Wrestlestock 2: TV TITLE ROYALE!

[renner]

Telethon, Last Part

Steve Knox was not your average wrestler.

Actually, he was kind of your average wrestler, it's just that he was both good at his trade and he liked to make people think he was something bigger, something incandescent, something that transcended the fundamentals of professional wrestling itself. In the end, however, he was like any other wrestler... a guy who jumped around in a square shaped platform surrounded by steel cables while wearing tights and fighting off similarly-garbed people. But suspension of disbelief is a fundamental part of professional wrestling, and nobody knew that like Steve Knox.

Steve Knox knew the show business of wrestling better than most, as not only was he a second generation wrestler, but also the son of a bonafide wrestling legend and actor named Earl "the Pearl" Knox. He also had two brothers, one older and one younger, who also were professional wrestlers. In fact, both of them were contracted to PRIME Wrestling not too long ago.

Steve primarilly wrestled for the Squared Circle upon the loss of its television deal at the end of 2004, and he was its most decorated champion. winning a total of eight championships in a short span of time. Now the big fish in a small pond, Steve has decided to ply his trade in a different promotion.

Unfortunately for him, the promotion he chose was New Frontier Wrestling, the federation so ****ed up that Craig Miles was in charge of it. In other words, the inmates of NFW weren't just running the asylum... they had a major financial interest in it.

Nonetheless, Steve was committed, even if he seemed just a little out of place. The scene was back in the possibly fictional city of Beefville: City of the Annoyed, somewhere in the USA. We don't know exactly where. It's what added to the mystery of the city. Anyway, we were specifically back on the set of the Steve Knox For Television Champion Telethon, which has increasingly looked less like a telethon the longer it went. Nevertheless, our hosts were back on their own after the visits from the Squadron of Ringside Wrestling, Eddie Scott Poser of "Poland", and Miranda O'Reily, the manager of the Princes of New England in PRIME.

Steve Knox was dressed in a collared white shirt and khaki pants, as well as sneakers. Meanwhile, his co-host, Alexandria Malone, had finally had a "talk" with the on-set fashion designer (read: Beef, who wanted Alexandria to wear the shortest skirt allowed by international law) and simply resumed wearing what she would normally wear in such situations. In this case, a kind of a flowery, "autumn-themed" tunic and a pair of black leather pants. Oddly enough, the aforementioned on-set fashion designer (read: Beef) approved of this anyway. Even if he never once looked at Alexandria's face.

Steve looked at the camera, an almost solemn look on his face.

STEVE KNOX: We're now winding down here at the Steve Knox For Television Champion Telethon.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Oh? Too bad.

STEVE KNOX: Well, to be frank, we'd have been done long ago, but we kept getting interrupted by some troll who thinks that endlessly promoting himself would get him anywhere. I know, crazy, why would a telethon keep getting interrupted? (shrugs) Anyway, before we go, we had the chance the interview people about the upcoming title match that I'm sure I'll win since I'm... y'know. Awesome.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Everyone that's kinda important to this... um, movement of Steve's went out into the town to conduct these interviews.

STEVE KNOX: Enjoy.

We cut to the city streets of Beefville. They're fairly nondescript, nothing you wouldn't see in any other town. Virtual monuments to the gods of stone and glass gods towering above the streets, a couple of hobos, maybe a car or two... nothing you wouldn't see in any other city. People walked around in this possibly fictional setting, as well, including people going to their fictional jobs to do fictional tax law, or fictional food vendors selling fictional hot dogs on street corners. One such food vendor had a microphone shoved so far into his face that you'd swear that it was picking his nose for him. Of course, the perpetrator of this act was none other than El Janito of Mega Job.

EL JANITO: Sir! Sir sir! Siiiiir!

VENDOR: Get this thing out of my nose.

We cut to a business man, standing next to a smiling Alexandria Malone.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Hello, sir, could you give us your thoughts about the upcoming TV title battle royale at NFW's Wrestlestock 2?

BUSINESSMAN: What?

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Oh. Sorry. I'm from the Steve Knox For Television Champion Telethon.

BUSINESSMAN: Oh, okay. I suppose it's... an uncensored and ambitious look at society on the whole, where people engage in mortal combat for the rights to be declared the champion of television.

There was a pause.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: You have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, do you?

BUSINESSMAN: Not a clue.

We cut to Steve Knox, standing by with one of the very lovely hobos in the area. And by "lovely", I mean "smells like sewage", "missing a few teeth", and "almost permanently has a bottle of some cheap alcohol in his hand". You know, he could be related to Joe The Plumber.

STEVE KNOX: Hello, sir. What are your thoughts on my winning the Television Title at Wrestlestock 2?

HOBO: Wreshulsthuck? Ish that some sorta booze?

STEVE KNOX: No, sir. It's a pay-per-view. By New Frontier Wrestling.

HOBO: Oh. No, shur, I don't reckon I keep up wish `dis... wreshulin'.

STEVE KNOX: But you agree that I should win the title, right?

HOBO: ...Give me five bucks, an' I'll tell ya.

As Steve paused before reaching into his pocket, we cut to Beef, who was now talking to somebody else. He was likely drawn to this person because this person did, in fact, have boobs. Janito even held the microphone to the woman's boobs.

BEEF: Hello, I'm here to ask you two about whether or not Steve Knox should win the Television Championship at... whatever the pay-per-view is called.

WOMAN: There's only one of me.

BEEF: So, are you like... one person telepathically linked between two bodies?

WOMAN: I'm up here.

Beef looked up to see that there was a head connected to those boobs, and it looked annoyed with him. Beef blinked, and decided to talk to this head for a bit.

BEEF: So. Same question I asked those two down there. And I'll throw in an offer to climb aboard the USS Mean Beef Machine at no additional charge.

We cut to Steve Knox just as the woman raised her arm to destroy Beef in the face. Steve is with a guy. Just some guy.

STEVE KNOX: Hello, sir. How good do you think I'd look with, I dunno, fifteen pounds of gold over my shoulder?

JUST SOME GUY: Are you some kind of weirdo freak?

STEVE KNOX: No, I'm a professional wrestler. (pause) ...Wow. Okay, when I put it that way, I sound a whole lot less awesome. But yeah. I'm Steve Knox for the Steve Knox For Television Champion Telethon.

JUST SOME GUY: If I said "yes, you'd look good", would you go away?

STEVE KNOX: Almost definitely. I'll just have the guys edit the video afterwards.

We cut to Alexandria Malone.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: So, like... I dunno. Hanging out with that Codemaster guy really brought my mood down, you know? I totally never understood half the things he said and he always seemed so... shady. You know? Like, he always spoke in whispers when around those Falk guys, and then whenever I went to see what was up, they'd all clam up. It was... unsettling. I think they were totally talking about me behind my back, you know?

There was a pause.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Steve, that camera isn't on, is it?

STEVE (THE RAMBLING COMMUNIST): NO.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: See, I'm asking because I swear I think that red light is blinking.

STEVE: IMAGINATION.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: You think I'm just imagining it? It's right there. It's blinking. My easily distracted attention span is clearly focusing on it.

From behind the camera, Steve seemed to just pause and glare at Alexandria.

STEVE: DROIDS.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: ...These aren't the droids I'm looking for...

STEVE: ALONG.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: ...Move along.

We cut back to Beef, who had a bandage around his head, his arm in a sling, and he had crutches. He was also confronted by a second set of boobs.

BEEF: Oh, talking cleavage... will you not nuture me in your busom? I need healing in a thoroughly sexual nature.

The "talking cleavage" calmly reached into her purse and pulled out a tazer.

BEEF: Aw, dangit.

We then cut away before Beef had a chance to get fried. We're now back with both Steve Knox and Alexandria Malone, who were both stunned into silence. Finally, Steve spoke up, glaring off the camera.

STEVE KNOX: Janito.

EL JANITO: Er, yes?

STEVE KNOX: When Beef gets out of the hospital... again... let him know that his services, as well as yours, won't be required after this.

EL JANITO: Um. `Kay, but we didn't have a chance to edit that BECAUSE Beef ended up in the hospital. Apparently, they had to resuscitate him after some lady shot him in the nuts with a taser.

Steve Knox noticably winced upon imagining the pain of this scenario. Nonetheless, he pointed at Janito.

STEVE KNOX: Still. You're fired.

EL JANITO: (shrugs) Not the first time, not the last time.

Steve then turned to the camera.

STEVE KNOX: Nevertheless, even in a city full of people who don't know what NFW is, the support for me is exceptionally high. The NFW fans, the people who aren't familiar with NFW, the Knoxheads who know me everywhere, and even, probably, some of the people actually *in* the TV Title Royale itself all want to see me, Steve Knox, come away with the championship. And why wouldn't they? Under my glorious direction, NFW's television title division will propser in ways that Joe The Plumber's year-long stranglehold of the title could never have placed it. If I may be bold to say, come Wrestlestock, you'll see that all this stuff I say about being awesome and more talented than the rest of you lot... isn't just talk.

Steve paused.

STEVE KNOX: And with that, I hereby declare this telethon closed.

Steve turned to the phone operators.

STEVE KNOX: So, how much did we make?

PHONE GUY: (shouting) Three dollars and seventy-eight cents!

