[WWO] Live Mike 10/18/2001

[Someone Important]

[The music of Bon Jovi's "Wanted: Dead or Alive" begins to play and a very
low sound, but the music begins to pick up a bit, and a number of various
scenes are shown. As the music plays, various still shots and actions shots
are seen rolling across the screen in various directions.]

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[The camera then changes to show what appears to be a replica of the
"Tonight Show" studio, and the voice of a young female is heard.]

Voice: That's right...welcome once again to the most opinionated show
in the World Wrestling Organization... LIVE MIKE!!!

[The shot then changes to show a young female standing in front of a band,
her long blond hair dropping just past her shoulder blades. She is in a
very silky long black dress, and obviously very carefully picked to draw a
certain segment of the ratings population.]

Announcer: I'm Lisa Cultree and this is the "Live Band", and your hosts
for this evening's show...

[The band picks up to play ]

Cultree: Ladies and gentlemen, this is Doctor Mal Practice MD and Doctor
Ohno Ow... PHYSICIANS ADVOCATING INNOVATIVE NEOPROCEDURES!

[The camera turns to a large blue curtain, as the band picks up the music
of "Humanitarian", the altered-lyric parody of "Real American" by Rick
Derringer. We even get the lyrics...

#When it comes crashing down and it hurts inside...
#Just give Mal a call and you'll be alright...
#If you hurt your head and you hurt your spine...
#Mal will fix it up and it'll be just fine...

[And out from behind the curtain steps, during the above lyrics, step our
heroes, our idols, our reasons for living, and I'm not exaggerating...
okay, I am, but here comes Doctor Mal Practice MD and Doctor Ohno Ow. PAIN
draws a decent amount of applause from the audience, and the camera pans
quickly to show the full studio. But in the process, the camera catches
the "Applause" sign lit up, obviously signalling the crowd to respond.

Both doctors wear their lab coats. Mal, the tall, bulky member of the
team, is wearing a beige polo shirt and white pants, along with a
headmirror. He has a wide smile on his face, his salt-and-pepper flattop
is freshly trimmed, as is his pencil thin dark moustache. Mal's bushy
eyebrows frame eyes which gleam mischeviously. Ohno, the shorter, yet
well-built member of the team, is wearing grren surgical attire under coat.
The one-eyed middle aged Chinese man also seems happy. He has dark hair,
buzzcut nearly to his scalp, and an eyepatch over his right eye.

Both PAIN members begin posing wildly as the chorus of the song begins.]

#MAL IS A HU-MAN-I-TARIAN!
#Ending the pain of every man!
#MAL IS A HU-MAN-I-TARIAN!
#Doing what's right, to save your life!

[Lisa makes the cut sign, and the music dies down. PAIN seems not to
notice, as they continue to make ridiculous muscle poses that would
embarrass Hans & Frans. Lisa just slowly lowers her head into her hand,
and slowly shakes it.]

LC: It's going to be one of those weeks... hey, guys, you're on.

DMP: Hrm? Oh yes! Ohno and I were just... performing new and
revolutionary calisthenic stretching techniques. We need to be physically
prepared to host Live Mike. It can be a strenuous job.

DOO: Good TRAIN-ing for, AN-archy.

DMP: Ah, well once again, my friends in TV Land, your very good close
personal friends, the Physicians' Advocate, have arrived to enrich your
lives. Tonight will be a very special evening, as we'll be taking live
calls, fielding questions about a variety of subjects, and we'll even have
some surprise guests later in the show.

DOO: Call the, NUMBER on, screen.

[A phone number appears on screen, ostensiably so people could call in with
questions for PAIN.]

LC: Last time you two were here, you had a bunch of plants come up here and
claim to be cured of everything from cancer to polio. How do we know
they're not going to be plants tonight?

DMP: Gee Lisa, I'd think by know you'd know plants when you see them.

[Lisa mulls this over, and the meaning doesn't hit her until she notices
that Mal's staring right at her breasts.]

LC: I don't get paid enough for this.

DMP: Oh? Did your insurance cover it?

LC: This SHOW, you idiot!

DOO: Speaking of show, let us, SEE who is, on to-NIGHT.

" ======================================== "
" DARK SOUL "

DMP: A fine young man who associates and teams with fine people!

" "20 BUX" NATE KNOWITALL "

DOO: A SAD case, termi-NAL-ly ill. At Anarchy, we give him, THE CURE.

" "THE PRODIGY" TRACY HUDSON "
" APEX "
" OPERATION: SCORCHED EARTH "
" VEGAS CONNECTION "

DMP: EGAD! We have theives on this program? The men who stole our
rightful championships from us, and they're rewarded with airtime on what
will no doubt be the highest-rated program in television history?! What
kind of message are we trying to send; there are children watching this
program...

LC: ...says the man who already started with breast humor one minute into
the show.

DOO: TOUCHE! She, have you THERE!

DMP: I concede the point.

" LES CANADIANS "
" "MILLIONAIRE MARVEL" ERIC STRYKER "
" MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN "
" MATT COLE "
" ?????????????????? "

DOO: OH NO! NOT ??????????????????!

DMP: How do you pronounce "??????????????????" anyway?

DOO: Uhm, I think... it sim-ilar to how, you PRO-nounce, King $$$ Per-FECT
middle NAME.

DMP: SHHH! Dammit, if Stone's woken up yet and hears that, he'll fire us
for sure!

" "PROBLEM CHILD" CHRIS STRINGER "
" DARK HAVEN "
" ACE OF HEARTS "
" DAMAGE, INC "
" BLOOD BROTHERS "
" PAPA LEGBA "
" ======================================= "

DMP: And of course, the highlight of the show, the witty and poignant
social commentary made throughout the evening by we, the medical visionary
geniuses that you all know and love.

DOO: And, very HUMBLE.

DMP: But no more delays. Let us start the evening's festivities with a
stirring, gripping visit with an upstanding young man, Dark Soul.

" ======================================== "
DARK SOUL
" ======================================== "

(We switch to a slow motion recap of a particular moment of the most recent
Superstar Showcase. There is no sound as Miguel Quesada tries to blindside
Papa Legba in their match. He has a look of a man who sees an opening,
possibly to turn the match completely in his favor. Papa Legba has Stacy
Werner's hand as he had blocked her attempt to slap him. Quesada runs at
him, but at the lest second, Legba moves, and Quesada nails Stacy Werner.

We begin to pan out and now we can see a television set that showed the
same thing we previously had seen. We continue to fade out until we see
someone watching the television from the comfort of his chair.

Dark Soul watches with one hand, balled up in a fist, resting on a near-by
table with another hand on the remote. He watches intently, shaking his
head on occasion, and beating his fist down on other occasions. Throughout
this promo, he'll rewind and play the same moment of Showcase.

He's dressed in a pair of brown chords and a blue button-up short-sleeve
shirt over a long-sleeve dark green shirt.)

Dark Soul: "Hey, John, get in here, you're missing the...'good' parts."

(Pan over to John Collins walking in wearing his usual khaki's and white
polo shirt. He sits on a sofa on the other side of the room.)

Collins: "This is therapeutic, eh?"

Dark Soul: "I warned that bastard. Leave Stacy out of this and look what
happened. She gets plunked on the head because of his foolish ways."

Collins: "..."

Dark Soul: "And maybe it wasn't intentional, but dammit, she should not
have been in the circumstance. She should have been at home in Cincinnati
as Bengals mania had its last few seconds of hoopla."

Collins: "Ummm...what?"

(He rises to his feet and pushes the pause button just before Quesada
collides with Werner. Seeing what he paused on, he throws the remote
control right at the television, smashing the controller to pieces.

Collins gets to his feet and gets between Dark Soul and the television.)

Collins: "Hey, she knows the consequences--"

Dark Soul: "Go to hell, John. She didn't deserve that crap. Miguel
pushed it on her. I can only be responsible for so much of what's been
going on. Eventually, it becomes that ass's fault."

Collins: "Well, you don't have to be so testy."

Dark Soul: "I'm not being testy. I'm being a brother. I mean, come on,
if you had a sister and she got drilled in the back by the poster-boy for a
reason to have abortions, you'd be slightly to majorlly pissed as well.
And I'm the latter currently."

Collins: "That's great. Yeah, cause, now you can use that anger for
something good. Like...kicking his ass at Anarchy."

(Dark Soul chuckles.)

Dark Soul: "That's not a real challenge. You heard him. He's scared...he
knows he screwed with me too much. And now, he's going to learn from his
mistakes. See...I used to be a great submission wrestler. In fact, my
specialty a few years back was the Submission Ironman match. And I never
lost. And come Anarchy, I'll be on the winning side once again.
P.A.I.N....Union Jack...sorry I've been incredibly distracted, but you
don't have to worry about me. I'm focused completely on Tracy."

Collins: "Hmm...Miguel."

Dark Soul: "Yep, that's what I said. Laters..."

(The scene fades.)

" ======================================== "

DOO: Oh, broth-ER.

DMP: Maybe if we have Tracy Hudson killed before the card, we can bring
Soul back to reality with the rest of us.

LC: "Back to reality", says the man who tried to cure the common cold by
injecting Icy Hot into somebody's bloodstream?

DMP: Hey, he wasn't cold after that!

DOO: DO not disre-SPECT, our per-fect-ly VIABLE, treat-ment.

DMP: Speaking of which, we have Nate KnowItAll next. We need a diagnosis
and treatment plan pronto.

DOO: Let us, REVIEW the sub-ject.

" ======================================== "
"20 BUX" NATE KNOWITALL
" ======================================== "

[The camera opens up with a shot of a single light bulb hanging and
dangling from a thin chain. Panning down we see it illuminates, barely, a
small brown table, and not much else in the dark room. 4 empty shot glasses
sit on the table in a row. Another slow pan over shows "20 Bux" Nate
KnowItAll sitting alone at the table. Nate sports the "Greatness
Personified" t-shirt, probably some form of jeans since that's all he ever
wears, and a pretty demented grin. Nate's hair is the same as it always is,
bright red and spiked out in all directions. He raises a bottle of what
looks to be some form of alcohol, but being the cost-conscious employee
that he is, his hand covers the label. Nate proceeds to pour the alcoholic
beverage into each of the four glasses, simultaneously and spilling some on
the table. He then starts to sing in a rather fast frame showing very
little merriment.]

Nate: Come all you jolly fellows an' join us in song, let thunder-us
harmany sound. For if men can still sing 'en the world's not so wrong, an'
the raftas will ring in a round...Aye, but a man cannot sing if he's
troubled at heart, as mel-adies over you steel, So bring us a drink an'
we'll each sing our part, an' our voices with clarety peel...

[Nate grabs and quickly downs the first shot glass, spilling a few drops on
his hand.]

Nate: Nate!

[Nate places the glass back down onto the table and reaches for the second
in the row. He takes a hold of it and raises it to his mouth. He downs that
one almost as fast, and with as much ease, as he did the first. He then
places that glass back onto the table next to its predecessor.]

Nate: Lesta!

[Grasping the third, Nate hesitates a moment before raising it. He
takes a breathe and shakes a couple cobwebs loose and then throws back the
third glass. Nate rolls his tongue around in his mouth as he puts the third
shot glass next to its companions.He wipes away some excess from the corner
of his mouth.]

Nate: Larry!

[Nate swallows to clear his throat a couple times before reaching for
the fourth and final shot glass. He then grabs it and looks directly into
the camera as he raises it to his lips. He throws it back and before
swallowing its contents he puts the glass back down on the table. Allowing
the alcohol to ease its way down his esophogus, Nate opens his mouth, still
looking into the camera and says....]

Nate: Maygell....

[Nate sits back in his chair and closes his eyes. He starts to pinch
the bridge of his nose with his thumb and fore-finger, taking a little
breather. And then, like two seconds later, Nate pops back up, refreshed,
once again with his hand around the bottle. He starts to refill each of the
four shot glasses. A female voice from off-camera interrupts...]

Voice: Whoa, Nate, stop!

[Yeah, it's Shelly. She walks in looking as "foine" as ever, wearing
a tight-fitting green "Playboy" girly t-shirt and a pair of black stretch
pants. Yes, Jimmy, sitting on the couch behind you, Grandpa speaks the
truth. Those are 36 D's.]

Nate: Aye, love...

Shelly: You said just four!

Nate: Four for each song...

Shelly: No way, you know how you get when you drink like this? These
people know how you get when you drink like this? Is that a cop?

[The camera takes a quick pan over next to Nate. Thanks to the light
on the camera we can see, bound and gagged to a chair, much like the one
Nate is sitting on, is a man in a white police uniform. He makes a muffled
sound that loosely resembles the words "Help Me." We then pan back to
Nate.]

Nate: Yeah...well not really. Ess a rent-a-cop...

Shelly: Have you like totally lost it? You're gonna go to jail, you
know this, right?

Nate: Will you relaxe? Who do ya think rented 'em?

[Shelly, looking confused, looks over to the security guard. We take
another quick pan to the bound up guard who kind of shrugs and nods his
head as if saying "Yeah, he's right." We pan back to Nate and Shelly.]

Shelly: Just don't think you're getting any, with that s[TV Edit] on
your breathe?

[Ignoring her as she walks off, Nate throws back the first of the
four re-filled shot glasses and sets it back down. He then stands up
bumping into the table, spilling a little bit more.]

Nate: Enslaved by sin an' bound in chains beneathe ess dreadful
tyrant sway, an' doomed to everlastin' pains...We wrestched, guilty
captives lay...

[Nate lifts up another one of the glasses and swigs it down. He then
attempts to stand up and pushes the table a good foot.]

Nate: Aye, Shelly, come hair...

Shelly [sounding a lot farther away]: Have another one, Nate...Have
another one...

Nate: Don't mind eff I do...

[Nate turns to the rent-a-cop]

Nate: Thess one's called "Salvation Draweng Nearer"....

