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GOLD RUSH Round 1 Roleplay Thread


Jan 1, 2000
Re: Just When You Think It's Safe...

CuseTroy said:

Troy Douglas sits in a high-backed leather chair inside the small office space of his Greensboro home. He seems to be in a much more cheerful mood than he was in when he was last seen.

DOUGLAS: Man, you leave town for a few days to meet some old friends and play golf, and all of a sudden the entire world explodes. I really need to get a better travel agent.

I mean, I expected people to come out from across the wrestling universe for the Gold Rush, but this is getting to the point where I half expect Dark Helmet to pop up and give the order to jump to Ludicrous Speed. Or did that happen already?

With all the people who've been jumping out of the woodwork the last few years, I can't be entirely sure. I'll have to check the ol' TiVo on that one.

But, there certainly have been a lot of names popping out there from the ether, hoping to get in their shot at CSWA gold at Anniversary. You've got the usual suspects; Melton, Flair, Lindsay Troy, Kin Hiroshi, JA, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Alter Ego. Those are the sort of folks everyone knew would be vying for this ultimate prize.

But some of these other guys, even for a guy like me who's followed this industry since I was a kid, I've got absolutely no idea where they've come from. Peter Lenex, Jay Smash, enough guys with the letter "X" at the beginning of their first name to make ESPN's marketing department sick, I've got no other way to say this but straightforward...

I have no clue who the hell you people are. But, you're all going for the exact same thing I am, and that means in the next month, I'll make sure that none of you remain strangers to me. I'll do my homework, and I'll be prepared for whatever any of you might throw at me during the Gold Rush match. But, as for now, since I don't know you and you don't know me, I'll leave you alone.

For now.

Because at this point, I can only deal with the devils I know, and not the one's I don't. And trust me, I know plenty of the devils in this donnybrook. People I've faced, people I've watched, hell, a great number of people who I've admired for years. People whose resumes are known far and wide across the world as champions, legends even.

Troy gets out of his chair, stands and leans back against the bare far wall of his office, smiling slightly.

TD: You're all here for the exact reason I am, but you can say you've got the credentials to justify being here. You can say you're out for one thing and one thing only, that CSWA World Unified Title around Troy Windham's waist. You can cut me down to size with a sharp remark and a chuckle and cast me aside as that guy who hangs around until he's not useful anymore, then fades away, a failure as always.

Ain't that right, Lindsay?

You can laugh all you want about my life and what I've been through. You can mock me until your near-endless supply of sarcasm has run dry. You and everyone else can discount me and underestimate me as much as you damn well please.

I don't give a damn. Hate me, love me, laugh at me, it doesn't make a blip on my radar screen. I'll listen to what y'all have to say, I'll take it in, respond to it, but if you think a couple wisecracks about career disappointment and suicide are gonna make me crawl up into a little ball and stick myself in a room and never, never-ever come back out, think again.

Because expectations or not, for or against whatever odds there might be, you'll get everything in my tank at Anniversary. Because unlike Karl Brown, that CSWA World Unified Championship doesn't just mean something to me, it means everything. That's the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, folks, and I know there are plenty of people in this match who know the exact same thing.

Take Dan Ryan, or even his Alter Ego, whichever one the contract allows him to appear as this week. I've worked for Dan for quite a long time, and, to be sure, he and I haven't exactly always seen eye-to-eye. But, past differences will be set aside for this night, and entirely new hatreds will set in. Because that title, that pot of gold, that means more to men like Dan Ryan's Alter Ego and myself than any business dealing, any petty grudge from the past.

No, if I go face-to-face with Dan, Lindsay, JA, Kin, Karl, any of those I've had any kind of encounter with in the past, it won't be the past that means a thing. Fighting for that title is reason enough to want to pound each and every one of them until they resemble a soggy, half-eaten bowl of finely shredded wheat.

But, that's only the lead-up to the coup de grace. Because I haven't mentioned everyone's favorite slacker yet. But for that man, I have a simple, direct message that's probably the most juvenile thing I've said since I was in high school.

**** you, Troy Windham.

Damn, that felt good! Let's give it another go.

**** you, Troy Windham.

I know you're a superstar, a legend in this game, and the CSWA Unified Champion. But apparently, when you picked up that Big Gold Belt, it came with a shiny certificate declaring you king, shah, and emperor of your own wrestling universe.

You want to put a $25,000 bounty on my head? That's just dandy, Windham. Now, I know a big, bad, on-top-of-the-world Unified Champion like yourself who gets to sit in a ring and wait for countless men to pound each other into mush wouldn't be scared of my half-busted, 30-year old ass, but for you to offer 25 grand to anyone that can knock me out of the ring during the Gold Rush?

Man, something about me must bug you something awful, and I hope it's not the fact that my dad happened to think back to his love of Greek history when he named me. Because 25 large is a whole hell of a lot for four letters that rhyme with "toy".

Now, I don't know what about me gets to you that much, but I'm sure you'll mock me for it at some point on the globe during your jet-setting, whirlwind tour of deriding every one of the hopefuls for your title.

I don't know. Maybe it's the name. Maybe it's the fact that you sense that I want that title worse than any man, woman, or creature in the Gold Rush, because with the exception of just a few people in this little throwdown, I'm one of the only ones to have know it since the very beginning. Maybe it's the fact that unlike people like Lindsay, Eli, and Not-Dan, I'm not here for revenge, or to kick someone's ass because they've wronged me.

I'm just here for the gold. I'm here for the thrill of the moment, to lay it all out on the line no matter what, and if that's not good enough for you, Troy Windham, you can play back what I said just a minute ago and fornicate yourself with a large, preferably sharp metal instrument.

And that doesn't just go for you, Troy. That's a message to each person carrying CSWA gold into Anniversary. None of you are immune from the chaos that's about to ensue, and this "failure" might just have something to say about your fate before the night ends.

I'm crossing off the days till August 27. Hell, I've got nothing better to do. I've cleared my schedule, the date's open, all that's left is the countdown.

I'll be with you each step along the way.

Until we meet again.


(CUT TO: Troy Windham, sitting in his state-of-the-art CSWA Television Studio, cradling the CSW Unified Title.)

TROY: Here's the thing, Brad -- WOOOPS! I'm sorry, did I use your real first name? The name you changed to try and steal heat off of me? I tossed out that bounty on your head for one reason only -- to inspire one of the "illustrious" competitors in this thing to throw you out so you'd learn your place. You, getting to me? Heh -- this coming from the guy who has the entire season of Troy Windham Action Figures still in their original casing. No, son, people like you don't GET to people like me. You don't get to hang out with people like me, you don't get to associate with people like me, and you don't even get my autograph after paying $20 and waiting in a 2-hour line. I, on the other hand, seemed to have gotten to you. Nice curse words, Brad. When you're tossed out of this thing in about three minutes, can you do me a favor and not wait by my dressing room begging for me to take a picture with you so you can throw it up on your offiicial website? I know that would make you, finally, after all these years, over and all... but I don't really care. (FTB)


Grandma Took Me Home
Jan 31, 2004
Alone, again. Part IV (Cinderella Man)

The scene opens to Jackson Klein sitting behind his desk in his small office in downtown Charleston, South Carolina. His attention is focused on the television just across the room. The dull roar of the program he is watching abruptly stops and goes to the irritating sound of a static filled screen. He picks up a remote control off the desk and clicks the power button. The television falls silent as Kevin Watson walks threw the door, briefly nodding to Klein and sitting down in a chair just in front of Klein’s desk.

Klein sits in silence for a second or two thinking over either; what he has just watched or what he has to go over with Kevin concerning the upcoming event and hopeful grand reentrance to the CSWA and Pro Wrestling in general. He flips threw a few papers and seems to have his thoughts together.

“… ok, well … I’m not sure where to start. Ahhh, I guess my first question would be about the drinking. Number one, I thought you quit … and number two I can only hope that it was a prop for dramatic affect.”

Kevin find the statement slightly humorous only showing a hint of a smirk which quickly fades away and blends back into his usual cold and detached demeanor.

“Yeah … that’s it Jackson, it was a prop. Yeah, a prop, I like that.” Kevin replies with a rare glimpse of sarcasm.

Klein, knowing better, brushes it off and gets down to business. “Any how, I reviewed your promo, not you sharpest work to date …. but understandable. It’s been awhile since you’ve done television … but this is a trend that cannot continue.”

“CSWA … wants STARS! … They don’t want average Joe’s off the corner. And as it stands right now, you’re walking into this thing on an open contract.

Due to the extenuating circumstances of CSWA’s financial situation and place in the current popular culture … this ‘Gold Rush,’ as they call it, is allowing you a loop hole of sorts. Granting you ‘one night only ‘immunity’’ … if you will, from the consequences of your actions during you former tenure, and subsequent ban from CSWA.”

Kevin interjects, “Jackson, get to the point …”

Klein, frustrated, continues on, “Well, the point is quite frankly you HAVE TO SECURE a title at this thing. I don’t care if your thrown out of the final ring SECONDS after the bell … you have to secure either a title, or the open title shot to stay on! After the ‘Gold Rush’ you loose your ‘immunity’ so to speak … your LOOP HOLE runs dry! No gold, no more Kevin Watson … “

Kevin, confused, butts in once again, “That doesn’t make any sense…”

Klein fires back quickly, “It makes PERFECT sense … This out of the ordinary match during times of the same measure grants you amnesty, absolution … a washing away of your CSWA sins … for one night! This is your magic freaking pumpkin ride to the DANCE! But when the final bell rings, when it’s all said and done … the STROKE of MIDNIGHT if you will … If you don’t have the glass slippers … IT’S back to the CIRCUIT!

If you have a title, or title shot … they can’t let you walk out and leave with the title, nor can they strip you with out probable cause. If you have a title … or at the very least a contractually promised title SHOT at the future event … They’re stuck with you, at least until you loose the title or second opportunity at the title.

Every dog has it’s …”

Kevin interrupts with some force behind his voice, “Don’t … don’t finish that sentence.”

Klein realizes that Kevin is not to keen on his unfinished pun, he quickly moves on.

“Alright, so … Next up, we await the announcement of the ring assignments. Who will be in what ring, and possibly what title, or shot. So my advice to you aside from cutting more promotional material …”

Kevin butts in yet again, this time with flask in hand, “Save it.”

Kevin takes a long hard sip of the flask and slips it back into jacket. He stands up from his chair and heads toward the door. With almost a smirk, more emotion than we’ve seen in years, he comments …

“Someone call Russell Crowe, I guess I’m the new Cinderella Man …”



I spoil things.
Jan 1, 2000
Merced, California USA
Re: Alone, again. Part IV (Cinderella Man)

"Well if this isn't the World's Most Disgusting Hermaphroditic Money Shot."

(Fadein, Cameron Cruise in front of a solid grey backdrop.)

CRUISE: Everyone in the World, Men AND Women alike, that has an ounce of agility in their body, just ready and willing to blow their wad all over the CSWA's UNIFIED World Heavyweight Champion, Troy "I-So-Much-To-Be-Like-Leonardo-Decaprio-But-Have-To-Settle-For-The-Sherminator's-B*tch"...Windham.

Somewhere Melton is tearing apart his personal belongings and swearing to all the "Rod Stewart" Dolls and Shrine's of Tina Turner in Adrien Evan's Apartment that it won't be a distraction during the match.


CSWA Anniversary.

My, my...what a history we have.

From getting my first initial Wedding attempt to my eventual wife foiled, to having the CSWA Presidential Championship RIPPED from my possession by a man that WASN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE THERE THAT DAY...to having a match to GET IT BACK, backfire on me....

This paints a pretty picture in my favor, doesn't it??

But yet...something is different about this time around.

The fact that it's a CSWA Pay Per View??

Nope, not a chance.

The fact that I finally have a fair shot at something that I want with no distractions??

