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Superbowl of Wrestling: Anarky (c) vs. Copycat vs. Manson vs. Tact vs. Felix Red


I shunned a voodoo witch, decapitated a black cat
Jan 1, 2000
Milltown USA
This is a WFW World Heavyweight Titlte defense: Former WFW President Alex Wylde is head referee of the match. This match is a Falls Count Anywhere match... The RP/angle deadline is Monday, January 9, 2006 11:59 PM EST. Send all angles to pmiller21@gmail.com
Last edited:


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Once & Future

(FADEIN: A large, black rooftop at night. A pair lie back on loungchairs, sunbathing --moonbathing?--, but both fully clad in clothes. On the left, a Spider-Man dummy rests with a Mephisto mask pulled over his head. On the right, MICHAEL MANSON reclines, wearing a black "All American Pez" t-shirt with an American flag formed out of grinded up pez and black leather pants. On a small table to his other side, a tray is on top of a small table, with a simialr arrangement of pez in it. In his lap, marked with a bookmark, lies "The Once and Future King" by T. H. White. He sips from a can of raspberry-flavored Arizona iced tea.)

MANSON: For weeks and weeks, people have been asking me again and again, "Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?" Why did you sell out Copycat and have bloodied into pieces? Were you Mephisto all along, attacking random people? Sean Edmunds and Dan Ryan? Why?

For some reason, the WFW offices forwarded me fanmail and email. A thousand, thousand children writing me letters, asking me why I broke their hearts when the tag team of their two greatest heros could have ruled the world.

I've received phone calls from the WFW Board of Directors and other officials, vaguely implying threats and fines, demanding that I explain myself. Even Jonathan Marx, no doubt with tears in his eyes, left a message on my answering machine, saying, "I looked up to you!"

And why did you, Jonathan? Why did so much of the circuit look up to me? Because of my morals, my virtuous triumphs, and my good name?

No, because I am the most feared, manipulative, willful competitor in this or any promotion, or in this world or the next.

World's Finest Wrestling loves having someone as accomplished as me around. They hype my successes, my name value, but they quiet down how I became successful. They don't like to talk about how Michael Manson became Michael Manson.

They'd let children into the crowds and they'd hold up signs for me. They'd sell my merchandise to these same children and their parents. They tried to team me with Iris Del Arco, and whoever else was the superhero of children's dreams that month.

They even claimed that I was off visiting charities, hospitals, and the sick and the elderly, and that these same fans were the ones voting me wrestler of the year each and every year.

But the truth is, I never did any of those things. In fact, the WFW probably sent a Manson impersonator in my place.

As for what I've done....well...what about it?

What did you expect?

This is me. This is what I have always done.

I haven't changed. Copycat isn't the first person I've screwed over. Not the first I bloodied. Regardless of the WFW promotional machine, I've still been the same sarcastic, cynical anti-heroic Satanic despot I've always been.

I make plans. I execute them. This was just the latest.

All the same, the WFW knows that I was their greatest World Heavyweight Champion...ever. Not Shawn Hart, Doc Silver, Psycho, or Scotty Michaels. I was also the greatest BAD World Champion.

World's Finest Wrestling needs me. It always has. So they'll allow my indiscretions because they have to. Their world title needs me.

Now, of course, I lost the world title. Everyone does eventually. I wouldn't be a ten-time world champion if I hadn't lost ten times as well. Even the greatest stumble. We get hurt, we have bad luck, things just don't fall our way, or on some night, someone is just better.

But is there anyone better, smarter, than me every night of every year?

I doubt it.

But for one night? Well, Copycat was better, taking advantage of old back and neck injuries of mine in a cage. There's a limit to what even a masochist can take before passing out. But he wanted to outsmart me, and came up wanting.

Now if someone else had won the world title off me, I might hav relaxed, healed up, and turned my attentions to other projects before I could fully concentrate on the world title again.

But..Copycat ....was so unworthy....so utterly fragile....since he was the one who willingly paired with Irsi Del Arco...who visited the sick and the children..who even went so far as to claim friendship with me because all the really popular wrestlers had to be friends.

No, my world title cried out to me, like a child screaming for its father.

So I used Mephisto, a persona I've used and let others used when it suited me, and I used the Blue Cat, and I entrapped Copycat and left him shattered. No longer a world champion, and racked and beaten.

Why Sean Edmunds and Dan Ryan?

What most people don't realize is that Sean and I have known each other for years since our one match years ago in a far-flung promotion once run by Doc Silver. Dan Ryan I have only recently started directly competiting against, yet, what his Inner Circle lacked, I can provide. Imagination. Direction.

And, of course, both men had been wronged by Copycat. It was a simple proposal and it worked.

Now we have a better world champion in Anarky. And, yes, I'm proud of my old friend because he so much wanted to be like me that he once tried to hire organ thieves to scrape off my face while I slept and then surgically transplant onto his skull.

After every card, on the road, for so many years, there were times he always insisted everyone call him "Michael."

But, still, he's king now, and I hope he's enjoying my sloppy seconds because it's time I came up, cleaned off my belt and title, and made it something of glorious horror and prestige again.

Because, Nark, you might be great, but you're not me.

Speaking of my sloppy seconds, apparently Larry Tact somehow found himself in a world title match. This is a man who lost to Jean Rabesque. You know why I've never lost to Jean Rabesque? Because when you lose, he keeps you for the night and shows you how he likes to make a snowman.

And from the shell-shocked look in Larry's eyes these days, I can tell he's experienced that trauma.

Still, congratulations on winning the rumble, though, you didn't do it as well as I did, but that's just something you're going to have to deal with. There will be a new world champion, but that has nothing to do with anywhere else you wrestled and the other competitor got drunk and fell over, allowing you to pin him.

My wayward son, my world title, calls to me with a phantom voice, and I have to help.

But I question why Alex Wylde has to win a match to referee. As his good friend for many years, I can attest to his fairplay and high moral standing. As WFW president, he didn't award himself the world title, no, he earned it as a wrestler while keeping the promotion running. And when he didn't seek re-election, he helped Sean Edmunds win the presidency, though they had a disagreement afterwards, as he and I did, but Alex, the great man that he is, has looked past that.

Not that I dislike Felix Red. He's been a great president, and I'll admit, I voted for him. But as he pointed out, he turned on Copycat once himself, not as well-planned as when I did it though, but he enjoys chaos. Which is another strike against him.

And then there's Anarky, whom Felix seems to be upset with given that Jared Wells and him left him in the lurch in the tag team tournament. Also, Larry Tact, a victim of the former Wells/Felix/Nark/Psycho alliance called LOVE.

Can we expect Felix to call this match right down the middle?

Dan Ryan and Sean Edmunds, two men who have grown to respect him a lot, have to face off during the North American title match, another title I glorified by holding, and it's Alex Wylde who's been interceding, making sure they can still remain friends outside the ring even if they have to tear into each other to win a coveted title.

WFW, Alex Wylde is the only choice, with his unparalleled athletic skills, to keep up with 4 men in a falls count anywhere match. And for the greatest world title there is, could you ask anything more than excellence?


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Enough is enough, and it's time for a change

(Cueup: Mostly silence, punctuated with the occasional quiet mechanical noise)

(Fade in on Copycat sitting up in a hospital bed. A sizable, bloodstained bandage covers his forehead, and he has medical tape wound around his midsection. It looks like the camera he's using is second-rate, as it's black-and-white and the sound is not of good quality)

Copycat: This isn't a very good camera, and this isn't a very good setting, and this sure as hell isn't a very good time. But I've got some things I need to get off my chest, and I need to get them off right now.

(Copycat looks around at his surroundings)

Copycat: I'm sure that, by now, everyone has seen Road to Glory and what happened to me there. And while I'm certain that there are a few people who will consider the beating that earned me this (motions to bandage on head) shocking, the sad truth is that it's all been done before. I can't be the only person who's disappointed that four individuals as intelligent as Dan Ryan, Sean Edmunds, Alex Wylde and Michael Manson would try to make an impact by beating me up.

(He rolls his eyes)

Copycat: The four-on-one thing has been done to me before. First by Scotty Michaels and his buddies, then by L.O.V.E. The first time, it made me angry. The second time, it made me focused. This time...this time, it just annoyed me. And the whole turning-against-me thing that I'm sure Manson will be real proud of? Yep. It's been done. Ask Felix Red. Ask El Arco Iris. I'm sure they would have had some pointers for you that might have made your attack a little more impressive.

(Copycat leans back against the head of the hospital bed)

Copycat: And at any rate, it doesn't really matter. I may have considered Manson something of an ally prior to his oh-so-edgy backstabbing of me, but no matter what the outcome of Road to Glory, he and I were still going to be enemies at the Superbowl of Wrestling. Isn't that a kick in the pants? If it were me, I think I'd have held off on the attack UNTIL the Superbowl. Then it might be considered shocking. But hey...turning against people has never been my specialty. I'm always the one who gets turned against. And that's fine. I’m used to it. I can take it.

(He thinks for a second)

Copycat: But the problem here isn’t that I got stabbed in the back, because Lord knows that’s happened before. The problem here isn’t that I got gang-beaten, because Lord knows that’s happened before. The problem here isn’t even that I ended up in the hospital, because that’s happened more times than I can even count. The problem is all about backing up my claims. For years, I’ve professed to be the Smartest Player in the Game. Now, I hope no one watching this is under the impression that I’m going to relinquish that title, ‘cause it isn’t gonna happen – not by a longshot. But I’m worried that the title is growing obsolete. I may still be the Smartest Player in the Game…but the game has changed.

(Copycat shakes his head)

Copycat: I have dedicated my entire career to being the best at the game we call wrestling. I can outsmart, out-wrestle, out-muscle and psyche out any competitor who steps in the ring with me. But the game I have dedicated my career, my LIFE, to has fallen by the wayside. Nowadays, there’s a new game – the numbers game.

(Copycat gives the camera an annoyed look)

Copycat: It seems that WFW’s best have finally discovered my weakness – I’m only one man. No matter HOW good I am, I am only one man. And it seems that the magic number for beating me is four. When Scotty Michaels beat me right after I came to WFW, three weren’t enough. When L.O.V.E. robbed me of my World Heavyweight Title, three weren’t enough. And anyone who watched Road to Glory saw me fight off Alex Wylde, Sean Edmunds and Dan Ryan – two of the top superstars in the world today and Sean Edmunds – for a few brief shining moments before Manson showed up and everything collapsed. One man can’t beat me. Two men can’t beat me. Three men can’t beat me. But four…I just can’t overcome those odds.

(Copycat shrugs)

Copycat: And now, my weakness has become obvious to all. It can’t be a coincidence that this new faction of Manson, Ryan, Edmunds and Wylde is four strong, or at least three strong and Sean Edmunds. You can more or less peg Manson as the ringleader, and I know he’s going to be very pleased with himself and complacent about what happened. Because he has what he considers to be an invaluable piece of information – the secret to beating Copycat. Because Copycat, that fool, stubbornly refuses to play the numbers game. He fights alone on principle – he’d rather lose than stoop to that level. That’s more or the less the niche I’ve carved for myself.

(He raises an eyebrow)

Copycat: But there’s another Copycat. A Copycat who was willing to win by any means necessary. Not the Copycat who arrived in WFW and drew the undying rage of Anarky by blinding him with a paint bomb – that Copycat still had principles. I’m talking about the Copycat who infuriated wrestlers the world over around the turn of the millennium by cheating his way to victory in every match. The Copycat who insulted the fans until they learned to respect him and started chanting his name instead of cursing it. A Copycat who would not be beaten at the numbers game, or any other game for that matter. Surely, this is a situation he could win. But does that Copycat still exist?

(Copycat grins widely)

Copycat: You bet your ass he does. And it’s become abundantly clear that he may be the only man who can reclaim the World Heavyweight Title from Anarky. Road to Glory was a wash for the Copycat whose driving forces were principles and respect. But as I sit here in this hospital bed, fully aware of what I must do to get back what is rightfully mine and show every one of those sorry-ass SONS-OF-B(BLEEP)CHES that the Cat is NOT a man you want to bring down to his very last option…it becomes clear to me that there is another road to the Superbowl of Wrestling.