Steve groaned.

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Well, at least Mega Job won't charge us for borrowing their place.

STEVE KNOX: But I can't afford anything but *Eggo* waffles with that money. You know they usually get paid in waffles, right?

ALEXANDRIA MALONE: Yup. I was there when one of those contracts were negotiated, you know.

Steve sighed as the camera went to black.

 

[DWoods]

(FADE-IN: Joe the Plumber sits on the back bumper of his ’65 Ford Pinto, the TV Title slung over his right shoulder.

Joe's had some time to think things over after scarily beasting Varga, prompting him to run home to Papa Varga, whom he then sucked off for six-and-a-half hours—a new record.

Anyway, Double or Nothing is the tagline of WrestleStock II, and to go along with that, JTP has an announcement to make...)

JTP: “Y’know... Ol' Joe ain't much of a gamblin' man. It just ain’t in ma’ blood. Besides, I don’t exactly have a lot of money just lyin’ around that I can throw down on the ponies. But in the spirit of WrestleStock II, Ol’ Joe’s decided to up the ante! Y’see, I’m the poorest Bouse in town, no doubt about it. I open up my wallet and a moth flies out and I kill the moth and... Okay. Basically, I’m poor. My pa’ was a plumber, and he made doors on the side. I’m a plumber, and I whoop ass on the side. That’s ma’ game. Now, with that said, the plumberin’ jobs have been gettin’ less frequent these past few months. Mutha’f*ckas is afraid of Ol’ Joe! They think I’m gonna come to their house, slap ‘em down like a b*tch, and piss on their head. Fact is, I’m very courteous to ma’ customers. Ya gotta be! This is a business, after all! The name stitched across the front of my hat carries with it a reputation the likes of which has been built up over a great many years, by the sweat of my brow! Ya know how many sh*tters I had to f*ck with to reach the pinnacle of the plumbing profession? A whole f*ckin' helluva lot! I’ve lost count! But now, people see Ol’ Joe on TV, talkin’ `bout eatin’ his brothers in the womb, talkin’ `bout assaultin’ and robbin’ an old woman; Christ knows what else they’ve heard – and they get scared!

Fine. I ain’t about ta’ change for nobody! But this got me thinkin’... if I’m gonna put my company’s reputation on the line by doin’ this wrastlin’ gig, whoopin’ on suckas left, right, and centre, well, I might as well put it ALL on the line! So, not only will the winner of the Battle Royale get ma’ TV Title, they’ll get this ‘ere `beaut – Pinto, mint condition! I’ll also sign over the deed to my house. That’s right! My house! A prime piece of real estate!

AND NOT ONLY THAT!

The winner will also get... Ol’ Joe’s life savings. That’s an estimated $1,114.62!

You get it all! If – IF – you can beat me, the Sucka-Free f*ckin’ BOUSE. UGHNN!

That’s how confident I am that I’m gonna walk outta WrestleStock II STILL Television Champ! I’M A RISK TAKER, B*TCH!”

(Joe gives one last guttural “UGHNN!” before standing up and walking off-camera, toward his dilapidated shack of a house.)

(FTB)

***

THE UPDATED TV TITLE BATTLE ROYALE POT:

• The NFW Television Title (duh)
• JTP's house (estimated worth: $38,000)
• His "mint" `65 Ford Pinto (estimated worth: $50 bucks or whatever you've got in your pocket)
• $1,114.62 CASH MONEY

THE STAKES JUST GOT HIGHER!​

 

[Evil James]

Evil James - Strategy of Chaos

04/28/08
Now...

The scene opens with me, Evil James, sitting on the couch of my hotel room. I've been in town for a few days to get aclimated with the temperature, weather patterns, and locals in preperation for the big Wrestle Stock 2 extravaganza. My best friend Art is there to see all the chaos that's been going down. The cameraman gives me the signal and I turn and smile for the camera.

"Hello NFW fans," I say with a smile. "This is Evil James once again and I think it is necessary to let you, the fans, know what my strategy as far as this match goes has been."

Art turns and gives me a look.

"Dude, what the **** are you talking about?" he asks in a perplexed fashion. "What's been going on?"

"I've totally pissed everyone off," I say with a devious grin. "My master plan is working."

Art looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

"What master plan?" he asks. "Losing?"

He starts chuckling to himself as I give him the dreaded 'look of death.'

"Those idiots have yet to figure it out but I'll tell them what my plan is right now," I say, grinning deviously from ear to ear as I turn to the camera. "Now that Joe the Plumber is done getting his 'man-love,' I can now tell him and everyone else what the whole plan has been all along. You see, everyone in the match wants to kick my ass and make sure I lose, correct? Well, if they are too busy worrying about making me lose, then they have their eyes off the ball. Or in this case, the gold."

"That gives me the advantage. See, no one wants me to win this thing. I'm an outsider, I've got major heat with the whole roster over my psychotic and annoying behavior during this match's preliminary phase, and everyone hates me. Yep, I ain't called Evil James for nothing. This was the whole plan all along. Get everyone not thinking about the belt and thinking more about trying to get me out. See, if everyone is trying to get me out at once and fighting over who gets to do it, I'll stay in the whole time. They'll eliminate each other just because they don't want to see the other guy get me eliminated."

I get a cocky smirk on my face at this point.

"It's the perfect foolproof plan. I use everyone against each other and still have a great shot at winning. I have nothing to lose. Everyone wants me not to win anyway, so what the hell? Why not?"

"You're ****ing evil," Art says with a grin.

I nod my head in acknowledgement.

"Damn right," I reply back. "After I showed the world that photo of Joe the Plumber, that seemed to have stopped time or something for a day as far as the match goes but eventually time caught back up and we are at the here and the now. The window of opportunity is closing. The time of the match is almost upon us. The nightmares of reality will soon catch up with all of my opponents. Twenty four shall fall, one shall reign."

As I say the word one, I give the camera the finger just out of amusement purposes only. I then put my hand down and continue talking.

"This will be an UNHOLY reign for me if I win this match. My goal is to sneak in a win. I don't care who I have to hurt or eliminate along the way. Friend or foe, all will fall and only one shall reign supreme. And that one is ME."

"The war is soon to begin. The battle lines have been drawn. The ring will soon be littered with the corpses of the slain. I must be ready."

Just then I peer out the window and see an unmarked van with two guys listening to headphones in it parked across the street. I sigh in an exasperated fashion.

"Won't the stupid FBI ever leave me alone?" I mutter as the scene fades out.

Cut.

 

[Cimon]

Before Promopocolypse.

An hour before.

I wasn't stoned anymore and this longer seemed like a good idea.

"You know what, Mark? The thing is, I'm not stoned anymore and this just doesn't seem like a good idea."

"What? Jason, listen to me. Clowns can either be funny or scary. Evil or, yeah, AWESOME! Think about it, man. You saw the tapes! The best thing about this gimmick is that it's already kid-tested, mother approved."

I shook my head. "But I look *stupid*, though, man. Like, gay and stupid. Plus, no one is going to buy that I'm the same guy. Didn't the last dude who had this gimmick ditch it?"

Mark laughed. Everytime I mention the last Sars the Clown, he laughs. "American wrestling fans have the memory and attention span and of Tommy Chong. You know...from Cheech and Chong?"

"I know who that is, Mark."

"Right. So, see? Just pretend that you're the same Sars the Clown from ACW. 'Kay?"

"No body is gonna fall for this."

"And if they don't, fu-k 'em! Listen, I hand picked you based on your size, weight and ability. In some, well, all ways, you're pretty much better than the first Sars. Caleb was...well...a fu-king nutjob, okay? Nothing wrong with you except that you're bit of a lazy smart ass. All you have to do is play your part, talk some sh*t and you'll be fine."

"Still 'don't know about this, man."

"Listen, I'm going to tell you like I told the last Clown. This is a can't miss gimmick. All you have to do is go out there and perform. Leave the thinking to your management, I.E - ME."

 

[Cimon]

Promopocolypse


No "Cut to".
No "Scene"

Just a pasty white ass-crack FO YO MIND!

Haw Haw Haw!

*spank, spank*

"This rumble can eat my ass! Yum-Yum taste like PIZZA HUT goes down like Mr. Pibb. Let's get this promo ovvverrrr WITH!"

Sars pulled up his pants and started pacing back and n'forth like he was in battle rap. "Yo yo yo, I'm gettin' ready to spit....ugh ugh....yeah....like, fu-k yeah!

For a contender NFW searched far and wide;
Like Seymour Almasy when he came out to his parents,
I just wanna commit SUICIDE
Every single last one of you jokers, SUCK! HAW AHW!

First up: SEE MORE!

For you, my lanky-fag of an opponent, I just feel bad. First you were born and now this happens. Your face ends up looking like something cut off of JTP's prostate and by now your husband and the industry's must illustrious sex offender Max Danger has no doubt moved on to younger pastures, leaving ya all alone to raise your butt-born offspring- a couple of sperm-glazed turds! HAW HAW! What I find most LULZ-worthy is that the most flaming homosexual in the industry actually set himself ablaze with his own faggotry! HAW HAW!"