Nope, not that either.

What was it that it could've been...

(Cruise scratches his head sarcastically, and then snaps his fingers as if an epiphamy just hit him.)

It's a Battle Royale!!

That's it!!

(Cruise runs ahand through his hair as he begins to think abit.)

The last time I was in a CSWA Battle Royale...that made real significance....Troy Windham was willing to take on all comers, including the likes of GUNS, Kevin Powers, and GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE!!

But there was one man who called him out, one man who called his BLUFF, ONE MAN WHO WAS WILLING TO GO TOE-TO-TOE with "Good Ol' Troy-Boy".

And did he get what he wanted??

Nope, and neither did the fans, to which afterward Troy forgot about as his head went ten feet up his Hair-Gel-ridden-with-sweat-ass and disappeared.

How do I know?? Because that's the type of sh*t he had JJ Deville do before he kissed Troy's ###, he went on the road and purchased gallons of Massage Oil and Soul-Glo and worked him over somethin' awful....'course some of the 'Glo would drop onto Troy, but what was it to him?? To him, JJ just had some REALLY GREAT HANDS.

Again, one might ask me..."Cameron Cruise....which IS MY REAL NAME....how and why the hell would you tell us that??"...


Ten years of getting the stenched-up-nasty-lockerroom THREE TIMES SMALLER than the World Champions' room next door can only belittle a man's dignity so much before he has to share it with the rest of the world.

And now here's my chance.

Ten years is a long time to wait Troy, so let's do this a favor, shall you??

Forget about the Rookies.

Forget about the folks who've come and gone, forget about the experience you had with Melton out West, and maybe if you can get JJ and the rest of the Entourage's grubby-little-bastard-hands off your dick you can pay attention to the few people that actually HAVE A SHOT at kicking your ###..

Namely ME as one of 'em...

You might actually have something to worry about, come game time.

And believe me when I tell you Troy, come gametime...there WON'T be any intermissions, Time-outs, or time to stretch your legs in this time around, because as I said before...

Ten years is a long time for me Troy, and I'll be DAMNED, if I don't come out of this making an impact, and by that I mean walking out with a specific belt around my waist, and my right boot up your ###.

(Cruise stops a second before leaving.)

Because that Troy, is a REALITY CHECK that you just...won't like.


John Doe

The Anorexic Ethiopian
Feb 2, 2004
Chicago, IL

John Doe is sitting in his house open a packets of Pizza Puffs. He turns and sees the camera.


“CSWA……I fail to realize that somebody would open a challenge up in this place. A challenge to provide what sort of merit? Oh yes, CSWA gold. Gold that everyone is circle jerking over. I frankly am showing up because I know that once I prove to a good amount of federation heads around here that I am great, well, more money will be raking in.”

“You actually believe I would waste my time here in CSWA? PLEASE. Bare with me for the following four to five minutes because that is all it will take to understand why no person in their right mind would want to join CSWA.”

He puts a Pizza Puff in the microwave

“You see, CSWA is a company that has been running ever so long, actually, way too long. Half of the wrestlers that enter business probably didn’t know CSWA existed until the owner called up as many wrestlers as he could to get some sort of crowd reviving back to his crap product.”

“And even then the fans where iffy if this sort of Main Event is worth the great deal of money that CSWA has put into it just on outside talent on it’s own, IF you want to call it talent at that. They just showed up for that twenty five dollar pay day they were offered.”

“ I mean you have men left and right that half the marks in the audience cringe when they step in the ring, not to mention when they walk to the ring. You got some skinnies running around pretending to be the acrobat from the circus. You got some muscle head sitting around thinking he’s huge when we all know he’s stealing shots from the horses. Then you got the normal people.”

“This match sort of reminds me of a freak show. They haul and pull the crowd around it, 10 bucks to get in and laugh at another persons deformities. But hey it’s CSWA they LOVE exposing the freaks. This time no different than the last.”

“I actually wonder if this show will air on time….MAYBE we will wrestle then by next summer they will air it on TV, save the poor few that had to endure the show a full year to recover from the sadist anniversary show ever produced.”

“But life can’t be all fun and games, I mean, you do have a few talented wrestlers, such as myself, entered in this crapfest. Oh hell, I can’t believe I have even agreed to participate in this junk. CSWA. Psh, now that I think about I may want some gold.”

“I mean I would like to take a plastic title back to the house from this ancient company. HELL! I would love to take a title from a HAS BEEN company that doesn’t even know how to book anymore. Yes I brought up your piss poor booking department. BUt we can't blame the bookers, it's the morons in the offices that hold CSWA down and not gain greatness. It is because of one reason....YOU LET LINDSAY TROY IN YOUR COMPANY……..”

“LINDSAY F*CKING TROY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Do you not understand the concept of Employee Wellness?! Do you want your whole roster running around with diseases? Do you know what herpes looks like? No you don’t not till you f*ck her.”

“Since I am in this match I want a FULL disease test on her, Dan Ryan, and Joey Melton. You know what, I even want Cameron Cruise checked he sucked enough of Melton’s dick in EPW WHILE Dan Ryan watched. This is a problem, this is a big problem.”

“You know what, problems can be solved. And this problem the answer is where you take those four orgy loving scumbags and not let them get in the ring. This will not only save other wrestlers but future business endeavors. Because of one reason I am a business man.”

“And because I am business man is one of the main reasons why I should be holding on of your K.B. Toy titles. I mean I will even pull the CSWA sticker off of it and replace it, that’s just the kind of nice guy I am. And like the nice guy I am I will allow somebody to at least HIT me if we get in the ring. I could just sit in a corner and drink a Monster. But I much rather participate in this Main Event. I mean how many times do you get compete in the main event of CSWA inside of a American Legion Hall?”


“And that’s why I am in this match, titles mean money. Money is money. And money is good.”

“End of story!”

“Four minutes is up my pizza puff is ready!”

Last edited:


Active member
Jun 18, 2004
The Derek Zoolander Wrestling Promo for Wrestlers Who Can't Listen Good

The commissary... you know, I'm pretty sick and tired of writing these setting descriptions.

JA: Y'know, for two guys who pride themselves on being amongst the most intelligent wrestlers in the business, you sure don't have a grasp on listening comprehension, do you Alter Ego Buster and Troy Windham-Troy? I mean, I come out and say one thing, and you two doofi, which is the proper Latin plural for doofus, interpret it a whole other way, the wrong way. Seriously, you'd think it was opposite day, but only on opposite day would I be caught dead giving praise to you, wouldn't it Chumpion?

Yeah, that's exactly what the roid-head's alter ego said I was doing, giving you praise. He even went so far as to call me your personal assistant. Funny, I thought that job was already taken by some indie-rock loving spineless jellyfish of a man you've affectionately named after one of the many months of the year. All that because I called a spade a spade and said you were running circles mentally around the silverback ape while he was saying, "Duh, which way did he go, George? Which way did he go?"

Yet, somewhere in there, Troy-diddy, you thought I was the one saying that I had outwitted you. Really, are your ears that full of wax? You know, they have really novel ways of getting that all cleared out. Or maybe you were getting a calf-job from the Mysterious Zandrax and were fading in and out when you had my last spiel on.

But no, I think the real culprit here is you bought another really bad bag of weed from Randalls again, and after we told you countless amounts of times that he spikes it with acid, horse piss, the ground up bones of Englishmen and more cowbell. Well, either that or listening to one of those Ecks guys has finally made you something something.

Random person: Go crazy?


Seriously, I think that's the only way you could have construed what you construed out of that. I would never lie and say something that wasn't true...

Roderick McRatrick, popping out of nowhere: Yeah, that's my job!

JA: That was random. Anyhoo, the point is, I would never say that I outwitted you, because I haven't done so... yet. Just give me some time though, it'll happen. I mean, you had the Eye-Kyoo of a two-toed tree sloth before you went cuckoo for cocaine, so who knows how ravaged that eighteen ounce blob of gray matter and pot residue that you call a "brain" is. I mean, that would be the real reason why you can't string together five-hundred words to throw at me; you don't have two functioning brain cells to rub together to do it, and you know that grunting "I'm a superstar" fifty million times won't work with me like it'll work with the Rhinosaur or Eli Space Mountain. Possibly because they've heard it for so long that they've built up an immunity to it, y'know, like beekeepers build up a tolerance for getting stung? Only I can imagine listening to you talk for more than forty-five seconds is slightly more painful and infinitely more annoying than a bee sting ever could be. Maybe it's a blessing in disguise you'll only deign to give me a century's worth of words.

But all that aside, really Troy-diddy, I may not impress you now, but that really doesn't matter. You got a taste of what I could do the last time you faced me, and you needed Shawna Hart and your own two toadies to bail you out. This time, you won't be so lucky.

Unless one of those bumbling fruitbaskets accidentally bumps me out of the ring, but I don't even have that much faith in them to do that right.

And now, onto the Rhinosaur... man, he's really got to keep his Alter Ego Buster from hanging around with Randalls and his magical toxic weed of dreams too, seeing as he's as high as Troy-diddy is. Seriously, Aye-Ee-Bee, you call what I was doing earlier whining? Crying? B*tching? Insert other synonym for that here? Anyone have Roget's Thesaurus on them?

Nerd: I do!

JA: Shut up! That was rhetorical. Anyway, if you thought that was whining, I'd hate to see it when you really encountered someone who was complaining like a senior citizen at a fancy restaurant. Here, I'll give you an example...

"WAAAAHHH!!! I'm not the Champion because the man holds me down! WAAAAH! He goes out of his way to screw me! WAAAAH!! I'm going to blame all my shortcomings on him, then put on black mascara and cut myself while watching highlights of getting pinned by Ray Rock! WAAAAHH!!"

See? Now that's some high-quality whine to go with the Fromunda cheese you like to lick off of Troy-diddy's nutsac, Alter Ego Buster. And you call me the personal assistant. Cutting the heart out of my segment? Anything else from the Epitomé of Jackassery playbook you want to regurgitate? Then again, at least it's not Dianetics. Hell, the last thing we need is another Scientologist running around on Oprah's couch proclaiming love for another cast member of Dawson's Creek, although when Tom Cruise got his pickings, you missed out. I hear that Katie Holmes tits cancel out the horribleness of the Holo... you know what, I'm not even gonna go there, but if you watch Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, you'll get what I'm trying to convey. Then again, much like a certain Suri, I'm not sure anyone's seen pictures of your alter-ego's baby, Alter Ego Buster. How can we be sure it exists? I'm getting off-topic here.

The point is, what I was doing wasn't whining. I was stating a position and showing the world how what you say doesn't exactly line up with what he does, how his actions contradict everything you say. You say I'm a pretender and that I wasn't in the EPW title picture and that I don't mean much to the company and all that, yet, when your alter ego needs an Aggression main event, he turns to me. I don't even see that as a slight. I see that as some kind of nod of approval.

But this isn't about nods of approval. It's about the UNIFIED Championship. I'm prepared to fight for that, fight anyone for it. He-Troy, She-Troy, Karl the Iguana, Captain Racism... but especially your alter ego there, Alter Ego Buster. I said it before, I said that I'd stand up to him, then dodge him like hell and fight him, and I'll say it again. You must have been smoking the Randalls weed when I was saying that, but I'm not backing down. I didn't back down when I took care of business against Bubbles Hart, and I won't back down here, no matter how many times you want to shut out what I have to say and believe that I'm just some scared little luchador in a mask who's afraid of his boss who happens to outweigh me by half-a-deuce.

I'm not afraid of the big bad wolf, and I'm certainly not afraid of "All-Natural" Dan Rhinosaur. I'm sure that's something even the dullest minded among you can f*cking understand.



League Member
Jul 23, 2005
“Hello, is that Dale’s Dead-Bug Terminators?”