(With some pain, Copycat turns and lets his feet hang off the side of the bed)

Copycat: Once upon a time, not so long ago, I traveled a road I called the Road to Victory. Yes, it was a horrifically cheesy phase of my life, filled with tour vans, humorous vignettes and god-awful song parodies. But the end of the Road to Victory marked the first time in my career that I accomplished something everyone thought was impossible. My World Heavyweight Title win in 1997 was a surprise, but the circumstances leading up to it were so convoluted that its impact, while amazing to me, was easily ignored by everyone else…sounds a little like Manson turning on me, come to think of it. But it was that Tag Team Title win in 2000 that made the difference, that proved to the world that all jokes, pranks and terrible songs notwithstanding, I CAN back up my claims and I CAN accomplish feats that the smart money says I can’t.

(He exhales deeply)

Copycat: I am going to the Superbowl of Wrestling to reclaim the WFW World Heavyweight Title. And my first step on that Road to Victory starts now.

(Copycat gingerly hoists himself out of the bed, stopping himself before bringing his feet to the floor several time…then vaults out of the bed, suddenly looking much healthier)

Copycat: MANSON! Wipe the sleep crust and crushed-up Aderol residue off of your face and take a look at the man who’s going to prove to you just how invincible you aren’t! TACT! Call up that dumb slut Holiday Mathis and ask her why that damn horoscope she wrote didn’t tell you this was going to be a bad time to get a title shot! And ANARKY! You take that WFW World Heavyweight Title belt around to as many tourist spots as you can and you CHERISH those pictures of yourself with it, because at Superbowl of Wrestling, I am going to make your first title defense your LAST!

(Copycat walks toward the camera and points at it)

Copycat: And each and every other wrestler on the WFW roster, stand up and take notice! Because pretty soon, the man you see before you is going to be the man to beat in WFW once again! And after I walk out of Superbowl of Wrestling a two-time WFW World Heavyweight Champion, each and every one of you will know for sure that the CAT…IS…BACK, BABY!

(Copycat walks offscreen as we fade out)


Diva Tree
Jan 1, 2000
Broken Vows

(CUEUP: "Track 1 - ()" by Sigur Ros.)

(FADEIN to an annihilated hotel suite... an enormous round leather sectional lies scattered across the half-burned floor... the guests are long gone, and all that remains is a man... leaning up against a glass door... his head bent... breathing slowly... methodically... )

ANARKY: "Did you think... after all this time... that I would fade into silence? That I would go down quietly?

"Or... perhaps... you expected me to come out, trumpeting my own horn... as so many before me have done.

"Perhaps you would think I'd come out here... the newly crowned... Champion... "

(He turns and spits on the floor.)

ANARKY: "Of course that's what you'd expect... because you are all... too... f*cking... stupid... to ever learn. Too f*cking stupid to know any better.

"I took this title... no... I STOLE this title...

"And I did it... not to IMPRESS you... not to stand here and STROKE MY F*CKING COCK LIKE SO MANY OF YOU... but to keep what you covet. To prevent you from ever having what you want. To leave you like a child, BEGGING ME... for your Hungry Hungry Hippos...

"... and I will cast you down like the dogs you are. Unworthy. Unappreciative. Unoriginal.

"Michael... you and I have known each other quite sometime, so forgive me if I pretend I didn't hear anything you said... for I've heard it before, a million times... I heard it the moment you opened your mouth and I could scarcely believe we had begun hiring the mentally challenged oh so many years ago... to your bullsh*t skits where you throw so much sh*t against a wall that it's a surprise more of what you say isn't funny...

"Who, exactly, asked you why you did it? Not I. Not Copycat, nor anyone else. Nobody.

"Do you know WHY no one asked, Michael? Because everyone already knows and none of them give a flying f*ck. We KNOW why, Michael. It's the same reason you do everything.

"Attention. You crave it. Constantly. You were probably an only child... constantly whining to his mother and father... to please buy him that new train set... to please hug him... to please kiss his tears away.

"Well I'm sorry, Michael. But you bore me. You've bored me for years now. And I don't think I'm the only one, Mikey...

"Mr. NFW... or is it Mr. CSWA... like I can even tell the f*cking difference... you sold out, b*tch... just like you were born to do.

"And YOU, Copycat... save it. Just... f*cking... save it. I'm tired of your epiphanies... your great, sweeping revelations... your constant struggle and evolution... your emotional growth...

"... it makes me want to vomit... makes me want to gag and kill children and rape priests...

"... but mostly I don't f*cking care, Copycat. I'm tired. Tired of the games. Tired of the bullsh*t. Tired of your excuses... about how you're the smartest... but not smart enough to defend yourself against four men...

"Sorry, Copycat, but I ain't buyin' it. Just... f*cking... drop it, man. Enough.

"You come to the ring. You quiet that pretty little mouth of yours. And we'll settle it the same way I've always settled it... by seeing who can spill the most blood...

"Don't matter how you do it. Smartest... Most Exciting... World Destroying... Tactfully...

"... me, man... I am what I am. Nothin' more, nothin' less. You can call me the champ, but it don't mean sh*t... that's what I've been tryin' to tell you...

"You're too weak, though... too ignorant and passive... even my comrad, Felix... he, too, is too weak. Because he cares. Because he needs it so.

"And in needing it so, you will always be weaker. For I know nothing of glory... but only of this endless struggle to open your eyes... to make you f*cking SEE.

"But you never will. You'll always disappoint me. Because when the moment comes... when you've gone past the pain and the fans and the pride...

"... you have that moment of doubt... because you need to be right. You NEED to be validated. You are a slave to your own expectations...

"... and I... I will only see your blood. I will only see your weakness... your need to be somebody...

"... and I will drag you down with me, because that's what I need. That's MY weakness.

"Too bad for you, then... the you are not fighting a Champion... you are not fighting the Smartest... the most Tactful... the Boy... or the Man More Exciting Than Jesus.

"You just fight me... a man with nothing to gain... nothing worth losing...

"... and a lifetime of disappointment to take out on you.

"This is my gift to you. My gift to the world. Come and relish with me.

"We shall bleed together. I promise."



League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Lessons learned

(Cueup: "Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo" by Bloodhound Gang)

(Fade in on some sort of lecture hall. An audience stirs restlessly, members of it chattering among themselves. They know why they came, it seems...but they don't know what to expect now that they're here. The crowd erupts into cheers as Copycat -- clad in jeans, an FWF Cat Pack "ROAD TO VICTORY" T-shirt with duct tape tactfully obscuring the league logo, and for whatever reason, an army helmet -- walks to the front of the lecture hall. He turns 90-degrees and goes rigid)

Copycat: Atten-HUT!

(The audience does not react)

Copycat: I said atten-HUT, maggots! Stand up and show some respect for your commanding officer!

(The crowd members nervously stand up, first a few and then all the rest, and salute. Copycat relaxes his stance)

Copycat: As you were.

(The people in the crowd sit down)

Copycat: Now then! I presume that all of you know why you have come here tonight? Is everyone in the right place?

(An audience member timidly raises his hand)

Copycat: And BEFORE I get any questions, I WILL clarify that this is the training seminar for aspiring members of my brand-spankin'-new-and-improved Road to Victory Crew! This building has also reserved classrooms for computer literacy, research in Scientology and the rehabilitation of former members of the Ku Klux Klan, so if ANYONE meant to attend those seminars, I advise you to leave now, or you're going to be mighty confused.

(A man wearing a pointy white hood meekly gets out of his seat and makes his way up one of the aisles to the doors we presume are on the other side of the camera)

Copycat: Alright then! Now that everyone's here who's supposed to be here, let's get down to it! Tonight's seminar will be audience-driven, so I expect to be asked questions, which I will then, in turn, answer! Come on now, let's see some hands. You there! What's on your mind?

Random Audience Member #1: Well, Mr. ... Mr. Cat, what exactly will we be doing as a part of your Road to Victory Crew?

Copycat: Excellent question! The purpose of you, my Road to Victory Crew, is threefold! First, to act as a throwback to the simpler, happier days in which men dreaded facing me, not because I could thrash them within in an inch of their lives, but because a match with the Cat carried with it SO much humiliation and emotional distress that a man would be left with nothing after his inevitable loss but an uncontrollable urge to dye his hair black, put on some Cure records and cut himself. Second, to do my bidding as is needed. You will not be having to do anything inherently dangerous or humiliating, but I have bidding, and it needs done.

(Copycat takes a deep breath)

Copycat: And third, to prove a point. Yes, yes, all of you should know by now that everything I do has the goal of proving a point. In the time I have been in WFW, the same problem has always brought me down: the numbers game. No matter what my propensity to obliterate my opponent, the numbers game has always brought me down. But no more! For you see, your existence acts as proof that in the end, it is I who will win the numbers game. Anarky and Michael Manson have three men apiece to back them up, but in a business where it seems that stars are, sadly, forever looking for more ways to treat the fans like garbage, only I have shown, time and time again, my DEDICATION to the fans. Because it is you, the fans, who truly make professional wrestling the amazing business it is -- not the callous stars who care only about themselves.


Copycat: You are supposed to cheer when I say that.

(The audience cheers. An obedient lot, they are)

Copycat: Next question.

R.A.M.#2: Are you REALLY the only star who cares about the fans?

Copycat: The only one who counts. Next question.

R.A.M.#3: What, exactly, IS your bidding?

Copycat: A FABULOUS question! Were I a lesser man, my bidding would be simply, "Do whatever you can to cheat so that I win the WFW World Heavyweight Title at the Superbowl of Wrestling." But alas, I remain stricken with the accursed thing I call a conscience, and it would be downright hypocritical of me to win that way. At the moment, however, I do have several things to bid. And the first brings terrible sadness to me.

(Copycat shakes his head sadly)

Copycat: As hard as it may be to believe, it seems that Anarky, our ESTEEMED World Heavyweight Champion, is just a little bit...dare I say it...BORED with my latest reinvention. I must admit, the reinventions have been coming quickly lately, even if it is because, as Anarky has been too ignorant to notice, life has been changing awfully quickly for the Cat. And Heaven forbid the Cat look for a constructive way to deal with it, rather than turning his promos into Fall Out Boy songs as our friend the champ has. So, let me put this question to you: How should I go about recapturing the interest of my good buddy Emonarky?

R.A.M.#4: Copious violence?

Copycat: Too clichè.

R.A.M.#5: Loud noise?

Copycat: Too loud.

R.A.M.#6: Shiny things?

Copycat: Too likely to attract Jared Wells down to ringside.

R.A.M.#7: Live music and confetti?

Copycat: NOW we're getting somewhere! I like you. There will be an extra official WFW Copycat "SMARTEST PLAYER IN THE GAME" T-shirt in your suitcase when you next open it.

R.A.M.#7: Yay!

Copycat: That takes care of my first order of business. I have only one more order of business for the day, but rest assured that further orders of business will be issued as soon as the errant neuron responsible for some of my more nonsensical actions fires again. Until then, you are all dismissed to do whatever your wonderful little hearts desire.

(The audience starts getting up to leave, but one member of it raises his hand)

R.A.M.#8: Uh, Mr. Cat...what exactly IS that second order of business?

Copycat: AH! How foolish of me. I have a project with which I need assistance. I wonder...

(Copycat takes off his army helmet and grins widely)

Copycat: Would any of you happen to have a band?

(Fade out)


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
A Question of Conscience

(FADEIN: A Navity Scene thrashed, the manger smashed into pieces, and Mary, Joseph, the Wise Men, Shepherds, and Little Drummer Boy have their heads bashed in as they're tossed into a hole and dirt is shoveled on top. It's dark and snowing, but MICHAEL MANSON takes the baby Jesus and tosses him into a bag with the rest of the baby Jesus's he's stolen on Christmas Eve. He walks out of the woods onto a brightly-lit, holiday decorated street.)

MANSON: It occurs to me that most people have quite the wrong idea about me. Now, of course, I am probably without question one of the misunderstood figures in this industry, despite all the time I've taken to correct such ill-conceived notions.

I'm sure it shocks no one when I say that I believe myself to be a righteous man, and as another great man said, a righteous man wields a lot of power. And this inevitably leads back to the fact that I have a conscience.

Most people would say I have none. That I'm as amoral as a Nazi war criminal, but they're wrong. I don't murder people. In fact, I pay my taxes, I vote, and I do my job well.

It's the latter part that seems to cast me into tragic misnomers. The wrestling industry is not for the faint, and, really, my means of doing whatever is necessary is the only means of getting anything done at all.

Sure, I add my own flavor of dark panache to how I go about my various matches and rivalries, and, yes, I do hideous things, things of questionable morality.

I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy these things. Part of the joy of working in this business is the fact that I can express myself so. But that's far from the main reason I do things in this way.

