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| HUGE LIVE 12/14/2008.; SURPRISE! It's a card! | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 14 2008, 03:29 PM (253 Views) | |
| Mozeart | Dec 14 2008, 03:29 PM Post #1 |
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Sheik-ee, Sheik-ee, give me your answer do...
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[Quick clips of pitiful indy workers bouncing around a dingy wrestling ring are shown. A drunken Russian, a fat man dressed mostly in food stains, a black man in a chef's uniform, and others. “Hell” by the Squirrel Nut Zippers plays.] #In the afterlife,# #you could be headed for the serious strife.# #Now you make the scene all day,# #But tomorrow there'll be hell to pay.# [More clips featuring even less distinguished individuals. A redneck police officer, a black panther, and a gothic poster child.] #People listen attentively,# #I mean about future calamity.# #I used to think the idea was obsolete,# #until I heard the old man stamping his feet.# [Pan wildly around a tiny arena whose walls are littered with darkened glass storefronts, covered in sheer black fabric in a vain attempt to conceal them from detection.] #Now the D and the A and the M,# #and the N and the A,# #and the T and the I-O-N,# #Lose your face, lose your name,# #then get fitted for a suit of flaaame!# [Drunken fans celebrate with has-been and never-were wrestlers, and it's really difficult to tell where one group ends and the next begins.] .____________________________________________. | _ _ _ _ ___________ | | / / / / | | | / __ \ ____\ | | / / / /| | | || | \_\ \ | | / /_/ / | | | || | __ \ \___ | | / __ / | | | || | | | \ __\ | | / / / / | |_| || | | | \ \ | | / / / / | || |__| | \ \____ | | /_/ /_/ O \___/O \____/ O _\_____\_O | | /_ | / \ | | Hellfire's Ultimate Grappling / / | [] | | | \\Excitement Version 2.0.// |___\O \__/ | |--------------------------------------------| | Now in glorious on-line 720p, 16X9 HD! | '--------------------------------------------' [Fade in on the same tiny arena, only now, it looks more like an empty shopping mall. It's clearer than before that the floors are surfaced with some sort of loose-fitted stonework, and the walls themselves likewise have stone arches on the ground floor. A short staircase leads up to a small dining area, bar, and kitchen. On the opposite side are the huge tanks of the brewery. In the large common area, contractors shuffle about carrying glass doors, copper wiring, and just about everything else of value out of the storefronts. The reason for this is, as yet, unknown. Panning around in a circle, taking in the large glass front to the Hellfire, where it overlooks Portsmouth, Ohio's broad street, is a nondescript man with brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin who wears jeans and a T-shirt.] BJ: Hello out there in Internet land. My name's Barney Johnson, and before you say anything; this is all new to me, too. Now, I've been promoting wrestling matches for some years now, and my little league here, Hellfire's Ultimate Grappling Excitement, has been more or less unknown that whole time. Only recently have I even started using a proper computer, burning our events to DVD for distribution, and now our entire tape library and more to come will be moving online for your perusal. [Barney looks behind him, then juts a thumb in the direction of the work in the common area.] BJ: We had some stores there in the Hellfire. It's just too bad to see 'em go. But, hey, that's progress. The stores are going away to make room for more seating. You see, HUGE is growing, and now we're going to be one of the few independent leagues catering to a worldwide audience using the internet. Up there, in the center of the back wall, there will be a gigantic flat panel TV. Our locker room area is still in the basement, AKA “the Dungeon”. This building was made approximately ... 