Kevin Kassidy Kenwright held his cell phone to his ear as he looked over the list of participants in the Gold Rush match-up. And yes, I did use that company name from King of the Hill. It was on the television when I was writing this so it made sense, okay?

Obviously, it was the right place as KKK listened in. “Dale” was probably giving him some
marketing pitch, even though Kevin was the one to ring him.

Kevin nodded as he listened.

“Well, actually I don’t have an infestation… I’m just worried about catching a disease. I want to know where you get your suits that block out the chemicals.”

Kevin was silent again as Dale obviously spoke.

“That’s right. I want to buy a jumpsuit.”

“Well, I’m worried about catching an infection. In fact, maybe you should come round. I’ll pay you as though this is a call-out.”

Kevin hung up the phone and let out a lazy sigh. “What should I do to pass the time?” he questioned as he glanced around his Florida home, before shrugging with complete ineptitude.

It’s a tough life being a wrestling star. You train for four hours in the morning but the rest of the day… it’s completely boring. Especially the ones that alienate themselves from any chance of getting promotional deals by announcing their Ku Klux Klan roots.

Not that the situation bothered Kenwright. The Legacy of Champions had offered him stupid money to stay with them when other federations came a-knocking. He was happy in his life, it would just have been nice to have something to occupy himself. The boredom was probably the main reason he had signed up to the CSWA Gold Rush match along with Scott Riktor, but when the Man of a Million Racist Slurs saw the competitors list, he knew he needed to protect himself from their numerous diseases.

One hour later, Dale and his Dead-Bug truck pulled up outside the dazzling white house of the LoC grappler and Dale climbed from the truck.

The kid that had rang him had made a bizarre request, but then again he wasn’t going to turn down a call-out charge for no work.

Kevin threw the door open as Dale reached the steps and looked up at the big twenty-one year old that stood in the door way.

“I want to buy one of your suits…” Kevin demanded with a smile.

Dale stopped in hs tracks and looked at the white superstars. “Why?” he questioned.

“I have a number of infectious miscreants to deal with and I need to adequately protected.”

Dale shrugged. He assumed Kevin was speaking metaphors or something.

“I don’t want to catch any of their disgusting diseases so I want to be clear of getting an infection or worse.”

Dale shook his head; kids these days he thought as he lead the LoC employee to the van. Dale hadn’t recognised Kevin, he wasn’t a wrestling fan but after agreeing to sell the suit at a marked up price, Dale realised he had made Kenwright one of the happiest people in Florida.


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Springfield, Missouri
Bobby Karma arrives at last (For the GoldRush tournament)

::Fade In...

Location: Greensburo-Inside CS Enterprises...
Time: Now...
Setting: Within the area of the CS press room where personel has gathered the press conference to hype the upcoming CSWA Anniversary and with it the Annuel Gold Rush Tournament...

[Cut to: Just outside CS Enterprise headquarters as the light blue 1970 Pontiac GTO rolls up into the parking lot and comes to a complete stop. The doors open up to reveal latest CSWA Goldrush touranament participant, "What Goes Around Comes Around" Bobby Karma, and his manager/friend "Light As A Feather" Freddie Meriweather. They step out and gaze at the amazing monilithic like scructure known as CS Enterprises gazing at her giant beauty.]

Bobby: So this is the place, she's even more beautiful than I could of imagine. Never in my life has I ever seen anything like this. She's my ticket to the big time and to embrace my destiny.

Freddie: Just think Bobby, you...a mere nobody...could walk out of this tournament as the NEW CSWA UNITIED WORLD CHAMPION.

Bobby: I wouldn't say that just yet, lets just focus on putting on a good show in the tournament before wondering which belt would look good on me. Come on lets go inside and check in.

[Bobby and Freddie walk inside the large double revolving doors leading into the front lobby. They approach the receptionist at the front desk. She puts on her full business professional face and gives them their proper attention.]

Receptionist: Hello, welcome to CS Enterprises. How may I best assist you today?

Bobby: Yes, my name is Bobby Karma, I've recently been signed to take part in the annual CSWA Anniversary Gold Rush Tournament. I was told to arrive here at this time.

Receptionist: Oh I see, well may I be the first to welcome you to the family. We've actually just scheduled a press conference and has just gotten underway. I'll paige someone to meet with you.

Bobby: Thank you.

Receptionist: And who is this?

Bobby: Oh this is my manager...

Freddie: [Cutting in and interupting Bobby as he approaches the attractive receptionist] "Light As A Feather" Freddie Meriweather, at your service. How do you do. Manager representative and coach to Mr Bobby Karma. Let me tell you something Miss...[looking at her name tag] what do managers like Classy Freddie Blassie, Captain Lou Albano, Bobby Heenan all have in common?

Receptionist: ..............................

[The Receptionist stares at Freddie siltent and blankly. Bobby just rubs his head while Freddie is selling himself off to the receptionist. He tries to be cordial but you can tell that he is quite embarrassed but doesn't want to be totally rude to Freddie at the same time. All Bobby can do is wait patiently until Freddie is done with his pitch.]

Freddie: Morons I tell you, morons. They never managed pretty good wrestlers but nothing more great than my friend right right here. "The Emissary of Karma", "What Goes Around Comes Around" Bobby Karma. He represents the legacy of this great business, but at the same time he is the future of it all rolled into one. Destiny and fate are on his side, and he will walk into this tournament and walk out as the NEW UNIFIED WORLD CHAMP...

[The receptionist says nothing instead she just stares back at him responding with only a blink of her eyes. Bobby himself can take no more and pulls his friend by the arm to cut him interupting him in the middle of his rant.]

Bobby: Freddie, save it for the press conference.

Freddie: Just spreading the word and telling the story of...

Bobby: Fred, she's a receptionist, she doesn't like wrestling. She doesn't know the thing of what your talking about. This is a paycheck to her.

Freddie: Oh...okay. My I feel sheepish.

Bobby: Its alright, just use it at the right times. In the lobby is not the right time. Save it for the press conference.

Freddie: I guess I kind of lost my head.

Bobby: Your excited man. Its okay we both are. Just let it out at the right time. You don't always have to be in character.

Freddie: I'm following you.

[Looks back over at the receptionist.]

Freddie: Sorry Miss.

Bobby: My friend's just a little nervous about being here.

Receptionist: Its okay. I've just paiged someone to inform them of their arrival. They should be down to greet you momentarily. You can have a seat if you like while you wait.

Bobby: Thank you very much.

Freddie: Yes thank you.

[Bobby and Freddie move over to the seats and sit down as they wait for the CS personel to greet them.]

Freddie: I kind of made a big of a fool of myself didn't I?

Bobby: Oh yeah.

Freddie: She was hot too wasn't she.

Bobby: Oh yeah.

Freddie: I have no chance in hell with her.

Bobby: Probably not.

Freddie: Figures, story of my life.

[A CS Personel agent/representative approaches Bobby and Freddie to greet them.]

CS rep: Bobby Karma, Freddie Meriweather?

[They stand up to great the representative with a handshake and a smile.]

CS rep: This way please.

[He leads Bobby and Freddie down the hall toward the pressroom.]

CS rep: Your just in time, we have begun our press conference as we hype the annual Gold Rush tournament. We'd like you to take a few minutes to introduce yourself to the press and hype the event. This is Mr. Merritt's way of testing out new signees. Mr Merritt calls this the lion's den because if you've ever been before the press they can be pretty vicious...like a den of lions...hence the name. Ever spoke with the press before Bobby?

Bobby: No sir.

Rep: Nervous?

Bobby: A little, but I'll be alright.

Rep: Good.

[They arrive just in front of the door leading to the platform inside.]

Rep: For now, your manager friend will have to wait outside. We have a moniter just over to your right for him to watch, but Mr. Merrit, when he does this, likes to have the signees stand on their own two feet even against the press. The thought is if you can stand against these lions and even a few tabloid vulgers, you can definately stand against people like Troy Windham, Dan Ryan, Lindsey Troy and...

Bobby: Kin Hiroshi.

Rep: Exactly.

Freddie: Okay man, I'll be watching over here if you need me. Knock'em dead, I know you will.

Bobby: Thanks, I'll see you in a little bit.

Rep: Very well now with that said...[Speaks onto his headset.] Charlie, got another one here, make the announcement that Bobby Karma is coming in. [To Bobby] Their ready for you. When your ready.

[The doors open as Bobby is temporarily blinded by the strobelighted flashes of cameras as he makes his way onto the stage. The scene fades out to a temporary end.]

2 be continued...


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Springfield, Missouri
Bobby Karma in front of the lion's den (the press)

::Fade In...

Location: Greensburo-Inside CS Enterprises...
Time: Now...
Setting: Within the area of the CS press room where personel has gathered the press conference to hype the upcoming CSWA Anniversary and with it the Annuel Gold Rush Tournament...

[The scene opens with Bobby Karma on the stage approaching the podium in the middle of the platform. He greets the MC CS rep with a handshake as he takes his postion from behind the mic on the podium.]

Reporter: For the record, please identify yourself.

[Bobby, showing that he is a little nervous like a deer caught in the headlights pauses as he fights through the metaphorical butterflies flying around in his stomach. He perserveres as he answers the question.]

Bobby: My name is Bobby Karma. I'm from Rome, Georgia.

Reporter: Isn't it true that before you received the invite from Mr. Merritt, you have done nothing special in this business before just wrestling on the indy scene? My main question is what makes you so special that you can compete with the likes of Troy Windham and Dan Ryan?

Bobby: Its true, I am blessed and privilaged that I have received such a invitation as this. I've waited my entire life for my big break and now I have it. I'm gonna make the most of it. Whether I'm only doing this for 15 minutes, 15 years, or even if my name will go down amoung the greats in this business. I'm gonna make the most of this great opportunity. This means more to me than just some accalade like some of my oponants are trying to get. Another notch in their win column or something. This is everything I've ever worked for and I will go out in single match whether its the opening curtain jerking match, the middle match, or the main event. I'm gonna fight with my very best.

Reporter: Its said you are are from Rome, Georgia and said that you received some training from professional wrestling legend Arn Anderson, do you plan on remaining under his shadow?

Bobby: No I don't. Although I am appreciative of the teachings that I received from various wrestling greats. I am not here to be "Just another Arn" or "Another Hennig" I'm here to forge my destiny and create my own future. I am a student of this business and I am always learning new things. I can never be too good. I can always learn and adapt to certain things. I like to think that the events of my past and the decisions that I have made have groomed me for this time and moment. All of my training and working on the indy circuit has prepared me for one purpose and that is to go into CSWA Annual Gold Rush Tournament and walk out with god willing, as the CSWA Unified World Champion.

Reporter: Do you really think that you are good enough to defeat someone as great as Troy Windham?

Bobby: I'll approach that bridge when I get to it, and when I cross it, I will get to the other side.

Reporter: What do you see on that other side?

Bobby: My destiny.

Reporter: What is your destiny?

Bobby: To be champion. I'm a winner and I'm going to win. I'm in no hurry but all paths will lead me to my destiny.

Reporter: Changing the subject, earlier yesterday, you and one CSWA United States Champion Kin Hiroshi got into a major trash talking exchange in which some words were said? Simply put, because of your strong southern ties, are you a racist?

Bobby: What was said between Kin Hiroshi and I was nothing more than a minor slip of the tongue. I am not racist, and I would appreciate that you respect my strong southern ties. Just because I am from Georgia doesn't make me a racist. Like I said, what was said was a foolish error on my part and will not happen again.

Reporter: If you were to face Kin Hiroshi in the tournament, how personal would your fight be?

Bobby: Despite the words that were exchanged between myself and Kin Hiroshi, if we faced each other in the tournament, it wouldn't be personal. It would be just another match and I will acknowledge Hiroshi as the superstar he is, and give him the hardest, greatest fight he has ever had in his career, and if I have the opportunity to take his United States title, I will do exactly that. Most off all, he is the main event. I have no doubt that if and when we face one another we will steal the show; however, as great as that match would be, I'll do whatever I can to win it and then some.