[The camera fades thankfully before Nate kills himself....Not
literally...]

" ======================================== "

[When we return to the studio, Mal has a huge bottle of clear liquid and
Ohno has a flamethrower.]

LC: STOP! Didn't you guys already destroy the set of a TV show this week
with one of those?

DMP: It was only Iron Chef, what are they gonna do, cook at us? Anyway,
Nate KnowItAll obviously has a problem.

DOO: BESIDES facing, us at An-archy.

DMP: Exactly. Clearly, the man is a lush. And this explains much. We
thought he was merely a complete idiot with no grasp of reality. It turns
out he's just constantly drunk. This would explain his clumsy, sluggish,
and all-around uncoordinated performances in the ring.

DOO: He drink, SO much that he must HAVE con-stant, AL-cohol flowing in
blood-STREAM.

DMP: So here's what we're going to do. First, we're going to get a solid
alcohol flow throughout his entire system with this wood alcohol here.
Then, when we have a trail of alcohol throughout his entire body, we'll use
the flamer here to burn it all out of his system. It might sting a bit,
but it'll be worth it in the end.

DOO: We could, MARKET this for all, the AL-cohol-ICs in world... what you
think we GET for it?

LC: Twenty to life.

DMP: Ouch. You're aggressive tonight. I like that.

LC: Take one more step towards me and I'll mace you, you creep.

DMP: And speaking of things that can burn your eyeballs, let's watch a
Tracy Hudson flash!

" ======================================== "
"PRODIGY" TRACY HUDSON
" ======================================== "

[So, here we are at O'Hare international airport in lovely
Chicago. We pass by the baggage claim, the gates, and a few of the
terminals, where we find ourselves in the airport lounge. We go
past the bar, past the drunken yahoos watching football, and
everything else, until we get to a booth.]

[In this booth, looking slightly upset, is none other than Tracy
Hudson and Moongirl. Hudson is wearing a pair of jean cut offs and
combat boots, with (of course) his leather jacket and a t-shirt,
reading "I SEE DUMB PEOPLE...ALL THE TIME". Moongirl looks good in
a Misfits t-shirt and leather pants. Both, look like they just
went to a funeral, as they both stare into their respective
drinks.]

HUDSON: Okay, Moon...this sucks.

MOONGIRL: Oh? No "This was really a victory for me"? No positive
spin? Nothing?

HUDSON: Well, I can't really count the last show. I mean, I wasn't
even supposed to be on the last card. Hell, I wasn't even supposed
to be in the WWO. So everything I did was good. But this...this
wasn't what I was expecting.

MOONGIRL: Hmm...maybe you should have. I mean, you did wipe out
Candy Malone. And you did spend a couple of promos pointing this
out. Did you really think Dark Soul was supposed to come out and
say "Oh, Tracy. I forgive you. Let's go out for milk and cookies."?

HUDSON: But...but I like milk and cookies! Especially those chunky
chips ahoys. Mmmm...cookies. In either case though, I hate losing.
Especially when I don't plan on it.

[Enter the waitress. She saunters over to the booth, with a sly
grin on her face.]

WAITRESS: Okay...Another refill for you?

HUDSON: Eh. Why not?

WAITRESS: Alright, then. That'll be a coke for the lady, and
coffee for the guy who got his butt kicked by Dark Soul.

HUDSON: Very funny. I hope to God you ain't expecting a tip. God,
I could use a beer.

MOONGIRL: Then order one!

HUDSON: Can't...I'm clean now. No drugs. No alcohol. Nothing. Just
caffeine and marlboros for me. WHOA! Check that out! Who the
hell...?

[Camera pans out to show a HUGE Japanese fella, about 6'5", and
friggin' buff! He sits at the bar, drinking beer with a smaller
Japanese guy of about 5'6". One thing seperates these two from the
rest of the herd though. First off, the big guy is dressed just
like Mai Shiranui of the Fatal Fury games, and the little guy is
wearing a suit and tie...with panties over his head.]

MOONGIRL: What the...?

HUDSON: Exactly. Whoa...don't look! They're coming over here!

[Sure enough, the two men practically make a mad dash for Hudson's
booth, smiling like idiots the whole time. As they approach the
booth, the little guy (with panties on his head) speaks.]

LITTLE GUY: Aiiii! It you! It you for really!

HUDSON: ...huh?

LITTLE GUY: Warrior! I tell you! I tell you it him! But you not
believe me! It really Tracy Hudson! OK!

MOONGIRL: Umm...yep. It is. You fans or something?

BIG GUY IN WOMAN'S OUTFIT: RHAAAAAAA! FANS, WOMAN? WE HUDSONMANIA
DRIPPING OUT PORES!

HUDSON: That's um...that's great. Perhaps you should see a doctor?
About the pores thing I mean. That can't be good for you.

LITTLE GUY: Ah...ha! You make with the smart funny! We are fans of
Hudson biggest! OK! My name is Ryu...

BIG GUY: RHAAAAA! AND I AM NAMING KEN!

HUDSON: Um...HA! Well, it's nice to meet you, uh, Ryu. And...heh
heh...Ken.

LITTLE GUY: Yes! We our big fans of the Prodigy and his antics
zany! You lose tonight! But worry not! Someday you will be a
winner is me!

BIG GUY: YAAAAAAAAGH! WIN! YOU WILL BE WIN FOR THE COSPLAY
WARRIOR! WE HELP!

HUDSON: Um...excuse me? Can't you just settle for my autograph and
go back to Korea?

LITTLE: NO! Korean we are not! We are Japanese Shogun!

BIG GUY: RHAAAAAAAA! WE COME WITH YOU WRESTLE IN WWO!

[Tracy and Moongirl just kinda stare at each other, like deer
staring into headlights.]

LITTLE GUY: Yes! I, Ryu Sakamoto, The Buru-Sera Kid, and Ken The
Cosplay Warrior will follow Sensei Hudson and slut Girl of Moon to
ends of earth!

BIG GUY: RHAAAAA! WE HELP YOU FIND WAY OF WIN!

MOONGIRL: Yipes...

HUDSON: Just...yipes.

[Fade to black]

" ======================================== "

[When we come back in, Mal is rolling around the floor clutching his eyes
and screaming.]

DMP: AAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!

LC: I warned you.

DOO: *ahem* So... we saw, maybe Tracy HUD-son have HELP at, An-archy. But
I WARN you, Hud-SON... DO NOT TRUST JAP-NESE! THEY EVIL! I WILL, EX-TING-
UISH THEM FROM FACE OF, EARTH! PLAN-ET MUST BE CURE OF JAP-NESE INFEST-
ATION! RHAAAAAAA-aaaa-AAAAA!

[Ohno starts firing the flamethrower about, apparently in an attempt to
kill Ryu and Ken, who aren't even there. Mal continues to roll around
blinded and in agony.]

LC: I take it we're not ready to take a phone call?

DMP: AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!

LC: Good.

DOO: DIE JAP-NESE SCUM!!

LC: Let's hear from... EEK! (Lisa ducks an errant flamethrower sweep) ...
Apex!

" ======================================== "
APEX
" ======================================== "

[Fade in.]

[Black fills the screen. Bold white letters slowly form across
the center of the screen. They spell out:

Apex Does Not Appear in This Video

These letters fade away, and a new scene begins to form.]

[This scene takes place in a living room. This living room
is expensively decorated with high quality furniture,
lush blue carpet, and various art images. The WWO's
lovely reporter, Kimberly Campbell is noted on one of
these couches. A small boy, of perhaps five or six years
sits next to her. The duo appear to be watching a big
screen television.]

[Kimberly is dressed casually, wearing tight black shorts
and a loose fitting white tank top, that occasionally shows
varying amounts of cleavage. Her hair is tied back in a
simple ponytail, and she has on minimal makeup. The boy
is wearing blue jeans, new tennis shoes, and a Chris
Hopper "Master of the Icebreaker" T-shirt on. He has
short, curly black hair, black eyes, and light skin. Kimberly
sits with her legs on the couch, crossed Indian style, The
small boy sits with his back against the couch, his feet
hanging off the edge, but nowhere near the ground.]

[The television can now be heard.]

Voice from the Television: That's right! William Craven!
"The Problem Child" Chris Stringer, Lion Tamer, and "The
Millionaire Marvel" Eric Stryker will be in the cage with
Ultimate Thrasher, Steve Dumars, Matt Cole, and Papa
Legba!

[A short pause. Kimberly and the small boy continue to
watch the television show.]

Voice from the Television: And in the main event, for the
WWO World Heavyweight Title, we're going to have Apex,
Holy Roller, and Tyrone Hayes going at it! Folks, you can't
afford to miss this Pay-Per-View extravaganza! Order
today!

[As the commercial finishes, the boy looks up at Kimberly
with an inquisitive look.]

Small Boy: Aunt Kimmy, I thought Apex and Tyrone were
friends. Why are they fighting?

[Kimberly raises her eyebrows and smiles at her nephew,
before responding.]

Kimberly: Well, Marcus, they stopped being friends when
Tyrone ripped apart Apex Jr.

[Marcus makes a funny face. He's not satisfied with that
answer.]

Marcus: But Apex Jr. was a pillow. Apex could just get
another pillow, and then be friends with Tyrone and the
Penguin again. Right?

Kimberly: Well, no.

Marcus: Why not, Aunt Kimmy?

[Kimberly straightens her legs out, temporarily sitting in a
somewhat normal style. She then leans forward, revealing
more cleavage, and rests her elbows on her knees.]

Kimberly: It's sort of complicated, but let me tell you this
story. Maybe it'll help.

[Marcus bobs his head from the left and right, now smiling.]

Marcus: I like stories, Aunt Kimmy.

[And with that, Kimberly ruins the male audience view of
her cleavage by sitting back. She looks down at her
young nephew and smiles, as she starts the story.]

Kimberly: There was once a dog. Everyone called him
Spot. Spot was a happy, nice dog. He had a good family,
did the best tricks, and got along with all of his neighboring
dogs. Spot started getting old though, and he noticed that
all his dog friends had puppies. And it made Spot sad that
he didn't have a puppy of his own.

[Marcus continues to stare at his aunt, blinking and nodding
all the while.]

Kimberly: So Spot prayed every night that the Stork that
gave out puppies would give him one. And Spot prayed
and prayed, and he kept on praying... but the Stork never
gave him any puppies.

[Marcus makes a funny face, obviously not too thrilled with
this no good Stork character.]

Kimberly: Then Spot met a dog named Cujo. Cujo was from
the other side of town, the bad side of town. But Cujo seemed
like a nice dog, and he gave Spot a teddy bear, and told
Spot that if he treated his teddy bear like a puppy, that the
teddy bear would turn into a puppy someday.

[Marcus again smiles, liking the idea of teddy bears turning
into puppies.]

Kimberly: So Spot treated the teddy bear like a puppy. He
carried it around, kept it warm, cleaned it, protected it, fed
it, and most of all, Spot began to love the teddy bear. And
for awhile, Spot was happy.

[Marcus continues to smile.]

Kimberly: Then, for some reason, Cujo got jealous of Spot. And
Cujo decided that he didn't want Spot to be happy anymore, so
Cujo stole the teddy bear and ripped it up.

[Marcus' jaw drops, he cannot stomach this barbarism.]

Kimberly: This made Spot very sad, and then Spot wanted to
get even, so he fought with Cujo.

[Marcus' eyes light up. Violence always gets kids attention.]

Marcus: Did Spot kick his butt, Aunt Kimmy?

[After a momentary pause, Kimberly responds.]

Kimberly: He sure did, little buddy, he sure did.

[Marcus smiles and pumps his fist.]

Kimberly: So, Marcus, did that story help you it. Does it make
sense why Apex wants to fight with Tyrone now?

[Marcus frowns, raises one eyebrow, and looks down.]

Marcus: Not really Aunt Kimmy. But I know this, Spot should
find that no good Stork, and kick his butt too.

[Kimberly giggles with her nephew, then proceeds to attack
Marcus with the dreaded tickle attack. He falls back, giggling,
trying to fight off Kimberly.]

[Fade to black.]

" ======================================== "

[Surprisingly, things are almost normal when we return. Mal's rubbing a
cloth into his eyes, and Ohno has had his flamethrower taken away.]

LC: Really... I never knew wood alcohol could counteract mace...

DMP: You didn't read my book, did you? Shame. But anyway, Apex isn't
looking well. He looked so small next to Kimberly there. And he's wearing
a Hopper shirt so he's GOT to be ill...

LC: That wasn't Apex, that was a child!

DOO: A-PEX no-show his own, FLASH? He must be, VERY sick. We will, have
to FIND him and see if we can, HELP, all in the, name of MONE... I mean,
GOOD WILL.

DMP: Let this be a lesson to you all.Modern medicine cannot protect you
from ailment the way our ultra-scientific cutting-edge treaments can. And
it's all outlined here in my book...

[Mal looks around for his book.]

DMP: Hm? Where'd my book go? It was here a moment ago! Someone swiped
it!

LC: Thank Heaven for small miracles!

DMP: I'll look for it. In the meantime, here's Operation: Scorched Earth.

DOO: HEY! We have market, COR-nered on OP-er-ations in, WWO! What the
deal?

" ======================================== "
OPERATION: SCORCHED EARTH
" ======================================== "

----------------------------------------------
[Cut to... my God! It's the old O:SE War Room! There's... there's a map
of lower Baluchistan on the wall! And satellite photos of Tanzania! And a
schematic of Pro Player Stadium, deep in the People's Republic of
Quesadaville! Wow, kinda takes you back, huh?]

[And sitting in the tattered couches of the War Room are (from left to
right) Chris Stringer, who is still dressed in his Tom Cruise-Mission
Impossible look, hair still dyed black, Cherry Bomb, still dressed in
her smoking hot black body suit, Eric Stryker, dressed like a million
bucks, Lion Tamer, thinking cap noticeably absent, and the incomparable
Tiger Lily. Oh, and Dr. Victor Schwartz is here, but his buddy, the Motor
City Madman, is noticeably absent. On the table, in the middle, is a scale
model of a ring with a cage completely encasing it, even across the top.]