It was in that moment that Sars dropped the mic, did a backflip, licked his finger, placed it against one butt-check and whispered- ever so tenderly:

"So Danggggerrroussssssss...."

O...kay....

"The only thing anyone has to fear from Almasy is breathing in his remains and catching a staph infection. 'Cos all I have to do is touch the guy and I'm pretty sure he'll explode into a cloud of glitter and pink dust. The only way Almasy can win this rumble is if the TV title is actually some kind of reward for having a conclave chest. The guy moves around the ring like he's trying to keep a dried strand of spagetti from snapping between his butt cheeks. He can't keep up with "The Clown the gravity forgot"! I'm gonna be flying across the ring like a white streak and the only thing Almasy is going to be able to do is what he usually does in that situation. Get on his knees, open his mouth and wait for something to start dribbling down his chin. Oh wait, that's not semen! It's pint of blood conjured up from a punctured lung! That's right! TV TITLE RANDOM RUMBLE: THERE WILL BE BLOOD.

NEXT.

"Emo" James "Tries too hard" Varga.

One word: STALE. Like the pair of panties you pilfered from your granny's hamper so that you'll have something to clean up with after trying to ejaculate into your own mouth using a picture of James Kenaan for "inspiration". James Varga's last big wrestling match saw him wrestling with his sexual identity. Here James- let me put you at ease: "You're a full blown faggot."

Your "every-hour-on-the-hour" promo style, airing out every minute detail of your boring life is like carpet-bombing us with Iraqi propaganda pamplets, except they only say sh*t that a 12-year WWF fan would find funny, like: "The Rock says: Shut up, penis-butt" --- Ok, that's a poor example because, unlike you, anything that comes out of my mouth isn't a cock and is 100% comedic gold.

Varga...your kind of behavior is an indicator of a mother who didn't love you and a father who beat you (or beat off on you). And if you ask me: He was entirely justified. Dude, you're so ****ing annoying. I bet you're the type of kid that kept screaming: "Mommy. Mommy. Look at me Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Look at me Mommy." when she was obviously more interested in the carlorie count on her second bottle of wine. Too bad you weren't a cool kid like me, James. In that situation you leave the b*tch alone and go raid her pot stash.

Sars crooked his head to the side and smiled suddenly. "The saddest thing about this is that every wrestling in this Rumble thinks this is 'OOooooohhh THE BIG ONE'.

Ha! This match is only a big deal if you're used to a life of constant disappointment. Impulse desperately tries to tug at the heart-strings of NFW by trying to get all introspective. Save it for your LiveJournal, Bright Eyes! While I'd love to join in and sit here basking in new age bull**** with all you whiny wrist cutters, I'm gonna haveta pass. Unlike Mary-Ann Mayweather's ****- I'm not that deep. (Or loose, or hairy, or smelly). No body has to win anything. The very fabric of your existence isn't going to tear like your anus during your didlo experimentationsssssssss, because you lost a match.

Besides, you already damned yourself by claiming: "You're not that arrogant." Well, another thing that you're also "not" is that good of a wrestler. Impulse, the only thing you "wrestles" with is your father's necktie as you try to auto-erotic ephixiate yourself into a higher plane of existence. You aren't fooling anyone with your well-timed segways into Geocities-era wrestling **** talk. "A wrestler must win." - You gotta be ****in' kidding me. Do you even hear yourself?

You're stressin' out over this sh*t. Meanwhile, it's a fore-fu-king-gone conclusion I'll obrit the ring once like a comet and have the royale wrapped up spic n'span lickity split like my dick before I autograph the inside of a condom for the dripping c_nt of my newest fan...you mom. Shucks, boys and girls, I'll be back just in enough time to be takin' bong rips and sharkin' jailbait at Timmy Finklestien's barmitzvah.

Because dashing the delusional dreams of 24 dickheads? The cost to me: 15minutes and an ounce of sweat. Gaining NFW's Television title and getting paid 300$ and all the cake I can eat to take upskirt shots of Timmy's stripper step-mother as he passes into manhood in the same night? That's PRICELESS..........


Priceless like the look on the face of whoever is writing Knox's material when he realizes that he's actually NOT FUNNY and actually comes off sounding "kinda douchey".

Hear that Steve KAWKS? Your brand of deadpan G-rated promo delivery is about as entertaining as watching Hugh Downs play chess on Ambien.

The reason you didn't have sh*t to say when your backwater tramp (with her poorly manufactured sexual attraction to you) read off my name at your gay little telethon is because you know what everyone knows: Sars the Clown is like a booster shot of bleach in your balls. I sterilize. I'm no limp wristed "Ring General" - I'm Hilter on Speed. I terrorize. And when you talk trash to this walking high-flying holocaust you get served like restraining order when the latest unattainable slut you're stalking gets tired of you sending her sticky valentine's day cards. The next telethon hosted in your honor will be to raise money to repair your broken dreams."

Promo over? NO, **** NO. Suddenly Sars is standing on a podium. Unknown soldiers behind him thrusting their middle fingers into the air. Behind him is a picture of Joe the Plumber crudely crossed out in crayon.

"And finally.

JOE!

The back of your neck looks like a pan of meatloaf, which upon discovery *you ate*. NIGGA YOU CAN'T SEE MEEEEZZZ. YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE YER PENOR WHEN YOU PEEZZZZ."

"Lucky charms! Tricks are for kids! You have AIDS!" Sars says as he jumps up clicking his heels to together.

"Joe, do you even know what a GYM is? I don't mean "lil' Jim" the obese 13-year old in the double-wide next door that beat off on your retarded mother's A-cups, after which she scooped up his pre-pubescent sperms and stuffed it into her clammy unused **** resulting your ejaculate conception. I mean...have you ever broken a sweat doing something other then sitting in a pile of feces & chicken bones; jacking off to old Mcdonald's commericals from the 80's?

"Unf Unf, cum on my quarter pounder, robble-robble"

Face facts fatass. You got the devil's (foods) luck! Your competition has had the entainment value and wrestling talent of a piss-soaked bum and fat tranny playin' around in wet-garbage. You **** gravy, bleed chicken grease and sweat hot-dog juice. After matches, you fall over clutching that cream-cheese pump you call a heart only to rock yourself to sleep trying to get back up again. The first 8 times it was a ****in' riot, don't get me wrong...but now the ring crew is gettin' tried of U-Haulin' yer fat colonoscopy-bag of an ass to and from the ring. If no one in NFW could pin you after a year, it's because this roster? fu-kin' sucks. HAW HAW

Just because you have your own gravitional pull doesn't mean NFW revolves around you. Just because you've fu-ked your weight in dog *****, don't mean you pimp *****es. Just because everytime you walk by someonene's window they lose 4 days o' sunlight doesn't mean you've eclipsed the competition. Your promos and whole "root fer da fat man" shick? Lemme tell you: ****'s gettin' old! And Sars the Clown isn't just swoopin' down with the 630 stomp as a "breath of fresh air", he's a sigh of releif! And you know what else, Joe?

Like watching Necro Butcher in another "thumb tacks in my dick" match- I pity you. Sh*t, you can't wrestle! SO after the Rumble, your life is pretty much over. What are you going to do after I strip your TV title away from ya? Get a job at a glass-shop sitting on sand? I mean, you could go back to livin' with your mother but didn't she kick you out "never to return" after that one night you walked by the TV and she missed 3 seasons of Laguna Beach? JTP, yer so fat you don't even fit into the rest of my jokes...ya fat fu-k.

Sars let there be silence for like, 3 minutes and then uncontrolably started slapping himself and SCREAMING.

"If only you were smart like me! You know what I think? I think you don't even want to win or else you wouldn't have signed yourself up for a "can't win situation" (Cos I'm in the match!) You're just one of those poor losers who doesn't know what he really wants.

EXAMPLE! When you were a kid you would suck so much dick that your tummy would hurt, but you loved sucking dick so much that you didn't make the connection that sucking so much is what caused you to be sick in the first place.

I bet you think you're doing something brave or courageous by even showing up. You ain't brave, fatboy. You're a transparent faggot and we can literally see all the cocks that have snapped off in ya floating around in a sea of jizz. That smell from your thighs rubbing together when you walk isn't just bacon, it's FEAR! 24 fresh challengers and you think you'll "rise to the occassion". The only thing that will "rise" is your 3in dick on "the ocassion" that a whole Gay bar takes turns bouncing piss-streams off the walls of your anus.

My advice? Get used to the feeling of dude's peeing in yer butt because after I bust yer fu-kin' head open with 134 DDTs it's the only occupation you'll have the mental capacity to do."

Straight face. And then: "HA HAAAAA GAME OVA NIGGA GAME OVA NIGGA" repeated 189 times until the promo fades out.

 

[Evil James]

Evil James - Things

The scene opens with Evil James standing in front of a NFW logo old school interview style.

Evil James: Hello fans. It is I, Evil James, once again. Now let me talk about a few things
right now.

Evil James smirks deviously like he's got something devious planned for this.