Reporter: Do you think that you are better than people like Dan Ryan and so forth?

Bobby: I never said that I think I am better. I'm a student of the game. I am always learning. I'm not saying that along the way I will undergo a few bumps and bruises along the way or shed some blood. I know the drill. I know that wins and losses are part of the game. I'm not disputting that. However, I am a firm believer that just because I may lose a match it is not the end of me. Just because I might lose doesn't mean that it is the end of me. I will not return to Rome with my tail tucked between my legs in defeat. I will learn from my mistakes, and get better. So that should the next time I face someone who just beat me say Dan Ryan, I will defeat even him second or third time around. Even if Lindsey Troy comes in my path. Although it will be an honor, I will fight her and defeat her as well.

[The rep steps up to the microphone.]

CS Rep MC: Are their anymore questions for Mr. Karma?

[Waits for a response from the reporters which there is none at this time.]

Rep/MC: Well if there is none at this time, then I think that will be all for Mr Karma at this time. Bobby, we'd like to take this time to thank you for coming out and wish you all the best of luck in the CSWA Annual Gold Rush tournament. Thank you.

Bobby: Its been my pleasure. Thank you for hearing me.

Rep: One more time, lets here it for the young and talented "What Goes Around Comes Around" Bobby Karma. Another recipiant in the Gold Rush Tournament.

[The crowd of reporters applaud Bobby as he exits the stage. He gives a wave as he opens the door and leaves. Freddie is there to greet him. Bobby closes the door behind him and lets out a sigh of relief.]

Freddie: Great job champ, couldn't have said it better myself.

Bobby: Just glad its over.

Freddie: It'll get better with time.

Bobby: I know your right.

Freddie: Ready for lunch?

Bobby: Yeah.

CS Rep: Great job Mr Karma.

Bobby: Thanks.

[Bobby and Freddie exit toward the main exit as the scene fades to an close.]


League Member
Jul 23, 2005
The camera opens on a hand knocking on a door.

Knock! Knock!

See. The hand belongs to a man infamous to the world of the Legacy of Champions, and as the picture pans around to take his trademark red suit, and dazzling white smile it’s pretty obvious that the man in question is Phoenix Rose and the manager extraordinaire is standing outside the home of Kevin Kassidy Kenwright.

After waiting patiently for a number of seconds, the door swung open to the site of a man wearing a chemical-resistant jumpsuit.

Phoenix chuckled as Kevin Kassidy Kenwright allowed his manager into his home.
“What are you wearing?” questioned the former manager of Action N Chaos.

Kevin glanced at his body and then back at his manger through the protective screen. “What?” he shrugged, assuming he looked normal in his get-up.

“That outfit! Why are you wearing it?”

Kevin suddenly flashed a look of realisation across his face as though the reasoning for his suit wasn’t already apparent. “I don’t want to catch the germs of the dirty niggers in the Gold Rush match-up. When we are forced into that ring, me and all those slaves, they are going to be coming at me from every angle. I won’t be able to protect myself from all them and having studied their primitive race I know that they are not above biting to win.”

“You studied their race?” questioned a doubtful Rose.

“Yeah,” nodded Kenwright, which in that suit meant moving his whole torso. “I’ve studied the niggers and the wetbacks.”


“When I watch-”

“When you watch?” interrupted Phoenix with a chuckle. “Your study is from television

“Yeah, ER and Without a Trace have taught me all I need to know.”

“From ER and Without a Trace…”

“Well, you don’t expect to go and watch them in person or something. I’ll catch their AIDS or cancer or something…”

Phoenix shook his head. “Anyway, I came round to drop off the schedule for next week,” he added with a smile, “and now I’m going for coffee with a new lady friend.”

Kevin nodded. He didn’t really expect his manger to hand around all day. They weren’t that close and he was only good for promo help. “Okay, I’ll see you later in the week.”

Phoenix stepped past Kenwright, and you know, “You look like Darth Vader in that thing…”


“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Darth Vader is black! Don’t ever tell me I look black and don’t ever bring up that piece of racist propaganda EVER again.”

“What racist propaganda?”

“Star Wars. A black being have control over all those white warriors. Yeah right. Like that was a fantasy thriller. It was filthy racist propaganda! It made me sick!”

KKK quickly turned from Phoenix Rose and stormed off in disgust as Phoenix watched him with a bizarre puzzlement.


League Member
Nov 24, 2005
The beautiful horizon line of the Windy City is shown, as the camera fades into showing the hustle and bustle of the busy city streets. Babies are heard crying, cell phones ringing, and police sirens wailing. Suddenly the camera appears to be flying above the city, catching a breathtaking overlook of the Windy City of Chicago. The lightning flickers in the distance, and soon the clouds brew blacker and blacker, build up and get chased by the raging storm. The thunder echoes terrifyingly while red flashes cleft the horizon. Suddenly the camera view swings again to reveal its position on top a huge skyscraper. The camera slows to a stop focusing on a dark, foreboding figure standing in the distance. The camera shot moves forward, revealing the large figure, standing at an intimidating six foot five inches, and a near three hundred pounds, peering over the ledge of the skyscraper. The camera moves closer and the man standing there seems unphased. Suddenly, the man begins to speak, startling the cameraman.

Look at them down there.

The man makes a motion toward the people below.

Scurrying about like a bunch of insignificant insects. They don’t know anything about honor, or living by the sword. Not like I do. Do you think they could grasp what is to be like me?

The physically impeccable man turns around and faces the camera with a cynical look on his face.

How rude of me not to introduce myself. The striking resemblance of the CSWA audience to my wrestling home, the FTWO, is uncanny. That is NOT a good thing. I am sure you don’t know who I am so let me introduce myself properly. I am a man of honor, a man of integrity; a man that has gone to hell and back in some of the most grueling matches in professional wrestling history. I have been smacked with chairs, thrown into thumbtacks, shredded in barbed wire and dumped off a scaffold forty feet into the air through a stack of flaming tables. I am a five-time champion, and a former World Heavyweight Champion, with a nearly four month undefeated streak in my rookie campaign. Yet with a resume like this, I am completely forgotten by my FTWO “fans,” and completely dumped on by the FTWO hierarchy. My name is Nate “The Raptor” Redman.

Redman chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief from what he has just said. The reality of his comments has yet to sink in.

After almost a year away from the sport, these comments still sting. I have seen a company that I have built be destroyed with corruption and bloodthirsty fans. I mean, I have to apologize to the CSWA fans about the comparison I made to the FTWO fans earlier. That is not fair. But you have to understand, I have not had the easiest road in professional wrestling. I am from the old school ideal. I was brought up in the sport when a name actually meant something: A time where I thought MY face and name made a difference! I have gone through the ranks, thrown myself off of cells, through flaming tables, hit by cars, kidnapped, my family beaten while I forced to watch, and even stripped of the only thing I hold dear to me: the FTWO World Heavyweight Championship. I proved myself time and time again and you want to know what I got in return? A plate full of crap that’s what! I was selling out arenas across the world, yet it was not quite enough for the FTWO brass. I had arenas full of people screaming my name and wanting to be Nate Redman but that was not good enough. Business was never any better than it was when I was on top of that company. Yet I have been fired, rehired, fired again and completely blackballed from the professional wrestling world and it is not until now that I have made my return. Nearly a year waiting in the hustle and bustle with the people I HATED before I made my move. And its not in the place where I thought it would be.

Redman looks up at the heavens with a smile on his face. Redman, still looks a bit disillusioned by the entire ordeal as he brings his head into his hands and shakes it back and forth.

You see, I needed to wait for the opportune moment, that one shining light that would lead me into position to do my one and only goal left in professional wrestling: destroying what I created, that being the FTWO. And on July 23rd, 2006, nearly one year from the last time I stepped into the squared circle, my prayers were answered. This was the day when I heard the announcement that the CSWA would be holding the Ultimate Goldrush Match on its 18th Anniversary Show. Five rings, all CSWA titles on the line. A historic match not only for the CSWA but for all of professional wrestling. A true event to finally crown who is the best of the best in the professional wrestling world. It couldn’t be a better platform for me to make my return. A big enough stage to stand on so that the whole world can see what I truly think of each and every one of them.

Redman extends his arms forward and flips off the camera. He holds them there for a few seconds before lowering his arms down to where they were.

To finally be able to tell the world that regardless of what they think of me, that I do not need their approval anymore. That I do NOT need the approval of the FTWO bureaucrats that constantly hold back the best talent in order to push their friends and subsequent ass kissers. To show everyone that win, lose or draw, that I am the best damn professional wrestler in the world today. And with that said, I am going to start to plant the seeds right here, right now. And to be the best you have to beat the best, and that is what I plan on doing. So Troy Windham, listen up.

Redman pauses as lightning cracks loudly in the background.

Troy, earlier I spoke about honor, and living by the sword. You might not know who I am but I sure know who you are. From watching you on countless occasions, I know that you can understand what it is to live by the sword. And also by the predicament you have been placed in, I know you can relate to how it feels to bent over by your bosses. I mean, what tougher of a predicament has a World Champion been put in than this one? Four rings full of wrestlers not only from your promotion, but from promotions all over the world. So many performers that are in this match, that you couldn’t possibly be completely prepared. You face the winners of each of these battle royals, all which are now newly crowned CSWA champions, in a five-way match in which you must pin or submit one of these men in order to retain your Unified World Championship. So the champion’s advantage is out the window. Quite honestly, I couldn’t think of a better description of a champion’s DISadvantage.

On top of all of that, your boss has decided that you will also be up against men and women that know you all too well. A competitor like Dan Ryan, a man yes you have dominated in the ring, but is now in an environment that is much more conducive to him that it ever could be to you. Competitors like Lindsay Troy, a World Champion in her own right and your nemesis Eli Flair, a man that you have been battling both in and out of the ring. Hell, he even came out of retirement just to make your life a living hell. These are just three of the dozens of competitors that have been defacing your name in order to better their own in the hopes that they will face you in that center ring for the richest prize in the game. Now I saw that you have addressed these individuals as well as several others, but before you lump me in with the rest of herd, let me tell you that I am not like them. I do not and will not disrespect what you have done or what you can do in that ring. I have been on the other side of that, and regardless of what front you put on to try and hide your feelings, deep down it is damn infuriating. Who are they to have the right to try and drag your good name through the dirt?

You see, me and you live much by the same code. We are both from the old school mentality. We like to let actions do the talking for us. Unlike the other competitors I RESPECT what you can do in that ring, and because of that, it makes me more dangerous than any other competitor in that squared circle. I have studied your each and every move in and out of that ring. I know your strengths and I know your weaknesses. And I know that you have made a guarantee to come out of the Ultimate Gold Rush match with the Unifed World Championship. I admire that. But out of respect for you, I am going to make a guarantee of my own. I am telling you right now that, win, lose or draw, I am going to be coming for you in the Ultimate Gold Rush Match. With you, Troy Windham, I can make my mark on the professional wrestling world. A mark that cannot be erased by live in the moment fans, evil bosses, and the corrupt politics of professional wrestling. My stay in CSWA may be a one time opportunity, or it may be a long term reign, but on August 27th one thing is for certain: the name of Nate Redman will be forever etches in the minds of the fans and in the annals of professional wrestling history. On that night, my name and this face will be one to remembered. On that night, I will prove to everyone, that I am the best in the world. Troy, it will be an honor to do battle with you. See you on the 27th.

John Doe

The Anorexic Ethiopian
Feb 2, 2004
Chicago, IL

John Doe inside of his grand office. He sits a beautiful leather seat behind a cherry oak desk his feet planted on it as he smokes a cigar. He is wearing an Armani suit you know, because he can afford it.