200 years ago. Something like that. As such, it wasn't made with bricks, but rather quarried stone. Looks kinda like a big stone castle to anybody looking from the outside. So yeah, here in southern Ohio, things are looking up. The Strickland Corporation, who owns several TV networks among other holdings, has invested more money in this league than I could've ever even dreamed, and now, well, they own it. I'm still the man in charge, though, so right now, I wanna take you on a trip down memory lane. Back to when HUGE was first born... It was a magical time known as Y2K, and people were still thinking that the world might end. I was lucky enough to score a veteran grappler from Russia ... who had fallen on hard times. Anyway, without further ado, from the HUGE vault ... here's HUGE's first match. Edited for time ... Hendrix versus Fright! *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Static. Cut to the interior of the Hellfire of yesteryear, where about 40 bikers, off-duty cops, and college kids sit in steel folding chairs (and barstools, and there's a couch against the back wall), looking confused.] DJHV: I'm telling you, BJ, they're gonna leave. Ain't no damn market in Portsmouth for no damn wrestling! BJ: Will you shut up already! You've been saying that for an hour! DJHV: Don't make it any less true. BJ: C'mon! C'mon, it's time for the first match! Rex Fear taking on Brad Hendrix. DJHV: Hey, wassup with him and Lady Phear? They goin' out or somethin'? I mean, I saw when they met, it was like less than a week ago. BJ: Announce, Harvey! Announce the match! DJHV: Yeah, yeah... [Feedback noise is heard as Harvey fiddles with some knobs on his PA system. He installed it himself, you know.] DJHV: Testing...testing. Alright! Patrons of the Hellfire, you're in for a real treat! Tonight is the debut of the Hellfire's new entertainment program! Prepare yourself for Hellfire's Ultimate Grappling Excitement! Professional wrestling has come to Southern Ohio! [The response is underwhelming. Someone yawns. Several people cuss about having to pay admission to see sweaty men roll around. One drunk chick stands up and yells "WHOO!", but she's like the only one happy with this.] DJHV: And now, it's time for our first match...um...EVER! Spin the tunes... [Screaming is heard coming from the door to the Hellfire's basement and suddenly "Creep" by Radiohead starts up. Rex Fright leaps out of the entrance area like a cat, his mid-length black/red hair covering his purple make-uped face, he wears a ripped up "ZRTLM - School For The Criminally Insane" T-shirt, black jean shorts and black sneakers. He approaches the ring as his name is announced...] DJHV: He hails from The Streets of The World and weights in at 183 lbs, this is... REX FRIGHT!!! [Rex climbs the steps to a top turnbuckle and jumps down in to the ring and stands still as he waits for the bell.] DJHV: Hey, that was quick and painless. Where's my cuecards? BJ: Dude! Keep goin', dammit! DJHV: Hush. I'm gettin' my mojo risin'. BJ: THEY CAN HEAR YOU! DJHV: Ah, *BLEEP*. The...um, NEXT GUY! [Jimi Hendrix' "Voodoo Chile" blasts over the PA, but sounds different. This one's being played by the local band, "Loud *BLEEP*ers". Bursting from the backstage (read: basement) area comes the guitarist for the afforementioned band. What's his name again?] DJHV: He's a local boy from right here in Portsmouth-- [A very small pop. Say 10 drunken idiots going "HELL YEAH!" or something.] DJHV: Representing his band "Loud *BLEEP*ers", he's 215 pounds. This is Brad Hendrix! [The music winds down as the slender, long-haired rocker slides into the ring on his stomach. He stretches and stuff while he waits for the match to start.] =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= Rex Fright -vs- Brad Hendrix =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= [On the other side of the ring, a huge masked black man steps over the top rope, entering the ring!] DJHV: WHAT THE *BLEEP*!? Who's the big dude!? He'll cream 'em both! BJ: That's our referee, Harvey! Haven't you been paying attention at all? DJHV: Uh...whoa. Big referee. What is he? 10 feet tall? BJ: I'd think the yellow shirt that reads "HUGE referee" would tip you off. DJHV: Well...he is huge...and I guess he is a referee... *DING* *DING* *DING* *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to later in the match. Fright is kicked in the gut, and has his head straddled by Brad. It's just a standing headscissors, leading into a powerbomb, but not in the mind our heel announcer.] DJHV: Mmmff! BJ: Say NOTHING! Up goes Fright! Power--NO! Rollup by Fright! 