Evil James: Let me talk about this NFW Television Title Royale that is turning into one chaotic match. Firstly there's Joe the Plumber. The champion of champions. Or, in other words, just another white guy trying to sound like a hip-hop star. Then there's Mary-Lynn Mayweather. She's got a lovely scent. Probably that cheap perfume she wears. Speaking of scents and things that smell, let's talk about Sars the Clown. Sars is probably why you're such an idiot. Probably infected your brain. And hopefully your genitals too. Let's all hope you don't reproduce. Speaking of genitals, let's talk about the massive sausage fest that is this match. Seriously, I haven't heard so many guys talking about dick since the Richard Nixon resignation back in 1974. I bet most you are half queer or something the way you guys talk about the male genital region. Now let's talk about Impluse, the one guy in this match with some heart. You're the one person in this thing other than me that I would like to see win. Steve Knox too. Forgot about him. Everyone else has been either too cryptic, just plain stupid, or mildly retarded.

Evil James gets a pretty devilish look on his face.

Evil James: Now this match is going to be insane. Seriously insane. A lot of people have a shot at winning this. However, most of them would be considered to be special ed so it's going to come down to the people who actually have some sort of intelligence like myself at the end. But, to those of you who actually have something called a brain, I wish you good luck. To the rest of you, good luck trying to be the first one to give someone else a blowjob during the match because that seems to be what you guys like to do best.

Evil James gives a cheesy, fake smile for the camera.

Evil James: So, until later on, I bid you all farewell and I'll see you in the ring.

The scene fades out.

Cut.

 

[suddenimpact]

From the Field

(FADEIN: Still live from the Wrestle Stock II village, April 19th, 2008. The three big bonfires have been blazing for days, both day and night. Over there, some scrawny kid with a guitar is doing a spot - on Leadbelly impression.

There ain't nothin' like the classics.

Goodnight Irene. I love this song. I think I'm gonna keep focus here for a bit.)

The beauty of wearing a mask in the ring is the fact that now I can walk around and have fun at Wrestle Stock without getting mobbed. I know I'm overstating my own importance, or marked lack thereof, but this way I don't even have to deal with the fringe.

I can just take in the sights, and the sounds, and the people. I'm a people - watcher at heart.

But it's been part of business to sneak backstage, or what passes for a backstage here, every few hours for business purposes. Some more of my opponents have been talking, and as the hours tick down, we're starting to feel a bit of pressure on this thing.

I like Steve Knox. I think he'd be a fine NFW Television Champion if he's fortunate enough to win. I'd also love to test my might against him in very non-Mortal Combat at some point in the future, whether he wins or not. I hope he sticks around.

But I'd like to point something out to Steve Knox that I think he might not have realized. He's been doing the rounds, getting his name out there and doing a decent job of it, but Steve, it doesn't matter what other people think you're going to do. What matters is what you're going to do. And while I think Beefville looks like an interesting city, and its residents seem to be increasingly... interesting...

I'm sorry, but that's really the only word that fits.

Be careful to remain your own man, and not a man defined by those you associate with. While there's nothing wrong with having a memorable group of people around you, I'm sure you'd rather be known as Steve Knox, not 'that guy with the entourage and the props.'

Sars.

You're a clown.

One of the first things I learned when I was learning how to cut these was to always keep your words flowing. Always have your interviews, or video pieces, or whatever, leading towards something. Try to repeat things as little as possible.

But you're a clown.

You're a clown.

You're a clown.

Are you really standing there, in your face paint and clown shoes, trying to convince anyone that they've made poor choices in this promotion? I appreciate your concern over my wristcutting livejournal facsimile pieces here, but I don't have much of a track record to fall back on so far, so this is me, this is what I think about and what I hope to accomplish in this industry. Take a look at recent history in New Frontier Wrestling, despite my record I've proven I have the chops to hang in the ring with most of the roster. Until that first victory gets marked off, I don't think I'd make any changes to how I'd handle myself, because all of it has been building towards something.

Towards the NFW Television Title? Ideally, yes. But I'll take a strong showing in a pinch.

Seriously, though. Do you really think you're in a position to lecture any of us on our professional decisions? Even if you're a hundred percent right on everything you're saying to all of us, you're a clown.

This is a classic case of what Rook was trying to show me, when he said that the messenger is important in so many words. You can't force anyone to change their outlook on life when you're rocking the clown shoes.

Let me remind you, while you're insulting the rest of us for treating this match like life and death, that you're in this match, too. Why are you here, if you're not taking it as seriously?

Or is it just a stepping stone to something even greater?

THAT'S why I'm taking it seriously. Because this just for the Television Title, no - but because the words 'New Frontier Wrestling' make the words 'Television Title' worth more than ninety-eight percent of the words 'WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE' spoken after a take - your - pick wrestling promotion.

That's why I'm treating this like life and death.

Professional Wrestling isn't life or death, but the Wrestling Revolucion is.

And that's why you aren't going to win this match, Sars. Even if you've got room in your crawlspace for all twenty four of us, you're not clever enough to bluff us down there.

Keep in mind, I never said I was going to win. All I said was you and your clown shoes weren't.

Call it a hunch.

(FADE)

 

[Evil James]

Evil James - MTV 2 Interview

04/29/08
6 pm

[The scene opens outside of the Wrestlestock 2 venue. The people are starting to trickle in for the big event. In the backstage area of the show MTV 2 reporter Daniel Paul has a microphone ready to interview Evil James. The feed on MTV 2 starts up and the broadcast of the interview begins.]

Paul: Hello fans of MTV 2. My name is Daniel Paul and I am here at NFW's Wrestlestock 2 extravaganza. And I am here with the most prominent wrestler on the airwaves over the past week, James Varga.

Evil James: That's Evil James to you.

Paul: Ok, Evil James. So with the big Wrestle Stock 2 pay-per-view coming up, are there any butterflies in your stomach going into this? Are you nervous at all?

Evil James: I'm not nervous at all. I've been in too many big time match situations to get myself nervous over this. I am not new to this. This is what I'm used to, actually. I've been in more title matches than non-title matches in my career. That's the truth. And I think that gives me an advantage going into this.

Paul: Good point. So who do you see as your biggest threats going into this?

Evil James: Well there are some big threats in this match. Anybody can win this thing. There's twenty-four people in this thing besides me. But the biggest threats are almasyDEATH, Steve Knox, Impulse, Joe the Plumber, and Hunchblack. Sars the Clown is another big threat and so is everyone else in this match. There is no big favorite. Anyone can win this thing and whoever does will deserve it.

Paul: That's a good way of looking at it.

[Evil James smiles.]

Evil James: I know. And that's why I think I'm going to win.

Paul: Because of your positive attitude?

Evil James: Yes. I may be evil, but I'm make it look good.

Paul: Fair enough. Who do you think it will come down to in the end if it comes down to you and someone else if you make it to the final two in the match?

Evil James: Good question. Honestly, I have no clue but I will make it to the final two.

Paul: How can you be certain of that? Didn't you draw a low number in the match?

[Evil James nods his head.]

Evil James: Yes I did. I drew number five. Twenty more wrestlers will come in after me. That's why I've put myself out there all this week. If you want to be the best, you have to come out and act like it. You have to act like you want it. Like you want to be the best. I want to be the best. I am going to will my way at being the best in this match. I may not win this match, but I damn well will make an impact. You and everyone watching can be assured of that.

Paul: I think the people want to know what kind of champion will Evil James be if he wins the NFW TV Championship?

Evil James: I will be a great champion if I win this match. I may win it with underhanded tactics or I may win it with grace. Either way, I don't plan on being a one-hit wonder. I won't start proclaiming myself to be God like Joe the Plumber has. I'm not the Messiah. But what I am is the future of this industry. You'd better believe that.

Paul: Good answer. So what kind of match do you expect?

Evil James: Chaotic cluster****.

Paul: Interesting. And you also mentionned earlier today about the constant references to male genitalia on the airwaves this week from your opponents. What do you mean by that?

Evil James: Well there's men on here talking about other men sucking other men's dicks and whatnot. Seriously, after hearing that about fifty times, you have to seriously question people's sexuality after that.

Paul: But weren't you the one who posted the nasty picture of Joe the Plumber and another man sharing man love?

[Evil James raises an eyebrow.]

Evil James: There's a thing called Yahoo Image search. Search gay pride and it'll come up. Search at your own risk though. You might find pictures of some of my opponents in there.

Paul: Thanks for the advice.

Evil James: Anytime.

Paul: Any final words before the match?

[Evil James nods his head.]

Evil James: Yes. Bring it on.

[Evil James then walks away and the scene fades out.]

Cut.

 

[Bruno N' Beauty]

Brian Duncan stands, shirtless and sweating, thick muscles glistening in the dim light of the basement of his Gym and Personal Fitness Center. And boy, is he angry!

Duncan: I don’t believe I ever had a chance to formally introduce myself. My name’s Brian Duncan, and I’m here to kick the **** out of all of you.

I’ve been quiet so far. That’s only because I’ve been so god damn busy counting the ways I’m gonna break bones and plant tombstones. Maybe some of you guys thought because I wasn’t around, running my mouth like most of the jackasses involved in this TV Title Battle Royal – and yes, I mean you James - that maybe I wouldn’t show, or that my head wasn’t in the game. Unfortunately for those of you who made a mistake that stupid, you’re gonna be the first ones I snap in half.