“GOOD NIGHT! I turn my back and all of sudden on public access TV at a non peak hour there are CSWA promo’s shooting left and right that seem to be filmed in the basement. People talking back and fourth as though they are interviewing themselves and having the Late Late Show with promo newb. It’s ridiculous, what more could you expect from ‘Reslers booked in the ALL MIGHTY CSWA!!!”



A GIFT FROM GOD (Doe extends God)

“A company so devoted to it’s wrestlers and so keen on excellence broadcasting they are allowing men to do a 20 minute airtime promo with them talking to some person! The only REAL people have shown any experiences on airtime talking are men like JA and the real great one Troy Windham.”

“You got men hogging up so much television time it turns in a stinking bore-fest. Hello, this isn’t TV Production class! This isn’t survivor and who can put the people to sleep the fastest, JAY SMASH.”

“It’s really ridiculous on how much this company has lowered their standards on talent. I think I expressed my views on TALENT last time I went on air, by the way, last time I appeared on the grand television set I told the world about how I felt about the spectacular CSWA, the CSWA we all love, the CSWA that has such an insight roster that they have allowed guys like Bobby Karma….what a funny name, some dude Kevin Kenwright, who’s name spells out KKK….”

:”WAIT! CSWA allowing a man who’s names somehow spells out the most notorious clan ever in America, go figure. GO F*CKING FIGURE!!!!! This is why people have lost interest in your company! This is why people are thinking they should flip the channel to New Era or WFW, maybe even UCW.”

“This is why nobody cares about your 18th special anniversary celebration (Doe says it mockingly).”

“Being the great business man I am, I say since we have KK, we just hand everyone white hoods. THEN, once we complete that we burn some crosses and lynch a couple spectators. I guarantee you the ratings will blow the roof off the bingo hall!”

“Hell! While we are at it I say we do a little clan ceremony in each of those damn rings. It’ll be like the ultimate show. CSWA is already at the crap stain of the underwear of wrestling, why not just go down with a BANG!”

“You know I say we just give me the title, just put it in my hand, I promise I won’t break it, I would never do such a thing. You all spent to much time creating it out of paper towel rolls and cardboard. It would just rude of me to destroy all that effort you spent coloring it with your crayons.”

“In fact, do you know what I could do for CSWA? I could take this whole company and spin it right around, I could take this right out of the crap shoot! All I need is that title, come on, you know ya’ll want to give it to me.”

“What you want some man like Troy Douglas to hold a title? A man who no showed EPW events?”

“Or a man like Cameron Cruise? A man who’s fantasy is sleeping with Foxx, Lindsay Troy, and Karla Starr all at once.”

“How about a cat on the lines of The Professor? Whose equations equal jobber.”

“Are you getting the picture? Do you understand what I am hinting at here? Or is it to much for your dead higher up corporate dense brains to understand? You all obviously can’t run a god damn company; you need a man like me to hold a damn merit in this damn place.”

“It’s like I am CSWA’s personal Jesus. I will heal and cleanse the company from all the unrighteous, we’ll start with Lindsay Troy, she commits a lot of sins, and I say we stone her.”

“But let’s take this to an all serious level.”

“Your ratings for CSWA have gone so low it’s about the become like the do-do bird and become extinct. POOF! GONE! ZAP! You can say SHA NA NA NA, SHA NA NA NA, HEY HEY GOODBYE!”

“Get the point?”

“Title, should be mine. So, if you were smart, which we all know you aren’t, you will set me in an easy ring, you know, one I can win in. And then all your problems will be settled.”

“And just like that your company becomes a hit.”



I spoil things.
Jan 1, 2000
Merced, California USA
"Dude...John...were you BORN a complete F*CKING IDIOT...or did you have to work at it??"

(Fadein, Cameron Cruise in front of a CSWA backdrop.)

CRUISE: I mean, I've sat back these past couple of days and listened to you run your mouth off about the most pathetic reasons to get on a person's nerve.

Which...as YOU KNOW...doesn't take long for you to accomplish.

After all...you sit here and proclaim yourself disgusted by the fact that the company that you're GIVEN the privilage to Promo for...not that a World Title Match wasn't enough mind you...but you're in the midst of a "Freakshow". A Crapfest, as you like to call it.

Really John?? I mean...over half of the REAL talent here could probably have more skill than that of what you've shown in the past TWO-PLUS-YEARS of your illustrious..."God-Less" and "Icon-Less" CAREER...

(Cruise holds up his right pinkie finger.)

...underneath the DIRT of their fingernail...than you'd EVER have.

Sure you've got the merit.

You've earned the right.

(Cruise stops a second and scratches his chin, which shows abit of a afternoon shadow.

Then again...I completely wiped my ass with what you've said before at least FIVE out of the SIX times we've faced off against each other haven't I John??

That one time??

Hey...Even Superman runs out of Toilet Paper.

"No person in their right mind would want to join the CSWA"...was what you said right??

So tell me John...if you think that this place just absolutely SUCKS, and it BORES you and you're DISGUSTED with what you've seen thus far...

What the F*CK are you doing here??

You've shot two-to-three promos already, proclaiming how much of a DUMP this place is...but yet...you're ~~INTRIGUED~~ by the fact that you have an equal shot at becoming the World Heavyweight Champion??

Make up you're mind sh*t-break otherwise, I'd just as soon as have Dan Ryan ship you his FOAM-version of his "Horse-sh*t" title, because even YOU don't deserve the right to wear that yet.

(Cruise chuckles.)

However...even CHIMPS, now-a-days seem to have contracts, so I guess there's a reason for you to wear a decent suit after all, not that it should matter.

No one's EVER given a sh*t about you, John, which is why it is that those nice, white-uniformed people over at the "Cheer-Me-Up Clinic-For-The-Mentally-Unstable" had to GIVE you money for that suit.

Not that it isn't Armani, I'm sure it is, but to tell ya the truth John, it looks like sh*t and I'll betcha that not even the MEN'S WAREHOUSE would rec you one of those.

(Cruise smiles)

I guarantee it.

In fact hey, I gotta give it to ya John...I'd love to have a fantasy with Lindsay, Foxx, and Karla. I mean...other than the fact that...

A.) I'm married dumbsh*t, my wife's all the woman I need.

B.) If Windham didn't already beat Melton to the punch in getting that impromptu wedding taking care of, he'd STILL be playing "Patty-Cake" with her..

C.) Foxx ain't no Mercedes...

and D.) Because the fact that your fantasy includes Krist Blue, my apparent off-and-wrong-offspring, Kooter, and Carlee Marx just straight up DISGUSTS me, I'd be happy to have Lindsay, Foxx, and Karla in my dreams.

(Cruise, in the midst of a slow pacing back and forth, suddenly stops and his eyes go immediately wide open.)

Wait a second...wasn't Carlee your sister at one time??


Point is John, if YOU'RE smart enough, you'll keep your trap shut until you get in the ring with everyone else.

'Cuz you might not like what you've got coming.

A REALITY CHECK thats gonna hurt....Enima-style, kid.



League Member
Nov 24, 2005
Redman (to himself): Home sweet home.

The scene fades into a familiar place: Nate Redman’s personal training dojo. The sun is beaming down on the unkempt face of “The Raptor” as he readjusts the duffle bag that is draped across his shoulder. Redman begins the walk towards the front door. He quickly enters the decrepit old building and starts to walk briskly through the reception area. As Redman goes to walk past the receptionist’s desk the receptionist leans over trying to get Redman’s attention.


Redman stops in his tracks and sends a piercing glance back at the feeble looking woman sitting at the desk before taking a few steps back toward the woman. Redman stands there and glares at the now trembling receptionist. She is waiting for a response from Redman but she gets nothing.

Receptionist:Mr. Redman…sir.

Redman rolls his eyes before responding.

Redman:What is it that I can do for you?

Receptionist (trembling):Mr. Johnson is waiting for you inside the training center sir.

Redman looks at the receptionist with a befuddled look on his face.


Receptionist: Mr. Billy Johnson sir.

Redman’s confused look is not removed by the receptionist’s clarification.

Receptionist: From FTWO sir.

Suddenly a lightbulb turns on in the head of the former FTWO champion. Redman chuckles as he thinks about the poor backstage interviewer that he has tortured for mere fun during his tenure with the company.

Redman: I tell you what, that kid has some balls.

Receptionist: Should I call for him?

Redman: No need, I’d rather it be a surprise.

Now it’s the receptionist with a befuddled look on her face as Redman makes his way through the sliding glass doors which reveals the immaculate training dojo of Nate Redman. Much unlike the outside of the building, the training center is state of the art. Redman quickly spots Billy Johnson sitting on the opposite side bleachers.

Redman: Mr. Johnson, how are you doing sir?

Caught offguard by Redman’s pleasantness, Billy hesitates to answer.

Redman: Well I see the kind of response I get when I try to be nice to you. Let’s see how this one works.

Redman quickly makes an aggressive motion towards Billy who in turn falls backward off the bleachers and onto the wooden floor. Redman laughs hysterically for several moments before speaking.

Redman: Ah! Much more comfortable now. You do your best interviews from the position Billy. You just stay down there, I have some people to address.

Redman turns toward the camera and now does not appear to be in such a jovial mood.

Redman: So I am sure Billy is here to get FTWO’s thoughts on why I am competing in the Ultimate Gold Rush match. I am sorry but if they do not know already, then the fans are impossibly stupider than I already gave them credit for. You should know better by now Billy!

As Billy picks himself off of the floor, Redman swings his big paw backwards, connecting across the face of the young man, knocking him right back on the floor were he was lying before.

Redman: Now as I was saying, I have a few people to address. I might not get to everyone I want to talk to, but I am sure this is not the last time you will see this mug on the television. To be honest, I don’t even know why I am in this training facility. Do you want to know why? Because if what I have seen on CSWA television is any indication of what the talent level I will be facing in the Ultimate Gold Rush match is going to be, you might as well just sign on a one on one match between myself and Troy Windham. I have to issue an apology to the current CSWA Unifed Champion right because I thought that the CSWA management had it out for you, but apparently I was mistaken. I thought that the CSWA management was going to bring in the BEST talent from around the world to try and take away what is most precious to you, but that is not the case. Instead the ham and egger brigade and the job squad have thrown their hats in and that is about it. If it wasn’t for yours truly, and yourself of course, there wouldn’t even be a need for a damn celebration because from what I see, this company is on the downward spiral. If this is all that they can come up with then they should just shut up the building, lock the doors, board the windows and call it a day. It’s going to be a down right disgrace to have to step into the ring with some of these enhancement talent low lives. Did CSWA not have a screening process for any of these people? I thought this match was only open to the best of the best? Have the opened it up to common low life scum, like many of the wrestling fans watching this program right now? Because if that is the case…

Redman scratches his chin and thinks for a moment…

Redman: Maybe I take back what I said because I would love to get my hands on some of these no good hypocritical pieces of excrement in the ring legally. Once again, I digress. Let me get back to the “talent” that is in this Gold Rush match. Men, and I use that term loosely, like Kevin Kassidy Kenwright.

Redman snickers as he shakes his head in disappointment.

Redman: This guy is straight out of the movie American History X, including the prison shower scene. What makes you think that cleverly naming yourself to have the initials KKK was garner you any sort of respect? I know it’s not going to get a damn bit from me. I have dealt with all sorts of your type on the streets. You all preach one thing and then do another. Typically screaming “White Power! White Power!” to cover up some sort of short coming or flaw in your psyche. These type of people hoard in groups because you are cowards, afraid to do what is necessary for your “cause.” I hate to break it to you, but marching in parades every Friday screaming about your rights is not going to help you conclude your “Ultimate Solution.” Quite frankly, it reminds me of another sect of the population that you are not quite fond of. Coincidence? I think not.