Cherry Bomb: So, what's the deal with OSHA? Are they going to shut
down the card?

Chris Stringer: Well, it's obviously a hostile and dangerous work
environment. I'd assume they would. I've got a call into them, and
they're sending a guy down. We should probably be prepared though, just in
case.

Eric Stryker: Actually, gentlemen, I believe that I have some contacts
within OSHA. We can get all the information we need, if necessary. At
the moment, I am more concerned with our match and establishing the order
of our entrances to the ring.

CB: Well, Vic, what'd Bill say?

Dr. Victor Schwartz: He said he would be honored and priviledged to
defend the dignity of his love by being the first man in.

CS: Excellent.

Lion Tamer: Now we just have to figure out who can take my place.
Excused absence or not, I'm taking a vacation that will "accidentally" run
through Anarchy...and probably a couple Showcases. Tiger Lily, any ideas?

[Tiger Lily turns directly to Chris Stringer in an attempt to keep the
peace.]

Tiger Lily: Sorry, it's just that time of the month. He gets a little
cranky.

[Stringer looks very unimpressed.]

TL: Don't worry...we'll be there.

ES: You had *better* be there! I did not call in so many old favors and
have Papa Legba removed from the match and establish our advantage, just to
have you and the Cowardly Lion Tamer disappear at the last minute!

LT: Hey prep, don't talk out of turn. I will do whatever the hell I
want to do. And I want NOTHING to do with this match.

[At this point, a large degree of argument takes place, with several
people screaming at once. Tamer continues to threaten to pull out of the
match, Cherry Bomb yells at Tiger Lily to get her man in line, which gets
Tiger Lily yelling at Cherry, and Eric Stryker alternately threatening
Tamer to take part in the match, trying to bribe Tamer to take part in the
match, and trying to get out of the match himself. Stringer and Vic are
just taking it in, until finally Stringer rolls his eyes with a little
grin, and tries to get everyone's attention.]

CS: Aight... hold up, fellas...

[No response. The arguing continues.]

CS: Um... fellas?

[Again, no response.]

CS: GUYS!

[The guys stop arguing, but the girls are still going at it.]

CS: Cherry..... SHUT YOUR F'N PIE HOLE!

[Cherry, for once, falls speechless. It's probably the closest Chris
has come to getting verbally abusive with Cherry. Everyone is now quiet
and attentive.]

CS: Tamer... if we put you in the ring last, will you fight?

[Lion Tamer stops and thinks.]

LT: You know, I'm sorry, I haven't been myself since Dumars pulled off
that upset back in the strap match. But I just can't promise that I'll
fight...

[Tamer can't hold back his grin any longer.]

LT: ...Because a fight would require some competition. Unfortunately,
there won't be any competition in the ring with us at Anarchy. Damn
straight you guys better save the best for last.

CS: Cool. Now, Eric, I figure we'll put you in second...

ES: Second?!?! Why second???

CS: Well, I figure it's like this.... If you're in second, even if
Legba is in the ring, Bill's gonna have your back. And if we leave you
for later, there's a possibility you may be left outside the ring, and
Legba will be outside the ring, and there might not be enough backup.
Sound reasonable?

ES: Well, I must admit that your strategy has merit, Stringer. Fine,
then, I'll be second. However, I don't know why you keep planning as if
Legba will be there. Thanks to my extensive resources and cunning
intellect, he is eliminated from the picture. Trust me.

CS: It's best to be prepared for _all_ eventualities. Well, then, I think
we're all set except for the scheming... Cherry?

[Cherry goes to a chest and pulls out several WWO action figures...
everyone from Team OSE and Team Thrasher... plus two ref figures, and
all of Stringer's entourage.]

CS: Now, I figure...

ES: Wait, should *he* (points at cameraman) be here for this?

CS: Hmmm... Nope. He shouldn't. Amscray!

[The cameraman retreats as the merry band of cheaters starts discussing
strategy. Fade to black.]

" ======================================== "

DMP: MY WATCH! Somebody swiped my watch!

DOO: You just, LOSING things. Not rem-ember where you, PUT them. Like
the, TIME you misplace two cani-STER of Agent Orange and it end up, going
in place of HELIUM tank, to blow up bal-loons for KIDS at the shoe STORE
down the, street...

DMP: Oh, HA HA, I remember that. Yes, I suppose you're right. Anyway, we
have a caller.

LC: This is Joshua, from Buffalo. Go ahead Joshua.

Joshua From Buffalo: Hi, I'm a big O:SE fan, and I want to know what's up
with WWO cameras going and revealing their strategy like that? How do
these cameramen get all over the place to film stuff like that, anyway?

DMP: Good question Joshua. We can presume that most WWOers aren't stupid.
Obviously, the Vegas Connection and Miguel Quesada are obvious exceptions,
and of course the drunks like Nate KnowItAll do stupid things regardless.
And so, if you see something like that, it was probably by design.

DOO: No CAM-eraman would EVER sneak up on, US like that!

DMP: That's right. Ohno and I are too crafty to allow cameramen to see
what they weren't supposed to...

LC: It happens all the time! The cameramen show up in your office and you
don't even see them walk in!

DMP: Have you been sneaking looks at the unedited versions of our flashes?
I'll have you know that my lawyer Murray goes down every week to the WWO
production headquarters and edits our tapes.

DOO: MURRAY? Mal, Murray move to, ENG-land last DECEMBER!

DMP: HE WHAT?! WHY DIDN'T... holy... you mean... ALL OUR RPS WENT OUT
UNEDITED?!

DOO: We need to, CUT to NEXT flash.

[Mal just stands there aghast as we cut out.]

" ======================================== "
VEGAS CONNECTION
" ======================================== "

(Some locker room at a WWO house show. It doesn't matter where, or really
not when, as long as you know it's before Anarchy. Lester Leary and Larry
Lowbrow are standing at attention, their belts gleaming around their
waists. Rimshot's wheelchair and drum set are in a corner behind
them...Rimshot is marching (?) in front of them. He's wearing a set of
prosthetic legs that he sometimes digs out for effect. He's wearing a four-
star general's helmet...but still has his white suit jacket and black
shirt. As he marches (well, okay, it's more like hobbles, he's not used to
the legs, alright?), he starts barking at his team, with the cigarette
dangling out of his mouth bouncing excitedly up and down.)

Rimshot: ALRIGHT, YOU MUGS, CLAMP YER LIPS AND PERK UP YER EARS, CAUSE I'M
ONLY GONNA SAY THIS ONCE!

Lester Leary: SIR, STOP SHOUTING, WE CAN HEAR YOU FROM HERE, SIR! SIR,
JACK, SIR!

Rimshot: Oh, was I shouting? I'm sorry. You just get caught up in the role,
don't you?

Larry Lowbrow: I believe Chris Stringer and his group of schmoes
experienced the same phenomenon. The army bit's been done, and I'm really
not sure the analogy is so fitting.

Rimshot: We're at war, soldier! Although, with who, we haven't really
figured out.

Lester Leary: PAIN? Dark Soul? Union...JACK?

Larry Lowbrow: Mark Stone? No, wait, he's already at war with personal
hygiene. Haw haw haw!

Louie the Lip: (poking his head in the door) Anybody you want me to be at
war with? *licks his gigantic protruding lips*

StreetMime: (making yet another gratuitous cameo) " "

Rimshot: Any of them, or maybe even Miguel and Nate if they end up crossing
us.

Larry and Lester: (in unison) Miguel and Nate?

Lester Leary: But ... but boss! We're Greatness Personified! JACK!

Larry Lowbrow: The greatest stable ever!

Rimshot: We had the belts anyway. The only good thing that's come of this
stable is we've dropped off the radar far enough that no tag team will care
about our championship. Hell, even the Canadian tag team belts are getting
more heat than us. And besides, when was the last time Greatness
Personified did anything together?

*awkward silence*

Rimshot: And when will we, ever, ya mugs?

*awkward silence, followed by an epiphany by all*

All: ANARCHY!

Rimshot: Which is what's caused all this crap in the first place!

Lester: I'm starting to feel like we were pushed into a stable for the sole
purpose of being a four-man team for Anarchy, followed by an immediate
breakup. JACK!

Larry: Come on, Lester, this is pro wrestling! What are the chances that
the same idea can be used multiple times? Wrestling is fresh and original
every time you watch it!

...

Pfff, haw haw haw! I can't even say that with a straight face.

Rimshot: QUIET!

StreetMime: " "

Rimshot: You too, mime-boy!

(Duly cowed, StreetMime returns to his silence... in silence.)

Lester Leary: Hey boss, you're not still thinking about ... that thing we
talked about last week, are you? Cause that can set up all kinds of
logistical errors. JACK!

Rimshot: Trust me, it's worked before and it'll work again. Now, just to
prepare, repeat after me.

Larry Lowbrow: After me. Haw haw haw!

(Rimshot glares at Larry. Larry gulps and stays quiet.)

Rimshot: "It doesn't matter whether you cheer us or boo us."
All: "It doesn't matter whether you cheer us or boo us."
Rimshot: Good. "They've got talent, I'll give them that."
All: "They've got talent, I'll give them that."
Rimshot: And one more: "Entertaining the fans is what it's all about!"
All: Er...um...
Rimshot: SAY IT!
All: (muttering) "entertainingthefansiswhatit'sallabout."

Lester Leary: Well that's all well and good for then. JACK! But right now,
it's all about...

All: BREAKING BACKS, AND MAKING A FEW BUCKS WHILE YOU'RE AT IT!

Rimshot: Let's go get 'em at Anarchy, team!

(They hustle out. Rimshot gets back into his wheelchair with a satisfied
sigh as he kicks off his prostheses and removes his helmet. Fade to black
as he wheels out.)

" ======================================== "

[When we cut back, Mal's still angry.]

DMP: I bet THEY had people edit all the embarrassing parts out of THEIR
Flash!

DOO: If SO, the flash would be, two SECOND long.

DMP: Hm, you have a point there. I guess there's no sense obsessing over
it. So, what did we learn from that last bit.

DOO: Learn? From THEM?

DMP: Another good point. But they have something up their sleeves. Why be
so forward about the fact that Greatness Personnified is a pathetic joke?
That's something you should just nervously laugh about then awkwardly
change the subject.

DOO: Kind of like, LES Canadians?

DMP: I'd love to degrade the Connection some more, but that's just TOO good
of a segue! Let's go with it.

" ======================================== "
LES CANADIANS
" ======================================== "

[A black screen leads to the sound of a few birds chirping in the
background, then stopping as a sound of a car approaches and fades away.
The words:

Part Two

appear on the black screen.]

Voice: "God damn Denis and MacDonald."

[We fade into a shot of Don Cameron, the acclaimed "Dominator" of the
wrestling circle, or at least before he was retired at the hands of
"Strictly Business" Lew Spectre. He's splashing cold water on his face
while muttering obscenities towards the two members of Les Canadians.]

Cameron: "If it wasn't for me, making them what they WERE, not who they are
today."

[He continues mumbling to himself. The camera backs up some as we see the
large Cameron wearing a Roots t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Normally with a
shaggy moustache, he's now clean shaven, his thinning and greying hair also
short. Standing in the bathroom of the MacDonald Gym in River Hebert, Nova
Scotia, he grabs a quick drink of water from a fountain next to the
bathroom before stepping out into the large main area of the gym.

While the camera pans around we see much of the gym looking unkempt, with
some areas covered by a white cloth to protect from dust. The main
attraction in the gym, however, is an uncovered wrestling ring sitting in
the middle of the gym.

However, standing next to the ring are Marc Denis and Alain MacDonald. Two
men looking exactly opposite the other, Denis is the small greco-roman
looking man at 5'6" (give or take an inch) while MacDonald is the monster
at 6'9". Both men look up to see Cameron heading towards them, and Denis
mumbles something to his large partner.]

Cameron: "If you have something to say to me, spit it out. You know I'm not
finished with you two."

MacDonald: "You looking to degrade us even more? Tell us just how pathetic
we've become in the past few years? The numbers speak for themselves,
Cameron. We've been dominant since we fired your sorry ass as our manager."

[Denis nods and crosses his arms. Cameron just stands there, and then
starts to chuckle.]

Cameron: "Uh huh. As I was saying, I'm giving you two a choice. I'm
actually offering you my services to be your manager again, just to lead
you to the titles you deserve."

[Denis' eyebrows shoot up.]

Denis: "I'm all for it."

[MacDonald shoots Denis a look.]

MacDonald: [bitterly] "What the hell are you talking about? You were just
talking about jumping him! This man just ripped us up and you want him to
be a part of your life again? You want this failure to manage US to
failure?"

Denis: "I'm pulling rank."

MacDonald: "You can't do that."

Denis: "I can and I will. Cameron's right. It's only right for us to accept
him back as our manager. We're the men who brought him back into wrestling
when he retired..."

[MacDonald rolls his eyes.]

Denis: "And we're the team who needs him AFTER his retirement."

MacDonald: "No. Think of it this way. Who does Fire and Ice have in their
corners? Nobody. Same with the Romanis..."

Denis: "And...? What's your point? We're all about doing whatever it takes
to win. Besides, we're going to be inside a cage and Cameron will be
outside. This will give us the advantage we need to get our titles back!"

[Cameron stands back and nods.]

Cameron: "You need me back. Don't deny it. You two have been lost..."

[MacDonald makes a talking motion with his hands.]

MacDonald: "Yadda yadda yadda. Okay, you're back. Now shut the hell up.
Let's face the facts. We're going to be going into that match looking for
our Canadian tag team titles, but I'm going to be on the lookout for Alex
Perkins."