Yeah, the Dream Team is hurting right now. Mike’s not cleared to wrestle until the event after Wrestlestock. So for now, the Suicide Kings don’t have to worry about payback. But you two bastards better mark my words right now – before long, Mikey and me are gonna personally put you sneak-attacking faggots in the ICU. I’m not about to let some Jap and a queer make a fool outta me and my best friend. We’re the best mother****in’ tag team in professional wrestling today, and we’ll prove it once we get back in the ring together and start working back towards the EMT’s.

But that’s for another time, and another day. For now, I’m in this battle royal. To be perfectly mothe****in’ honest with ya, I don’t give a rat’s ass if I win. Joe the Plumber is a **** stain as far as I’m concerned. Most of the guys in this match couldn’t hold my jock one-on-one, or are too much of a ***** to even try and are probably gonna team up to get me outta there. Matt Johanson? Steve Knox? Who the **** are these jacknobs? I know it’s an open invitational, but it looks like Curt and Eddie are going out of their way to get guys who want their asses handed to them.

But hey, it IS an NFW title, and that means something no matter who’s in the match you win it in. But my focus just ain’t on winnin’. If I can just remind everyone that the Dream Team is the true dominant force in the only true WRESTLING promotion still left out there by hittin’ them so hard it’ll give their mothers cancer, then I’ll be happy. Still, “double champion” does have a nice ring to it.

I mean, against talent like this, how ****in’ hard could it be for a REAL MAN like me?

The Mother****in’ British Bomber? Everyone knows that the English are pussies. It’s kind of interesting that you call yourself the Bomber though. I don’t know much about history, Jack, but I know you boys got bombed pretty nice before Lady Justice came around and started kickin’ the **** out of Gerry and his buddies Guido and Hiro for you.

Now, I like Joe Pesci movies, but I don’t like greasy Italian pricks like you that think you can wrestle with a WARRIOR like me. You wanna step in my ring, funny man? Be my guest, but I’m gonna kick the penzoil right outta ya, ya little prick!

Hunchblack…what the ****?

I can sorta admire a guy like Impulse with some courage, but that don’t mean I can’t wait to ground that little fairy-dust sprinklin’ bastard and knock his dick in the dirt. Little wussy boys that wanna fly around the ring belong in the circus. Learn how to fight, greenhorn!

I don’t know a lot of the mother****ers in this match, come to think of it. A lot of you assholes aren’t even in NFW. To all of you, I only got one more thing to say. Practice getting throw over the top rope, so you don’t hurt yourself. I wanna be the one that hurts ya.

But to get back to the guys I do know – Cameron Cruise. Cameron. Mother****in’. Cruise. I know you and SB are getting’ along better now, and that’s good news for you. I don’t care much, but since you’re no longer “rivals”, I guess I might as well just warn you that as long as you stay on the other side of the ring and don’t try any funny ****, I’ll let you make it all the way to the end so you can put “Runner-up” in your resume to go along with all the other **** you take so much pride in winning that nobody gives a rat’s ass about. No big match you ever won will ever be as impressive as what the Dream Team is gonna do to the NFW Tag Team division once we’re back at full strength. The Cameron Cruise Project? ****in’ child’s play, man

And last but not least, we got the champ himself. Every week I watch you do **** on the air that has nothing to do with wrestling, and then I watch your ass get in the ring. Sure, you kick some ass…but there ain’t room for two ass kickers like me in New Frontier. Guys like you and Kooter Michaels are gonna have to either step aside or get put aside.

Don’t think I’m not above snappin’ your back just to prove a point. You don’t mean **** to me. Then again, you’d probably appreciate me puttin’ you outta the misery of the ****-infested ebolla virus you call a life.

If I walk out with your belt, that’s great. But what I want is to walk out with everyone in the audience, everyone at home, and most importantly everyone on the roster and in the wrestling industry as a whole knowing that I’m the single most destructive force that the sport has ever seen.

Dream Team for life.


FTB.

 

[????]

The scene opens on a black screen, but fades into a black and white shot of the sun rising over a barren landscape. Nothing but the wind whislting the background as small dustclouds roll along the ground, dancing with the wind. Over this scene, the same gravelly voice that was heard at the end of the last promo that aired is heard.

Unknown Voice - "I have sat back and watched with great amusement as everyone has worked so hard to convince themself they are ready for the fate that awaits them. Some prattle on about themselves seemingly without end. Others loudly boister at the opposition, thinking that thier antics and crassness elevate them to something just beyond a pile of dog feces. The truth of the matter is this, while you are all too busy standing around in your queer circle comparing cock sizes, when you're not rubbing them up against each other, you still have no idea who is coming down that aisle. Who is coming into that match, and who is going to tear into your bodies with a fierceness that you have never before felt."

The scene fades to a lonely, and barely maintained road in the middle of nowhere. The camera lays against the road, and even in the black and white, you can see the heat rising off the road, distorting and twisting the road ahead. Again, the voice speaks.

U.V. - "Clowns. Soldiers. Plumbers. All with one thing in common. They are all so full of thier own **** that they have no comprehension outside of thier own little worlds. Sheep. Mindless sheep they are. One person flexes for the television, and proclaims his supreme badassness to the world. The next rinses and repeats, and so on and so forth. The problem with that, is after a while, it grows stale. Much like the people in this match, for all of thier noteriety, and supposed fame, the sad truth remains. No one cares. No one cares because you have given them nothing to care about, other than a meaningless championship."

The scene fades again, this time to a deserted old ghostown somewhere in the American west. The buildings have long since been abandoned. Windows are either busted out, or boarded up. The paint on the buidings has faded. The only sign of life being an old hound dog lazily making his way around one of the buildings.

U.V. - "And I can hear it in your minds. 'If the title is meaningless, then why enter the match?' The reasoning is simple. However, because my opponents don't have the brain function to comprehend, let alone reason, I shall explain it to you so that you can understand. If I win this title, then so be it. But the reason I come to this particular match, at this particular event, is because it is my intent to leave my mark on as many unsuspecting individuals as possible. I intend to enter that ring, and tear whoever is in my way apart. You think I will be satisfied just by WINNING this match? Far from it. From where I sit, this is going to be a career altering event for many of you. Injuries are going to force you to rethink your place in this business. You might have to take some time off. You might have to retire. Either way, when you walk, if you can, out of that arena understand that this is not about business. It is not about winning some title. It is personal. It is me, the strong, weeding out the weak and useless. And judging by the looks of some of you, it's going to be a large job."

Another fade, this time we see the Empire Polo Fields, where Wrestlestock is going to be held. The place is empty. The parking lot is empty with the exception of one car. It's hard to determine the model of the car, but it's obvious it's a pre-1975 Plymouth. The shot fades to one near the car, the door open slightly. The camera is on the ground, and only the bottom part of the door and the inside of the car can be seen.

U.V. - "From the East I have come, and a long time have I waited for this moment. A long time, to unleash the full fury of heaven and hell upon those who would dare oppose me. Make no mistake about it, if you stand before, you will fall before me. I will not hesitate. I will not show compassion or mercy. Should you beg for either, I will only extend your suffering. Do what you can to prepare yourself for what awaits. Know however, that no matter what you do, or how you prepare for this...it will not save you. It will not stop the inevitable. In just a few short days, the particpants in this match, New Frontier Wrestling, and in fact, the entire wrestling world, will bear witness to a force of nature the likes of which has never been encountered."

A boot steps out from the car and plants firmly on the ground. Another folows it, and the driver of the car stands next to it, only his legs visible from the knees down in the shot. The camera slowly begins to pan up.

U.V. - "And that force's name, is none other than -"

The camera has panned up his back, to his shoulders. Just when the name is about to be revealed....STATIC!!!

:::loss of signal:::

 

[renner]

One More For The Road

Steve Knox.

The second oldest of four children belonging to legendary wrestler/actor, Earl "the Pearl" Knox. But currently, that did not matter right now.

He sat in a solitary black room, sitting on a stool very casually. So casually, in fact, that he had one of his feet sat up on one of the "rungs" of the stool, and the other sitting against another stool not too far away, ostensibly one that might've been used by somebody conducting this sort of interview before Steve decided he was going to do this himself.

STEVE KNOX: So. Apparently, some of you guys are as boring as this room I'm sitting in. Honestly, if I wasn't as awesome as I was, there wouldn't be much to look at in this promo.

Steve scatched at the short hair on his head, maybe there was an itch there that we don't know about. Anyway, Steve looked at the camera.

STEVE KNOX: People in this match seem to be in it for more than just the championship. People are in it to maim other people. People like Almasy, people like... uh... Mr. Unknown Voice Of Trying Too Hard To Be Creepy... hell, maybe that works for you guys. You know, the maiming part. Lord knows, if I thought I could find style and substance in taking a weedwhacker to somebody's junk, I'd be on it faster than bellbottoms going out of style. The simple truth of the matter is... I've heard this crap before. From far, far better people, who also thought that if they cleared their minds of the overall, "insignificant" goal of the match, they could defeat me. The truth you can't handle is simply this:

Steve paused, as if giving dramatic effect.