No, Copycat can go on and on about how dedicated he is to his fans, but he doesn't much the inspiration and effort I put into to reward each and every WFW viewer.

Without my unpredictable plans and the myriad of plot twists I present on any given WFW program, what the fans debate about? What would keep them waiting with bated breath, unsure if they should call the police, the PTC, the national guard, the Vatican in Rome, or God himself, but unable to miss each and every installment of the WFW via television, if not me?

Had I not engineered Copycat's downfall as WFW World Heavyweight Champion and his sunsequent humiliation at my hands, would this upcoming match have a tenth of the Shakespearean flavor of tragedy when he fails?

Of course I have my loyal following, the ones who will do whatever I command, but I still have to reach out to the other 5 percent left, and my peers in this industry, to keep them thinking, to keep them on guard, always improving, and this whole industry and world, because I'm the only one who can.

I'd say that more than justifies any action I've done that could be considered...evil.

And more than justifies my return to the WFW World Heavyweight title, because for all the same reasons I've listed, it needs me. It deserves me. Only I can stand as the epicenter of this promotion and not collapsed under the weight as Copycat did, and Anarky is about to.

And, yes, Nark, your time as champion will be short. Your mind runs in circles too much, always proclaiming that people have tired of me, despite my constant reinventions....but the fact that I'm here again in the main event runs contrary to everything you said.

I said I've improved others, and you're a great example. You're a better man and wrestler today because of all that I've done. In fact, I am the reason that you are a world heavyweight champion today, because you wouldn't have beaten Copycat without me. Not even with LOVE. You proved that before.

Does it gall you to know that I am the instrument of your greatest victory? I'm sure it does, but I told you before, I don't hate you, Nark. While I probably would have turned on Felix Red too, I wouldn't have called him weak. I like him a great deal in fact. The actions I take have no malice. It's what I have to do. It's what I was born to do.

And they attract much attention. That's the whole point....of everything here...there...and in WFW. I cannot help but be the quintessial ringmaster in this one-ring circus.

But at least, you're consistent. What is it, Copycat? Are you going to be the "Copycat of old" who will cheat to unfathomable lengths to win, or as you claimed afterwards, will your conscience hold you back?

It won't hold me back, even though that all the tactics you call cheating are as rain to the ocean to the methods I've employed to win. But as with Nark, when I'm done, Cat, you're going to be a much wiser, better wrestler.

You'll stop complaining about fighting alone bevause it's such a pathetic complaint. We all turn on each other in the end anyway. Look at me and Nark, him and Felix. And when there's no one else, we turn on ourselves.

But through the pain, the anger, and the misery, I'll save you, Cat, and Nark, and Larry, and Felix. And the WFW and its precious world title. '

You all need me, and I hear your incessant cries of help, pleading for me to be your tormentor and catalyst, that only through me can you change and evolve into that phase.

And as always, I am here.

Because my conscience does not allow me to do otherwise.

(Manson swerves over to another Navity Scene in front of a church and grabs another Baby Jesus for his bag.)


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Boston and other places.
To the way it was before

(CUEUP: “Don’t know when but a days gonna come” by Bright Eyes...)
(CUTTO: Black and white video of Felix Red, sitting indian style on an expensive oriental rug...Wearing the usual dickies and a black Children of Bodom T-shirt, hands on his knees, blank gaze up at the camera...)

“the boy who destroyed the world”

In all the writings and prophecies about the end of the world, there’s usually ice, or fire, or something elemental. Sometimes machinery, as in electricity. Always it’s something grand. Something beyond our direct control, strictly as animals. This is wrong. It ends where it began, with what has seen us through to this point.

It’s ends with blood. It’s always been blood.

It’s my theory, and this isn’t especially insightful, that all of our relationships are based on prior experiences. That is to say, everyone we know, reminds us of someone we already met, and is only, in our minds, that first person.

My father was a famous assassin for the Irish mob, until a former cell mate told a tattle tale to the government. Then dadums had to make his escape, had to change his face, it’s speculated he had to wear a dress. He had to become invisible, absentee, a cliché, making me every bit as mundane. A boy without a father, without direction, without a role model, without anything healthy to rebel against, left to rebel against everything else.

I always knew you’d let me down, Anarky with a “kay.” And not in the badass "f(bleep) everything" way you wanted to. We’ve been over this. You were the deadbeat dad, Wells was the bastard son, Psycho was poorly home schooled, over stimulated youngest sibling, and I was the neglected middle child. You couldn’t have been a worthwhile surrogate father if you weren’t going to abandon me.

It’s your reasons for abandoning me that change the complexion of this betrayal. This time, you don’t get to become invisible because you want to. Every prophecy is self fulfilling, remember? This time you’ll cease to exist, because I’ll force you to.

Underneath all the sycophantic pats on the back, it’s never been anything besides seniority. Those whispers from the shadows, those winks, all that lip biting…Everyone was right about LOVE, ‘Nark. Worse, they were right about me.

You, and the only two should’ve beens, human crash test dummies you could talk into joining forces with you became the most dominant stable in professional wrestling. We took on the entire WFW, and won. We took on the best outside talent WFW could find to chill us, and we humiliated them. They once thought Maelstrom, the anti-hero archetype, the flesh and blood adolescent fantasy of power and control, the “ultimate” warrior, was invincible. We broke him. We shattered his psyche, and cut his allies with the splinters…And we made you the world heavyweight champion…

But that's the royal "we." As in "I." As in "Me." Without me there never would’ve been LOVE. There would’ve been Team Fiend, feuding endlessly and pointlessly with Copycat and Iron Lion until they didn’t even care anymore. Nihilism and sadism are worthless without a practical end to apply them to, and I gave you that. As leader of the experiment, your self loathing and apathy was a war cry. Made you the head of a movement. Forced you to be relevant again. Made people want to buy T-shirts with your picture on them.

And this is the f(bleep)king thanks I get? Wells uses his addiction as a fllimsy excuse to let me to get mugged by two wax museum statues, and you have the balls to get on the mic and call me weak because “I need this?” Tell me then, what exactly is it I need?

Then the grey, where everything bleeds together. There’s a reason I’m a wrestler and not a guitar player. There’s a reason you paint your face, a reason you spell your ring name the wrong way, why at some point, you decided to reinvent yourself as some f(bleep)king comic book super villain. Because I like to hurt people as much as you do, and you get off on the attention just like the rest of us. This is why we are here.

And so I did what I should’ve done six months ago. I scammed my way into a world title match. I fought the entire roster and only lost for a little while, until I decided that actually, I won. LOVE was a collection of vagabonds with nothing to lose. LOVE became something to lose in of itself. Now it’s gone, and I’m free. It seems more than reasonable to think I won’t be re-elected president. Then I’ll be free of that to.

Part of me wants to be world champion. But that’ll just be something else I’ll end up responsible for and tied to. My primary concern is beating you, Anarky with a kay, my fake pro wrestling surrogate dad, to death.

Let me show you what happens when you see anathema through to it's logical conclusion. Let me show you what it’s like to *really* have nothing to lose.

For months, everyone’s kept saying I’m better than you, that you’ve been holding me back, and this is where I prove them right. Not because I resent you. Not because I’m bitter you broke up our little club. Because in the end, we’re quite a bit alike. I’m doing this because I can. And you’re the one who presented me with the opportunity.

We could've turned WFW into something amazing, you know? We could've video taped ourselves freebasing heroin, molesting groupies, given ourselves as many new belts as we wanted, called it a Pay Per View, and made absurd amounts of money. Instead WFW is in shambles, there's more Jean Rabesque clones running around than ever, and all you can do is bi(bleep). So now I'm going to crush your brains with my boot.

I’d thank you, but like I said, I always knew it’d come to this anyway.

And if I happen to become champion in the process of killing you, I could sure use the extra drug money that'll bring in. There's the other reason why we're here.

This is where I’m supposed to pretend I care about Manson or Copycat. It’s neat that Manson’s an evil genius again, even if it’s only by way of doing the exact same thing LOVE did last year, and filling a bag full of baby jesus, which LOVE also probably did, but was on too many drugs to remember. Manson thwarted my last attempt to become world champion, but that was so very many philosophical debates ago. Strange, to think maybe if things had gone a little differently, I would've been champion, and everything would be completely different now. But it's not.

It’s also neat that Copycat’s the perpetual victim. Again, subverting the Christian iconography, he’s Jesus Christ. And Batman’s parents. And Abe Lincoln in the theatre. Betrayed by reality and annihilated, over and over again, for no good reason at all. Technically I’m supposed to be on his side now. (makes quote marks with hand) “I care about the fans” is a quaint little catch phrase, and that’s all.

Cheer for me if you like. Put my face on your wall. Make me a role model. Eat mushrooms, try to decipher Austin Spare, listen to Mindless Self Indulgence, send me money, start a cult that worships me, I don’t care. Just know that I’m not doing this for you.

When the world goes away, there is no you. No right, no wrong, no truth, no allies, no enemies, no world title, no victory, no defeat, no moon, no sun, no god, no devil, no pleasure, no pain.

When the world goes away, there’s only me.

And the sticky stuff that flows when the pussing costume of flesh is pealed back…..“Red.”....Get it?.......HA!
Last edited:


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Manson in 06

(FADEIN: A black school bus with darkened windows and skulls shining like stars drives through a deserted road. Written on its sides are "MANSON IN 06! A BETTER WORLD FOR ALL!" The bus stops and opens its doors to find MICHAEL MANSON, alone, driving the bus, wearing a velvet black suit pinstriped with red, a red vest over a black dress shirt and tie. He sniffs at the powered blue pez in his hands.)

MANSON: Even with the impending world title match coming up at the Superbowl of Wrestling, I decided it's high-time I got on the campaign trail and let the voters, the fans, the WFW roster, what's in store Michael Manson is elected to the highest office in WFW-land.

Now I'm sure my other candidates are going to try to sway you with some fancy-talk about fairness for fairness's sake, competition, even grounds for all competitors, and in the case of one, a uni-sex locker room and a camera-man in every corner taking snapshots for Beau Michaels's private collection.

No, I'm not going to promise you fair play.

I'm not going to promise people title shots and new opportunities.

I can't promise any of that anymore than I could find a van, paint it, and drive around the country solving mysteries while campaigning. No, I had to settle for a school bus...but the WFW should not settle for any other candidate than Michael Manson.

Always, I have been on the forefront of every innovation this industry has ever had. In fact, I've often been the mastermind behind each of these innovations. I think it's even fair to say World's Finest Wrestling, the continuing lineage of the BAD World Heavyweight title, would not exist without me.

Why settle for an inferior mind when the greatest is available?

But mostly of all, I should have your votes because I have my pulse on what this federation, nay, this entire country and world wants. Obviously, from the most recent presidential elections, the people demand a ruthless republican tyrant to rule over them like a king....and I'll be damned if that man isn't me!

As your duly-elected God-king, I'll also be the world champion because not only am I the only man alive who can truly carry this title to the greatness I already achieved for it, but because I can. I'll crush all opposition beneath my heel, accept bribes, lie, cheat, and generally ruin the lives of anyone in my way or if I'm just really bored.

Now you're thinking that as the eternal world champion that I'm going to hold down talent, but you're wrong. Those who support Manson in 06 will all be rewarded because they will all be along on the greatest adventure there can be as my word literally becomes laws of government and physics. There will never be a dull moment and I guarantee those of you who simply attach their names to mine will enjoy financial and backstage political gain the likes of which you've ever seen.

We won't be the Mafia, people, we'll be like the Vatican.

And Pope Manson the First, along with Cardinals Ryan and Edmunds, will show you all a new way to live, breath, and wrestle.

Let's face it, you're all going to vote for me anyway, and there's not any point in me not being upfront. It's a dark, heartless dystopian reign coming for WFW, and I'm proud to say I will be its architect and archangel.

I'm going to be starting with the new reign right here, right now. For all the people who claim I'm selfish, I'm about to perform the most selfless act you've ever seen.

I thought that it was the WFW World Heavyweight Championship crying out to me in the night....but there was another voice as well....

And it was Felix Red.

I should have seen the surrogate father situation with Anarky, but really, you guys were always too drugged up. But as you now know, Nark is an improper father figure for anyone. He's too destructive! All he wants is rape, rape, rape, kill, kill, kill!

You can't burn down Rome if you don't build it first!