Cameron: "As long as you don't lose sight of the goal. You can have
Perkins. He's got bigger fish to worry about in The Romanis. You're going
to have to go into that match looking for one thing... to win those titles
back! Revenge isn't a factor. Only when you're CERTAIN you can go in there
and get what you went in there for. You got that?"

[A slight nod by MacDonald as Denis is nodding enthusiastically. MacDonald
sighs.]

Cameron: "Both Fire and Ice don't give a lick about those titles. They
don't respect them at all. The only reason why the Romanis have them is
because you want them. You rubbed their noses in it and you got what you
deserved. Once you go into that match, they're only going to be out to get
you. They've got a bit against Fire and Ice, but that's only because of
you."

MacDonald: "Yeah, and Thunderstorm won the tag team titles."

[Cameron looks over to MacDonald.]

Cameron: "Get in the ring."

MacDonald: "What?"

Cameron: "Get in there. Now."

[He points and MacDonald rolls into the ring, leaning up against the
ropes.]

MacDonald: "These ropes are a bit loose."

Cameron: "Doesn't matter. Marc, you get in there too."

[Denis raises an eyebrow, then climbs up onto the ring apron and catapults
himself up and over the ropes.]

Cameron: "Marc, you're going to beat Alain without using your hands or
arms. Ding, ding, ding."

[The small Denis looks at Cameron with an incredulous look in his eyes.
MacDonald chuckles and gives a 'whatever' look.]

Denis: "Donny boy. I could barely beat Alain ten years ago with both my
arms."

Cameron: "Do you think he's going to beat you with both arms behind your
back?"

[MacDonald rubs his hands together.]

MacDonald: "This is going to be fun."

Cameron: "No it's not. Marc, do you think he's going to beat you?"

[Denis looks uncertain towards Cameron, then back to MacDonald. His eyes
narrow.]

Denis: "No. He can't."

[This gets a loud laugh from MacDonald.]

Cameron: "The bell rung about 30 seconds ago. What, do you think this is a
Wuzhou match? Get at him, boy!"

[MacDonald laughs again and stretches out to his full range, looking like a
large bear about to feast on a Girl Scout. Denis starts to circle around
the ring.]

Cameron: "Oh... and you can't use the ropes."

[Denis shrugs.]

Denis: "They're loose anyway. Come on, MacDonald, you big ape. Hit me with
your best shot."

[MacDonald smiles at that and charges at Denis. Denis ducks underneath his
reach and comes back up with a legsweep, knocking MacDonald off his feet
with a big "OOF!"]

Cameron: "First mistake. Come on, Denis. Match isn't over yet. Finish him."

[MacDonald gets up to his feet quickly, shooting an evil eye towards
Cameron.]

Cameron: "What? Am I part of the match? I'm down here on the floor. You
couldn't even hit me if you spit."

[As MacDonald looks towards Denis, he doesn't see him. Spinning around,
he's met with a Denis dropkick to the jaw, knocking him back some.]

Cameron: "I'm not here, MacDonald. This may work against Fire and Ice and
The Romanis, but I don't need it happening to you. Marc, you're not done
with him yet?"

[Denis looks for an opening as he goes to nail MacDonald with another
dropkick. MacDonald just brushes it away.]

Cameron: "Oooh, big man."

[MacDonald ignores him. He reaches for the downed Denis but the smaller man
scoots in between his legs... but not fast enough. MacDonald grabs him.]

Cameron: "Are you the man, Alain?"

[Denis is able to escape.]

Cameron: "Didja grease yourself, Marc? Jeez!"

[Denis gets to his feet quickly but he's knocked down hard with a MacDonald
clothesline. Grabbing him by the scruff, MacDonald picks Denis off the
mat... and he's surprised by a Denis low blow.]

Cameron: "Ref didn't see it, Alain. Whatcha gonna do?"

[MacDonald has a pained expression on his face as he continues to ignore
Cameron. Then he looks furious as he recovers and downs Denis with a boot
to the mug.]

Cameron: "Yeah, that really hurt him. You're more hurt than he is, Alain.
And he's got no arms!"

[MacDonald spins around.]

MacDonald: "SHUT U..."

[He's taken down by another dropkick from behind. Cameron just laughs.]

Cameron: "He's making you look bad, Alain."

[MacDonald gets up and he quickly grabs a surprised Denis by the neck as he
lifts him high in the air. Denis gasps for breath and tries to swing away
at MacDonald, but misses.]

Cameron: "Ref's already administered the mandatory five c..."

[MacDonald slams Denis down in a kind of chokeslam/powerbomb combination.]

Cameron: "Impressive. But he's not finished yet. Cover him."

[MacDonald covers Denis, hooking the leg.]

Cameron: "One... two..."

[Cameron jumps up onto the ring apron and puts Denis' foot on the rope.]

Cameron: "Ref didn't see it."

[MacDonald sits up and curses loudly. He's sweating under his jacket and a
bit out of breath.]

Cameron: "Out of breath already?"

[MacDonald rolls out of the ring. Denis moans in pain loudly in the ring.]

Cameron: "You weren't in there for two minutes and you're out of breath?!"

[MacDonald grabs Cameron by the collar of his shirt.]

MacDonald: "You listen to me, you sh[bleep]. I wasn't ready for any kind of
workout today."

Cameron: "Let me go."

MacDonald: "No, I'm not done. I know what you were trying to prove with me
and Marc in there, and it was all a joke. A god damned joke! How the hell
is that supposed to help us against The Romanis or Fire and Ice?"

[Denis is now sitting up in the ring, groaning and holding his head.
MacDonald seems disgusted and lets go of Cameron's collar.]

Cameron: "Thank you. First off, it taught you to be prepared. You weren't.
You thought Marc was going to be an easy target in the ring, and he wasn't.
You need to learn RESPECT. Respect WHOMEVER you're in the ring with, no
matter who they are. One little mistake by you or Marc and they got you."

[Denis rolls out of the ring and struggles to get to his feet.]

Denis: "Owww."

[MacDonald actually smiles.]

MacDonald: "Sorry... you know how much I hate to be dropkicked from
behind."

[Denis rubs the back of his head.]

Denis: "I'll remember that the next time I go for it."

[MacDonald turns to Cameron.]

MacDonald: "You know I don't like you, Cameron. But I do respect you. And I
know you only want the best for us."

[Cameron nods, a slight smile on his face.]

Cameron: "If I can forgive you..."

[MacDonald waves his hand.]

MacDonald: "Yeah, yeah. Shut up."

[Cameron then steps forward and shakes MacDonald's hand. Then he gets in
between him and Denis and throws his arms over both their shoulders.]

Cameron: "Ahh, we're off to a fine start again. Now, how about we go down
to the closest liquor store and let me get us piss drunk tonight?"

[MacDonald chuckles.]

MacDonald: "It's cliched, I know... but that's the smartest thing you've
said all day."

[That actually gets a laugh from Cameron and Denis as the camera fades to
black on a sparkle from Cameron's smile.]

" ======================================== "

DMP: Wow, what brutal *phhpt* training.

LC: ...says the man who's idea of training was to go onto Iron Chef?!

DMP: I'll have you know I run ten miles a day, lift weights, do cardio,
calisthenics, aerobics, eurythmics, and a bunch of other words I can't even
spell! Look at this body!

[Mal rips off his shirt. Well, he tries, but he can't. So he flexes with
it on, and the expansion of his gut rips the shirt anyway.]

LC: ...

DMP: Have you ever seen a chiseled, fine-tuned physique like this?

LC: I must admit, there's a very short list of places you could go to get a
body like that.

DMP: Thank you.

LC: Dunkin' Donuts, Mr. Donut, Crispy Creme, Tim Horton's...

DOO: LET us take another, CALL...

LC: All right, we have Dave from Seattle. Dave, you're on.

Dave From Seattle: Yeah, my question is about the WWO tag teams. Totally
'80s beat you guys...

DOO: NO! They beat, VEGAS Con-NIP-tion! Not PAIN!

DFS: Yeah, right, anyway, what about the other teams in WWO, besides the
Vegas Connection. Who are you guys going to fight after you get done with
the Connection?

DMP: Well, Dave, as you very well know the tag division is very chaotic.
So it could be anyone. Honestly, I don't see too many other teams being
able to challenge us, as most of them don't have their heads in the game,
unless the game has relocated to being up their own arses. Some of the new
teams, like '80s and those Brother guys, look promising but time will tell,
since none of them have faced us yet.

LC: WHAT? Totally '80s beat you last week!

DOO: It was Vegas CON-ip-TION! What, do I, stutter?

LC: Yes.

DOO: ... so?

DMP: Ah well. Right now, none of the WWO tag teams can get under our skin.
Why right here in my doctor bag I have detailed scouting reports on... HEY!
Where's my doctor bag?! It's gone!

DOO: You lose something, ELSE?!

DMP: I'm telling you, it was snatched!

DOO: You imagining things.

LC: *sigh* Let's move on. Eric Stryker is next.

" ======================================== "
"MILLIONAIRE MARVEL" ERIC STRYKER
" ======================================== "

[The scene opens in a big parking lot. It's close to dusk and we see
Eric Stryker walking through the parking lot. He's still wearing his
fancy, designer suits and a full-length leather coat. He's also carrying a
briefcase. Suddenly, you hear the ring of a cellphone. Stryker pulls the
phone from a pocket inside his jacket.]

STRYKER: Stryker here.

CANDICE: Sir, this is Candice, from the Miami office.

STRYKER: What is it, Candice? I just left the strategic metting with
Stringer, Craven and Tamer. I'm very tired. I hope this is important.

CANDICE: Uh...well, sir, we believe it's very important. There have been
reports that Papa Legba has escaped from the maximum security wing.

[Stryker stops dead in his tracks. His eyes widen with fear & terror.
His jaw drops open.]

CANDICE: Sir? Sir, are you still there? Sir?

[Stryker explodes. He slams his brief case to the ground and kicks it
several times. He swings his ars in anger, frustration & fear. Then, he
returns to the line.]

STRYKER: How the bloody HELL did this happen!!!!! How did that *FREAK*
escape from a maximum security prison?!?!? HOW?!?!?!

CANDICE: No one has any ideas, sir. But the good news is that he
couldn't have gotten far. There is a full detail of local authorities on
his trail, with dogs and helicopters. They'll have him in no time!!

STRYKER: Damn It!!! I don't care about any of that!!! You get me the
director of the FBI!! The CIA!! Get me General Powell!!!! I don't care
who it is, but they had better catch him, d'you hear me!!!!!

[Stryker slams his flip-phone shut and growls, screams and throws a fit
for several more minutes. He stares into the camera, rage-filled and a bit
out of control.]

STRYKER: That's it!!! That is it!!! I have had it up to HERE with this
Caribbean Clown!! *NO ONE* makes a fool of Eric Stryker!! No one!!! I
swear by everything I own, Legba, you will absolutely *NOT* make it to
Anarchy!! If the President has to call out every, single military unit at
his disposal, you will not interfere with my plans!!! Do you hear me!!!

[He turns to walk off and angrily snatches his dented briefcase of the
ground. He begins to stride off when he suddenly turns around to face the
camera one last time.]

STRYKER: *I* am Eric Stryker...I will *not* be denied. Legba...you will
never make it to Anarchy...ALIVE!!!

[Stryker walks off and the camera fades out.]

" ======================================== "

DMP: He swore by everything he owns? So if Legba makes it to Anarchy, can
WE have all your stuff?

LC: Have you no shame?

DOO: If so we, NOT find it yet.

DMP: Ah well, rich wrestlers are a dime a dozen. It's like there's one in
every league out there. What seperates them from the generic pack is what
they do in the ring. And Stryker has proven himself before... will he
prove himself against legba at Anarchy?

LC: Who writes your material, Mackey Jay?

[Mal crumples up the paper he was reading and throws it away.]

DMP: HOW'D YOU KN... uh, no. That was sincere, from the bottom of my
heart, and if Eric wants to make a tax-deductable donation to a worthy
cause, we're here for him.

DOO: Eric? Tyrone Hayes, told me his name was, Sebastian Saint.

DMP: Ah, what's in a name? Up next is Midnight Assassin, and I bet he's
never killed anyone, whether it be at 12 am or otherwise.

DOO: Huh? He still, ALIVE?

" ======================================== "
MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN
" ======================================== "

(The scene opens up in a familiar large mansion. It rests in the lavish
living room of this mansion; a greyish paint covers the walls, with a few
pictures, ranging from a plethora of painters spanning over a plethora of
past ages, long forgotten through time; two stone-cold black statues of
warriors stand parallel to each other, where a fireplace sits in between,
with pictures resting on its mantle, out
of focus of the camera's range; two large glass windows overlook a serene
backyard, resting under the immense clear blue sky and blinding sun, while
a famous crimson bridge and California city rests in the skyline. The
camera swings around, walking behind a coal-colored couch, where a blonde-
haired man rests, his body stretched out. Suddenly, the sounds of Dr. Dre
and Snoop Dogg's "187/Deep Cover" blares out from a stereo sitting on an
oak entertainment center, a Bose hanging above the 36" tele. Real Madrid
mauls an unidentified European team, and as Madrid player Raul scores a
goal, what seems to be a pleasured
grunt of some sort comes from the man.

As the camera pans around to identify the man, it is none other than Sean
Carter, the Midnight Assassin. A half-empty bottle of Tequila rests on the
glass surface of the coffee table in front of him, along with a pack of
Camel cigarettes and a full ashtray, not to mention various uncountable
bottles of different styles and makes of beer. The camera gets the full
glimpse of the Midnight Assassin; his eyes are bloodshot, his hair has red
streaks, and is messed around even with the short length; a beard is
growing in somewhat, connecting to his goatee, and he looks to have walked
out of a train wreck, but still keeps his normal dressing style about him,
albeit far from Gap-quality. He seems not to even notice the camera that
sits directly in front of him, or even where he is for that matter. The
camera pans out some, capturing his state; laying on a couch, eyes half
opened, as a black and white Tony Montana stands above him, guns blazing,
eyes filled with rage. After a few moments, he finally sits up, grabbing
the pack of cigarettes off the table and lighting one up. He looks down at
the ground as he takes a few puffs, and looks back up to the camera,
flicking the ashes on the navy blue carpet.)

MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN: ....The WWO....Where have I been? ...Really. What the
f<TV-EDIT> do you really care? Whether you wondered where I was or
not...like I give a good goddamn, kiddies. What I've done is my business
and my business alone....If you really did care, however. Well, then...you,
my deeply retarded friend...need a muthaf<TV-EDIT>in' life...

So why would I bother to come back now, right? Well, if you wanna wonder
that, then maybe you should ask yourselves...why did I come here in the
first place? Do ya really know? If you know, then maybe you could fill me
in, too. 'Cause I ain't so sure myself...But what you should know is that I
will return....or will I? Do you care? Not really. F<TV-EDIT>, son...if I
don't really care or know, then what gives you the indication to assume the
opposite? Only complete and oblivious ignorance, something I am sure you
all still possess. Still, were it not for my presence...this dwindling
little weak-ass promotion would be belly under right now. Covered with
mediocrity and filled with pathetic jokes for athletes...Half you people
couldn't hold your own if your lives depended on it...while others don't
even deserve to headline the Bumf<TV-EDIT> County Pie-Eating Contest. Let's
face it...all of
you know the truth. It pains you to admit it, but it's the muthaf<TV-
EDIT>in' truth...

You buncha no-good losers need the Midnight Assassin way much more than he
needs any of your pimple-covered piddly asses.

(Midnight cracks what seems to be a smile, but it is assumed it is directed
more toward the soccer game, which he still has his eye on. He grabs the
bottle of Tequila and takes a swig, but with a little discomfort in his
face. He puts the bottle down and takes another puff of the cigarette, and
looks back to the camera.)

MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN: The fact remains, losers. You punk-bitches missed me.
You missed my wanton disregard for any human feelings...you missed me
ranting incessantly until you wanted to put guns in your mouths...an option
some of you should deeply consider...Nevertheless, the lack of me, as
vulgar, despicable, and disruptive as ever left you punk-ass muthahumpas
with a void in your totally wasted lives. You want the Midnight Assassin
back, to piss you off beyond belief...

But wait...Oh yes, I forgot. You are the clever bunch of "rebels",
aren'cha? I can hear it now... "We want the Midnight Assassin back to kick
his ass" ... "What did we do to deserve this crap again?" ... "I thought
he was dead. Or hoped as much." ... And who could forget that classic?
"Christ! Him again?" ...With such words like that, one could easily mistake
all of you for goddamned Rhodes scholars! What magnificent lives you all
must live! How do you get through it all?

(Midnight takes the cigarette and puts it out with some force, leaving it
laying on the glass table, still smoking. As Ras Kass' "Home Sweet Home"
pumps out, Midnight once again smiles as he looks to the camera.)

MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN: What a buncha f<TV-EDIT>in' bulls<TV-EDIT>...All of you
couldn't even be mistaken for middle school dropouts pumpin' gas in an
eastern Michigan suburb. Your mindless dribble is like sitting through
three hours of an Air Supply concert...Horrid and suicide-inducing, and yet
you continue to dish it out with the glee of stoned teenagers. F<TV-
EDIT>in' unbelievable...Really, though, how ignorant you all have become.
The belief that someone out there really gives a f<TV-EDIT> what you are
doing...like someone will break out and have an epiphany based solely on
your poorly spoken words...You all sound like a group of f<TV-EDIT>in'
trogladites, mumbling incoherently throughout your vanilla-laden
ramblings...the type of s<TV-EDIT> that makes me wanna f<TV-EDIT>in'
puke...It's as if without me around, you've completely lost track of how
absolutely meaningless your lives
are. Nobody gives a f<TV-EDIT> about you. Not your parents, your friends,
or the three morons out there that watch every week like sheep, somehow
conditioned to watch the turd that is churned out and weakly packaged from
the WWO's group of ugly and untalented lot of absolutly "disadvantaged"
ass-mongers...And, for all you complete and utter f<TV-EDIT>in' cretins
listening in....however few that may be...who, in fact, do I speak of?
Well, mainly....all of you physically challenged muthaf<TV-EDIT>as...

Good muthaf<TV-EDIT>in' Lord! What the f<TV-EDIT> is wrong with all of ya?
You are nothin'! Most of you aren't even worthy enough to get work givin'
handjobs to statues....but at least truck driver remains a bright prospect
for most of your futures after I'm done with all of ya. ..I mean, Christ!
I've taken dumps with more charisma than most of you morons! And yet there
you are, acting like varitable gods, like your stankonia just ain't
there...But 'tis. It is very evident that you all suck ass. While maybe
someone forgot to tell you, not to "hurt your feelings"...I, on the other
hand, couldn't give a muthaf<TV-EDIT> about any of y'all feelings. And
after I've ravaged this cesspool of no-talent...when you're sittin' on your
toilet, bawlin' your eyes out...The truth will remain that I was not
lyin'...

(The music changes over to System of a Down's "Chop Suey", as Midnight
Assassin looks into the camera...or at the camera...or more near the
camera. After a few moments, he suddenly breaks away and looks back to the
camera.)

MIDNIGHT ASSASSIN: It seems that I am in fact comin' back into your menial
lives, to bring not hope, but despair and hatred, the likes of which none
of you have ever seen personified. And to quote a fellow
WWO...uhh...person-thing-type..........Waitaminute....F<TV-EDIT> that...I
may have wanted to be tacky...but...no f<TV-EDIT>in' way I'm gonna be that
goddamned shallow...I mean.....

You know what? This interview is over....

(With that, Midnight pushes the camera out of his way, and goes back to
intently watching the game. As the camera slowly pans out, it fades out the
music, and to black.)

" ======================================== "

DOO: How did, HE know what we were... saying?

DMP: Let's go down the list... "What did we do to deserve this crap again?"
... "I thought he was dead. Or hoped as much." ... "Christ! Him again?"
Yeah, he hit them all! He's a mind reader!

LC: Hey, give the guy credit for sticking it out. That takes guts.

DOO: Let's TAKE, another caller.

LC: Alright. We have Micheal from Duluth.

DMP: They have phone service in Dul... I mean, hello, caller!

LC: You're on, Micheal.

Micheal From Duluth: U GIES SUX!!!!!!!111 Y DONT U GET A REEL HOAST LIK
TRHASRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11 SO WEE CULD WACH MELISA ADN HER
B00BEES!!!!!!!!!!!11111

DMP: This guy has better mic skills than half the tag division.

LC: Uhm, sorry about that. We'll get a different caller. We've got
Cleetus from Podunk.

Cleetus From Podunk: Hi thar yall. Whuts them thar thangs you all got on
yer feet? Them them shoo thangs mah cuzin done tol me about?

DMP: Wow, was that Matt Holliday?

LC: Sorry, we'll get another caller. We have Craig from Toledo.

DOO/DMP: NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Craig from Toledo: FIGHT THE SYSTEM! DAMN THE MAN!

DMP: Can we get that Micheal guy back on?

DOO: Uhhh... up next, MATT Cole! QUICK!

" ======================================== "
MATT COLE
" ======================================== "

*The scene fades in from black to a wide shot of a caged in ring. The
chainlink fence around the squared circle looks forboding and dangerous.
Matt Cole sits in a folding chair in the middle of it. He is in a
sweatshirt with no sleeves,black sweatpants and bare footed. He looks to be
just finished working out shown by the sweat pouring from his pores. He
sits with his elbows on his knees lurching forward. Cole wipes the sweat of
of his forhead and look at the camera.*

Cole: I have to admit my mind hasn't been on the wresting biz of late. It
is known that I hate cowards..people sneakin up on others to gain an unfair
smack on that back of the head or two. That is what happened on Sept
11th...we got cheap shotted..hard. That is where my head has been. That is
why I haven't shot one of these bull(bleep)promos or was even at Showcase.
I was in NYC with Tanker and the wrecker..helping out when I can. Truth is
I thought I was helpin the best I could. Well I am man enough to admit that
I was wrong..I aint a hero... those cops and firemen were..I am just a
fighter, that is what I do.

*Cole stands up from his chair*

Cole: You see this... it is the cage for the PPV. It ain't nice lookin at
all.

*Cole points up at the cage*

Cole: Cages where made to keep animals in when they can't be tamed. Well it
looks like a cage match is suited to how bad things have gotten. Everyone
in this wargames match as a score to settle. I could down the list like
Stryker and the rest of the assclowns on team Stringer but I ain't. No need
to give you a history lesson this late in the game. Yall know who wants who
and why. As Yall know me and Stringer have unfinished biz to take care of;
maybe I need to tell yall why.

*Cole paces around the ring as he talks..looking like the caged animals he
just referred to*

Cole: When I first got here a few months ago it was a period of change.
Craven stopped being Major Damage. Hayes had just because world champ,
Behemoth was dumped in a trash can and Thrasher and Lissa where still
tight. The I so Chris Stringer shooting his mouth off about how he is the
best wrestler that ever stepped in a arena. It is easy for him to say that,
he has enough people backing him up to put the Morman Tabernacle choir out
of biz. Hard to believe someone is the best when he has other people doing
the fighting for them. He threw every one of his buds at me to stop me from
finally taking him on one on one. Morninstar didnt' get the job
done....Styker that (bleep) rich boy didn't get it done, And Craven learned
that he could not just walk all over me without a fight.

*Cole is looking very pissed off now as he paces*

Cole : I havent gone after Stringer because I wanted to make a name for
myself or that piece of tin around his waist. No Chrissy...I just want to
beat you so bad that everytime you hear my name you piss your little
spandex shorts and why? Because I hate people that can't do things on their
own with out help.

*Cole grabs the cage and look into the camera*

Cole: You whine and bitch about how I don't deserve to be in the same ring
with you. You go that bit ass backwards...you dont deserve to be in the
ring with any hardworking wrestler much less me. And you being a "people's
champ" Chris , clue time, the people think you suck, Period.

*Cole smiles*

Cole: Chris, one way or the other , you can't run any more or have your
buddies help. I hope you have insurance..cuz you may not be able to leave
the ring At Anarchy.

*The Scene fades to the Bloodcircle*

" ======================================== "

DMP: I'm glad I'm not going to be locked in a cage with a dangerous loon
like him.

LC: Are you saying GP isn't dangerous?

DMP: Well, I sure ain't saying they're not loons!

DOO: That MATCH... someone will get hurt, VERY bad.

DMP: And unlike our certain destruction of Grapenuts Personnified, there's
no telling who it will be! And speaking of mystery men, we have the debut
of the notorious ?????????????????? coming up.

DOO: Not ??????????????????! He scare, ME!

DMP: Yes, ????????????????????. A multi-time champion all over the
universe, known for his epic battles against ???????, ??, and
?????????!!!???!?!?!????. Master of the ????????????????????driver. And
known for being one of the most unknown men in all of parts unknown. You
know?

LC: No.

DMP: Exactly.

" ======================================== "
????????????????
" ======================================== "

[Darkness. The screen is filled with it at the moment, and will be for the
following two or three minutes. In these next few minutes a voice will be
heard. This voice will sound very rough, rugged, and somewhat distorted. It
will not be a recognizable voice, as it is obviously altered. It seems as
though the speaker does not want his identity to be revealed.]

V/O: Strange how life works, isn't it. I mean, one day you can be on the
top of the world. You can have everything going for you. You can have the
nice car, friends who care about you, peers looking up to you, and all of
those little bonuses life offers. One could say this is the perfect life.

[The speaker takes a deep breath.]

I used to live that life. I was the king of my domain. I was the ruler
of my fortress. I was in control. There was nobody that could stop me as I
was untouchable. I could out-wrestle or out-perform any superstar on any
given day, at any given time. However, that was then. Now, it is a
different story. I am not concerned with that life anymore, as I have seen
a new light, and it is time to start a new life.

I may be shrouded in darkness right now, but I will be coming out into
that new light very soon. Many will recognize the face. Many will recognize
the name. But nobody, and I mean NOBODY... will recognize the person. I
have changed. Possibly for the better. Possibly for the worse. But the fact
remains, every single man, woman and child that steps in my way will be
forced to deal with the new me.

It doesn't matter if you are a wrestler, an announcer, or the popcorn
vendor. If you get in my way, I will hurt you. I will hurt you en route to
getting what is mine. I will hurt you en route to obtaining what has been
missing from me for over a year now... satisfaction.

[A snarl comes from the speaker.]

I hunger for something different. After observing the WWO superstars in
the back this past Showcase, one could say that the more things change, the
more they stay the same. This organization is just the same as I left it
the last time. However, I am not the same. Gone is the flashy garb. Gone is
the joy. Gone are the games. A new man has been born within me, and that
new man is angry. And that does not bode well for those of you in my way.

[The voice quickly gets louder and a lot harsher.]

I repeat... that does not bode well for those of you in my way.

[The speaker begins giggling like a madman, but suddenly stops almost
instantly before speaking in a monotone way.]

You have been warned.

[As the voice stops speaking all that is left is the darkness. However,
that is interrupted by little drops of red that begin filling up the screen
until all that is left is a blanket of dark, deep red.]

" ======================================== "

DMP: GASP! GADZOOKS! EGAD! DO YOU REALIZE WHO THAT IS?!

DOO: YES! I, RECOGNIZE HIM, NOW!

LC: Really? Who?

DMP: IT'S RIC STUDD! MASTER OF THE TAP OUT! HE'S COME BACK TO USE UNTOLD
POLITICAL POWER MAKE US ALL SUBMIT IN EMBARRASSING FASHION!