STEVE KNOX: ...If you are not in this match for the overall goal of getting past me and winning the Television Championship... you are not only not going to win. You will be purposeless. You will be "just another guy", a person without a true goal. And that's more boring than this room I'm in right now. Gentlemen, I've got news for you. The NFW Television Title isn't just a fifteen pound hunk of gold glued onto some leather. The title isn't just the notoriety associated with being deemed "champion".

STEVE KNOX: No.

STEVE KNOX: The title *is* NFW. It is representitive of the promotion, the very thing men strive to achieve. You want to take up valuable airtime, and say that the championship is meaningless? You want to say that the only reason you're here is to hurt people? Fine. Say what other people have said. Just don't be surprised if you suddenly find yourself on the outside of the ring, looking in, wondering why all the referees are telling you to leave because a guy like me, a so-called "sheep", took you out. If I may be bold to say... worry more about coming out on top, than how you're going to "hurt people". Because you won't hurt anybody if you're getting kicked out of the match.

Steve looked off-camera, ostensibly at whoever was shooting this little promo. Alexandria Malone eventually came on camera, and handed Steve a fishbowl. It was full of tiny slips of paper, probably names. Once she did that, she walked off the camera.

STEVE KNOX: For the rest of you, there will be a little... constructive criticism. Because I'm just that kind of guy.

Reaching into the bowl, Steve pulled out the first name, and struggled to open the slip of paper with one hand while still holding the fish bowl. Finally, he smirked.

STEVE KNOX: Brian Duncan.

Setting the fish bowl onto the other stool, Steve adjusted his seating on his own stool so that he was now sitting a little more normally. He stared lasers into the camera.

STEVE KNOX: Brian, there is nothing worse in this world, particularly in the mind games of professional wrestling, than not knowing what it is you're dealing with. You think you're going to break bones, but the only thing that's going to be broken is your fall when you're thrown out of that ring. Then you'll probably wonder, "Where did I go wrong?" Here's what's wrong. You're a tag wrestler. Granted, part of the best team in the NFW right now, but still. A tag wrestler. You won't have your partner to rescue you this time. You might seem confident now, talking trash and threatening people, but when you're in that ring with me... remember: The other guy ain't there in that corner, waiting to be tagged in. It's just you. Keep that in mind. I'd hate for you to hurt yourself trying to go longer than you're used to.

Steve reached into the fish bowl and pulled out another name.

STEVE KNOX: Sars the Cl... not even worth the breath it takes to say his name. He's beyond hope. Next.

Fish bowl.

STEVE KNOX: "Evil" James Varga.

Steve shrugged and tossed the piece of paper over his shoulder.

STEVE KNOX: To be honest, I stopped paying attention to him after like his 78th promo. The problem with this guy isn't that he cuts so many promos, it's that he spends so much time talking about what he's going to do that when he actually gets into that ring, it will inevitably be a disappointment. Let's think about this logically for a minute here. Say I cut a promo. In it, I confidently state, in my awesome kind of way, that I will win the NFW Television Championship. In response, Varga cuts a promo. Then somebody like Joe The Plumber cuts a promo. Varga responds to that. Then it becomes an endless cycle, of Varga responding to pretty much anything that breathes. He spends so much time focusing on cutting promos that he loses sight of his training. Yes, that's right, some people actually train... physically and mentally... for their matches. Crazy, I know.

STEVE KNOX: Be that as it may, Varga might have talent... even I acknowledged that he might. The problem lies in the fact that so many other people in this match, realistically, also have just that much more talent. With me at the top, of course, because I'm just that magnificent. Point is, Varga wouldn't last too long, particularly once the top of the class joins the match.

Fish bowl. Once again.

STEVE KNOX: Dirk Dickwood. ...............Have you had your milk yet?

Over the shoulder and presumedly off-camera went *that* piece of paper. He reached in again.

STEVE KNOX: Hunchblack.

Steve crossed his arms and nodded sagely.

STEVE KNOX: Being who I am, I find it difficult to really understand this guy. Although, I admit that being hunchbacked has to advantage of being that much harder to pin. I mean, sheesh. I'd need to powerbomb the guy or something to pull that off. You know how big that guy is? That'd take some *effort*.

Steve paused, and sighed.

STEVE KNOX: But I digress. Hunchblack's really cool, actually, in that "freaky side show that the fans like" sort of way. I appreciate such a role. Really, I do. Wrestling isn't just about the wrestling, sometimes, it's about how well an individual wrestler brings in the crowd. Me, I can bring in the crowd because they know of my awesome. Hunchblack can bring in a crowd because he is the king of freaks, the freak that other freaks bow before. For that reason, I can find it hard to criticize the guy. I will say one thing... Hunchblack, your status as "sideshow freak" means that you're not quite championship material. Entertain your fans, but don't come knocking on the door I intend to kick down, unless you want to get hurt.

Steve reached into the fish bowl again.

STEVE KNOX: Joe The Plumber.

Steve looked down, but he eventually nodded.

STEVE KNOX: Our glorious year-long Television Champion. There is definitely some reason you've held that title for as long as you have. Clearly, you've got skill and strength needed to hang on to it for a year of tyranny. Nonetheless, I've already dumped my criticism on you. If may be bold to say, though, let's compare each other to see why you won't retain your belt. You're an out-of-shape stoner who wrestles drunk, and I'm Steve Knox, Lord Of That Which Is Awesome. I have longevity, you have a plunger. I'm a three-time World champion at only 23, you *look* over-the-hill. You're in a match that requires and demands endurance, which you don't have. I doubt you'll respect my opinion, but trust me when I say... it is my opinion that you don't have what it takes to win this match and keep your championship.

Steve tossed yet another piece of paper over his shoulder. You would think that he'd stop by now, since that's littering and all, but you'd be wrong.

STEVE KNOX: I've decided to save the only person I'm considering to be a legitimate threat right now for last. That'd be you, Impulse.

STEVE KNOX: As you can see, I'm by myself now. No City That May Or May Not Exist. No Mega Job. Okay, so Alexandria is sitting over there behind the camera, but that's not important. What is important is that it's you and me. Face to face. Er, I mean. Face to camera, right now, but... hell, you know what I mean.

Steve paused.

STEVE KNOX: Let me start that again.

Steve then put his hand to his mouth and coughed loudly, as if clearing his throat.

STEVE KNOX: Impulse, don't get me wrong. I think that, of all the sadists, plumbers, midgets, hunchbacks, and clowns involved in this chaos of a battle royale, you might be the one guy who has the talent to make it to the last few involved. You think wrestling, you live wrestling, you know wrestling. You are, apart from myself, the one person who focuses on what the real goal here is, and knows what's at stake. You're not in it to hurt people. You're not in it to break bones, or curse a lot at everyone who even remotely thinks your name, or try to make "witty" jokes combining the word "cocks" with "Knox". In other words, you are what I would call admirable. Because you *get* it.

Steve stood up from his stool, and looked down at the camera that had to raise up to see his face.

STEVE KNOX: You get that by the end of the day, the fans won't remember who broke the most bones, or maimed the most people, or cut the most promos. They'll remember the guy who has his hand raised in victory, holding up the championship. They'll remember the guy who went through twenty-four other guys to make that achievement. They'll remember the glory of that moment. You know why? Because they'll remember that it was Steve Knox who made that accomplishment. They'll remember that it was Steve Knox who blasted people with those Gold Rushes. They'll remember that it was Steve Knox who made people tap out to the Gold Standard. They'll remember that it was Steve Knox who threw people out of the ring, left and right.

STEVE KNOX: See, I believe I will win. I believe it, and it will become true, because I've the ability and the tenacity to make it. I acknowledge you, Impulse, but at the same time, I cannot disregard the fact that I am what I say I am... awesome. Being what I am, I cannot see any result other than the one with my hand raised in victory. Because, as a person who has been a champion eight times before, no other result other than that could satisfy me.

Steve paused, finished with the talk.

STEVE KNOX: That's all I gotta say.

Steve walked off the camera, and the feed cut to static.

 

[Cimon]

Fade to white. All white. Blissful, bright, and almost healing.

The camera pans up.

No clown shoes.

Wrestling boots . White with blue shin guards. White knee pads, white tights wrapped in a design of swirling motley. The gear was light, so that he would be. The camera keeps panning up to a high defined abdomen. At the Craig Miles' Professional Heel Academy they build their high-flyers and technicians with solid cores. Stamina- the real key to victory. The camera continues to pan up to tight sinewy arms crossed over a strong but not over-muscled upper build. Natural body weight takes a better beating.

The camera finally pans up to Sars' painted face.

Eyes crossed, tongue stickin' out like it's in fashion.

"I'm a clown.

That's right, Impulse, you sad fag-addict.

I am "a clown". And as "a clown" I know what's funny and what ain't. And you wanna know what's...funny? What's funny is that you think "having the chops to hang with the roster" is something for you to be f*ckin' braggin' about. You know who else had the chops to hang with "the roster that talent forgot"?.

Joe the Plumber."

Sars took and few steps back and tested his shoulder blades against the ropes. Bouncing on and off of them the whole while.

"And through out this whole Rumble, you're just glad if you have a "strong showing". Ha HA! I guess like your father during his shotgun wedding at your grandpappy's double wide- you'll take anything.