And as for attacking Copycat the way I did, sure, there's similarities to how you did, and even though I did much better, hey, doesn't everyone attack Copycat after lulling him into a false sense of security with 4 people? Don't you remember why we do it that way? It's that joke about the time we all found those 4 dead hookers in his hotel room.

But I always liked you, Felix. You know that.

The number of Jean Rabesque types in wrestling today is frightening and you're a welcome change from that. And I was always nice to you. Didn't I give you the first turn when we pinned the real Jean Rabesque to a wall and made him/her spread his legs and let the whole locker room look at his vagina?

Then you spit! That was clever!

Now did Anarky ever give you encouragement like that?

I'm sad to say I had no idea your own father had gone missing, Felix, but I'm going to correct it because everyone needs a father in their life, and as president, that has to be me.

I'm willing to take that extra step though. I'm willing to legally adopt you as my son. Why not? Bruce Wayne adopted Dick Grayson as an adult in comic books. And if anyone wants to know why I'd base legalities on a comic book, well, wouldn't we all rather live in a comic book world?

You're the president, I'm going to be the president, it fits together.

I'm Irish, I've already beaten you, so we've got past that.

You're probably going to spend the rest of your career and life trying to beat me.

And Anarky, you want to beat him to death and feed the body to migrant workers. That's fine. I can help. I'm willing to.

After all, inserting yourself into this match means that Alex Wylde is the undisputed referee and will call it right down the middle until it's time to just have me win. At the last Superbowl of Wrestling, the WFW World title came down to Mike Manson and Alex Wylde, and now thanks to you, Felix Red, it's happening one more time.

So I've mailed you the necessary legal documents which you can sign and then I can welcome you into the Manson family. I'll give you your own room, but you're going to have to find your own space to bury your frienda live and to hide your own dead hookers. We all just can't toss them into a fireplace like Copycat.

You'll be given an allowance and the benefit of the wealth of my education and intelligence....and of course...even though you'll lose the presidency to me...with your adopted father as president...you'll still enjoy political power in this company...enough that when you want a LSD-tainted bowl of green M &M's, you'll get an LSD-tainted bowl of green M & M's.

This Felix, and all of you in WFW, is only the first part of the better world I'm bringing to you.


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Cat Tv

OORP: Sorry, this was supposed to be posted Monday, but my Internet crapped out and I just got it fixed. I've almost finished writing another one in that time, in response to the two most recent RPs, which will likely be posted soon.

(Cueup: "Guitar Man" by Cake)

(Fade in on Copycat before a massive widescreen TV. He sits on a stool, wearing jeans, a FWF Cat Pack "ROAD TO VICTORY" T-shirt with the league logo tastefully obscured with a piece of duct tape, his trademark beret, and sunglasses. In the lower right-hand corner of the screen is the MTV logo, altered to read "CAT TV." No, nothing cheesy here...)

Copycat: Gooooood EVENING, Cat Lovers the world over, and welcome to CAT TV! With the Road to Victory campaign picking up steam with each passing day, we have spared no expense in bringing you the highest-quality dated pop culture references. I apologize for the stupidity of this set-up, but not to worry, it's all going somewhere. As long as we're talking about dated material, though...

(A static image of Michael Manson appears on the screen behind Copycat)

Copycat: Not to worry. I kid. I wouldn’t accuse Michael Manson’s material of being dated, because that would be trite and cliché and a gross misuse of an accusation I’m far more accustomed to leveling at Emonarky. I wouldn’t want to mix up my wisecracks. That would be disastrous. No no, I’d be a fool to consider Manson anything less than the cold, quick-thinking innovator that he is. Of course, the whole “wrecked Nativity scene/theft of baby Jesus” thing isn’t the most creative backdrop he could have come up with, but my theory is that he was using such a hackneyed setup to prove a point about his creativity. A lover of irony through and through, that’s our Manson.

(Copycat does his best to convey “impressed”)

Copycat: I talk so much about my own originality that I never leave time to talk about that of my opponents. Of course, you could argue that that’s only because my opponents tend to be people like Emonarky, who probably thinks “originality” is a cologne that he won’t ever wear again after that night he ended up with the toothless girl in the Jared Wells T-shirt. But Manson, he’s a horse of a different color.

(The image of Manson changes color)

Copycat: Yeah, that wasn’t my idea, but the guy who does my production thought it was hilarious, so I had to leave it in. At any rate, Manson’s last promo featured his justification of his zany antics, by explaining that he is only giving the people what they want when he crucifies opponents and sets babies on fire. ‘Cuz, you know, that sort of thing is all the rage these days, what with all the Christian symbolism and black eyeshadow in popular culture. And the megalomania! The fans love that stuff, no doubt. All those claims of “engineering” the loss of my WFW World Heavyweight Title – Lord knows the OTHER four guys stomping the bejeezus out of me had nothing to do with it – are altogether indicative of the genuine compassion Manson feels for the WFW viewers.

(Copycat leans back on his stool – as best he can without falling off – and emotes “wistful”)

Copycat: And he must be right about being the only one who can stand as the epicenter of WFW, because his impressive and mighty THREE title defenses – was it four? -- far outweigh my mere two. For the sake of giving Manson the credit he deserves, I’ll not even bother to bring up any points about how I collapsed under the weight of five men, not holding up the promotion, nor about how I brought down the mighty Manson with nothing but my own two hands. Yessir, Manson may have cleanly lost the only match he and I ever had against each other, but his one-fifth role in costing me the title proves his superiority.

(Copycat shakes his head)

Copycat: Sorry, got off track there. Manson’s curiosity about my references to the Copycat of Old is duly noted, but if he’s as clever as he says he is, he’ll be able to figure out how I can use some of my old tactics while still keeping my conscience clean.

(Copycat grins widely)

Copycat: Buuuuuuut that’s all in the future! And in the present, we have the spectacular and revolutionary debut – or return, if I’ve used the term before – of CAT TV! And for our inaugural edition, we have a very very very very – and did I mention VERY? – special music video. Yes, we here at Road to Victory headquarters have been working up a storm, and I’m most pleased to report that this is just the FIRST of the music videos we will be presenting to the viewing public! And seeing as how tonight’s CAT TV has focused on the superb Michael Manson, it is only fitting that the very FIRST music video to appear on CAT TV be a tribute to his greatness. Drumroll, please.

(“Guitar Man” quickly fades out. Cue canned drumroll)

Copycat: Preeeeeeeeeeesenting…CAT! TEE! VEE!

(We focus on the video screen, which has gone static, and then…)

(Cueup: A reasonably recognizable rock tune)

(As the music kicks in, the static gives way to a five-piece band rocking hard in front of a Nativity scene. Four members of the band are fairly unrecognizable – although, golly gee, one of them just kinda resembles a guy we saw in Copycat’s Road to Victory information seminar – but the frontman stands out, primarily because he is Copycat decked out in the latest fashions from Hot Topic and wearing too much eye makeup. With the vocals still yet to kick in, Copycat does his best impression of Marilyn Manson’s crazy-eyed, serpent-like stage mannerisms)

(The vocals then kick in, sounding somewhat reminiscent of the Talented Mr. Manson, and somewhat reminiscent of Copycat. We shift to a shot of CopyManson making scary poses while a group of ugly teenagers wearing Michael Manson shirts and obligatory white facepaint cheer him on)

All of the viewers
Across-ah the nation
Gathered ‘round their TVs
For my brand of salvation

(The image pans out, and we see it is being projected on a small TV set. CopyManson sits, still wearing eye makeup but now decked out in a wifebeater and polka-dot boxer shots, in a ratty chair, looking sad and watching the TV)

Brilliant and twisted
With cocaine and Pez
So why do they hang on
Every word the Cat says

(CopyManson sighs and rests his cheek on his hand as he mouths the vocals)

I thought I belonged…
Where did I go wrong?

(The camera zooms in on CopyManson’s eye, leading us back to his position before the band)

Is deader than dead
It’s all in my head

(We cut to a shot of CopyManson sitting at an autograph table, looking depressed. The camera pans over to show a vaguely Canadian-looking fellow playing with a yo-yo as an excited crowd looks on)

I’m evil and cruel
And full ‘a goth cred
So don’t change the channel
And watch Rab-esque instead

(We cut back to CopyManson as he sighs, glances over at a TV monitor next to his table, and mouths the vocals)

God is in the TV…

(We zoom in on the TV monitor, showing CopyManson before his adoring, goofy-looking fans from before. He screams the following vocals to them very enthusiastically)

SHOCK! La la la la la laaaa
SHOCK! La la laaaa la la
SHOCK! La la la la la laaaa
SHOCK! La la laaaa la la

(Cut back to CopyManson at his autograph table. A kid walks up to his table and CopyManson brightens up, but then the kid turns away to walk toward the Canadian table. CopyManson flings a T-shirt at his head)

They still love my antics
They just won’t admit
So buy my new T-shirt
Or I’ll pitch a fit

(Cut to CopyManson yelling at his TV. In a fit of anger, he flings a plastic Baby Jesus at the screen, but neither breaks)

I’m still your god
I’m witty and dark
It’s a lie that my schtick’s
Older than Noah’s Ark

(Cut to CopyManson sitting bored at his autograph table. He pops a Pez and mouths the vocals)

What did I do wrong?
Were they right all along?

(Cut back to CopyManson before the band)

Is deader than dead
It’s all in my head

(Cut to CopyManson in his underwear in front of the TV. He stomps and kicks the Baby Jesus in an effort to break in, then picks it up and gives it a modified Sweet Dreams)

Swallow my hype
Or you’ll be force-fed
A dead fetus sandwich
On plain old white bread

(Panting, CopyManson looks back at the television and mouths the vocals)

God is in the TV…

(Cut back to CopyManson screaming at his adoring fans)

SHOCK! La la la la la laaaa
SHOCK! La la laaaa la la
SHOCK! La la la la la laaaa
SHOCK! La la laaaa la la

(The fans suddenly start to lose interest and walk away. CopyManson starts screaming even harder, but gets short of breath in the end)

La la la la la laaaa
La la laaaa la la
La la la la la laaaa
La la laaaa la la

(Cut back to CopyManson before the band)

Is deader than dead
It’s all in my head

(Cut to CopyManson in front of the TV. He sighs and walks away, scratching himself)

A Pez and two aspirin
When you go to bed
Call me in the morning
If you still won’t be led

(Cut back to CopyManson before the band, his stage antics getting more intense by the moment)

Is deader than dead
It’s all in my head

(Cut to the autograph table. CopyManson has a little kid by the front of his shirt and is shaking him back and forth. A guy with a beret and sunglasses – obviously meant to represent Copycat, but way skinnier – walks onscreen and punches CopyManson in the back of the head. CopyManson goes down, and the kick gives CopyCopycat a hug)

The Cat gets his spot back
Atop the fed
I’m back to the undercard
With Felix Red

(CopyManson before the band throws down his microphone, folds his arms, and looks away from the camera, sulking. Text appears in the bottom left-hand corner of the screen)

“Shock is Dead”
A CAT TV Production
Director: James “Copycat” Kattman

(Fade out)


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Boston and other places.
Amanda Palmer has scary forearms...

(CUEUP: “Half Jack” by the Dresden Dolls…)
(CUTTO: A wet, cold, gross afternoon at Faneuil Hall. Felix Red, dickies and a black hoodie, is huddled up on a bench. Two human statues (chicks wearing togas, whole bodies painted grey, standing very very very still) stand on nearby pedestals, occasionally shifting positions when a passerby drops a quarter in the bucket placed beside them…)

“the boy who destroyed the world”

Like I keep saying, There is no time. No tomorrow. No yesterday. Just now. Just memories and expectations forged by these memories, layered on top of one another. Really, knowing the future is nothing, because everyone knows the future. It’s happening right now.

And we're doomed to relive the past, turning the past into the present, because that's all we know how to do. This is the only way we know how to live.

It’s 1998, when Marilyn Manson parodies are all the zeitgeist…It’s early 2005, and Copycat is aghast at the pubic humiliation he's endured, out numbered and helpless…I woke up this morning and noticed the calendar says it’s 2006, but how can that be when 2006 isn't happening at all?

I mean, jeezus Copycat. You could’ve parodied My Chemical Romance, From Autumn to Ashes, any band on Victory Records, HIM, and…..(sighs) Yeah, you could’ve channeled Weird Al and cover AFI. Any of these would’ve been a perfectly contemporary way to mock neo-goth/post-hardcore culture. Instead you tweak Rock is Dead, call Manson-esque morbid theatrics tired and ineffectual, and we’re all supposed to grudgingly admit how clever you are?