1--KICKOUT! [Cut messily to black, then static leads us into the middle of the match. Hendrix with his back to the corner, and Fright is flailing madly.] DJHV: YES~! Revenge from the pain junkie! That'll teach you to try *BLEEP*, y'wannabe George Michael! BJ: Hendrix larger than Fright by like 30 pounds, but he's still faltering. Covering up, but geez! Blow after blow, and the Masked Referee's just standing back! DJHV: Yeah, let 'em beat up that little nancy boy! WHOO! Oh yeah, fists-a-flyin'! [Suddenly, Hendrix' right arm shoots out, blocking one of the madly flailing arms, and Brad reverses the position, slinging Fright backfirst into the corner.] BJ: Right hand! Right forearm! Knifehand chop! [No. Nobody in the audience yells "WHOO!".] DJHV: Isn't he gonna do anything with his left!? Geez, boy's got only one arm! BJ: Hendrix wearing him out! HEADBUTTS FRIGHT! [Hendrix instantly drops to the mat.] BJ: WHAT THE!? That's not right. He must have a loaded...uh...head? DJHV: Yeah, right, he could have a steel plate in his head from the war or something... Dip*BLEEP*. [Fright, equally stunned, falls forward onto his opponent, headbutting Hendrix' groin in the process. That got an "Oooo" from the crowd, at least.] BJ: The masked referee counting Hendrix' shoulders down! 1! 2! [Fright rolls from the ring, seemingly unaware of what's happening.] BJ: What the? DJHV: Aw man, don't tell me he's gonna turn and burn when he's got the fairy queen's gemstones cracked! C'MONNN! [But NO! He grabs Brad by one ankle, and drags him a few feet to the turnbuckle they were both just in. Rather, he wraps Brad's legs around the post, and PULLS with all his strength, crotching Hendrix hard against the steel!] BJ: AHHH! DJHV: GODDAMN! He's hangin' by that boy's ankles! HE'S GONNA RIP OFF HIS LEGS! [Indeed, Fright's put both feet up on the apron, and is pulling with all his might. Hendrix screams in agony and thrashes around, but can't escape to save his life.] BJ: The Masked Referee counting Fright out! Hendrix has him by one pantleg! Uh, I think he might want to give up! [The ref's asking him that very thing. Brad shakes his head no.] BJ: Finally he lets go! Hendrix crawling back into the ring all the way, and here comes Fright! Aw man, Brad's screwed. Just don't break his hands, Rex! He's gotta play guitar! DJHV: What do you care? BJ: Loud *BLEEP*ers is the cheapest band in town. Who else will play for 4 hours for only $150? DJHV: You sure you want them to hear you say that? BJ: Uh...no...too late now though. [Inside the ring, the action's being ignored by the announcers... Too bad, because Fright just caught a staggering Hendrix, who's trying to get back to his feet, and planted him headfirst with a DDT!] BJ: PIN! He's pinning Hendrix! [Once the Masked Referee slaps that canvas! TWICE! Oh, but Brad got a shoulder up! HOW EXCITING! Cut to static, then to later in the match.] BJ: Fright ripping the Jimi Hendrix shirt right off of Brad's back! Fingernails raking down Brad's spine! Shoved into the corner! SLAP across Brad's bare chest! He's paintbrushing him! [Fright raises his right hand in victory...and is unaffected by the crowd's apathy to his success. Grabbing poor Brad by the hair, he pulls him along beside him, grinding the young man's face against the ropes, dragging him clear to the other side of the ring, and tossing him into the corner. Then, he ascends the ropes.] BJ: More punishment! Those ropes aren't ropes, Harvey! They're steel! That can rip the flesh right off your bones! Fright raining pain! [Punch after punch nails Brad, lefts and rights, not the traditional repeated right hands. Brad slumps lower and lower in the corner...] *THUMP!* BJ: POWERBOMB COUNTER! HE TOOK REX OUT! Leans forward to pin! COVER! COVER! ONE! TWO! THREE!!! [BIG kickout right before the third count falls! Still no response from the "fans".] BJ: He kicked out! DJHV: Man, how long do these things take? I'm gettin' tired. BJ: Oh...just shut up. [Static, and yes, another cut to later in the match. Both men, totally winded, looking near collapse, just brawl, punching back and forth.] DJHV: Oh *BLEEP*. It's been 35 minutes. *DING* *DING* *DING* BJ: DUDE! What are you doing!? DJHV: Hey bud, the time limit's only half an hour. This badboy's been over for 5. Hey, folks, hate to tell you, but the match is a time limit draw. NOBODY WINS! [Collective yawn from everybody. Well, not the ones who are passed out from drinking a gallon of whiskey, but the rest of them, yeah.] BJ: Fright very angry. He really wanted to win this one. Hendrix...um...just more or less looks like he's glad it's over. Both men eyeing each other. What's going to happen here. [Looking crazy, just like he has from the beginning, Fright walks up to Hendrix, HAULS BACK! And shakes his hand...forcefully... Brad never sees it coming.] BJ: Well how about that! Some sportsmanship! DJHV: Whatever. It's been too long for me to give a damn. Time for Har-V to have