You're askin' and emo-in' about "my position" of PIMP-BY-DIVINE-RIGHT of the ungrateful b*tch-goddess that is the NFW TV championship. Meanwhile, all you have the balls to do is buy yourself into her graces by being timid and nice. Little do you know what this whole year- all those times she stood you up- she was standin' before me on all fours, ass up-head down, while this clown is slowly unzippin' that fly gettin' ready to pop out all of that MILLION-share and put his jack-in-her-box. Given this little factoid...I'd say I'm in the power position."

With that Sars ran to and up one of the turnbuckles on stage left, jumped up to the third turnbuckle and dropping himself down into a tree-of woe. "Ha ha ha...You see, I'm not here to change your outlook on life, I'm here to laugh at it. I'm here to laugh at the fact that despite the gang of sh*t you sad-pricks spit- not one of you so-called "passionate wrasslin' menz" had the talent to dethrone a fat balding mess of a champion for a whole year. Bwa-ha-HA! A whole frickin' year! While I was training at the CMPHA to be the best, you lot were musterin' up the courage to face getting raped with a bottle of hot sauce by the shower-free bouse."

Putting himself in a handstand, Sars began to "walk" himself over to the camera man. ---"Ok, so let me get this straight, 'pulse. Now that you don't have to face that XXL-tub o' feces alone. Now that you've got a f*ck-ton of other gaylords in the mix- you're all for confronting the champ? Is that what your "Wrestling Revolucion" is about? Dodging champions like a lil' old b*tch!?"

The clown then suddenly kipped-up, turned around and grabbed the camera pulling it close to his face. "Am I really supposed to believe that after a year of FAIL and AIDS all of a sudden it's a life-or-death dash to victory? So what, like, "Wrestling Revolucion is life-or-death...up until the moment some fat-greasy-f*ck wants to play "Edward dookie-hands" with a whole roster for year? "SORRY GUYS I can't out wrestle or out sh*t-talk a fat f*ck-- Revolucion's over.

And you have the nerve to ask "why am I here!?"

Sars turns away, stroking his chin...."I have a better question! Where were you all year? Where were all these people who are now claiming they've got what it takes to dethrone Joe? Seems to me all you pussified b*tch-children were too busy playing with your tampons to "man-up" and challenge the champ and in a place that is supposed to be the "NEW FRONTIER" in wrestling- and that just...(sob)....just....(sob)....MAKES THIS CLOWN F-CKING ANGRY!!!!

And instead of focusing on winning; you're busy trying to start a "little gang of mediocre nobodies" to take on the big man. Well...NOT ME. I'm a berserker joker-face- cryin' "Gung ho" as I take 'em out solo from coast-to-coast and post-to-post. I don't need to wash anybody's taint or blow smoke up anyones ass about how "they'd make a good champion".

But *of course* forever-failure's like you would do that. You're scared sh*tless. Cos you know what the whole industry knows! When Sars the Clown is around- underachievers and mediocre lamebrains are gettin' thrown under the bus. Little Z's stoppin- Big V's poppin'" (For me)

Thrusting his finger at the camera Sars asked. "Is it any wonder you and Steve "Knox it off, you're boring me" are "in-like" with other? I'm sure you two are no strangers to "buddying up". I guess from my time in ACW I should be wary of the "strength in numbers, the mediocre shall inherit the division" strategy but last time I checked zero multiplied by more zeros ain't sh*t.

Impulse, you say you're a people watcher at heart? Then watch THIS..." Sars bounced off the ropes again. Rolling front-flip. Hand-spring off the ropes in front of him. Back-flip. Suicide dive-feign. Left foot on the second rope. Right foot on the third. Then, the clown creeps across it like he's walking a tightrope before dismounting in a twisting somersault and landing on his feet. Thrusting his arms to the sky, sweat barely starting to bead through his make up he smiled.

And then kicked his own camera man in the balls- and followed that up with a Dangerous DDT. The camera faced up now- towards a turnbuckle. And Sars- through the laughter- spoke..."Like Clockwork. Watch me- the high flying holocaust- break up visage after visage with teeth shattering DDTs. Watch me- the laughing spectacle splash around in the tears of the retarded!" Sars, feeling the climax of his words climbed up onto the turnbuckle, the camera staring up at him...almost...longingly?

Yeah. Longingly.

"Because I will be taking that strap from Joe. You better believe it. Because Impulse, your mother knew you were a born loser the moment she blood-queef shat you out of her rathole c*nt at the dyke parade. And Steve Knox- no amount of cowardly indirect blather is gonna save me from post-natal aborting your pathetic career. The only person "building towards something" is ME! And that's building a a career on the bloated delusional carcasses of a bunch of irrelevant fail-hards desperate to get the last word, while I'm busy havin' the last laugh. Bwa Bwa BwahahahahaHAHAHA!

And the last thing you'll see, will be..."

And with that Sars leap off the top rope.

630 STOMP

Static.

"A real horror show."

 

[Bruno N' Beauty]

Brian's now sitting at his office desk in the small Gym and Fitness Center wearing a black tank top, workman's boots, and boot-cut jeans. He still looks like he's been ****ting tacks for the last 24 hours.

Brian: So it looks like some of you little ****ers had the balls to say something in response to me. Hey, at least none of ya curled up into a little ball and walked away, right? Give yourself a round of applause, Know.

But don't get too excited. See, here's where you're wrong, Steve-o. My BUSINESS is hurting people. And lately, business has been pretty damn good. When you think of Tag Team Wrestling - no, when you think of wrestling, you think of Brain Duncan. I am the most Awesome Force in pro wrestling today. You think I'm just another tag wrestler? Me and Mikey, if we wanted, could both walk into the ring with Dan Ryan tomorrow and take his World Title. We're not the best for nothin', chief. People told the New and Improved DX that they were "just" tag wrestlers", and for a while they were both World Champions and the same time. So your logic sucks, brother. But I can see why guys like you - pussies, that is - would try to convince yourself of anything imaginable so you can put off the fact that I'm gonna kick the ever-lovin' **** outta ya on my way to winning this sum*****.

I'm in this match for three things, like I said last time.

Goal 1-A Prime: To further prove that there is no one in this business quite like ME Brian Duncan. Just a tag wrestler? I'm just the best, period.

Goal 2: To win the TV Title. But honestly, that ties in to goal one. Unless one of these punks rolls into Vegas on mother****in' tank, no one has what it takes to outlast me in a match like this. I was built for gang fights, crafted by the Gods of War themselves to kick ass.

Goal 3: To take out some agression I got pent up in me over the Suicide Kings hittin' me and Mikey with a Pearl Harbor job and the HWC being in-general douchecocks that still haven't gotten what the Dream Team has comin' for 'em.

Notice how none of these goals have anything to do with YOU, Steve? That's because you're a no-name, no-talent hack with no chance in hell of backin' up the big talk that keeps fallin' out of your mouth like so much garbage. I ain't worried about you because you ain't the man to beat - I am. So save it for the God-damned ring.

Now as far as this unknown bastard goes - whatta you think this is, some kinda movie? Cause if you do, you're goin' about it all wrong. The surprise is only worth it if people are gonna give a **** about who get's revealed at the end. And with all the loser talk you've been spewin', I'd be suprised if anyone else is listenin' to you, ya fruitcake. But I am. And I'm sick of you treating this match like anything but what it is - a fight. A fight that I'm gonna win. If you want a surprise, watch a Hitchcock movie. Nobody gives a **** about who you "really are."

If there's anyone else out there who feels like they have somethin' to say to me, go ahead. But just so you little bastards know, it ain't gonna be pretty once we get in the ring. I'm tossin' *****es out on their heads, because that's my job.

I'll be right here...waitin'.

Brian bares his teeth to the camera and snarls, before slapping it and sending it into

STATIC!

*OUT*

 

[suddenimpact]

Clown Shoes

(FADEIN: The following image:

)

There's no need to get so angry, Sars. Be a happy clown.

Look, between bands, me and Rosie made this for you. No hard feelings?

 

[Evil James]

Evil James - Victory

04/30/08
Sunset

[The scene opens up outside in Indio, California. A beautiful mosaic of a sunset appears as Evil James walks in front of the camera. He is in the desert on the outskirts of town and has a smile on his face. He's wearing a black A Perfect Circle T-shirt, jeans, and black vans shoes. A slight breeze is in the air as he begins talking.]

Evil James: See what happens when I go away for a few hours? Everyone complains about me just being on here way too much. Well, when I leave, everything turns to chaos! So basically that tells me that I'm the glue holding this match together. People can say what they want about me but the fact remains that everything is up in the air now. Everyone is fighting to win this thing. And get the last word in as well.

[Evil James smirks deviously.]

Evil James: But only one shall win and that person is me. You see Steve Knox said that I would be worn out. He said that I haven't been training. Well the wrongness of that statement will prove once again that assumption is the mother of all **** ups. You see, I've been training just as much as I've been talking so that makes me a very dangerous person in this match. He also was talking about the top class coming into this match and me not being able to handle being with them. Well that elitist sort of attitude is going to get you a once way ticket on the elimination express.