Didn’t you do the exact same promo segment last time you fought Manson? Haven’t you done that exact same promo segment every single time your opponent was of the black nail polish crowd? In fact, I did pretty much the same thing when I was feuding with Thirteen and Pitt…except without the retarded song. I’ve got a kinda Dresden Dolls motif happening right now, with the song and the statues, which feels new because I don’t think any wrestlers have done it before, but it’s still fairly two years ago…The hipster pseudo punk kids who hang around Harvard square? They washed their hands of the Dresden Dolls when they saw the dude in the From First To Last video wearing Amanda Palmer’s space cadet china doll ambivalence on his two sizes too small T-shirt…

It’s fine that you have nothing new to say, Copycat. Neither do I. Neither does Manson. Neither does this confounding little history we’re writing with our fists…All of this has happened before.

I also don’t take it personally that you ignored and belittled me, even after I implied I might help you battle the post-LOVE revival. I feel a little bad for you. It must suck to get beat up every time someone wants to start a new heel stable…It must suck when your legacy is that of a martyr for something you don’t really believe in.

But legacy is a tricky one. The legends will speak of Michael Manson bringing me to WFW, which is what the announcers said in my debut match, and which to this day I’m not sure is true or not. I didn’t get taken seriously until I almost beat Manson last time he was world champion. In another life, in another country, I’ve been carefully molded and positioned, even polished, to take Manson’s place. Me, the counter culture gladiator. Me, the bastard the kids can relate to.

Me, the new American Alien.

In this life, Manson’s promising the WFW roster the exact same thing I promised them when I ran for president. Rewards for the loyal, obliteration for those who are something else. I stayed true to my promises, if nothing else. Wells is BAD champion, Anarky is world champion, and since their loyalty has turned sour, their rewards aren’t lasting longer than two more shows. Anarky won’t survive the Superbowl, and Wells is only BAD champion until his opponent is tougher than Steve Johnson…

The new problem is no one will be loyal to me now. Not by the election. Not after what happens to Anarky and Wells. I’m a very vindictive person, if that wasn’t obvious. An adversary who acts against me, that’s expected. That I’ll handle the same way I handle most things. An ex-ally is getting it so much worse…

Manson’s promising everyone the old problem, six months of the exact same thing they were just subjected to, have always been subjected to, and always will be. The power drunk tyrant making sure his entourage are champions is nothing remotely innovative. It was cliché when I did it.

If re-elected, now stableless, I’ll just dispense title shots and screw jobs on a completely arbitrary basis. Send me flowers, chocolates, free blow, and whores, or slash my tires and put sugar in my gas tank. It won’t make a difference. I still won’t decide what to do with you until I consult the tarot, or my Magick 8 ball. Maybe that makes me a better candidate. Maybe the concepts of “better” or “worse” are weary and meaningless now…

Everything I was naïve enough to think I started a year ago is just happening all over again.

I’m about to screw everyone over again, join the New LOVE, placing Manson in Anarky’s vacated role…

It goes on, and comes back to where it began. Tens of thousands of times. Civilization rips itself to bits, and rebuilds. Atlantis, Camelot, Rome, Amerika…The earth tumbles through space, makes a little “poof” as it crashes into the sun, and a new asteroid's gravity pulls a cluster of little brothers and sisters around it, and it all begins again. Tens….of hundred…of thousands…of thousands…of thousands….of times.

Unless something else happens this time.

According to the Mayan calendar, we’ve got until 2012. Six more years, which I think is plenty, but here’s the kicker….A group of scientists, who knew nothing of the Mayans, forecasted a spike in technological advancement around that same year…Leading many to speculate…is it the time machine? Is that how it ends?

With the fundamental linear nature of time dismantled, life as we know it would become very much like my brain…like everyone’s dreams.

What if I can go back to where this began, and do the opposite from what I did the last time?…Not because turning on Copycat was wrong, not because joining the evil stable was dishonorable, just because I’d like to see what would’ve happened instead…If it changes things for the worst, I’ll be back in this exact position next year anyway…

Unless this is how the world ends......

Just like in that Ashton Kutcher movie, where he keeps going back in time to fix his life, and really he just keeps making it worse, and ultimately it turns out exactly the same, except with him dead. Just like in Donnie Darko.

Like how I keep replacing my father with equally toxick role models.

Like how I kill all the women in my life….er, figuratively, I kill the women in my life, so my mom keeps dying.

Like how the only way to survive recess was to scrape the bone marrow off of every other little snot on the playground….

(Felix stands, drops a quarter in the bucket of the nearby statue. The statue comes to life, and spears the other off it’s pedestal. He stands by and smirks as a catfight ensues…)


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
This Has All Happened Before...

(FADEIN: MICHAEL MANSON, wearing his "American Alien" t-shirt with a gray alien in a black t-shirt and jeans pouring gasoline on a cross, sits on a wide gray leather sofa with a big-screen TV in front of him.)

MANSON: Well, I was ready to make this satirical response to Copycat involving six midgets dressed as him, rolling in excrement and then setting themelves on fire, with myself in the middle pretending to resurrect those four dead hookers we found in his hotel room I mentioned before, btu I got bored watching his parody halfway through and fell asleep.

Copycat, do you realize that complaining about someone's originality is not only bad, it's "Jean Rabesque versus Steve Johnson wrestling eternally and we're forced to watch them both trying to cut clever promos while grappling naked because we're in hell" bad?

And then when I woke up, I discovered that Felix made most of my points for me, and that's good. It freed me up to rewatch the first season of the new Battlestar Galactica on DVD. New episodes are starting this weekend.

While it's no Farscape, it can be quite good nd proves that not all modern remakes have to be tawdry and ultrahip.

And there's a saying on the show, "All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again."

Which basically sums up everything Copycat and Felix just said, which goes to show how good the Battestar Galactica writers are.

But of course this is the old, even stupider Copycat I'm supposed to be afraid of, because not only does he cheat, but he even really stupid parodies comparing me to a singer with the same last name and initials. If you ahd wanted to be really clever, you would have used Shirley Manson. You could have even tied in Doc Silver, since he and I are part of a unique club along wit Shawn Hart.

We were all WFW World Heavyweight Champion for more than 2 weeks. In fact, I was champion close to a year, longer than anyone else.

And you, Copycat, held the title as long an idiot who likes to call himself Psycho.

Say I didn't cost you the title all you want, but if I had acted differently you'd probably be the champion now, but of course, on this circuit no one's allowed to actually say that anyone else is anything close to competent.

The again, you just did this dumb parody that now everyone's going to come around and tell you was really dumb, and when you have people like Anarky who's friends with someone who actually calls himself Psycho saying your parody is dumb....well...I don't need to finish that thought.

But as I said, Felix beat me to most of that. And I know he hung around with Psycho for awhile, but I'd Jared Wells was more of his friend than that. But that's all right. All youths are led astray, but once I formally and legally Felix, I'll set him straight.

I'll even sell him the "American Alien" trademark if he likes it so much as long as I still get royalties.

All the same, he's wrong. My presidential reign will be quite different than his. Yes, there'll be corruption. Yes, there'll be unfairness. Yes, there'll be R rated violence and scenes meant only for mature audiences.

Except, I'll be the one benefiting. Felix did well, but he didn't reward himself. His stablemates were the ones with the titles.

I realize there's this whole "president can't give himself title shots" deal, but I'll already be the champion by the time I'm elected. And besides, there's ways around that. I'm more than willing to fire the entire roster until there's no one left other than me that can get a title shot.

You see, Felix was just far too nice, and he's drug-addled and reality-challenged. And not nearly the sadistic screwjob you people are demanding in office.

Already, you're just handing me the world title since Alex Wylde, our referee and man of virtue and honor, knows what the WFW needs as a past president and world champion himself.

He knows what needs to be done. And if he has to carry a shotgun with him to the Superbowl of Wrestling and shoot everyone else in this match in the chest so he can count my pin, he will.

If he has to scald his own eyes with boiling water so he doesn't have to count a pin against me, he will.

If only to make things fair. After all, he can't count a pin if he can't see it.

And at the end, he'll the first to say to the world title as its strapped around my waist, "weclome home, welcome home."

And to me, he'll say, "Congratulations, Mister President."


Jan 10, 2004
New York
New year, old habits.

Outside, chilled unseen air cuts through the busy evening atmosphere, swooping down upon the Big Apple's residents; smacking faces, jetting up skirts and penetrating caps, causing shivers all around. The blustering winds of this rampant cold front continue their chaotic streaks outdoors, yet are unable to get through those pesky human crafted things known as buildings. Even around the upper levels of high rise hotels and apartments, where it's most untamed, fully unleashed, the wind can only hope to make the occasional squeak of friction, as it crashes off the windows on balconies.

This is where we find Larry Tact and his latest celebration of the New Year.

Mingling with the night's guest list, inside the comfort of his plush suite, he makes small talk and jokes while making his way toward one of the adjacent bedrooms. Once through the crowd, he loosens his red/blue striped tie from around his neck as he closes the door of the bedroom behind him. Slumping down on the Queen-size bed, he sighs.

Tact: Sometimes life brings too many opportunities. You get complacent, anticipating the next one to come. Always expecting the next big payday, the next great milestone, just because. Truth is... that's never a guarantee.

For instance, I never know when my next title shot will be. Some would tell me I won't know when I'll have as big a stage to wrestle on, if ever again. Some say I haven't ever wrestled on so big a stage in my life. And I'm never one to overlook opportunity.

But then.... the Superbowl of Wrestling isn't necessarily the gala extreme I see other people talking about. Not to downplay the magnitude of this show in WFW, but the last year has only reaffirmed what I had already come to accept....

Nothing is permanent in wrestling, nothing is eternal or definitive.

He leans back on the headboard of the bed, lightly tugging his black slacks a bit, dispersing any momentarily-created wrinkles.

There is never any 'grandest' stage because there are so many different ones. There is no 'greatest' Champion or 'biggest' event... everything, in wrestling, is temporary.

Holiday festivities and training aside, I've listened to the other voices in this match harping on and on about their grand plans... from Copycat's intentions to rectify the past, as if he could wipe away what's happened... to Manson's digging up the past to create the usual illusion of grandeur... to Felix Red's giving a summary of his past with L.O.V.E. and what he intends to do about it... to Anarky's pegging all of us as bastard piles of **** because of what we've done in the past.

Let me ask, what has the past taught anyone? Nothing. It's great entertainment? Maybe at first, but by now is there a point to all this fronting bull****? Do we need to continuously repeat the mistake of harping on what's done, never to be revisited?

**** the past! And believe me, I have something to gain from inserting the past to this discussion.

I can draw motivation from Red and Anarky ****ing with me, costing me a previous shot at the title we now vie for, my wanting to just plain **** them up.

Copycat beating me in our lone match, my wanting to even things up, and make Icekold disappear for her part in the original Survivor gig.

Manson never having beaten me, my having pinned him, to win a World Title on one occasion.

Reaching over to a night table, he raises a glass filled with a vibrant red liquid in toasting fashion.

**** the past. None of that, just like all the parodying, campaigning, and drugs will be in season this year. Relevant? If you think it will badly enough, maybe you'll be able to delude yourself. But it won't change the pain slicing through your muscles when you're tossed into steel ringposts, or put through a chair.

And yeah, that's all in store for the show, I'm sure. Falls Count Anywhere, how can anything less be expected?

But the point is, I've been done reminiscing the past for a while, this isn't the first time I've had to make people aware.

Call me a Rabesque emote if you want, but well... how wrong would you be looking? (chuckles) Is there anyone I'd be less likely to duplicate?

Even Manson's only on par.

Takes a drink from the glass, looking at it as he swishes the liquid contained.

And anyway, this is supposed to be the climax of the year... the 'biggest' show on the circuit, right? Why bother doing the rehashing and the bull****ing as you've been doing for the past year?

Didn't you all hear? It's a new year! Let's ring it in with some style, some class... tactfully.

Let's face facts. Nobody expected Larry Tact making it to this match, this Main Event. Felix Red, Jean Rabesque, hell maybe even the Steve Johnson bandwagon riders... all two of them, both named on that short list.

But Larry Tact, coming back after a months-long rehab? I don't care what the odds were, of course, but now there's an enigma in the match. You can all make the token comments of mock praise and/or mockery that I'm here. Hell, I can even provide some comments I've heard thrown around....

