[Cue up "Maps," enter Karla Starr, mixed reaction from those who aren't sitting on their hands.]
TF: Introducing first, from Boston, Massachusetts, the challenger... Karla... STAAAAAARRRRRR!!
DT: Anyway, I'm not so sure this is going to be the stomping you expect. Adam Benjamin is probably a little spooked after being taken to his limits for his title by a rookie in only his second match.
MN: What? You can't be serious! That country bumpkins Evers was summarily dismissed by our Television Champion.
DM: Were you even watching the same match as we were last week, Neels? Evers was battling like he just drank a whole six pack of Red Bull energy drink. Red Bull, it gives you wings!
MN: *slaps forehead*
[Cue up "Lose Yourself," enter Adam Benjamin, TV Title slung over his shoulder, to MASSIVE heel heat.]
TF: And his opponent, hailing from the United Kingdom... he is your Ee-Pee-Dubyu Television Champion... "Yours Truly..." Adam... BEEEENNNNNNJAMMMMIINNNNN!!
DM: Neels, don't hit yourself.
MN: But you keep shilling... y'know what, nevermind, I'm just going to sit here and watch Big Daddy English dismantle lips, legs, breasts and ass much in the same manner he did to the bumpkin last week.
DT: Well, we'll see how accurate that prediction is, both of them are in the ring and we're ready to go.
[DING DING DING]
DT: Benjamin wants to lock up, test of strength. Karla looks like she's gonna... no! Kick to the breadbasket of the Television Champion.
MN: Low blow! Low blow! Are you sure she's not related to Lorena Bobbit?
DM: Please Neels, that was in the solar plexus and she wasn't even close to cutting off his nads.
MN: I don't know, did you check her boots before ring time?
DT: Please, she wasn't going for the groin. Benjamin doubled over, Starr was scouting him, now runs up, knee lift and a beaut. Benjamin to the canvas, Starr follows with a stomp to the Champion's head.
DM: Well, not the dismantling you expected, Neels.
MN: Still early, you shilling dou...
DT and DM: FAMILY SHOW!
MN: Douby-douby doooo...
DT: He has a point. Still very early in the match, and Benjamin has excellent stamina and conditioning. He's built for the long haul. Starr, however, has him up to his feet and... big DDT! Back down the canvas and now a cover...
...one...
...no, kickout, not even a two count here.
MN: You can't put Big Daddy English away that easily.
DT: I think that's the gist of what I've been saying.
MN: No one cares about you, Dave.
DT: *sob*
DM: Oh Dave, that's not true. Here, have a cookie.
DT: Yay! *munch*... heyyyy, wait a minute!
MN: *snicker*
DT: Alright, alright, let's get back to the match here. Starr bringing Benjamin to his feet. She leaps up for the hurric...
[WHAM~!]
DT: ...nope! No rana! Benjamin counters with the HARD powerbomb!
DM: Ouchies.
MN: YES! Go Big Daddy English!
DM: Hey, at least try to be objective here.
MN: Screw you, Phyllis Shiller.
DM: Burn... sike.
DT: Guys. Benjamin shakes the cobwebs out, and Karla Starr... isn't really moving a whole lot.
DM: Well, that *was* a big powerbomb, even if it was out of a counter.
MN: Seriously, I'm telling you. Not much longer.
DT: Benjamin finally to his feet, and now he's dragging Starr to her feet. Front facelock up into suplex position, holding her there.
MN: What strength by Big Daddy English.
DM: Hey, if he's going to do that move, he better be able to do it to someone he outweighs by more than a hundred pounds.
MN: Hey. Shut up.
DT: Shades of the late Davey Boy Smith here and crashing down the canvas! All that blood rushing to the head and then being jarred like that.
DM: Well, I'm sure whoever she's banging is going to have blue balls tonight, cuz that's a headache for sure.
DT: Colorful way of putting it.
[Faint chant of "Evvvverrrrs! Evvvverrrrs!" in the crowd starts up.]
DT: Benjamin covers...
...one...
...two...
...Karla Starr kicks out after two. Benjamin yanks Karla up to a seated position by her hair and... what the, he's stopped to look around.
[The chant gets louder.]
DT: What in the hell is he looking at?
DM: Not looking, but noticing. Do you hear that, Dave?
DT: Yeah... this crowd is chanting for Mike Evers!
MN: Idiot rednecks! Shut up! Shut up! Mike Evers got his ass handed to him last week!
DM: Apparently, the Tee-Vee Champ doesn't believe that, or else he wouldn't be getting rattled right now!
DT: I think you're right, Dean. Benjamin looks livid! And now he rips Starr to her feet, kick to the thigh and... SHINING WIZARD! The Shining Wizard! This one's gotta be academic now... cover...
...one...
...two...
...thr... NO! Karla Starr kicked out! She kicked out after the Shining Wizard!
DM: I don't think it's because of a lack of impact on that move. I think Benjiturd's a little rattled here.
MN: Rattled my pale white ass, Dean. She's obviously on performance enhancers.
DM: Yeah, because she clearly has an adam's apple and talks like a man, Neels. Unless you think Midol gives you an edge.
DT: Either way, Karla Starr kicked out of that Shining Wizard, and now Benjamin just rips her to her feet again. She's barely stable... kick to the thigh... and ANOTHER Shining Wizard! Starr slumps to the canvas. Benjamin with the cover...
...one...
...two...
..thr... what?
[Benjamin lifts Starr's shoulder off the canvas just as the ref counts three. The crowd boos lustily and the Evers chants get louder and louder.]
DM: The prick!
MN: Yes! Brilliant!
DT: I think he's just sending a message to Mike Evers now. Benjamin rips Starr to her feet again, but she's too punch-drunk to stand on her own. Back down the canvas.
DM: Punch drunk? More like knee drunk.
DT: Semantics, Dean. Semantics. Benjamin grabs Starr into a standing headscissors.
MN: Squishify the little hussy!
DT: He's grabbing her by the waist and an old-school Memphis piledriver! Right to the canvas! If those knees to the head didn't take her out, that certainly did, unless he decides to prolong the match again. Cover...
...one...
...two...
...three! Finally, mercifully, this one's over!
[DING DING DING]
[Benjamin rolls out of the ring and heads over to Tony Fatora.]
TF: Here is your winner, and still Emp...
[GRAB!]
DT: What the hell?
DM: C'mon, you can't do that to Tony Fatora!
[Benjamin taps on the mic. The Evers chants are almost drowning the arena out.]
AB: You bloody tosspots...
CROWD: EVERS! EVERS! EVERS!
AB: You bloody want Mike Evers? Well, when you get to see me and him in that ring again, you're going to bloody well see what I just did to that trollop!
[Benjamin throws the microphone down.]
DM: Bitter a little, Benji?
MN: No! He's just putting these fans in their place! Mike Evers is not even in the same solar system as Adam Benjamin!
DM: Well, these fans don't seem to think so, and it's clearly gotten under his skin.
DT: That much is true. I don't think he's too happy about this crowd's reaction during the match. Mike Evers might have his number.
MN: Oh, that's nonsense. Adam Benjamin is going to make the Empire Pro Television Championship the premier title in the Eff-Dub circuit! No bumpkin can take that away from him.
DT: That remains to be seen, Neels. Anyway, more EPW Aggression, right after this break.