Now to the idiocy that is Sars the Clown. I have no clue what the hell this idiot was talking about. I'll have to go get my Doink the Clown Official Clown Dictionary to figure some of this stuff out. This guy was out in a ring doing some sort of special ed wrestling moves to try and impress everyone. Seriously, wrestling in those big, oversized clown shoes impresses me more than any of that **** to be honest. I also love how he, like everyone else, is trying to act all big and bad by using the words ****, ass, ****, cock, dick, suck, damn, *****, and mother ****er to try and act all bad. That is getting even more lame than my over-promotion going into this contest. Does anybody in this match have anything to say other than "I'm a bad ass mother ****er" or "you all suck dick?"

[Evil James raises an eyebrow.]

Evil James: And why the **** are a clown and a plumber talking like wanna-be gangsta posers in this thing? You and Joe the Plumber keep talking in jive. I literally have to get on Urbandictionary.com to figure out what the hell you guys are talking about. You also talked about stamina being the real key to victory.

[Evil James starts applauding.]

Evil James: That is the one thing I have to agree with you on. However, endurance is another issue. How many people in this match have gone an hour before? Probably very few. However, I have. And done it many times. Eight times as a matter of fact. I've wrestled over an hour eight times. That should scare some people a little bit, especially some of the windbags in this match who can't wrestle for more than fifteen minutes at a time. I can go for a long time. My training methods may be a bit unconventional, but I have number five in this thing. All you guys with numbers fifteen or higher have it easy. I've got the hard road. I drew number FIVE. A lot of you guys who have been running your mouths have numbers higher than ten. In my mind, I have one of the roughest roads to win this thing but I will persevere.

Sars, your number is higher than twenty. You don't need endurance. All you need is the luck to keep from getting eliminated. I've been in battle royals and rumbles before. I won my first World Championship in a match like this. I drew number twelve out twenty to win that one. This time I have a chance to make history repeat itself but on a much larger scale. That was in a small time promotion but this is the NFW. This is huge. And I plan on making a believer out
of everyone here.

You guys may not like me, but I have the desire to win this thing. You have to have the hunger to win, not the greed like many of my competitors have shown. That is what it takes to be a champion and hold onto the title. You have to have the hunger to win the belt and hold onto it. You have to take on the challengers that will surely come knocking at your door for title shots.

You and everyone in this match has to ask themselves this question. Can I handle it? After the winner becomes the new champion or retains if Joe the Plumber wins this, will they have what it takes to defend the belt and keep it?

That is the question that will be answered over time. Sars, you have some impressive moves. I will give you that, but can the people handle a clown after having a plumber for a whole year? I don't think so. I think they need someone a little less eccentric.

Then we have this Johnny-Come-Lately named Brian Duncan showing up to try and make a impact.

[Evil James smirks deviously.]

Evil James: The only thing you'll be impacting is the ground when you are eliminated, Brian. You say when people think of wrestling, they think of you. See, this is the whole problem with matches like these. Too many egomaniacs running their mouths. Hell, I'm a heel but I'm coming off like a face because of all you cocky idiots in this match. I've never seen so much self brown nosing in all my life from a bunch of people. It makes me sick to my stomach. It's really quite annoying actually. Impulse is about the only guy I want to see win it other than myself because almost everyone else who's run their mouth is a ****ing egomaniac. And besides, his picture of the clown was amusing to me. But that's just me.

[Evil James then sighs and seems bothered by something so he just decides to come out and say it.]

Evil James: It seems like when I didn't show up for almost a day, everybody seemed to have forgotten about me.

[Evil James shakes his head.]

Evil James: Big mistake. None of you may want to see me win this thing, but it just may actually happen. Why? Because I'm the most motivated person in the match. I'm a real go-getter. And that's what the NFW needs right now. They need a champion that kids can look up to without seeing a plunger covered in ****. And hearing jive ass quotations every week. You won't get that with me. I don't talk like Snoop Dogg like the champ and the clown if you catch my drift.

With that said, I am on a mission. A personal mission of destruction. A mission that will lead to only one thing.

Victory.

[Evil James raises a fist and walks away as the scene fades out.]

Cut.

 

[EpyonMarx]

Re: Clown Shoes

Oh Lord our God arise
Vanquish Her enemies
And make them fall

[FADE IN. The scene is one that Hollywood itself could not replicate – a vast, cavernous room, with pine-panelled walls, a lush oaken floor, and a long, sturdy, antique mahogany table stretching as far as the eye can see. Around the table are matching chairs, each cushioned with comfortable horse-hair cushions, each in a luxurious hazel. Atop the table, the finest silver and hand-spun china in neat, ordered rows, with so many knives, forks, and spoons that only the truly Elite could understand which is used for which (although hopefully even the lowliest of paupers would know that a fish-knife is for fish. As for the colonists… well, you can keep to your large macs). Ornate candlesticks sit between each place on the table, though, with the vast amount of light pouring in through the tremendous windows, it’s obvious why they’re not lit.

For several seconds, it appears that no-one is in the room. However, as we peer further into the distance, towards the head of the table, we catch the faintest glimpse of something more than human. Zooming in, past the gorgeous paintings along one wall, we catch up, eventually, to Lord Coyner Pollard, dining on a sumptuous meal – a roasted ostrich fillet, sautéed potatoes, exquisitely prepared vegetables (peas, carrots, cauliflower, broccoli… quite the assortment), all to be washed down with a fine rose wine]

Lord Coyner Pollard: Ah, company. Forgive me for not offering you a place at my table, but my chefs are already preparing for the festivities to take place after the weekend.

For you see, this weekend is the weekend which sees New Frontier Wrestling take a great step towards being truly blessed. Wrestlestock Two will see NFW become part of Great Britain, under the sovereign rule of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second, daughter of Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, and His Royal Majesty, King George the Sixth, when We take the Television Title from the… lowly plumber… Joseph the lead-worker.

Obviously, the pipes used by the regular commoners of NFW (and by commoners I mean common for colonists – several levels beneath the commonest of True Humans) were maintained by Joseph. Lead poisoning seems the only reasonable explanation as to why none as yet have been able to retrieve the championship belt from his grimey… slimey… inhuman hands. Even the sickly heir to the Russian throne of Czar Nicholas the Second, cousin to King George the Fifth of the United Kingdom, would have little difficulty in dispatching something as… vile… as Joseph… and yet the so-called ‘elites’ of this professional wrestling promotion are unable to do something as simple as…

[With his fork, we see him flatten a pea, smooshing it against the plate, before holding his fork up for us to see what remains of the formerly firm and proud piece of vegetation]

Lord Coyner Pollard: squashing a pea.

[He eats the pea, before cutting into the ostrich]

Lord Coyner Pollard: But some might imagine We have a difficult challenge, entering this miniature tournament before the half-way point. But truly, it is only fitting that a TRUE champion… a true Lord of the realm, should fight from as close to the commencement of the battle to prove their merit. Although we have neither archers nor cavalry at Our disposal for this contest, it does not matter.

For my ancestors did not have assistance when they vanquished Dragons in the days of yore. All they needed was a falchion and their own skills.

And so it shall be at Wrestlestock the Second. No mere colonist will be victorious, self-professed evil or other. No replica of the vile… French… fairytale of Quasimodo…

And no common plumber.

The Television Title shall make a fine addition to my trophy room, as shall all your heads.

Americans… uncouth, backwards savages.

[FADE OUT]

 

[Ford]

(A telegraph is delivered to NFW's front office. It reads the following.)

Dear whoever controls NFW,

Oh my Gosh! I say Gosh not because I'm girly but because I'm trying to refrain from saying the G word. I'm so sorry! Listen, I don't usually do this. Oh, who am I kidding. I routinely late for everything. It takes a while to look this good. I mean, this is only a letter. I had to only worry about penmanship. Imagine if I had to come by there in person to deliver my promo.

Oh, and I hope you don't mind if I deliver a promo through a letter. The thing is, you have to read it. You have to! Or else it will be meaningless! I don't want to have a plummer on top of me! That's climbing down the social food chain of dating! I can't have that! It's like, thinking you're going to get a six hundred dollar stipend but then receiving a three hundred dollar one, and you're like, what gives! Is this some kind of joke? Or does the Laugh hole have my other three hundred dollars in terms of a beer tab I can use?

(Of course, as I am reading this to you through the envelope, I must advise that at least four people have walked by, without a care or regard to this letter. You may continue.)

So, the television title, huh? Jack always watches tv, so, y'know, maybe I have a sporting chance with him in my corner. I shout out "Hey! Is there anything good on tv right now?" And he'll shout five things back at me in as long as it would take me to name five star wars movies.

Obviously I know watching tv isn't going to help me win the television title. I'm trying this new thing, called humor? I heard about it from England, and they have a u in their version.

(Oh God. I'm getting dangerously close to where the letter folds and the transparency gets to a point where I can't read it anymore! Oh God!)

And Britian has some awesome deserts, but lots of rain. Oh, where was I? Yes. So, here is where I trash talk all of my competitors. I'll be honest, I'm too nice to say mean things about them, so I'll just write nice things in a mean way.

(And as the note was never opened, and then dumped in the trash can by the Janitor, no one ever read it. Ultimately, the greatest injustice is that we can never figure out how someone would write nice things in a mean way.)

 

[jediPREZ]

Enrico Palazzo!

::standing ovation::