Larry Tact isn't elite.

Hasn't cracked the upper echelon.

Never had a big match.

All things you'd tend to hear about the 'underdog' who may even be pegged to go down first, perhaps. Yet I'm still here, and I'll still be ready as I always am.

And while I may have a less inspired view of this show than others... I still know how to party, and the hype this show is getting makes it the current grandest party in the land.

And I do know how to live in the present, the current.

As the SoCal Rumble showed... I also know how to cut through the fat and break out of the pack in large scaled matches. And with four other opponents, and Falls Count Anywhere... you tell me.

Another swig from the glass, a forearm brushed across the chin.

Do yourselves a favor. Forget you ever had broken families, drug addictions, arrests, political aspirations... drain your minds of all those thoughts... because very soon they won't much matter, anyway. Instead, why don't you walk up to a mirror, stand in front of the frames, see your physical form reflected, and know....

That's as big as you are. Through all the ****ing on one another... all the year's built up hopes... all the blood spilled... all the glory or shame, or both... you only amount to the reflection between those frames.

So can you bear to handle that, and make something of yourselves this night? Isn't that what the past year comes down to?

There is no grander scheme of things, unless you're being comedic again. You have no say over anything more than your own form, and what you do with it.

And I'll show as much at the Superbowl. I'll be using what I've been given and gained through my own hard work, just like the rest of you, and nothing more. I won't be anticipating victory... beautifying the situation... making myself the ultimate vanity, the 'biggest star,' or the 'chosen'....

But I know that winning the title would give me a true opportunity, as opposed to this, just another step. With wrestling, everything's just a step until you have something to show, whether a title or stable or something else. So unless I win the title, the true opportunity doesn't come to me.

And really, I'm no less likely to win it than anyone else. I bring my ****ing self, and make my final wave of the year, just like everyone else. We'll see how far I ride that crest... whether to first wipeout of the match... or to gold and what I may make of it.

The new year has brought old habits along... but if 2006 will bring along one change, it will be a fresh Larry Tact... to wrestling.

Another toast before he drains the glass, returns to the party.


Diva Tree
Jan 1, 2000
(CUEUP: "Passive" by Perfect Circle.)

(FADEIN to an empty arena... the ultimate cliche... and in it, wearing street clothes, sans title, as usual... is Anarky. He's seated in the 3rd row, his legs up... no expression whatsoever... until he sighs deeply.)

ANARKY: "How I have tried... I have tried to reason with you. To help you to understand your own places in this game. I have tried to HELP YOU...

"But no. Instead, I get you... and ultimately... I am... disappointed.

"Oh... I expect it out of Manson and Copycat... maybe even Tact... but you...

"Felix. My boy. How you could say such things to me. I have always wanted what is best for you. And such accusations you hurl at me. Such things you say.

"Seniority, Felix? You say that as if I didn't know. As if we hadn't discussed such a thing.

"It was MY NAME which gave YOU credibility, Felix. You, who was wasting away, unnoticed, unappreciated in the background...

"And look what I gave you. A chance at PRESIDENCY. A chance to be CHAMPION.

"But you didn't WANT IT enough, Felix. YOU didn't believe in yourself. And I'm not surprised... after all, it's all been done... it's hard to stay motivated, isn't it? Hard to care...

"Look at Copycat. The man accuses me of being unoriginal. Ain't that rich. Unoriginal?

"Saturday Night Live has been on the air for too long... satire and parody are so old and used up it hurts to watch you perform, Copycat... like a bad Adam Sandler film, you just can't look away from the train wreck...

"... how can anything be original, you stupid f*ck? Manson an innovator? How so? His cliches are as used up as anything else, and worse it, his self-importance exposes him for the fraud he's always been...

"There's nothing shocking about you, Michael. Not when you can turn on a computer and watch a cheerleader f*ck a horse and let it sh*t on her within 10 minutes...

"And I'm supposed to be impressed or even care with your little rants? What have YOU done for WFW, Michael? You say things have been so interesting, but it seems to ME, Michael, that it was LOVE that made this league what it is.

"Before LOVE, there was Scotty Michaels... there was Copycat... and you. Before LOVE, there WAS no point. WE breathed life into this league... WE brought Dan Ryan here.

"And it was me who brought Maelstrom here, wasn't it. And I gave them what they REALLY wanted, Michael. Violence for the sake of violence. Nothing more honest or pure than that.

"Two men with nothing to prove... just two men who have longed to taste that blood. Oh, Michael... why don't you go back to NFW, where you matter... where your version of verbal masturbation is tolerated...

"Just look around, and why should I care...

"What of you, Larry? I thought you knew better. But here you are, pulling your same old sh*t. Yeah, yeah, don't think about the past -- true enough, but let's not forget about what brought you here. Let's not forget about what YOU'VE been given.

"After all, Larry, haven't I always treated you differently? Haven't I always afforded you a tiny amount of respect? You see how I treat these dogs... and I do it for you, Larry, because I see things in you, just like I see things in Felix.

"Michael and Copycat are too far gone to ever recover. Their egos out of control years ago... their self-importance filling their vision, never realizing what they have... and what they never will.

"But you, Larry, have an opportunity. To understand your place.

"Embrace the uselessness, Larry. Embrace the pointless way in which you will most certainly bleed. Admire it, Larry... admire how they cheer for your blood... watch their eyes as they hold up their hard-earned cash, and know that the only meaning you serve... the only purpose you have... is to die for their amusement. To dig your early grave with pill-popping and steroid abusing... too many nights on the road and too many dirty prostitutes...

"Embrace what I give you, Larry, because I'm not like the others. I have never needed to lie or to pretend to be something I'm not. I'm a simple man... perhaps a bored man, for having seen too much and cared too little...

"But there's no going back now. Falls Count Anywhere. We can make them bleed so gloriously.

"And you, Felix... you, most of all... you will listen to me.

"I chose you, Felix... out of all... my favorites. Wells made me laugh... Psycho got his hands dirty for us...

"But you and I, Felix... LOVE is our child. LOVE is our vessell. And you need not abandon ship now. For I have given you what you wanted... another chance. And I will not bow down, Felix... but I will fight back.

"I will take your spinning heel kicks and your Ecstacy to Agony and I will scream in delight... because you are now what I knew you could be. The Main Event. The only thing worth listening to...

"The rest of them, they're dogs. They always will be. You and I, well... we may fight, but isn't it our right... isn't it JUSTICE... to tear them down? To oppress the weak? Survival of the fittest, no? The numbers game is nothing more than intelligence...

"They'll never learn, Felix. We know that. We tried to help them... to see what it could be like, but they disappointed us. And you... you disappoint me.

"Well... I guess I wouldn't be much of a Deadbeat Dad unless I let you have it, would I...

"See.... to you.... pathetic... whelps.... this title means something. You NEED to be Champion. You need it to validate you... to make you feel like you've got a big d*ck...

"Me? I already have what I want.... I have the cowards and the liars.... the pretenders and the wannabes... all the hopeful Champions... all coming for me.

"The Boy Who Destroyed the World... The Man More Exciting than Jesus... The Smartest Player in the Game... and the Tactful One.

"Falls Count Anywhere. Anything goes.

"I have dreamed of this moment... I have longed for this. For you... to come for me. To take what you believe belongs to you.

"You've been lied to, gentlemen. Your dreams are illusions, and I'm not going to give you what you want... I will not feed into your consumerism, your need to prove anything...

"Come to me, children. Come and fight me like the cowards you are. Formulate your little plans so you can avoid me... come up with excuses for when you come up short...

"You'll get exactly what you deserve, I promise.




League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Buck up, little trooper

(Cueup: “We Are All on Drugs” by Weezer)

(Fade in on Copycat once again in front of the giant television monitor. This time, apparently having learned a lesson about trying to lean back while sitting on a stool, he is in a director’s chair. He is clad in the same jeans, beret and sunglasses, and now wears a WFW Copycat “SMARTEST PLAYER IN THE GAME” T-shirt. The “CAT TV” logo is once again present in the corner of the screen)

Copycat: Greetings, Cat Lovers the world over of all shapes and sizes, and welcome to episode two of the amazing new sensation sweeping the nation, CAT TV! When we last left our hero, he was presenting to the world the very FIRST in his line of video masterpieces: a tribute to the one, the only, the magnificent, Mr. Michael Manson.

(Copycat covers his eyes with his hand, as though deeply saddened)

Copycat: But alas! For all the effort I put into my music video, it seems that my poor opponents were entirely unable to get the point. Now, I wouldn’t expect Anarky to understand anything more complicated than the cooking instructions on his box of Easy Mac, and Larry Tact was a little too wrapped up in dealing with the nonsensical jabberings of his other opponents to pay attention to little ol’ 301-pound me. But Manson and Felix Red…I expected better. I expected so much better.

(He shakes his head sadly)

Copycat: For Manson’s part, I know that he is blinded by rage when people compare him to Marilyn Manson. But I would have thought he would be smart enough – since he’s such a clever guy, y’know – to realize that I wasn’t trying to make fun of his name or compare him to the well-known musician who shares it. Heck, anyone who’s anyone knows that the only similarity to Marilyn that Michael displays is the last name…and the entrance music…and the names of all his finishing moves. One is a wrestler, one is a musician – how could anyone, MUCH less someone as intelligent as myself, make that sort of mistake?

(He laughs disingenuously)

Copycat: I merely thought that my parodying a Marilyn Manson song would provide some of the irony Michael Manson loves so dearly. Comparing the two of them would just be trite and cliché, I said to myself. How he could have seen that video as anything other than the glowing tribute it was is just…beyond me.

(Copycat adopts a thoughtful look)

Copycat: But then I thought…maybe the similarities between the two Mansons go a little deeper than I had originally believed. Had Michael not gotten so…so gosh darn DEFENSIVE, I might not have even noticed. But I’ve thought about it since then, and it’s occurred to me…perhaps they’re not so different after all. After all, Michael Manson’s number-one point of pride lately is how downright SHOCKING he is – my god! He turned on COPYCAT! No one has seen that before! His attitude isn’t all that dissimilar from Marilyn’s. Heavy emphasis on shock. Desire to get everyone talking. Doing whatever it takes to remain the center of attention. Eternal belief that treating them like garbage will only make the fans like him more.

(He shrugs)

Copycat: And yet…really…lately…who’s heard a damn thing about Marilyn Manson? His last album was a greatest-hits, and the only new single – a been-there-done-that rehash of Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus” – was more or less seen as a joke. And then there was his last full album. (m)OBSCENE, with its dull lyrics and simplistic cheerleader chants, wasn’t received so well. Neither was “This is the New Sh(BLEEP)t,” which went even further down the path of dullness. He tried to pull out all the stops with “Saint” – even going so far as to make a video that was banned for its violence and visceral imagery – but who even saw that video? The mainstream is starting to forget about Marilyn Manson. He’s trying to stay afloat, to his credit, but he’s quickly losing steam. What used to be shocking is now commonplace. And he’s getting more desperate by the day.

(Copycat gives a hint of a grin)

Copycat: Sound like someone you know, Mike?

(After a moment of smugness, Copycat is back to normal)

Copycat: I’ll deal with Larry Tact later, as he’s the only participant in this matchup that I have any respect for. As dirty a word as THAT is for me nowadays. And Anarky…well…I want the WFW World Heavyweight Title back and all, and he’s the one who has it, but quite frankly, I’m not real enthusiastic about saying anything to him until he actually does something that makes me – or anyone else in this match – sit up take notice, that’ll have to wait. So let’s talk about Felix Red.

(Felix Red’s face appears on the monitor behind Copycat)

Copycat: Felix is trying to be Manson Junior these days, so I was mighty surprised when he, too, did not understand the brilliance behind my last video masterpiece. He made a reference to modern goth culture and how there are better bands for me to parody, and it was very clever of him to mention My Chemical Romance and the Dresden Dolls and all the other groups whose top selling points tend to be men in makeup, and I’d bother responding to how he obviously took the easiest route possible and didn’t put any more thought into his response than Jared Wells puts into his sexual encounters, but I think I know why Felix didn’t seem to understand.

(He sighs)

Copycat: He’s just too wrapped up in this whole Anarky thing, it seems. I mean, really – who dumped who, here? Felix can’t stop talking about Anarky, and that first promo from Anarky was just so absurdly emo. Come on guys, it’s sad when any relationship comes to an end, but being bitter about it isn’t going to help any! You’ve got to move on! Then Felix can concentrate on riding Manson’s tattered coattails and Anarky can concentrate on beating Pulsar or something after I take the title back.