DOO: NO! IT VADAYR ECKS! HE BACK, TO MAKE WWO,
HHHHHHAAAAARRRRRDDDDDCCCCCOOOOORRRRREEEEE! RHHHHHAAAA-aa-AA!

LC: Do you think Mark Stone would allow that?

DMP: Mark Stone is in a coma! I saw what Tracy Hudson did to him and it is
my expert medical opinion that he is never coming back again, ever. And
now all of his enemies will sneak in and run rampant.

LC: That's just silly. Let's move to Chris Stringer...

" ======================================== "
"PROBLEM CHILD" CHRIS STRINGER
" ======================================== "

[Cut to Chris Stringer, sitting on a hotel bed, talking into the
phone. Well, actually, he's just listening right now. And quite intently,
too. Must be someone important, like a bookie or something.]

Chris Stringer: Look, David, will you just come to KC and take a look at
it?

[Pause.]

CS: Gee, thanks, Dave. I was already _aware_ I was a wrestler, but thank
you for reminding me. That isn't the point.

[Another pause.]

CS: I'm glad you asked. The point is, that this War Games shennanigans
will in no way resemble a wrestling match. I mean, the entire point of the
match is to get me and my buddies maimed. Why else would the front office
put us in the ring with four known devious psychopaths?

[Another pause, Stringer's face is betraying just a hint of annoyance.]

CS: And not just a ring, a steel cage! And weapons are legal! You have
to admit, if it's not a blatant attempt to create an openly hostile work
environment, it certainly is more dangerous than any wrestler should
reasonably expect!

[Pause. Stringer's face getting more and more animated and agitated.]

CS: How dangerous? More dangerous as getting stuck between a sumo
wrestler and a buffet line! More dangerous as being the taste tester for
Saddam Hussein! More dangerous than being double parked outside a biker
bar in downstate Illinois! And our match isn't the only match like that...
Stone's got THREE of these monstrosities of violence planned. I'm telling
you, the whole f'n thing needs to be shut down!

[Pause. Stringer looking calmer.]

CS: So you're going to come down and take a look? Cool. I'll meet you
there. 'bout an hour before the card. Bye.

[Stringer hangs up the phone, and in walks the entourage. Cherry Bomb is
dressed in bell bottom hip hugging jeans and a pink "51% Sweetheart..."
shirt, Luke is wearing jeans, combat boots, and his "SECURITY, DAMMIT!"
shirt -- soon to come to the WWO Merchandise Catalog. And Glen Peeps is
dressed like a 70-year-old golfer in Florida. None of this is a big shock.
However, each of them is carrying two bags of material.]

Cherry Bomb: Hey, we've returned! Don't look all happy and *bleep*.

CS: (chuckling) Well, I see _someone_ had a successful shopping
mission....

GP: Yup we did! Let's see...

[The merry trio of lackeys starts pulling stuff out of the bags...]

LM: One bungee jumping harness...

CB: ... two taser sticks...

GP: ... one aluminum softball bat...

CB: ... three pepper sprays, 15% solution, maximum allowed by law...

LM: ... and a bunch of all black clothing.

[Stringer looks at all the stuff with a bit of a puzzled look on his
face... then gives a satisfied smirk.]

CS: Cool. I believe.... we're all ready for Anarchy... _if_ it occurs.

[Closeup on Stringer's grinning face, then fade out.]

" ======================================== "

DMP: Hey! He's got a bungee jumping harness?! I looked all over and
couldn't find one of those.

DOO: HA! Our pepper spray is, 37% sol-ution because, we make ourself!

DMP: Yeah! I brought some to show everybody. Where... IT'S GONE TOO?!
What in the name of Kevorkian is going on here?! My book, my watch, my
bag, my pepper spray, it's all gone!

DOO: You just forget where, you put it. You would, LOSE your HEAD-mirror
if it weren't attached.

LC: Enough bickering, we've got to get on with it. Up next is Dark Haven.

" ======================================== "
DARK HAVEN
" ======================================== "

[The scene once again opens at San Malo's gym in New
Haven. A figure can be seen facing the back wall. The
lighting is bad, as always, but a paintbrush can be
seen in the figure's hand. It flaps lethargically, the
painter clearly not too interested in painting.
Finally, it throws the brush down into the paint can
(which is full of light blue paint, although in the
lighting you can barely tell), and begins pacing back
and forth, impatiently. It begins to speak, and during
a brief moment in the light, we can see the face of
(who else?) "San Malo" Michael Donovan]

San Malo: Fixing the place up is one of my goals. I'm
going to make this a place where I can be proud to be
seen. But right now, I can't concentrate on that. I
have to worry about my foolish partner. I know he's
on his way over. And I'm sure he'll be angry at me.
Evidently I committed some kind of crime by trying to
bring our match at Anarchy some prestige. I tell you,
there's no reasoning with the man.

[Donovan turns, and stalks across the floor of the
gym, towards the door]

San Malo: Sometimes I doubt if he's even worth all the
crap he puts me through...

[As he opens the door, suddenly sometime obstructs the
camera. A figure appears, standing, back to the
camera, clearly staring at San Malo. The camera peers
over the figure's shoulder, and we can see San Malo
peering out of the door, unaware of the figure behind
him. Then, he turns, a cross expression on his face,
until he sees the figure]

Sigma: Hello, Michael.

[For a moment Donovan clearly looks surprised, but he
quickly covers it with a good-natured smile]

San Malo: Why Sigma, what a pleasant surprise.

Sigma: [Turns sideways and begins to pace, and speaks
in a low sarcastic tone] I am sure it is.
San Malo: Why of course! I was worried you were upset
with me.

Sigma: [Leans his side on the wall, hunched over,
turns his head and looks at his partner. Speaks in an
almost mocking sarcastic tone] Oh why would I be
upset?

San Malo: Why indeed?

Sigma: [Gets tired of being settle and comes out with
it, and completely faces his partner. Sigma is angry
but hurt at the same time and his voice reflects
this.] I'll tell you why?! You, the one person I am
suppose to trust, to rely on! You are suppose to be on
MY side! But what do you do? You help the enemy! And
not just any enemy but one of "them". One of those
damn "Pretty People"!

San Malo: I suppose you could be upset about that if
you didn't know that your partner was actually trying
to do what's best...

[Sigma rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything]

San Malo: Now, enough about the past, let's talk about
the future...

Sigma: Yes, we must discuss what we are going to do to
those punks at Anarchy.

San Malo: ...what? Oh, that too. But I was thinking
more about after Anarchy...

Sigma: [Shocked] What?!

San Malo: ...what? Ay, enough of this, Sigma. I'm not
going to lose you the match, I'm just more concerned
about what happens after the match...

Sigma: [Gets in Donovan's face] It's that attitude
that will cost us, and cost me even more! You never
seem to see the importance of our victory.

San Malo: Importance? Mi amigo, it was you that said
it didn't matter if we won or lost.

Sigma: [Irritated that his partner pointed that out.]
Well... I lied! I can't let those ego bastards get
another victory over me. I had to endure enough pain
and enough humiliation thanks to them, and now it
THEIR turn! Victory must be ours or ... or else....

San Malo: [Knowing that Sigma is lost and decides to
bring attention to it] Or else what?

Sigma: [Very frustrated] Or else something bad will
HAPPEN!

[San Malo backs away, throwing up his hands as if in
frustration]

San Malo: Well fine then, what am I going to do, just
turn around and say I care? Suddenly say I care, say I
was wrong to be disinterested in a feud that I hold no
personal stake in? Well maybe...

Sigma: [Cutting him off] You could see that this
Ladder and Glass match could actually accomplish both
of our goals. What way to get to the top though a
first time extreme match? Didn't you ever see that? Or
did that fact just get lost within your thick skull?

[A look of rage crosses Donovan's face, only to be
suddenly replaced by a total calm. He walks up to
Sigma, and says, in a very level voice:]
San Malo: You're right. It's my job. I'll go out there
and take out Harris, and leave you to do what you wish
to Sanders. We're a team, and we're going to go out
there and get our job done. Sound good?

[He then walks past Sigma without waiting for a
response, and walks out the door. Sigma stands alone
in the gym. He still is angry, but settles down. He
looks around to discover a newly painted blue wall. He
walks up to it and strolls his finger down it. And
examines the paint.]

Sigma: Blue?

[Sigma is at a loss for words (and just in the nick of
time) as the scene fades out.]

" ======================================== "

[We return to the studio, to see Mal standing there, without his
headmirror.]

Dr. Mal: I'M TELLING YOU, THERE ARE THEIVES AROUND HERE!

Dr. Ow: Who could, STEAL head-mirror off, your HEAD?

Dr. Mal: If my wallet ends up missing, everyone dies.

Dr. Ow: Stop worrying. No thieves here. It time to bring up, our surprise
GUESTS.

Dr. Mal: Yes. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the Live Mike
Studios, our very special surprise guests...

[An awkward pause. Mal nudges Ohno.]

Dr. Mal (whisper): Who is it?

Dr. Ow (whisper): I dun-NO. I thought it was, SURPRISE!

[We then cut to a second stage area, adjacent to the first, here in the
Live Mike studio, where we are treated to the unexpected sight of Niklos
Romani, dressed in an extravagant black silk shirt decorated with a nearly
hypnotic multi-colored pattern in addition to black pants. He is
illuminated by a single spotlight as he stands in front of the closed stage
curtain, waiting for his cue to begin. He speaks in a flat, serious tone
that we are unused to hearing from either of the Romanis.]

NR: "Greetings, _gaje_. Tonight, my _prala_ and I wanted to speak to you
about our upcoming match at Anarchy against Les Canadians and Fire and Ice.
We had planned to discuss the finer aspects of our rivalry and the
importance of the match in general, and it was our intention to provide you
with insightful, in-depth analysis of everything that has gone down in the
WWO since Inquisition as far as our three teams are concerned."

[Niklos pauses a minute, letting this sink in before continuing:]

NR: "But then we caught Straight Talk and realized that the festering pile
of _sheka_ that Les Canadians taped was only 'Part One' and that 'Part Two'
would, in all liklihood, be airing tonight, plus whatever drivel Fire and
Ice feel the need to throw in, so we opted to scrap that idea and provide
some actual *entertainment* around here. Thanks to PAIN -- who we *will*
beat in the ring the next time we face them, but let's not worry about that
right now -- for letting us Steal the Show for a few minutes here. So,
without further ado, I give you...

The Amazing (dramatic pause) Ravnak."

[With a theatric gesture, Niklos steps to the side as the curtain parts,
revealing Ravnos sitting at a table absolutely cluttered with "occult"
paraphenalia: smoking candles in arcane-looking candlesticks, a Legba-esque
skull, his trusty Tarot deck, and a thin, silvery dagger with a black
laquered handle. Ravnos has also dressed the part, sporting a midnight blue
bandana-like scarf, a silver half-cape, and a disturbing assortment of
jewelry in addition to his usual eye-blistering "casual" attire. (Move
over, Master Renfro...) Adding to the effect is a low-level fog cascading
on to the stage, presumably from a machine designed foe just such a
purpose. Amazingly, when Ravnos speaks, it is *not* in an exaggerated
Jamaican accent; this probably violates one of the fundamental rules of
charlatanism, but then again this is Ravnos we're talking about here.]

RR: "Greetings! Tonight the spirits are speaking to me, and they have
decided to grant me the ability to see that which is unseen... With the aid
of my assistant--"

[Ravnos pauses as the camera pulls back a bit to find Niklos seated in a
wicker rattan chair beside the table, looking remarkably patient and
tolerating.]

RR: "We will set out to answer several question that have been plaguing the
WWO fanbase for months now... in our own way. Sit back, this could be a
bumpy ride. Niklos, the first question, please."

[Niklos produces a sealed black envelope with a flourish and hands it to
his brother, who places it against his forehead in a comically exaggerated
motion. Closing his eyes, he seems to fall into a trance-like state, while
Niklos looks on with his best deadpan and the band's percussionist kicks in
with a quite uneccessary drumroll.]

RR: "The answer is... 'Fire and Ice, Les Canadians, and VP Olvera's
Authority.' Niklos, please read the question."

[The envelope is returned to Niklos, who procures the dagger from the
table. Slashing the envelope open with the tip of the blade, Niklos removes
a slip of white paper from inside and reads:]

NR: "What are the three biggest jokes in the WWO Tag Team division?"

[The band (and PAIN) dutifully fanfares as Ravnos takes a bow,
acknowledging the amused applause from the audience before raising his
hands up to silence them.]

RR: "Niklos, may I have the second question?"

[Placing the knife back down on the table beside him, Niklos hands another
envelope to Ravnos, who once again "concentrates" on it to the rattle of a
facetious drumroll.]

RR: "The answer is... 'Don Cameron telling us how boring Les Canadians
are.'"

[Again, the envelope is returned to and opened by Niklos.]

NR: "What is the only thing more boring than watching Les Canadians?"

[Another fanfare, more applause. I think you know how this works now, so I
won't bother with repeating the petty details.]

RR: "The spirits tell me it is time for the third question. Niklos?"

NR: "One more after this."

RR: "But of course *I* already knew that."

[The audience laughs a bit as Niklos lightly slaps his own forehead in the
international sign for "duh, how stupid of me".]

RR: "Hrm. This one is difficult... Wait, I'm getting something..."

NR: "I hope it isn't contagious."

RR: "Hush, you. Do not disturb my concentration... Yes, here it is... 'The
cure for insomnia.'"

NR: "The cure for insomnia?"

RR: "That is the answer I see before me. Please read the question."

NR (shrugging as he opens the envelope): "Ok... Ah, I see. The question is:
'What would the match between Fire and Ice and Les Canadians have been
without the Romanis' being involved?'"

RR: "I see. No wonder the spirits were having such trouble contemplating
the result. Well, before we tax them any more than we need to, I think we
should move on to the final question."

NR: "Here you go, Ravno-- I mean, Ravnak."

RR: "Hmmm. I'm not seeing--- wait! This envelope is empty!"