The arrogance that Redman exudes is nearly suffocating. Redman takes a short pause before continuing.

Redman: Do you think your “hottest rookie” status in a fed that I have never even heard of before is going to make me any more afraid of you? I doubt it. I have a question I would like to pose to you. Who gave you that title? Was that the fed that you represent so prominently in your white pillowcase gown? Or was it your mother who believes you are still a good boy deep down inside? Or could it possibly be the black community? Well lets just say for the sake of chance that it’s the first one. Your fed, promoting prejudice and hatred, thinks you are the next best thing since sliced bread. What exactly have you done to earn such a “prestigious” title? I mean, for all we know you could be just like all the rest of these ham and eggers that come into the most well known and prestigious wrestling promotion in the world to make a name for himself because he isn’t getting pushed enough in his home fed or they don’t let me win all my matches or my mommy didn’t give me enough hugs when I was little so I take it out on black people. You want to hear about hot rookies? Do you want to see what an actual talent is? Then let me tell you about a man that I know fairly well. In his rookie campaign he posed a stellar 28-6 record including a four month undefeated streak, five championship reigns, one of those being the World Heavyweight Championship. He has been through Hell in the Cell matches, barbed wire matches, and flaming tables scaffold matches. Name it and this person has been through it and came out on the winning end. If you want to know who that person is, you can seek him out on August 27th. He will be wearing red tights with black trim, with the name Nate Redman smeared across the back of them. And I am sure if you seek him out, the only gold rush that you will feel is the beam of golden lights you will see from the rafters above as you are disposed of over the top rope and to the concrete floor. But don’t feel bad KKK, you are not the only joke that is in this match. At least you are not this douche.

Redman reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a picture of Xion Exodus.

Redman: Jesus Christ CSWA, where do you find these people? If there was ever a personification of a wrestling fan trying to be a wrestler, this schmuck would be it.

Redman slaps on a goofy looking face and begins an attempt at a Xion Exodus impression.

Redman: My name is Xion Exodus. I had my legs broken by the Gleaming Golden Man God…mmmmmmm…Man God…

Redman begins to caress his chest and body in a seductive manner as he continues.

Redman: And put me in this mountain home for three years where I did nothing but sit on my ass all day eating pork rinds and competing in homosexual pornography…Wait did I just say that? I mean I was “training” for my return to the ring.

Redman snaps out of his impression.

Redman: Give me a freaking break! I mean, I have seen ****ty promos but that has to be one of the worse pieces of garbage I have ever had the “pleasure” of listening to. I mean, its blatantly obvious as to why you were so successful in the PWF. You had…how can I say this…a “silver tongue.” Please for the sake of this historic match and the respectability of Troy Windham and the CSWA Unifed Championship, please do not bother to show up on August 27th. Make a hair appointment, go see a movie, stroke goats in the forest, do whatever you have to do. But please, just stay away from anything resembling a wrestling ring. But if you do happen to defy me and disgrace the one respectable promotion left in professional wrestling, please realize that I am going to have to retire you. Its as simple as that. That three year vacation you took will be your permanent future. So if you do decide to come and disgrace the professional wrestling world once again, that is what your immediate future will hold.

Redman shakes his head as if he cannot believe what he has to put up with to get a shot at the most prestigious title in the game.

Redman: And just when I thought it could not get any worse…

Redman flashes a picture of “K-9” Kevin Watson.

Redman: You have this poor washed up bastard. Hell, he even admits that he is washed up and just looking for another payday. I almost feel sorry for this guy. ALMOST. His career “skyrocketed” in the much “prestigious” MWC. Personally never heard of it, but considering you were in the promotion and headlining, it must have been HUGE. But how far you have fallen in six years. You actually make an appearance or two in the CSWA, failing miserably. Presumably because you were a big fish in a small puddle in MWC and a tadpole in the ocean of CSWA. Its perfectly alright for perennial failures such as yourself make excuses such as that last one. We all understand you had absolutely no business stepping inside of a CSWA ring. However, you must have missed that memo as you continued your CSWA stint with loss after loss, proving without a shadow of a doubt that you were the greatest jobber to ever grace a CSWA ring. Then in your infinite wisdom, after you accomplished everything you possibly could in the CSWA, you moved onto greener pastures in Japan.

Redman can’t help but laugh.

Redman: I bet Japan loved that American import almost as much as they loved us decimating two of their cities in the 1940s. Apparently the title best jobber in America was not quite good enough for you so you went to Japan to expand your craft of laying on your back and having someone count to three. To your credit, I thought you picked up the intricacies of the Japanese jobbing style very well. However, the Japanese felt different as they quickly boxed you up and shipped your ass right back here to the good ole US of A. But finally, to end the sad story with a happy ending, you have finally have found your niche in professional wrestling. Going from high school gym to high school gym around the country…sweeping floors and cleaning the mats.

Billy Johnson pulls himself up and taps Redman on the shoulder. Redman turns around to see what he wants.

Johnson: Mr. Redman…sir…I am pretty sure he wrestled in those gyms.

Redman swings his arms back in complete shock as to what Billy said, “inadvertently” hitting Billy across the face and knocking him to the ground for a third time.

Redman: I did not know that Billy. Thanks for your input. But anyway, regardless of whether you wrestled or cleaned the floors, one thing is for certain: if you end up in the same ring as me come August 27th, they will need a team of janitors to clean your blood from the mats. It’s a damn shame I don’t have more time right now to address the other “talent” that is in this match, but for some reason, my trainer thinks I actually need to train for this match. To train for talent like yourselves. God knows why. But I am sure this will not be the last you have heard from me. So if you were not mentioned in this tirade, trust me, your time will be coming soon.

Redman gets up and walks off camera as the shot fades to black.


League Member
Jan 5, 2004
in your pupil
Darkness.....all one can see is the vague impression of silence; the choking grasp of the abyss one faces when one looks deep into their soul to find nothing, absolutely nothing; the chilling void that feels, insists, DEMANDS the need to be filled. The hollow drop of water through old, dilapidated pipes, startles the silence causing it to flea into hiding leaving only the open wounds of nothingness; negation to the point of departure. The steady, yet off beat, tapping echoing through the darkness like an out of tune timpani stamping the beat of the heart of a dying man. Like Chinese water torture this single sound slowly insisting on signifying the silence between them in this all encompassing blackness continues for an excrutiating duration before I voice shatters the void with rough, poignant pronunciations like a drunk priest.

"I am no longer myself, but if I am not myself then who am I? I can't be no-self so I must be some-self, but from whence came this self if it's not myself? What bothersome questions for what good is the self without the world? What good is the world without some self? Such selfish questions, I must have a self, but why isn't it myself? When did I lose myself, and what self replaced it? How did I put myself here, and why?"

Suddenly an explosion of primal screams that vibrate the invisible scene, seemingly with a lot of open spaces constructed of hollow metal, and reverberated throughout the soulless steal coming into view touching skin; some circular curves pressed tightly against a pale wrist is all that can be seen. With a flourescent flicker a figure draped by his wrists appears; hair in knots falling everywhere, what seems to be a formerly very nice and formel dress shirt now ruffled and torn.

"What a pointless attempt to stop this belligerent brain of mine from asking such nonsensical egocentric questions with no hope of answer because they stem from the self with aspirations of arriving at the self. How can the self make an object of the self while still being the observer of this object? Absurd! Absurd! Yet still: my, my, my, my, my, my, my, my, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I…BLAGHCK! I'm sick of this, and still I say I! Can I not go a moment without thinking about myself even when I'm no longer myself? What the hell happened to me?


As he exhausts his lung's supply of air, his body collapsing in defeat, he seems to notice some pain in his wrists, and glances over at the metal restraints holding his arms tight. Unable to expel the anguish of the perverted passion of the position-less self he allows gravity to take over and fall to he knees. Yet he fails even at that as his knees hesitate and hover inches from the concrete floor. His body held in suspension by the strain placed on hiswrists with the aid of handcuffs and steal supports.

"Am I still talking about myself? Have I come this far, and still can think only about myself, even now, when I know what I do with myself affects others; that everything that I do affects others. At least, then, I know I'm doing something right. Or, more precisely, something good will come of what I've done with the destruction of me and what I've done with my selfish existence.

Myself, whatever became of that bastard, would probably protest to such a proclamation. He'd give me hell about the world I was born into and the life I wanted to bring out of it; he'd go on and on about ideals crashing head-on with harsh realities, and that one of them will win in this fight and I'd better not help it be the harsh realities; I should create the reality that should be; he'd remind me of the freedom I can't escape from, and that each moment is a simultaneous death and resurrection of myself; that if I want change I'd better make it. What a fool, and I'm still looking for the ****er.

FREEDOM? HA! Freedom to fail! I can change the world, and it'll just change itself right back. Then I get to be one of those grand failures in the history books that give the future false hopes. Those beautiful souls that give their lives to the world that a handful of generations throughout history get to see in small corners of existence that become booming testimony to the greatness life can be, but never becomes. I'm not even talking about the major atrocities of war, global catastrophies, government corruption, or any of that. We can't even get treating each other as human beings right. Who could save the world when the inhabitants of the world are trying so hard to kill each other? You know what they say about a drowning man: he'll drown you to save himself. Everything is so panicked the most one can hope for is apathy in which every outstretched hand is a dangerous invitation disguised in friendly greeting to be dragged into a sea of stupidity. And even if you can pull yourself out of this sea, these currents of contempt and corruption, all you can hope for is to bring the warm glow of life back into the world, for just a moment considered cosmically, to try to breath life back into the people you've dragged with you ,gasping past their purple, dying skin, desperately desiring both death and deliverance; distinction and destiny; damnation and divinity. Then the world keeps right on spinning just as before.

Revolutions make the world go 'round, but never reverse the momentum.

Boy Ghandi sure was great, but there's still people stepping over homeless people to go supersize their bigmac meal; Jesus sure had some swell ideas, but there sure are plenty of people getting raped right now; Bhudda sure was a nice guy, but there's probably somebody getting killed this very instant that I'm telling you this because somebody disagreed with him about something that doesn't matter at all."

A change in camera angle shows that the crumpled hair over this man's face is moist, but one can't tell if it's sweat, tears, or blood, either case is becoming easily possible. The view also displays a gigantic bottle of whiskey a few feet in front of his feet, with a handful of shots still at the bottom, and this mysterious man seems to be staring it down as if he hopes to acquire the remainder of the poison through some sort of sick telekenetic osmosis. He stretches both of his arms as far forward as he can, the chains pull taught making a chilling clinking, and his fingers dance with the air still far from his target. After a few minutes of this he lets out yet anjother horrible scream stretching his chest and neck taught along with the chains holding him back. After the last of this demon of carbon dioxide is excorsized from his body he collapses in a tremble to his familiar, docile position.

"I sure wish I had finished tha...."

A tumultuous torrents of flame interrupt this sentence as a hellfire of an explosion engulfs this man, this bottle, his handcuffs, and everything in sight becomes a crimson red forever flowing; the screen becoming that eternally equivocal evince that can only be expressed through fire; the constant scorching of oxygen, turning all into ash, yet all you see is the constant ember, fire, cinging your vision; always seemingly the same sight, but never the same in any instant for the fire has moved on.

John Doe

The Anorexic Ethiopian
Feb 2, 2004
Chicago, IL

John Doe, same office.


“Cameron Cruise, Cameron Cruise, Cameron Cruise. You never have learned your lesson, you never get the god d*mn picture. You are like a d*mn gnat you fly around making noise annoying the piss out of people and then BAM! I swat your ass down.”