(Copycat seems to perk up)

Copycat: So buck up, Felix! I know you’re feeling down, and I know it was insensitive of me to present a video tribute to Michael Manson without even THINKING about my other opponents. I know you deserve one too, Felix! And I intend to right my wrong by presenting you with one right here on today’s episode of CAT TV! You expressed your distaste for post-goth-type bands, so I tried to stay away from that genre of music, and I think you’ll be very pleased with what you see on today’s…

(“We Are All on Drugs” ends, and a drumroll begins)

Copycat: CAT! TEE! VEE!

(The video screen goes staticky and we zoom in on it)

(Cueup: A recognizable dance-pop tune)

(Fade in on a dance club of some sort. A crowd of people is pouring in the door of the club, most of them wearing very flashy and extravagant outfits. The camera pans across the line of people walking into the club and eventually pans away from the line entirely. We take a brief sojourn across the club before focusing on a figure by himself, standing against the wall. We quickly notice that this figure is dressed as Felix Red, but he’s a bit bigger, as he is – predictably – Copycat. CopyRed does his best Rob Thomas, mouthing the words as the vocals kick in)

Now it seems to me
That our team has reached its end
I thought we weren’t just allies
Yeah, I thought that we were friends

(CopyRed glares across the club and the camera flashes to a skinny guy, dressed for a night of clubbing but sporting Anarky’s face paint and a title belt over his shoulder, as he walks in with a group of friends)

And you swore to me
That we’d never see this day
Now L.O.V.E. has come and gone
Why’d it have to end this way?

(Cut back to CopyRed. A girl wearing a L.O.V.E. T-shirt approaches him. As she starts to greet him, he begins yelling the vocals in her face, scaring her off)

I don’t wanna be lonely no more
I don’t wanna have to work for this
My presidency wouldn’t have been so poor
If only I’d just learned how to resist

(Cut to CopyRed in the bathroom of the club. He stares angrily into the mirror as he yells the vocals. Some guy behind him is gawking at him, looking frightened)

I don’t wanna be boring no more
But it seems I’m rather good at this
Winning fairly is just such an awful chore
I don’t wanna be lonely anymore

(Cut back to Fake Anarky and his friends as they surround a helpless-looking guy and start pushing him around)

Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Whoa oh oh oh oh

(Fake Anarky and his friends knock the guy down and act like they’re going to start kicking him. CopyRed can be seen in the background, looking bitter)

Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Whoa oh oh oh oh

(Cut back to CopyRed standing against the wall. The girl with the L.O.V.E. T-shirt walks back up to him and offers him a Pez, but he swats it out of her hand and she runs off)

Now it’s hard for me
When my heart’s about to burst
Drugs don’t ease the pain
No, they only make it worse

(CopyRed has a flashback, in which we see him, Fake Anarky and two other guys – probably representing Jared Wells and Psycho, though they look nothing like them – kicking some guy while he’s down)

What meant more to me
Presidency or the thought that we
Were fighting ‘gainst everything
Just to beat the Cat again
Why can’t we just try

(Cut back to CopyRed in the bathroom as he screams at the mirror. He’s starting to draw a crowd behind him)

I don’t wanna be lonely no more
I don’t wanna be so bad at this
I don’t wanna think the fact that I’m a bore
Is the reason why the fans all boo and hiss

(Cut to CopyRed walking out of the bathroom. He starts to brighten up as Fake Anarky appears to be turning in his direction, but Fake Anarky keeps turning and waves to someone else. CopyRed looks despondent as he continues to mouth the vocals)

I don’t wanna be worthless no more
But you know you made me feel like this
How could you take your belt and walk right out the door
I don’t wanna be lonely anymore

(Cut back to CopyRed against the wall. We enter a fantasy sequence where he walks over to Fake Anarky and the two of them start stomping the guy on the ground)

Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Whoa oh oh oh oh

(The fantasy sequence ends and another one begins, which features CopyRed walking over to Fake Anarky and punching him in the face, then screaming at him)

Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Whoa oh oh oh oh

(The fantasy sequence ends as CopyRed contemplates walking over to Fake Anarky, but stops and leans back against the wall. He mouths the vocals sadly)

Thought that I was good to you
Oh, why weren’t you good to me?
You get your belt, and I keep my presidency

(We focus on the girl in the L.O.V.E. T-shirt in the background as she glances over at CopyRed with a sort of “Awwww!” look on her face)

Oh, it could be paradise
Psycho and Wells for company
Why did I give all my time, you
End it just ‘cause you decide to

(Cut back to Fake Anarky and his friends stomping the guy. The similarly-attired-but-much-skinnier Fake Copycat from the previous video walks over and confronts Fake Anarky and his friends. Fake Anarky shoves Fake Copycat and laughs, as Fake Copycat just grins)

I don’t wanna be lonely no more
I don’t want it all to end like this
I don’t wanna think I acted like your whore
Just to put another title on your list

(Fake Copycat clocks Fake Anarky, and all of Fake Anarky’s friends scatter and flee. Fake Copycat snatches the title belt away from Fake Anarky and drapes it over his shoulder. Fake Anarky gets up and backs away)

I don’t wanna be bitter no more
That the Cat totally called all this
Gonna cut myself and listen to the Cure
I don’t wanna be lonely anymore

(We see CopyRed crack a grin as Fake Anarky and his friends run out of the club, Fake Copycat yelling after them)

Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
Whoa oh oh oh oh

(CopyRed turns and sees the girl in the L.O.V.E. T-shirt approaching him and his smile gets wider. She smiles back)

Oh oh whoa oh
Oh oh whoa oh
I don’t wanna be lonely anymore

(CopyRed mouths the vocals as he and the girl in the L.O.V.E. T-shirt slowly approach each other, their eyes locked)

I don’t wanna be lonely no more
I don’t wanna be lonely no more

(CopyRed and the girl in the L.O.V.E. T-shirt meet, and they wrap their arms around each other. CopyRed approaches her as if to kiss her, and the girl moves toward him)

I don’t wanna be lonely no more
I don’t wanna be lonely anymore

(As CopyRed moves in for the kiss, the girl suddenly pulls away and walks past him. She excitedly runs over to Fake Copycat and gives him a big hug. CopyRed’s smile fades, and he leans back against the wall, looking despondent again. Text appears in the bottom left corner of the screen)

“Lonely No More”
A CAT TV Production
Director: James “Copycat” Kattman

(Fade out)


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
The Juice

(FADEIN: The MANSON IN 06 school bus drives down an Atlantic City street at night, the casino signs glowing bright. Inside, MICHAEL MANSON is at the wheel, but steering with his right knee as he reads "Tai-Pan" by James Clavellis.)

MANSON: Odd, I don't think I said I was shocking. Or that I ever have. I've claimed to be God more than once, not "God", but "the God." But not shocking. In fact, all I said was I do morally questionable things and gave a brief rationale for why I do them.

And after the ten minutes of efforting effort in doing that, everyone else basically ignores almost everything I said and gives off on tangents where I said I was shocking.

Of course this shouldn't shock me. People seem to be reconstructing history to their whim right now.

Jared Wells is claiming to have had a memorable feud with me, but we only had one match ever, and we've been in about 800 different promotions together at one time or another.

Larry Tact is claiming I never beat him for some reason, but he was someone I rolled over during one of the times I was declaring myself God.

And both Copycat and Anarky are saying how they're so disappointed in other people, which is probably the only time they've ever actually said the same thing, though I doubt it was intended.

(Without looking at the road, Manson makes the bus change lanes and make a left, swerving another another car making an illegal right.)

I've been able to conclude one thing about Copycat so far. That he's about as smart as a 12 year old because he thinks its really interesting to compare me to a musician. And, yeah, I turned on you like a lot of people did before.

But you're really missing the point. When you think that I, of all people, am someone to trust and am not expecting me to turn on you and reduce to a bloody husk, then either you're extremely stupid, senile, and delusional, or I did a really good job.

Nark, while not using the same words, is telling me I don't shock anyone anymore. Well, I don't really try to shock anyone because when you try to shock someone, you never really do, just like if you try not to become like your parents, or the authority figure you hate so much, you actually do.

I act like myself, but I'm perfectly aware you can download clips a woman having sex with a horse on the internet. It's my freaking horse! And for your information, that girl is a talented local theater actress who really needed to pay her phone bill for that month.

Now LOVE was a big deal, but it was second to me because I was the World Heavyweight Champion, and the greatest World Heavyweight Champion ever in WFW. That's the point of being the World Heavyweight Champion. And given that LOVE formed right before I won the title, and didn't do that much until I was champion, you've using flawed logic.

Because if LOVE was so damn greater than I was, why the hell didn't any of you win the title off me?

Then you'll say the title is excrement, worth nothing, and I made it worth even less, and then Copycat was champion for less time than takes a woman to menstrate. But then what kind of champion does that make you, Nark?

I'll tell you. The same as Copycat and your friend Psycho.

Two weeks worth.

As for why the Inner Circle came around, I have no idea and I doubt they did either given how poorly planned out everything they did was. They tried to intimidate an entire promotion by debuting by talking to a lawyer!

At the end of it, Dan Ryan had placed a revolver in his mouth, and with tears streaming down his face, begged me to give him a reason to live.

(Manson parks his bus along a darkened, warehouse district.)

I said I couldn't think of one, mostly I wanted to see him play russian roulette, but afterwards, I most have made something up because I gave him a new life's purpose here in WFW....which is more than anyone, a friend, or enemy has done for him.

I suppose that's the main difference between us, Nark. I'm a constructionist, and you're not. Though violence for the sake of violence doesn't really lead to anything..not even more violence...just a couple of guys leaving around tired and injured. Which would be quite amusing in a retirement home, and is something I need to work on.

Now look at Larry Tact though. He's traveling through time! He cut a promo on New Year's responding to things we all said after New Year's and played for it everyone later!

That's the height of postmodernism, and I'm so stunned I can barely respond.

Except to say that Larry Tact could wrestle like God, Satan, Zeus, Odin, George W Bush, and Russel Crowe put together and it won't matter because one of my best friends is the referee and will basically hand me the title.

Alex Wylde was a world champion and president at the same time. He sees the need for that type of individual to rule your careers and end them on his pez-addled whims. Even WFW sees this since they made him the referee.

But I've given my presidential campaign some more thought and realized that adopting Felix Red was a step in the right direction, but it's not enough. No, the voters like a family man. Even if that family is sort of like the mafia, but with more tie-dye, gothic S&M, and pointless cursing.

And I didn't want Felix to not have someone his own age to hang around with so I went and adopted another wayward son. I was driving through Connecticut and found this luchador shambling around, having just his job and purpose in life, and I thought, wouldn't it be great to have another lackey like Bueno Excellente, but thinner, crazier, and just as perverted?

(Manson tosses his book into the front and wanders over to the back where he taps someone sleeping under a newspaper awake.)

Now trademarks and such prevent me from refering to this young lad by the name you all know him by....but I'll sure everyone will recognize.....THE JUICE!

(A short man in a white t-shirt and baggy red pants, wearing a horned lucha mask, jumps and besides running up and down the bus.)

THE JUICE: Finally.....the JUICE has come back to OMAHA!

(He stands in a seat and raises his fists.)

JUICE: The Juice is loose...and I just want to see some juice...real juice to get those guys on my level...like I used to know this old cowboy and he used to kick it with me, but he wasn't up with the Juice! No, I smoked him to the ground and I licked cocaine off his ass crack and his son joined in! The Juice doesn't really remember what happened after that, but he woke up with no pants!

(Manson pats the Juice on the head.)

MANSON: Good boy.

JUICE(nodding frantically): Yesyesyesyes! The Juice is good and loose! Estacy! Wheres my E? The Juice needs E!

MANSON(pointing backwards with his thumb): In the toilet in the back portable bathroom.

(The Juice dashes for it, and Manson opens the door and climbs down onto the sidewalk, you can hear slurping and drinking.)

MANSON: And to help the WFW and the Superbowl of Wrestling, I've passed through Atlantic City to pick up the big show's most important VIP guest and special referee for the world title match.

(Manson walks down an alley and finds ALEX WYLDE slumped down against a dumpster. Stubble grows all over his face, his hair's disheveled, his eye bloodshot. His clothes are tatters and he sips from a whiskey bottle. Manson crouches down next to him and snaps his fingers in front of his face.)