NR: "Just keeping you on your toes there, _prala_. Here's the real
question."

[Ravnos snatches the envelope from his brother, shaking his head in mock
contempt.]

RR: "This is why the spirits do not speak to you. You must show them the
proper respect. Now, on to the answer... ah, this one's easy. So easy, in
fact, that the spirits are not giving me a direct answer. All they are
telling me is 'As if there were any doubt,' so I will use that as my
response."

NR: "Ok. The question is... 'Which team will Steal the Show at Anarchy?'"

[With that, the band kicks up an extended fanfare and the Romanis
simultaneously stand up and take a bow.]

NR: "The Amazing Revnak, everybody! Let's hear it!"

RR: "Thank you, thank you! I'm afraid that's all the time the Spirits will
give me for now, so it seems that our busniess here has been completed. I
certainly hope that this was as enlightening for you as it was for us."

NR: "And now we return you to our hosts for the evening, PAIN."

[As the camera throws back to PAIN, the Romanis exit, stage right, to a
round of applause and the continued accompaniment of the band. PAIN is
also applauding.]

Dr. Mal: Ah, that was a good show. Very entertaining, even if they are
incredibly mistaken about the outcome of any future match we might have.
Flashy jewelery too, one of the pieces he wore under the scarf looked
charmingly familiar...

Dr. Ow: THAT was, your HEAD-mirror...

[Mal's eyes go wide with the horrible realization that he has indeed been
robbed blind all night.]

Dr. Ow: Ravnos WORE your WATCH, too.

Dr. Mal: AAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!

[Mal sprints... uh, rumbles, offscreen, apparently to go kill the Romanis,
who can probably WALK faster than that, so they're quite safe.]

Dr. Ow: Now, Ace of HEARTS.

" ======================================== "
ACE OF HEARTS
" ======================================== "

[The scene opens into a familiar shot of the posh and rather extravagantly
decorated penthouse office suites of Ace's High Productions. Where seated
behind his large mahogany desk is the WWO's ever popular Ace of Hearts.
Ace, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a "Apex Jr. 00-01 RIP" t-
shirt, can be seen talking very angrily upon the telephone to his legal
team.]

Ace: "What the f[TV-edit]k do they mean we can't electrify the cage for
Anarchy!"

[Listening, Ace seems to be more than a bit upset that his plans for
Anarchy are being denied by the WWO legal affairs team.]

Ace: "They said what?"

[Leaning in as he listens intently to the voice upon the other line, Ace
brings the phone down angrily from his ear as he seems a bit disgusted with
the answer to his question. Leaning back in his chair, Ace rubs his hand
across his chin as he brings the telephone back up to his ear.]

Ace: "So you mean to tell me that we were denied our request to electrify
the cage at Anarchy because the WWO thinks it would be too dangerous. And
yet that total f[TV-edit]k-up Chris Stringer and his bumbling morons can
come out here on Strait Talk and speak of their plans to parachute into the
Main Event..."

[Ace rolls his eyes.]

Ace: "... or even plan on bringing stainless steel handcuffs, top of the
line stun guns, 6 foot retractable metal travel batons and such! And yet
I'd bet you haven't heard a damn word about them being denied... have
you?!?"

[Listening once again, it is quite obvious that the voice on the other end
has told Ace that they haven't heard a peep as Ace just shakes his head in
a disgusted manner.]

Ace: "You know, this is a f[TV-edit]king WWO conspiracy! Those sorry-assed
WWO sons-a-bitches! I knew they were gonna screw us over!"

[Slamming his fist down upon his desk, Ace continues ranting.]

Ace: "Had we all came in here and sucked up to the brass like the rest of
these sorry assed national guard armory wrestlers that the front office is
pushing to the moon like there superstars... Then s[TV-edit]t would be a
whole lot different around here!"

[Obviously interrupted by the voice on the other line, Ace explodes with
this latest tid-bit of information.]

Ace: "Do what? The WWO sensors said that the Apex Jr. skit at the end of my
match was inappropriate?!? What the hell do they mean inappropriate, it
served it purpose! We won the match as Apex had no clue as to what was
going on."

[Listening to the voice on the other line. Ace shakes his head as he runs
his hand back through his hair, obviously very frustrated.]

Ace: "Look! I don't give two flying monkey s[TV-edit]ts about what the WWO
legal team or the WWO sensors have to say about what I say or what I do!
Cause I'm gonna do whatever the hell I want too, when I want too! And
your... your gonna do your job and keep them WWO a[TV-edit]holes off my
ass!"

[Slamming the phone harshly down upon the receiver, Ace spins around in his
chair and looks directly into the cameras lens with a look of intensity
unlike any we have ever seen from him before.]

Ace: "Hopper, Marley, Lewis, Yoo-hoo... boo-hoo...peek-a-choo... ah hell!
Whatever your damn name is..."

[Standing from behind his desk, Ace points into the cameras lens.]

Ace: "... you boys had better count your lucky stars that you have a
guardian angel up there in the WWO front office! For I had quite the plan
for frying your sorry asses up come Anarchy!"

[Stepping out from behind the desk, Ace glares with an intensity unlike any
we have ever seen from him before.]

Ace: "But seeing as though the WWO brass and the WWO sensors put a stop to
this plan before I could even get it started...

[Ace chuckles as you just know that the dastardly son-of-a-bitch has
something else up his sleeve.]

Ace: "...I guess its on to plan "B."

[Laughing... Ace starts away from his desk and starts to cross the floor.
As he can be seen heading for his office door, he suddenly stops and turns
back towards the camera.]

Ace: "Oh, one more thing..."

[Smiling like the cat that ate the proverbial canary, Ace continues.]

Ace: "Apex!"

[Smiling devilishly, Ace opens his office door.]

Ace: "Junior says to say... Hi!"

[Laughing as he finishes his final word, Ace walks out the door and pulls
it too. As the door shuts, the Ace of Hearts laughter and this scene slowly
fade.]

" ======================================== "

[When we come back, Mal is completely winded, having made it almost to the
exit curtain.]

Dr. Mal: *wheeze* WHADDA THEY MEAN WE CAN'T ELECTRIFY THE CAGE?!?!

Dr. Ow: Scratch, THAT plan.

Dr. Mal: DAMMIT ACE! If you hadn't tried to have the cage electrified, the
conspiracy against you wouldn't have affected our brilliant strategy! I
had the blueprints for the whole electric setup in my bag... DAMMIT! STOP
THOSE GYPSIES!

[Mal rumbles offstage again.]

LC: I take it we can't get another caller?

DOO: Go AHEAD, I'll do, it.

LC: We have Jeffrey from Chicago on the line. Jeffrey, go ahead.

Jeffrey From Chicago: Yeah, my question was for Mal, but he's gone.

Out-Of-Breath Voice From Just Ofscreen: *pant* *gasp* I'm still here...

[Yes, Mal only made it four feet.]

JFC: Why do all the WWO guys totally diss the UEW guys?! You were in UEW,
they don't diss you. What's up with that?

DMP: Well, it's not the GUYS they're disrespecting, it's the whole
ludicrous concept of a takeover. That, and in UEW the rules were more
relaxed. You could electrify a cage there if you had a reasonably sane
plan to do it. That just won't go over in WWO, and some guys will HAVE to
recognize the difference in style, and adjust appropriately. By the way, I
didn't wrestle in UEW, I was a commentator. Like Sam Bradley, but better.

LC: Hope that answered the question, thanks for calling.

DOO: Up NEXT, is DAM-AGE Incorpor-ated.

DMP: And for those UEW fans out there, this isn't the same Damage Inc that
was in UEW, it's a different one. I hate unoriginal names!

LC: ...says a guy named Mal Practice? PUL-EASE!

DOO: She HAVE, another POINT there.

DMP: Like I said, I like that name. Damage Inc, kinda catchy. Let's go to
the footage.

" ======================================== "
DAMAGE, INCORPORATED
" ======================================== "

(The camera opens on Super Sexxxy Kevin Sanders destroying the Damage, Inc.
lockerroom after their tag title match against The Vegas Connection.)

KS:Damn it!!! I'm tired of all this crap. Ever since we got here we
haven't gotten any respect. We came in and somehow lost to those two
freaks right away, and now we can't seem to shake them. I even tried to
put Dark Haven behind us with a street fight against Sigma, but all that
did was upset the cracked out circus freak even more because he lost to me.

I.WAS.looking forward to this match before, simply because it would prove
once and for all that we are a better team than Dark Haven. However now it
means even more. When you cost us the titles earlier tonight you only
added more fuel to a fire that was already burning beyond control. I
promised there would be repercussions and I intend on making good on that
promise. If I were you two I would be even more concerned after upsetting
the only "REAL" hardcore wrestler here,my partner, Shawn Harris.

(The camera zooms in slightly on "Suicidal" Shawn Harris. He is sitting in
the corner of the room, drinking a bottle of water.)

SH:Hardcore...Sigma, Donovan, you two claim to be the most hardcore tag
team in the WWO, but what have you really done to deserve that title.
Sigma, you think swinging glass makes you hardcore? Donovan, you think
just because you did some shoot-fighting that makes you hardcore?

(pauses briefly)

Well you're wrong. As I've stated before, hardcore is a lifestyle. You
have to be hardcore every day of the week. You have to be willing to put
your body on the line 24 hours a day, seven days a week. You have to be
willing to sacrifice your own body to get whatever job you have to do done.
It's not about the weapons, ladders, or the glass.

(Shawn Harris gets visibly hostile now, as he gets up and grabs a steel
chair.)

Especially not the F<BEEP>ING GLASS!!! You know if you wanna use a weapon
at least use a normal one. I mean honestly, who walks around with a pane
of glass anyway?!?

(Just then Kevin Sanders walks over and punches a locker.)

KS:Goddamned renegade clown!!!! Listen here Sigma, come Anarchy you'll see
just how hardcore I can be. Glass or no glass I guarantee you're gonna
bleed. This is gonna be me and you, because I believe my partner has other
plans for your girlfriend.

(Shawn Harris now appears to have calmed down slightly.)

SH:Now far be it for me to get in the middle of your lover's quarrel with
your "partner", but Donovan you appear to be playing the "bitch" in this
relationship. For chrissakes you two fight like you're married. I mean
what is it with you anyway, I always hear you talking, but when it comes
time to back it up you always hide behind your "DADDAAY!".

Be a man, at Anarchy surprise me, show some balls, and meet me on top of
the cage. Then we'll find out just how hardcore you really are.

(Just then Shawn Harris starts violently beating the steel chair against
the wall as the camera fades out.)

" ======================================== "

DOO: Does, beat-ing chair, against WALL make you, HHHHHAAAAA-rrrrrddddd-
CCCCCOOO-oorrr-RREEEEE?

LC: Do lab coats and bad handwriting make you doctors?

DMP: NOW THAT'S A LOW BLOW!

LC: If the shoe fits...

DOO: ...then you, don't live in, WEST Virginia...

DMP: Hey, where were you when Tyrone Hayes was picking on everyone who did
a flash? We're the hosts, we have a right to degrade anyone we want.

LC: Oh?

DMP: That's right! Just wait, whoever's next, we're going to completely
trash and denegrate them, just 'cause we can! Roll it!

" ======================================== "
BLOOD BROTHERS
" ======================================== "

The picture opens to show The Blood Brothers traveling in a large
van, through the backcountry roads of Missouri. 'Rattlesnake' Jake Thomas
is driving, with a map across the dashboard and is visibly frustrated with
the directions. Michael Thunderwolf is calm and relaxed, sitting next to
him, the captain's chair turned around, watching a video. On the screen we
see the match from just a few days ago, Totally 80's vs. P.A.I.N. (Under
Las Vegas Connection 'guise.) on _Superstar Showcase_ at the United Center
in Chicago.

Jake Thomas looks back and glances at Michael Thunderwolf, "Well
'Wolf, what do you think?"

Stopping the video, Michael Thunderwolf scribbles down a few notes,
"Formidable, despite the appearance of one of these cousins being a moron."
He leans forward, starts the tape once more. He watches a minute more of
action, scribbling down some more notes and talks aloud so Jake Thomas can
hear him, "Don't be fooled with Tony Antony's size..."

Jake Thomas nods his head, "Flies with the best of 'em like all the
lightweights, huh?"

Michael Thunderwolf starts the tape again, "Yes, so do yourself a
favor, and keep his feet away from your head. Watch it when you slam him,
or pick him up. Chances are he'll try to latch some headscissors on you or
something, and toss you over." He watches intently and stops the tape once
more.

"What about Adam West?" Jake Thomas asks.

"Dave Westel.", Michael Thunderwolf corrects him.

"Yeah, him. What's his program?"

"Stronger of the two of course, a lil' more power behind his
repertoire."

Jake Thomas nods his head, "And as a tag?"

"Good quick basic tags, and double teams. Very solid teamwork."

"Are they..."

Michael Thunderwolf interrupts, "They're on the up and up."

"That's good.", Jake Thomas says, "Gives us a chance to make a
fair impression." He stops the van and pulls along the side of a back road
as he steps out and decides to stretch his legs. Michael Thunderwolf
decides to join him and steps out as well for a quick stretch too, as a few
passer-bys point and stare at the two strangers. Jake Thomas shakes his
head and pulls his cowboy hat over his eyes to block out the sun as Michael
Thunderwolf pulls the long hair out of his eyes and feels the warmth of the
sun and inhales deeply.

Michael Thunderwolf stops, and stands up straight. He sniffs the
air, and stares ahead of them, looking further down the road, "We must go."

Sipping from his soda, Jake Thomas asks, "Now?"

"We must go now.", Michael Thunderwolf says.

Jake Thomas shrugs and jumps in the van as Michael Thunderwolf
follows him back into the van and lowers the window on his side. Jake
Thomas starts up the van and starts to drive again as Michael
Thunderwolf hangs his head out the window.