“You like every other HAS BEEN, LOW LIFE, GOOD FOR NOTHING, OLD TIMER around this joint is stuck in this cloud nine in the sky believing that you are untouchable (He flails his arms in the air)”

“You my friend, you are a God (he shakes his finger)”

“I mean hell let us all rejoice our master Cameron Cruise has arrived…..REJOICE, REJOICE! Let him hear your voice, and all of Cameron’s people said amen.”

(Doe flicks off the camera)

“**** you Cruise, how’s that for a little hello, hello? Huh? What you think I like the fact that we may be in the same ring that we are in the same match. It’s like at every corner I turn there is a hooker named Cameron Cruise right there trying to whore himself out to the fans.”

“Cameron, you don’t look at the company before you get into it. I DO. I SEE THIS PLACE AS A SH*T HOLE! It’s humorous on how truly pathetic this place is Cameron, they have a handful of NOBODIES. Including yourself in my book Cammy.”

“Let me ask you this Cammy.”

“If you owned a company would you provide an open challenge for your most prestigious title? Would you allow any bullsh*tting piece of crap wrestler enter your ‘business’. Not unless your desperate for ratings to grab some sort of audience left and to get some reaction back from the fans. Because frankly after 18 years the product has become old and redundant……just like you…”

“You and CSWA have a lot of thinks in common Cameron. You both suck, you both are a bore fest, you both are pathetic, I think maybe now you get the picture I am painting. Maybe now you will understand why this company needs me and not you. why they need a man of my merit.”

“Your damn Skippy I got merit and I have earned. You are just to blind by your own stupidity to see it. Look around I want you to take a good look around and the local feds you may see me in. Maybe, New Era…..Main component of DREDD, which by the way is the top faction ever created.”

“Look at a little place called WFW, which holds my good friend Jonathan Marx as a share holder. Mmmhmm, main player.”

“Oh and how about that federation called UCW….oh you should know that one by heart Cameron. You asked for it pal, you asked for it.”

“See Cruise you can say you pinned me five out of six times but I want you to think about everything you just stated, you pinned me….”

“I didn’t defeat you because you cheated.”

“No….it wasn’t by count out…”

“I’m positive it wasn’t a pin fall…”

“What was it again…..oh yes…”


“You gave up, you slapped your little dirty hand on the mat and you gave up. Hell any ass hole can give up Cameron.”

“But you are an achiever! You strive for success! You want this title so bad you can taste the sharpie markers all over the title they created!”

(He leans into the camera)

“Then again Cameron, do you really think you, a person to give up so easily will be able to led a company such as CSWA? A company that has fell so far down to wrestling ooze it will take a strong SUCCESSFUL leader that won’t GIVE UP.”

“Currently you don’t fit the profile Cammy. And you never will. You NEVER will come up to the standard, you will always fall short. How many years have you been running around like a chicken with your head cut off Cammy?”

“Eight? Nine? Ten? Years? Of ATTEMPTING to gain recognition around any sort of main stay federation. And guess what Cammy, you still haven’t popped the cherry of the federation owners. You still haven’t giving them the reason they should give you a title.”

“By the way Cammy, no one had to give me money for this suit. When you are a successful businessman such as myself whom works with geniuses such as Jonathan Marx and Brandon Jacobs money rolls in like sand in the desert.”

“It’s insulating to think this is NOT an Armani suit…”

“Not an Armani suit? NOT AN ARMANI SUIT?! Only a hilly Billy redneck would say such a thing, this is coming from the cat who must shorten his words by using ya all and ain’t. This is coming from a cat that probably couldn’t get past grammar class and how to write in cursive.”

“Ignorant asshole….you know honestly I wonder why these cats are allowing to come and wrestle for them, I wonder why anyone would allow a QUITER to wrestle for them. Just pray your not in the same ring with me cause I’ll make SURE you are going to have to chalk another up for me.”

Last edited:


League Member
Nov 24, 2005
The scene opens up and we see an extreme close-up of a wooden door. The camera backs up a step and the door slowly creaks open. The smell of must and sweat is almost overwhelming as the door opens wider, providing a better look of what hides behind it. The dim camera light creates dancing shadows across the large square room, before revealing an old, battered wrestling ring. Inside the ring sits a dilapidated wooden chair, with Nate Redman sitting his large frame upon it.

Redman: Welcome. Welcome to my home. My REAL home. This is where I learned the craft.

He runs his fingers across his forehead, then up through his hair, thinking to himself before continuing.

Redman: Not that state of the art masterpiece that I was in yesterday, but here. Among the mold, the dirt, the grime is where I learned what it took to become a professional wrestler. After yesterday’s tirade, I thought this was an appropriate venue for my next discussion of my countless future victims. I mean, I might not know or care to know anything about any of the hacks in this match, but I am sure they feel the same way about yours truly. I am sure they have no clue what I have been through or what they are facing come the 27th of August. I know you are all thinking that I just came off of the streets and stepped into this battleground, but you are all dead wrong. Once again you have made a negative assumption towards me, not giving me enough credit. But to be quite honest, I am used to that from the countless number of “smarks” who think they know everything about the business and the men that make it run. I am not conceded enough to know that without the proper preparation, I would never succeed in my endeavors here in CSWA or any other wrestling promotion for that matter. I trained for years, while continuing my work for…other business associates, until the time was right. The time for me to break out of this dungeon and enter the limelight. Now, I have a new challenge in front of me. Dozens of men and women stand in my way of accomplishing the ultimate goal anyone can attain not only in this company but in the entire professional wrestling world: The CSWA Unified Championship of the World. A title held by a man very deserving of the crown, Troy Windham. But as I talked about before, there are several that are very undeserving of such a title, and it will be my job August 27th to make sure that none of these competitors make it to the golden ring. I mean for example, lets take a look at this “competitor.”

Redman pulls a picture of Jay Smash.

Redman: Now this so-called athlete has the audacity to call himself a World’s champion. Just me saying the words Jay Smash and World Champion in the same sentence is sacrilegious. Just you hold a leather strap with tin plates super glued onto it does not make you a World’s Champion. A champion is a person that is clearly superior to the rest. A champion is a person that exudes the attributes of a winner: a warrior. Honor. Intensity. Integrity. Heart. Desire. The will to win. All of these are needed to become a champion. Not holding a unknown championship. Not complaining about little burn marks you got on your back. Not trying to intimidate a doctor with a lighter. Actions like that pop up characteristics in my head like cowardice, impiety and a lack of fervor. These are all characteristics in which you exude Jay Smash: all characteristics of a loser. You don’t wear your badges of honor with pride, you do not exude the characteristics of a champion, and you certainly not a warrior. Regardless of how much your promotion tells you that you are the real deal, you know every time you look in that mirror that you are not. That there is not enough talent in three Jay Smashes to fill the boots of someone like myself. Or even better, someone like the current CSWA World Heavyweight Champion Troy Windham. Now there is a man that radiates honor, oozes integrity, and bleeds intensity. He is a champion that we all can and should be proud of. He, like myself, wears his badges of honor with pride. You complain of a small burn you probably got from a shower that was a bit too hot. If you think that is a badge of honor, then let me show you this.

Redman removes his shirt and turns his back to the camera, showing to the world his numerous third degree burn scars from his infamous forty-foot fall through the stacks of flaming tables. The skin looks as if it has been put under a magnifying glass and melted, as one would do to a sister’s Barbie doll. Redman pulls his shirt back down and continues.

Redman: Now Jay Smash, those are true scars. Those are badges of honor. Not the brush burns you had on your back. I received mine from a forty-foot fall into the abyss of flaming tables. I remained in the flaming wreckage for over two minutes! TWO MINUTES! Do you know the excruciating pain you go through when the majority of your body is engulfed in flaming white hot fire? Can you possibly fathom the psychological torture you go through watching the skin peel away from your flesh and there is nothing…NOTHING you can do about? But do you want to know what was the worst thing? The smell. The smell of your flesh being blackened and burned away, wondering when in the hell the staff was going to put out the fire. If at all. Let me answer all of those questions for you Jay Lethal! You do not! You do not have a freaking clue! Going through something like that puts you on another level! Going through something like that gives you something that no one can ever take away from you. It gives you the ability to call yourself a champion. Now to this point in your career you have not through such a cataclysmic event. However, on August 27th, if you make it into the same ring as myself, you will see what it takes to become a TRUE champion. You will earn your title of champion, however you will not realize your dream of being CSWA Unifed Champion. And with that said, it brings me to another man that has been on my mind: A man that goes by the name of Peter Lenex.

Redman chuckles a bit but shakes his head in agreement, appearing to finally like a piece of talent that will be in the Ultimate Gold Rush Match.

Redman: Now this is a man that I can almost respect. ALMOST. The “God of War” Peter Lenex. Now before I begin, I feel it necessary to give a bit of a history lesson on this gentleman. For five years this man “dominated” a fed that he admits is not well known. I can respect that. He knows that he comes from nothing and doesn’t try to make himself sound as some big thing. In this fed he won tag titles, intercontinental titles, television titles and a world title. He eventually was selected into their hall of fame which I can’t image being much more than him and a bunch of other enhancement talent but that is neither he nor there. Apparently that wasn’t good enough or he wasn’t a big enough draw to keep the place open because it has been since deceased for a long while now. I guess that is understandable when you are banking on a “draw” such as Peter Lenex. But even though he tried his best, the company took a dive, leaving their only surviving worker high and dry. BIG SHOCK. I almost fell over when I heard him ***** and moan about a wrestling promoter bending over a wrestler and not giving him their just deserts. There is only so much *****ing and complaining I am going to deal with though. Honestly, did you think that they were going to give you a big cut of something when the company folded? I mean, its pretty hard to split up bankruptcy. I am sure they would have given you a promissory note or two if you so desired. See, I wouldn’t even have a problem of you complaining about your plight if you actually got off of your ass and did something about it. I mean that is what I am doing. I have made a pledge to destroy everything I created in the wrestling business and start anew. Now I already know you destroyed your wrestling company by your lack of charisma and poor in-ring ability but I mean there are other things that you can do to pass the time. One being coming into the same ring as me on August 27th and getting your ass handed to you by yours truly. You feel this is your last match, your last chance at becoming a legend. And I promise you “God of War,” if you step into my path on August 27th, I will put you into the history books as just another victim of Nate “The Raptor” Redman. And I will be the one to finally put the Dirt Nap on not only a joke of a career but your piss poor existence. But unlike yourself, this next competitor is someone that I completely respect one hundred percent. And I am talking about you, Xias.

Redman shakes his head in agreement as to confirm what he has just said.

Redman: That’s right Xias. I respect you. Not everything about you but I do respect one aspect of your life. This aspect I feel you have a dead on perspective on and with that might be able to by you a small reprieve in the Ultimate Gold Rush match. Want to take a guess at what it is? Well its definitely not your in ring ability. It’s definitely not your poise or charisma. And it definitely isn’t the way that your carry yourself. What could it be then? Well the answer is simple: it is your ideals Xias that I respect. Your hatred for the American wrestling fan and its wrestling promoters is dead on accurate. I mean I couldn’t say it any better myself. If I could quote you, I believe you said, “America has the worst wrestling fans in the world, and hell, the worst wrestling promotions in the world too.” I couldn’t agree with you more. I knew I wasn’t the only intelligent wrestler still left on this continent. I mean, we had to import you but still, you are here and that is what matters. I wish I could only talk you into staying and helping me destroy the hearts and minds of the wrestling fans here in America and all its crummy promotions.

Redman shrugs his shoulders and looks as to be thinking diligently about something.