himself some lunch! BJ: Hey man, where are you going!? HEY! THE KITCHEN'S NOT EVEN OPEN RIGHT NOW, DIP*BLEEP*! *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Back to Barney in the present day. Somewhat later than before, the walls to the stores have been torn out, and more stone has been exposed; the original interior walls of the Hellfire. The place is significantly larger, and a gigantic plasma TV (about 80”) is hung on the back wall.] BJ: Hey, that was something, right? Now, those guys really put their all into a match just to entertain the fans. Just ... went out there, and, well, I'm sure that since then they've moved onto bigger and better things. I don't know for sure since I had to stop paying them a few months later. Yeah, one thing about trying to run a league on a shoestring budget ... you run out of money quick if you're not careful. Now, however, somebody else is footing the bill. That being said, here's something a little more recent. Dynamite versus Crackhead. *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut. That static could seriously give someone a headache. The opening of TNT, by AC/DC begins to play....] # Oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi # [As the curtains are tossed aside in the doorway to the Hellfire's Dungeon, Out steps Jason Dynamite! The fans, the Hellfire being packed to about half capacity, give a good face pop for the veteran. Meanwhile, the gigantic TV displays his name.] BJ: Jason Dynamite, a veteran of Japan, the United States, and other regions gracing HUGE with his presence. DJHV: Yo, Barn, cut it man. Gotta do the intro here, y'know, without distractions? BJ: Right, sorry, I guess. DJHV: Yo yo yo, mah people, yo' attention please. Welcome to HUGE LIVE! Please remember to tip yo' waitress, and that guy approachin' the ring there too. He's from Chi-town, that's Chicago Illinois, and he's explosive. That's right, he's Dynamite! Jason Dynamite, that is... [As AC/DC is rocking on the PA system. Jason Dynamite heads down the isle way. He has on a black vest and Silver wrestling pants with blue lines. He extends his arms slapping the hands of the fans as he heads to the ring.] DJHV: And already in the ring 'cause we really don't give a damn about this cat. He's from Newton, New Jersey. It's Crackhead. # 'Cause I'm T.N.T., I'm dynamite # # (T.N.T.) and I'll win the fight # # (T.N.T.) I'm a power load # # (T.N.T.) watch me explode # [He makes his way to ringside. He heads up the steps and through the middle ropes. He removes his black vest and tosses it aside. He turns and raises his arm one last time to the fans. He then turns and waits for the bell. Crackhead, meanwhile, leans out over the top rope, screaming at the announce table. Since he was introduced during Jason's entrance, let's just say he's a middle-aged chub wearing 1990's grunge-style clothing with his hair dyed electric red and carrying a lead pipe.] BJ: Dammit Harvey, you've already pissed off a wrestler. DJHV: Who cares? It's just some joker the corporation sent us. BJ: Yes, our benefactors employee. Try not to piss off the company who's helping us financially. DJHV: Man, Ron Strickland can kiss my ass with lipstick on. =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= Jason Dynamite -vs- Crackhead. =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= BJ: And heeere we go! *DING!* *DING!* *DING!* *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to later in the match.] BJ: Jason Dynamite doing one hell of a job in his first outing, tripping Crackhead up at every turn. [Indeed, the match is a long affair. Early on, Crackhead is mostly just chasing Dynamite, at first with a pipe, and when the ref takes that away, just while frothing at the mouth. Cut to mid-match. Crackhead sports a black eye, but has Dynamite down in a chinlock. The crowd screams at the ref that Crackhead is cheating, and each time the ref looks at the crowd, Crackhead chokes Dynamite, only to slip the chinlock back on when the ref looks back. Fighting up, Dynamite hits a jawbreaker, and starts a fast-paced rebounding offense. A series of dropkicks leads to a enziugiri and then a Rocker Dropper. A flying headbutt from the top fails to keep Crackhead down.] DJHV: Dude's got some moves. Kinda ... old to be workin' the smalltime like this though, ain't he? BJ: Dynamite's only 32, Harvey. DJHV: What you talkin' about man? I'm 32! If he looks ... that old then... Aw man, I'm old? Why'd nobody tell me!? [A further cut forward shows Dynamite leaping down from the top onto Crackhead on the floor. Tossing the veteran of 3 previous, and now 4 incarnations of SSN Wrestling league into the ring, Jason ducks a wild haymaker, hits a boot to the gut, and crams him into the mat with a cradle piledriver.] BJ: THE BOOM! It's all over but the celebration! DJHV: I thought that move was called a cradle piledriver? What you talkin' 'bout, man? *DING!