Orange Nike Air's. He folds his
right foot over his left knee, clears his throat, and cracks his
knuckles loudly as he sits comfortably in a large chair with a light
above and to the right that faintly lights his face.]

"Well, well, well.  Ladies and gentlemen, it certainly seems to me
that the roaches are multiplying rather quickly in the PVW, quite the
infestation if you ask me! [He shakes his head slowly a few times]
Devin Houlihan...who the HELL...do you think you are!? You have the
audacity to attack me from behind, with a freakin' spiked glove, but
even worse, align yourself with a low-life, pathetic ass like The
Biz!?

[He taps his right temple with his right index finger then lowers it.]

Not thinking too clearly up there, are you? Well no worries about
that, little Devin, because the powers that be have put you in the
ring with me. Oh how lovely is that? I see you, like many others, are
very skilled when it comes to blindsiding me with a weapon, no less,
so let's see what you're capable of doing face-to-face, man-to-man,
the way it should be you pathetic scrub!"

[He chuckles a few times and rolls his neck slowly, audible pops
emanating loudly when he does so.  He inhales and exhales slowly and
deeply then steeples his fingers.]

"It never ceases to amaze me how quickly and easily a frustrated
individual can be influenced by someone who is as conniving and
apparently charismatic as The Biz. Wasn't it not too long ago, Devin,
that you, your brother and I stood together as a three-man tag team
and handled business in the ring, despite your injury?  Yes we all saw
your attitude during the match, but the bottom line is you got the job
done despite the pain and frustration. Was it so difficult for you to
overcome that you allow yourself to be manipulated like a puppet for
Biz's amusement? Was it really so thrilling to attack a man whose sole
purpose during an excellent match was to ensure no one tried any
outside interference?"

[He lowers his leg, places both arms on the arms of the chair and
leans forward.]

"Devin, it seems to me that you don't think too far outside of current
actions. As anyone knows, for every action there is a consequence, be
it good or bad. Right now I'm sure you're under the impression that
you have somehow made a mark and are now a man to be respected. For
your sake I hope that's not the case, because if it is then you are a
bigger fool than I first suspected. Aligning yourself with The Biz
will open up doors you will regret even creating, but all of that will
occur in due time. For the short-term, you get to step into the ring
with me and for your sake Devin, I hope you bring all of the weapons
you can muster, be they physical ability or external objects, because
trust me, you’re going to need them. Don't believe me?  I bet I'll be
able to change your mind pretty damn quick.  See you soon."