Redman: Well of course if we were to do that you would have to learn some in ring skills, maybe how to talk on the mic, how to carry yourself like a respectable human being, chew with your mouth closed, and or to make a long story short pretty much change every other aspect of your existence. Because the way you are now Mr. Hot Free Agent, you are not going to cut the mustard. Do you honestly think you are going to waltz back into this promotion and take the CSWA Unifed Championship? Especially when we have champion as deserving and rugged as Troy Windham? You are not only the three people that actually enjoy what you do in the ring but you are kidding yourself as well. If that is what you expected, then you might as well hop back on your little jet plane and kamikaze your ass right back to Japan. I don’t care if you have been a United States and World Champion before. It does not matter to me. I don’t care if you have the support of the Dhali Lama himself. I am still going to hoist you onto my shoulders come August 27th and deliver the Kiss of Death not only to your chances of winning the CSWA Unifed Championship, but to ever stepping foot inside a professional wrestling ring again.

Redman appears to be finished talking about the Undeniable One when something suddenly hits him like a brick wall.

Redman: To be honest “Undeniable One,” I just think you are pissed because my ancestors manhandled your ancestors and took away the only thing your ancestors ever had of any value: this country. Could there be just a little bit of sour grapes there? I know it sucks that your current family members are stuck drinking the livers away and gambling the few dollars they get a week from picking berries or whatever Injins do now, but it could be worse. For example, they could be you on August 27th. They could have to come nose to nose, face to face with Nate Redman. Or they could be Troy Douglas.

With every word the Redman speaks his confidence as well as his ego become potent. Redman pauses for a brief moment before continuing to speak about CSWA’s own Troy Douglas.

Redman: Now if you thought that Native Americans have had it bad, then you have yet to meet Troy Douglas. This man was subjected to living by the hallowed halls of the CSWA Auditorium for nearly his entire childhood. If you would have asked me if that was such as crime a few days ago, I might have spoke quite differently, but now being apart of the CSWA “family” for the past week, I would have to disagree. I mean, this Ultimate Gold Rush match is supposed to have some sort of meaning but look at the talent that the wonderful promoters here in the CSWA have brought in. Its pathetic! And they poisoned a man that could have potentially had a highly successful career as a janitor or garbage man, but no! The CSWA poisoned his mind and he caught the wrestling bug. He wanted to be the CSWA Unifed Champion. He was there when Joey Melton first won the championship gold, and it inspired him to throw his life away and become nothing but a jobbing ***** for stars like Troy Windham. Now I saw your latest promo and must say, I am not impressed. To be honest Troy, its not a smart move to announce your entire strategy to the world or show weakness by allowing your feeling to be hurt, especially by some ***** that is really going to matter come August 27th.

A smile creeps across Redman’s face at the mention of Lindsay Troy Windham.

Redman: I could almost hear the proverbial “Ohhhhh!” from the viewers at home. I know what I said and to whom about and I really just don’t care. For those who think I bit off more than I can chew, I am telling you that she doesn’t know the kinds of joy I take from defiling women in the center of the ring.

Redman closes his eyes and turns his head to the side, in almost an orgasmic trance, thinking about the horrors he has caused women competitors over his short time in the sport.

Redman: But I will save those stories for you Lindsay for another day and time. And if you want to bring your boyfriend Joey Melton along for the story time feel free, because I am sure he will be okay with a second man defiling his love on a regular basis. Now I am way off track. Back to Troy Douglas. Troy, I personally don’t care how much tape you study, how much training you do, or how much that title means to you. Come August 27th, bounty or no bounty, I am going to finish the job that God was unable to eight years ago. I am going to make you a f*cking cripple and I am going to enjoy every second of it.

And with the last words escaping the mouth of Nate Redman, the screen fades to black.


League Member
Jan 5, 2004
in your pupil
What is it about a beautiful blue sky that makes you put so much faith in the day going so well? The immaculate sky has that calming affect one can only hope to get from an IV of Thorazine and benzodiapenes in each and every vein, the sweet, sultry sun soaking up the only empty space in the vast blue up above sending down salubrious shining kisses on every inch of exposed skin, reminding you that all is well. The wind gently caressing you as it flows through your hair headed towards one of it’s many other lovers to be found walking the streets. The sound of children’s laughter, followed by parent’s instructions cleverly disguising their concern in nonchalant demeanors, provides most of the music to this symphony of sights and sensations known as the summer’s day; this is the kind of day that writes love a story that no one will read except the few who enjoy it the most. A man’s clean-shaven face suddenly takes the place of the sky in your vision. A powerful jaw line moves in calculated fashion to support an incoming cigarette being placed into fine, almost pampered, lips. The slightly unkempt sideburns lead up to an almost slicked back pony-tail hair style to display a forehead deep in relaxed contemplation that would go un-noticed to most any untrained eye; sun glasses dark as the end of days mask whatever unequivocal evince resides in the eyes of this man to clinch just what is going on in his mind.

Letting a select system of swirls escape his partially opened mouth he begins to walk with a confident stride. With the camera panning out the rest of the cancerous cycles of gray flow from his nose down to his white shirt covered by a freshly pressed black vest, centered beautifully by a medallion of prosperity, and finally dissipating throughout the air surrounding him. A small child brushes against his pinstripe pants, but he neglects to even notice as his confident stride onward, and outward continues as if nothing ever happened. The hand containing his cigarette drops almost lifelessly next to his side as he lets out another lungful of dancing death, and more children cross his path almost getting run into, and probably over, by this almost oblivious march. In the background you can see the unmistakable markings of the consumer, the immense red “K” telling all that low-priced bargains financed by gutting your community, giving slave-wages to other countries, and keeping their eyes on that capitalist prize: your wallet.

As this man continues his stride, and the camera pans further out, one with a knowledge of CSWA history could make the assumption that this man is none other than Nemesis. They would, of course, quickly dismiss this assumption as the man walking in this nice vest and pinstripe pants is put together, organized, well groomed…..maybe even pretty. The Nemesis that the CSWA enthusiast would remember would be the antithesis of this presentation of a person, but some of the similarities in facial structure (or deconstructure as the case may be) and his walk through this parking lot ring a few bells. The walk away from the K-Mart plaza continues without a hint of change in his facial expression, but as the K-mart comes into full view the expression on it’s face explodes into a wall of destruction flowing quickly towards the camera. Lumber, shopping carts, blue-light special signs, buy one get one free slacks all come flying towards the camera carried by this current of crimson.

“What? I can’t be alive!”

The scene is suddenly nigh pitch black, but from what little light there is one can make a shadowy figure slumped down amongst a carpet of random debris, and what appears to be walls surrounding him going several feet up. The figure’s hair is in shambles, and as he beats his fists against the slick, metallic sounding walls you can make out what appears be the remnants of shackles on his wrists.

“**** **** ****! GOD DAMNIT I CAN’T BE ALIVE!”

Suddenly realizing how much commotion he is making the figure ceases any movement momentarily and waits..


After several minutes the figure stands, looks around, and leaps over one of the walls. The sounds of footsteps disappearing into the distance leads into nothingness.


I spoil things.
Jan 1, 2000
Merced, California USA
"I'll be damned....maybe Lindsay WAS right after all about you, John. I guess a piece of sh*t...ANYWAY YOU LOOK AT IT...NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU POLISH IT....will always be a piece of sh*t, and you can lead a B*tch to water...but he still won't know what to think..."

(Fadein, Cameron Cruise in front of a CSWA GOLD RUSH backdrop.)

CRUISE: See...what you fail to realize John, what you fail to see what's RIGHT F*CKING IN FRONT OF YOU...is that while you always think that I never get the picture....I'm actually LIVING IT.

Who do you know that's competed in front of Emperors and Kings, Hugh Hefner one day and the Duchess of York the next?? Nobody right?? Who do you know that's had to wrestle a kids' charity event one day and then wrestle 'gators over in Florida, not for the pleasure of it, mind you I'm sure there's someone who enjoys it very well...but for the simple fact of expanding the exposure of something AWESOME...that and because I needed the job to payoff a couple of midnite-Long-distance-calls a certain someone made to Little Voltron, Troy, and 1-900-Call Girls named Chloe and Betty-Lou while over in Vegas.

LAS VEGAS, John!! Who do you know who's competed over there only because the interest in the entertainment was SO LARGE for the Main Event, that even Wayne Newton called in his own performance to watch??

Then again...what do I know right??

You've been in a Mental Institution over half you're life...not really with a Legitamate NAME..

WATCHING...the-better-part-of-ten-years of this sport pass you by, not because you didn't have the potential of getting involved..no sir...that damned Tapioca pudding was just too good to leave alone by itself...SOMEONE had to eat it...

So why not you, right John??

To take a page outta Melton's Bible...let's put it to you this way, Doe-boy:

Jesus never wanted you for a Sunbeam, and he never will.

(Cruise paces back and forth abit as he continues.)

See, while you maintain that I suck, and I'm horrible at what I do...you fail to even look at yourself in the mirror after you open that hole in your face you call a mouth and speak....so think about this a second.

If what I'm doing is so irrittating and annoying to you that it frustrates you all to hell and you can't sleep at night...when all I've done is prove a small point..then you're already on the mat, I just haven't decided to put my foot on your chest for the cheap win, only on account of the fact that I'm just too lazy to give a damn.

The point?? I'm not untouchable, John...even though the thought of you wanting to touch me, disgusts me all to hell and I'm thinkin' 'bout letting Beau take care of the problem....I'm not.

I just think that I'm better than you, and the recordbooks prove it.

Sure...I tapped out. But what else do you haveta do to finish a match, on account that a steak dinner with your name on it, is waiting for you in the back??

I was bored..which..unlike our track record shows...with the fact that I had to carry you on my back like f*cking Atlas through the match.

NOTHING you showed me at all was impressive to me.

As for the other matches that you had no chance in...

Hey, a win is a win kid, and I knew what I was doing when I did it.

You've got Merit.


I'll bet you haven't even gotten a chance to meet MERRITT, let alone give him a reason to believe that YOUR so-called "Merit" is worth a damn around here.

Who'dja talk to John?? Or was it the sign-up list waiting outside of every venue we go to that let's the fans come backstage for autographs and pictures afterwards, and you just HAPPENED to sneak by Manuel Juarez??

By the way...if you think DREDD is the best faction ever created...then I think there's a few others that might be awaiting you arrival for a small reunion, namely The Elimination Squad, Degeneration Next, Manifest Destiny, and whoever it was that Eddy Love managed to brainwash, along with Hiroshi.

Poor Kin...

That Muff-diving-in-Son-of-A-B*tch is finally getting his, after all this time.

But yet, you're one to preach about being successful, right John??

Hiding out in a looney-bin half your life only to be led around by the ear by Marx and his sister...and not being able to get any of the Goodies that go with.

See, you claim yourself to be someone to be reckoned with, but yet, you get a rise in your shorts just because you were able to get 'W' off of someone who's EARNED something over the past ten years.

Tell me something John.

You beat me once outta five-to-six times.

I beat Melton, Beast, AND Ryan in the span of a MONTH.

What have you done as impressive?? I mean, you say that I've always fallen short of the standard, etc,etc,etc...

But since when do you even have the slightest F*CKING IDEA what the standard IS??

But take heart, John. I was being gracious in the fact that I was assuming that the suit you have on was Armani, but hey...if you borrowed that from Marx's "October '93", that's cool too...just be man enough to admit it.

There's no shame in borrowing cash from your fellow man, John...or "Gentleman" as it were.

But if you're never willing to pay it back sometime in the eventual future, then as far as I'm concerned you can stay Satan's B*tch.

Because that's no way to play the game, Doe-boy.

There's also no shame in quitting, either John, hey...save your health for another match is just as honerable.

But then again...

I was never committed to a MENTAL INSTITUTION, was I?

You said I asked for it.

You're F*CKING RIGHT I did. That's why I'm IN this match.

To prove a point to irritants like YOU, and to the King of Slackers himself, Troy Windham.

I'm not saying that I'm overconfident of my ability.

I just know that I'm better than you, and almost half-a-dozen matches, proves it, plain and simple.

Whether or not you want to ACCEPT that...is just a REALITY CHECK that you just...won't like.


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