MANSON: Alex? Alex?

WYLDE: Wha? Who?

MANSON: Come on man, time to ref. You can sober up on the bus.

WYLDE(curling up into a defensive ball): I ain't gettin' on no bus!

MANSON: But you can see the photos I have of Malestrom exercising his foot fetish....

(Wylde jumps up and runs for the bus.)

WYLDE: Bus! Bus! Where?

MANSON: Right over here.

(As Manson walks Wylde over to the bus, a naked "The Juice" runs past, his body digitally censored.)

MANSON: Manson in 06, people. Let's try to make WFW a wonderful home for the Juice.


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
A startling revelation...and country music!

(Cueup: “Good Times” by Tommy Lee featuring Butch Walker)

(Fade in on Copycat before the same massive widescreen TV as before, in the same director’s chair, with the same jeans, sunglasses and beret. But with a different T-shirt! This one is a WFW Copycat “THE RESPECT THAT I DESERVE” T-shirt. Oh, and the “CAT TV” logo is still there, and in the same place)

Copycat: Good morrow to ye, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to another outstanding edition of CAT TV, the television sensation that’s taking the world by storm. We come to you from CAT TV studios once again to kick ass and chew gum…and we’re all out of ass.

(Copycat blows a bubble with the gum in his mouth)

Copycat: Before you ask, YES, there will be another visually stunning video tribute to a WFW superstar on today’s edition, but there’s business to be conducted first. And oh, what depressing business it is. Because as I sit here, pondering how I should respond to Michael Manson’s latest earth-shattering promo, I find myself grappling with the notion of resorting to something I so HOPED I would not have to resort to. I hope viewers will gather from the fact that I just ended a sentence with a preposition that I really am TRULY heartsick over what I have to say today.

(He appears to struggle with his words)

Copycat: It’s just that…well…I watched Manson’s promo…and I did something that no one, ever, in the history of mankind, has done while watching a Manson promo. And I’m ashamed. It’s not enough that I’m ashamed it happened. Oh, that hurts, don’t get me wrong. It tears me up inside. But having to come on TV and admit it to all of the Cat Lovers who scan their cable dials all day long, hoping to get a glimpse of my smiling face…that is the true torture. Yet, I am strong. I will persevere. And a great weight will be lifted from my conscience if I can just come clean. When I saw Manson’s last promo, I…

(He pauses briefly)

Copycat: …I…I got…bored.

(He looks down at the floor)

Copycat: It hurts me to say it. I don’t like calling people boring, because it’s far too clichéd. But there’s just nothing else I can say. What I saw from Manson in his last promo was nothing but the same old, same old. And this is Manson we’re talking about here! His same old, same old is usually great stuff! But I can only watch a man argue semantics, trot around an allegedly comical bit character and endanger human life so many times before I start REALLY wishing for a John Stamos cameo or something. And I feel deeply for any WFW fan who feels the same way, though I have a sneaking suspicion that most of the ones following this match are fast-forwarding through all promos that do not feature me. And maybe Larry Tact. The brief glimpse we had of Tact was kind of interesting. The best-case scenario here is that I’m just tired of drug humor, because Manson’s been doing it and Felix Red’s been doing it and I’d have to be on about 12 different kinds of drugs to watch an Anarky promo without wanting to make some toast in the bathtub and they keep showing “Half Baked” on Comedy Central. But I suspect that Manson’s promo was legitimately boring. I can only hope it was a fluke.

(Copycat shrugs)

Copycat: I mean…I was working on preparing some responses to the things he said. But then it occurred to me that most of them are things that I’ve already covered, that Manson just more or less rehashed in such a way as to make himself look worse. The violent response to my comparing him to Marilyn Manson was to be expected. That ALWAYS makes Manson angry. And he’s so cute when he’s angry. But everything else was just…ugh. Dull. Jesus. Is he still on his “I got you to trust me just so I could turn on you” kick? Can he possibly think I trusted him out of anything other than necessity, that I would have much preferred to have NOT tagged with him at Road to Glory but figured Rainbow Cat and Mephisto would not be the most formidable opponents? Or that I hadn’t outright said on an occasion or two that I’d never trust him? Hell, I figured the only reason he WOULDN’T eventually backstab me was because he knew it would be trite and stupid, but I guess I gave him too much credit.

(He shakes his head disappointedly)

Copycat: And the whole comparing title reigns thing? Please. Even if we don’t take into account the fact that, if you’re judging by days, my title reigns was about as long as his was, we can at least take into account the fact that through the entire duration of his reign, Manson defended the title four times. FOUR. Two more than me. And one of them was against Richard friggin’ Gideon, so it barely even counts. I covered that last time. And I also covered the fact that for all the glory he heaps on his title reign, I ended it singlehandedly. I didn’t need to cook up some scheme to “orchestrate” Manson losing the title – I just walked into the ring, did my job, and walked out the champion and the better man. Manson can try and take credit for ending my title reign. That’s his prerogative, and if he wants to ignore the fact that he was only one of the four men who interfered against me in that match, more power to him. But the fact is, in the one match he and I ever had against each other, for the top prize in this industry, the WFW World Heavyweight Title, I cleanly pinned his shoulders to the mat, one-two-three. That is something that Michael Manson cannot EVER take away from me. I think that upsets him a little.

(Copycat’s serious look quickly fades away)

Copycat: But that’s all just so DEPRESSING! Nobody wants to even CONSIDER that Manson is anything less than phenomenal, and I don’t want to suggest otherwise any more than I have to. Plus, I’m afraid I may have made an error most grievous in more or less ignoring the current WFW World Heavyweight Champion, one Anarky.

(A picture of Anarky appears on the big TV)

Copycat: Don’t worry, Anarky! I haven’t forgotten about you! I know you’d be deeply upset if the one person on earth who doesn’t refer to you as “Nark” stopped paying attention, and I don’t want to upset you! So I’ve created for you…a peace offering. Yes, that’s right, just like Michael Manson and Felix Red before you, I have created for you yet ANOTHER wondrous video tribute! And because I feel so bad about ignoring you up to now, I’ve set it to the tune of one of your favorite songs in the whole world! So shine up that belt, wipe the Cheez-It crumbs off that chair, and sit back, because it’s time for you to have your socks rocked off by yet another presentation from…

(The music stops and a drumroll starts)

Copycat: CAT! TEE! VEE!

(The big TV goes staticky, and we zoom in on it)

(Cueup: A recognizable country tune)

(Fade in on a stage at a country bar of some sort. We can see the same four-piece band from “Shock is Dead,” this time decked out in more country-esque duds, jamming on stage. The band is fronted by an odd figure – Copycat, all country’d up in jeans, boots and a cowboy hat, but also sporting Anarky’s facepaint and a L.O.V.E. T-shirt. He also has a guitar, but it’s obvious that he has no idea how to play it and that he’s faking it very badly. As the band begins its song, we briefly cut to a shot of the same CopyNarky walking in the door and taking a seat at the bar. A cowboy in a Psycho mask, accompanied by two other cowboy-looking fellows with “WELLS” and “RED” written on the backs of their shirts, walks up to CopyNarky and starts up a conversation. As the vocals kick in, Copycat does his best Toby Keith)

He said you lost to the Cat before
I said he’s beat me a time or two
He said well hello, my name is Psycho
And meet Felix and Jared too

(Cowboy Psycho pounds his fist on the bar as he speaks, impassioned. PseudoWells and PseudoRed get equally animated. Cowboy Psycho points across the bar and the camera pans to the same skinny Fake Copycat from the previous videos, in the midst of a game of pool. We cut back to CopyNarky as he scratches his chin wistfully, considering his options. The bartender sets a shot in front of CopyNarky)

We’re all tired of being boring now
That Cat’s tearin’ up this place
But if we all gang up on him now
We can throw that right back in his face

(CopyNarky takes his shot and mouths the lyrics to his new friends)

I said, guys…

(CopyNarky shrugs, still mouthing the words. Cowboy Psycho and his two buddies nod assent, taking everything in)

I ain’t as good as I once was
I got a few years on me now
And when I don’t cheat
I usually get beat
So let’s try this alliance out

(Shots are lined up in front of Cowboy Psycho, PseudoWells and PseudoRed. CopyNarky points over to Fake Copycat, who has just sunk the 8-ball to the chagrin of his opponent. The opponent pulls out a wad of cash and hands it to Fake Copycat. We cut back to CopyNarky, who seems to be outlining a plan while still mouthing the words)

This league needs some L.O.V.E. tonight
I think our number’s come up
I ain’t as good as I once was
But with your help
I’ll be good enough

(Cowboy Psycho, PseudoWells and PseudoRed take their shots, then leave the bar. They walk over to Fake Copycat, and Cowboy Psycho grabs the cash as PseudoWells and PseudoRed shove Fake Copycat to the ground. The three of them then bring the cash back to CopyNarky, who smiles and pockets it, then waves off the three of them. As he chuckles about his accomplishment, he seems to spy someone across the bar and waves to him. Another cowboy, this one sporting full-on goth makeup, walks onscreen, sits at the bar next to CopyNarky, and shakes his hand)

I still hang out with my good friend Mike
I’ve known him since he was breaking in
One night he had a few shots, came up with a plot
To get me some gold again

CopyNarky and Cowboy Manson order up some shots and take them. Cowboy Manson then points over to another part of the bar, and we pan to see Fake Copycat engaged in an arm wrestling match with some other cowboy type. As we cut back to CopyNarky and Cowboy Manson, Manson is outlining another plot)

He said, you bring your L.O.V.E.r boys
We’ll take down that big bad Cat
He snorted up his last line of coke
And asked me just what I thought of that

(CopyNarky gives Cowboy Manson a slap on the back and laughs, mouthing the lyrics again)

I said, Mi-hiiiiike…

(CopyNarky mouths the lyrics again, outlining his new plan. We make a quick cut or two to the band he is fronting, as CopyNarky continues pretending he knows how to play guitar)

I ain’t as good as I once was
My, how the years have flown
But if you hang around
And L.O.V.E. stands its ground
Maybe I can hold my own

(We cut to the table where Fake Copycat is arm-wrestling the big cowboy. With some effort, Fake Copycat forces the guy’s hand down to the table and raises his arms in victory. The cowboy sighs, then grudgingly hands over another wad of cash. We cut back to CopyNarky and Cowboy Manson as CopyNarky points over at Fake Copycat, and Cowboy Manson gets out of his chair)

You know I want that belt tonight
But that Cat’s lookin’ way too tough
I ain’t as good as I once was
But with your help
I’ll be good enough

(Cut to the table. Cowboy Manson sneaks up behind Fake Copycat, kicks his chair out from under him, and swipes the cash. Fake Copycat glares at him as he walks away. Cowboy Manson hands the cash to CopyNarky, then makes a motion indicating that he wants a cut of it, but CopyNarky shoves him away. CopyNarky laughs to himself, but suddenly his eyes get wide as we cut to Fake Copycat getting back to his feet)

I was a menace in the ring
Way back there in my younger days
Now my ego’s saying, you can do this, right?
But my mind’s saying, ah, no way…

(CopyNarky mouths the lyrics, looking much less comfortable than he did before, as Fake Copycat walks over to him. From his body language, he appears to be pleading, though his words are just the chorus of the song)

I ain’t as good as I once was
That’s just the cold hard truth
Now I’m stuck in a match
With that mean ol’ Cat
And he’s lookin’ bulletproof

(CopyNarky glances to one side, and the camera pans to show Cowboy Psycho, PseudoWells and PseudoRed passed out drunk with their heads down on a table. CopyNarky glances to the other side, and the camera pans to show Cowboy Manson flipping him a digitally-censored bird. CopyNarky then slowly turns back to Fake Copycat, who is right in his face glaring at him)

Now, I said I could beat him now
Lord, I hope he don’t call my bluff
I ain’t as good as I once was
‘n I hope this time
I’ll be good enough

(CopyNarky makes like he’s going to get up and fight, but instead he tosses the wad of cash to Fake Copycat and falls off his barstool. He scampers away as Fake Copycat picks up the cash and pockets it, laughing)

No, I ain’t good as I once was
‘n I think this time
I ain’t good enough

(We cut back to the band as CopyNarky and the four other players finish their song. Fake Copycat walks by and makes a fake lunge at CopyNarky, causing him to flinch. Text appears in the bottom left corner of the screen)

“As Good As I Once Was”
A CAT TV Production
Director: James “Copycat” Kattman

(Fade out)

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