Michael Thunderwolf points out to the right, "We must go this way."

Jake Thomas points left, "But, Kansas City is this way!"

Michael Thunderwolf points feverishly right, "We must go this way,
now!"

Jake Thomas steers the van right and drives a few miles up the road
as he mumbles and groans at Michael Thunderwolf until they come out to a
clear open wide field in the Missouri countryside.

"Stop here.", Thunderwolf says

Jake Thomas pulls the van off the side of the road as Michael
Thunderwolf jumps out of the van and goes to the side of the road, deeply
inhaling once more. He closes his eyes and meditates for a
minute and opens them again and points out into the open field, "Do
you see it Rattlesnake?"

Jake Thomas steps out of the van and looks around in confusion, "See
what 'Wolf?"

"Do you not smell it?", he asks.

Jake Thomas looks around and shrugs, "Smell what?" He looks back at
the van, "Do you smell oil burning or something?"

Michael Thunderwolf closes his eyes and waves his hand across the
field, "Do you not see them... see the ghosts?"

Jake Thomas looks out into the field, searching long and hard, but
finally sees nothing, "Nope."

Michael Thunderwolf nods, "They are out there... the fighting spirits
are there. From not long ago, the spirits of the soldiers that died here,
fighting for what they believed in. Be them North or South. Americans all,
sadly - brother against brother. Yet, can you not feel the bravery of the
soldiers that once fought on this field? Can you not hear the snapping of
the gunfire, the rumbling of the cannons?" He opens his eyes, "Further
back in history, deeper in the earth's time, can you not here the clanging
of metal? Do you hear the quick clash of swords? Can you feel the
thundering of the hooves as an army of men battle with each other?"

Jake Thomas starts to walk around the field and looks into the
forest. He sees the branches gently blowing in the wind, and hears the
chirping of the birds, but he doesn't see or hear anything Michael
Thunderwolf is describing. "There was a battle here?", he asks.

Michael Thunderwolf nods, "Listen, and you can hear the spirits
whisper to you their stories. This is the site of Pilot Knob. A battle
was fought here, amongst the fields and forests." Michael Thunderwolf
stops and looks down. He crouches near the ground, and feels his hands
through the grass and digs his fingers into the dirt. He smiles when his
fingers pull out a small round metal ball, an old artillery shot. "We
stand on the history of America and it's Civil War, Jake."

Jake Thomas nods as he looks around for a minute and takes the time
to reflect, "All I know 'Wolf, is that the battle is this way," pointing
left, "and if we don't make it, we'll be history!" Michael Thunderwolf
stares at the small ball, rolling it between his fingertips. He smiles,
chants a few unheard words, then shoves the small shot, back into the
ground with his fingers.

Michael Thunderwolf stands and shakes his head, "The spirits are
everywhere Rattlesnake." He pats his friend on the back as they head back
to the van, "The fighting spirit is with us. Be it here, our in Kansas
City, the fighting spirit is with us. It is deep within me, and deep within
you."

Jake Thomas snaps on his seatbelt and starts the van back up, "Well,
the fighting spirit may be everywhere, but it won't do us any good if we're
not in Kansas City with it! So let's get in the van and start hauling ass
there, we're already behind, since we were a last minute schedule for
Anarchy!"

Michael Thunderwolf sits in his seat, and turns his attention back to
the video and ponders aloud, "I've seen two promotions so far on television
for us, yet we still have no respect or recognition. Are we mocked? Are
we looked down upon being new here? Are we seen as useless additions?"

Jake Thomas laughs as they start to pull away, "If so 'Wolf, I best
reckon we get to Kansas City, be one with the fighting spirit there and
start getting some respect!"

(The picture fades to black.)

" ======================================== "

DMP: Uhhhh... uummmm...

LC: You have nothing bad to say, do you?

DMP: Uuuuhhhhh... what a stupid van that was! It was... uhhh... stupid!
And stuff.

DOO: Hm, I just, NOTICE something.

DMP: What?

DOO: We HEAR from, VEGAS Connec-tion and Nate KNOW-Itall. No QUES-ada. We
hear from Dark SOUL and us, as hosts. No UN-ion Jack.

DMP: That's right, we need every chance we can to hype our side of the
match! Uhm, stall them, Ohno, I'll be back.

[Mal heads offscreen.]

DOO: Uhhh... let us hear from, Papa Legba.

" ======================================== "
PAPA LEGBA
" ======================================== "

[The scene opens on a hallway; we recognize it as
the hallway in the Federal Detention Center where
WWO TOTA Champion Papa Legba is held. We can
see a Federal employee walking towards his cell
now, with a tray of food, most of which looks
particularly un-appetizing. Since most of the cell is in
shadow (even though there's plenty of lights on in
the hallway), we can't really tell where Papa is at the
moment. However, that same growl/giggle we heard
from him last time is still being heard, so we know
he's in there somewhere, fighting off his own internal
demons and memories of his times in 'De Bad
Place'. The Employee is looking around nervously,
like he doesn't want to be there - and who could
blame him?]

Federal Employee: Alright Papa, it's time for you to
get some food in you. This may be your last meal for
a bit, they're supposed to be shipping you outta here
sometime tomorrow.

[Low mumbling/chanting can now be heard from the
shadows...we're able to see what is presumably
Papa Legba's silhouette shifting around in the
darkness. The chanting is steadily getting louder.]

FE: Alright now, enough of that stuff, just come get
your food, and I'll be on my way

[The employee is looking increasingly more nervous
now, visibly sweating. The chanting is even louder
now, almost as if Legba is coming closer, but it also
reverberates throughout the hallway - now drums(?)
are heard as well, complimenting the chanting
coming from the cell.]

FE: Y'know, I think I'm gonna just leave this for you,
and I'll let you alone for now, but I'll be back later to
pick up the tray...

[Bending over and opening a hatch made specifically
for this purpose, the employee starts to slide the tray
through the hatch, and it's almost instantly snatched
from his fingers. Startled, he shoots upward to a
standing position, where he is eye to eye with Papa
Legba. Staring at the employee through the bars,
Legba never ceases his chanting; with one hand on
his skull pendant, we can see the eyesockets of the
pendant glowing a deep purple.]

FE: Whoah! You scared me! I mean if you were
hungry, all you had to do was - wait, what's up with
your eyes?................

[Trailing off into oblivion, the Federal Employee has
just been hypnotized by the mesmerizing gaze of
Papa Legba. Reaching through the bars, Legba
waves him closer to the bars.]

PL: Come closer, mon...do as your master bids and
come closer. Unlock this door, let me out of dis hell
hole and let me get to Kansas City as soon as
possible!

[Walking forward in halting, zombie-like steps, the
employee walks up to the door.]

PL: Yesssss, dat's perfect, now get ya keys and
unlock dis door.

[The camera pans behind the employee, as he
fumbles at his waist for the keys. Finding the right
one, he begins to open the door. Looking at Legba,
we can see his eyes glowing yellow, with a
triumphant gleam in them, if that makes any sense.
Once the door is unlocked, Papa swings it open and
steps out, handing the tray of uneaten food back to
the federal employee.]

PL [breathing deeply]: Ahhhhhh, mon it feels good to
be outta there! Even though it was only for a couple
of days, any time in De Bad Place is too much time
in my eyes.

[Noticing the employee again, Papa goes to stand in
front of him and begins chanting some more while
waving the skull pendant in front of his face.]

PL: You will remember none of dis..you will take this
tray back where you came from, and if anyone asks,
you will tell dem dat I was not hungry. I am sleeping
and wish to be left alone before going back to
Jamaica where I belong...[he has an expression of
disgust on his face when saying this last line]...as
soon as I leave, you will carry out my ordahs as I've
explained dem to you. Is that cleah?

FE: Yessss....

[Nodding to himself, Papa turns and walks down the
hallway. seeing the camera as he walks by, Papa
glares into it before saying only five words]

PL: I'm Coming For YOU Stryker!

PL: Now, where da hell did dey put my belt?

[Behind Papa, we can see the employee shake his
head a little, as if coming out of a trance. Looking
down, he sees the tray of food in his hands and the
closed cell door in front of him. he turns and sees
Papa striding away from him down the hall.]

FE: Uh, Mister Legba, Sir?

[Whirling around, Papa sees the employee slowly
walking towards him]

PL: What ya want? How'd you come out so quickly?
You supposed to be under for anudda few minutes...

FE: Neve been good at being hypnotized I
guess...what I wanted to say is this: You didn't have
to worry about using any of that voodoo stuff on me. i
won't tell anyone you're gone. If you're looking for
your belt, it's in a sack in the trash bin at the end of
the hall. I was gonna bring it to you when I came
back for the tray.

PL: An you would do dis fah me...why? What you
want from Papa?

FE: ... Nothing you wouldn't do already...Genocide
was a friend of mine, and the way Stryker treated him
was totally wrong. I feel responsible for some of it,
because I was the one who told Stryker about him in
the first place. So basically, what I want is for you to
get Stryker and make him pay for what he's done.

PL: Heh...y'got dat right!

[Turning around again, legba jogs over to the trash
bin and takes the lid off. Pulling a sack out of it, he
opens it to find his TOTA belt stashed within.]

PL: I-an-I not fahgit dis, mon...you done good by me,
I'll remember you. Now, I got to go kick Stryker's ass,
if I can just get to Kansas City in time...

[Legba runs off down the hallway and is soon out of
sight around the corner. The employee stands there
for a few seconds longer, before walking in the
same direction.]

FE: Damn, I'd hate to be Stryker when Legba finds
him! [he turns to the camera before speaking again]
Stryker, you better use all your money to run and hide
from that man, but something tells me it still won't be
enough! Hehe...who's your Papa now, Stryker?
Something tells me you won't be sleeping well for a
long time now...and I for one am glad of it!

[We see him walk down the hallway with the tray of
food in his hand. We can hear him whistling the tune
to Method Man's 'Bring The Pain' right before he
turns the corner...and with that, we fade to black]

" ======================================== "

DOO: How come THAT, never work for ME when I, was DETAINED?! It no fair!
INS is cor-rupt! Make stand-ard for GREEN card so tough that I have to
FORGE... uhhhhh... I mean, WORK very hard to, GET one!

[Mal comes back.]

DMP: And now, a last-second addition, let's hear from our partner, Union
Jack!

[Mal ducks offscreen, and we see a ventriloquist dummy with a Union Jack
mask on it. Mal fakes a British accent, which he does well because his
parents are both English. It's still obviously Mal though.]

"UJ": Right! I'm going to beat up those talentless blokes! I will hit
them with THE KENDO STICK OF DOOM~! and that will bloody well take care of
that! I'm tired of being underrated... who do you think I am, Miguel
Quesada? It's a bloody insult, it is.

LC: Give it up, Mal.

"UJ": Mal? I'm not Mal, I'm Union Jack. But Mal is a very good friend
whom I idolize and look up to for leadership and guidance, just like the
inimitable Ohno Ow. You should buy their book, it's great.

LC: Oh brother.

"UJ": I'd end with a catchphrase, but I don't need no steenking
catchphrase. So there.

[The puppet goes off-screen.]

DOO: And now, VERY SPECIAL GUEST! We hear from our wounded President, MARK
STONE!

LC: What? he's here?

[We move back to the ventriloquist dummy, which is now maskless and can be
seen as a Mark Stone ventriloquist dummy. Mal is now trying to fake a
Southern accent, but he's horrible.]

"MS" I done come here to announce that for stealing the World Tag Titles,
perpetrating assaults on national heroes, and boring several thousand fans
into catatonia, the Vegas Connection has committed crimes too grievous to
be punished by mere fines and suspensions. I officialy done declare that
they are stripped of the titles, and sentenced to death for ninety days.

LC: Sentenced to death... for ninety days?

DOO: We CURE them when time is up. I hear, they now do that, for TAX
reasons in some, parts of GALAXY.

"MS": Furthermore, PAIN will have their rightful titles done restored to
them, and be paid all championship back pay they missed during this failed
experiment with the Vegas Connection. I would also like to announce a
public lynching is being held in Biloxi tonight, refreshements will be
served but only if you're a white male. I have to go, my secret meeting of
the anti-establishment group I secretly back {while publicly disavowing
them} is in a couple hours, so I need to catch a flight to Toledo. Good
day.

LC: Dear... God...

[The puppet "leaves", and Mal returns.]

DMP: Did I miss anything?

LC: We have to wrap up the show.

DOO: We have time for ONE more, caller. Let hear, from BOB from New YORK.

"Bob From New York" (obviously a recording of Ohno): I would LIKE, to ask
PAIN how they plan to, EASILY defeat GRAPE-nuts PERSON-i-fied at An-archy.

DMP: Ah, an intelligent, informed, insightful question from an obviously
intelligent, informed, and insightful person. At Anarchy, our strategy is
simple. You hear it all the time, stated as a meaningless oath before any
competition:

"Let the better team win."

Indeed, that phrase will achieve new meaning at Anarchy, for that is the
entirety of our plan. We're going to go out there, and let the better team
win.

And when we do, there will finally be a reckoning. Finally, we'll be
avenged from the senseless robbery that took place many weeks ago. When
four men banded together, took everything from us... and did ABSOLUTELY
NOTHING to follow up. Their victory was meaningless, hollow, and
ultimately unfulfilling. We have champions that noone respects, and the
entire WWO has suffered because of it.

DOO: And for this suffering... only we have THE CURE.

DMP: The Doctors Are Out!

["Humanitarian" plays, as the doctors pose some more. The closing credits
roll, and we see stills of some of tonight's hilarity. PAIN goes into the
crowd to sign autographs and meet fans, and the show ends...]

" ======================================== "

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8888P Y8888 8888P Y8888 Y88b" "d88P
888P P888 888P Y888 "Y88888P"

(c) 2001 World Wrestling Organization Productions
WWO -- Learn from the past to improve the future

--
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