* *DING!* *DING!* BJ: Harvey, you talked through the three count! Dynamite won! Announce, man, announce! DJHV: Oh, uh, hey, alright! Your winner by way of crammin' that other guy's neckbone into his nut-sack ... that's Jason Dynamite, y'all! [Giving up a greater reaction than before, the crowd mostly comes to their feet for the action they've just witnessed. It's almost as if their formerly horrible indy league had gotten good. Who would've predicted this one?] *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to show Barney again, this time he's overseeing the arena's preparation. Standing in the ring, which is mostly plywood, and naked, with no dropcloth or padding, Harvey bounces experimentally as people bring in sections of railing to section the ring and entrance area from the basement off from the common area and the rest of the facility. The railing forms a T-shaped path for wrestlers to walk down from different basement entrances. Incidentally, it's no coincidence that this seems out of order with the previous match. Looks like Barney knew the first lineup beforehand, and recorded the bits showing the arena's transformation before the matches occurred.] BJ: Oh, oh yeah, that big spring in the middle's a lot better than just wood. You guys do damned good work. Probably won't have anybody falling through to the floor again either. Whoop, right, filming. Yeah, HUGE, or what we're calling HUGE2.0 is really shaping up to be something special. Nothing screamed to me more strongly than when I was informed SSN would be sending a contingent of their own employees down to compete in our league. You just saw two, of course. Jason Dynamite, formerly of PVW, and Crackhead, who is a veteran of the ACWA, and two incarnations of JJG. Now, I'll tell you, while that was great ... nothing got me more excited than when I learned that Preston Mayfield would be joining us as well. That's how we got this next gem ... Mayfield versus El Gato! *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= Preston Mayfield -vs- El Gato. =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= [Cut to show a tiny, cat-masked luchador already in the ring.] DJHV: Hey y'all, already in the ring, there's this cat, literally, named El Gato! He's from Tijuana, real party town, hell of a spring break destination, and a good place to get arrested ... if you never wanna go home. And the guy he's fighting-- “I'm gonna lie to the lawyer..." [Keith John Adams's "Lie" plays on the speakers as our boy Preston stumbles out, obviously sober. Mayfield is wearing some Salvation Army suit pants and a formal shirt with a tie. He has one his glasses and his hands in his pockets. Every now and then he brings up a reddish black rag to his face but then quickly shoves it back into his pants.] DJHV: This guy's one gross mofo, and that's okay, 'cause he's from Syracuse, in the great state of New York! Dirtiest sumbitch this side of the Uranium Refinement Plant half of you losers work at, this be Preston Mayfield! [Boos erupt from the crowd who had been silent before. Preston scowls at them, and tries to shield his eyes from the spotlights overhead before rolling into the ring.] *DING!* *DING!* *DING!* BJ: And we're underway. DJHV: BAM! Little kitty floors the big empty! [Sprinting and leaping halfway across the ring, Gato nails Preston with a huge flying forearm. Preston scrambles back up, but gets hit with a dropkick followed by a legdrop. A quick cover fails to finish the job. Cut to later. Preston's still in trouble, begging off as Gato seems to show mercy, only to catch a backhanded slap from Mayfield. The referee gets pulled into Gato's path as the little lucha moves back in to retaliate.] DJHV: Damn, this guy plays dirty! BJ: Didn't you reference that earlier? DJHV: Naw man, I just smelt him when he came in today, man. I don't think that boy ever bathes. [The referee manages to free himself from Mayfield's clutches, but misses the low blow that floors Gato. Cut to later again, and Gato has his mask on sideways, swinging wildly. Preston laughs at him until the referee, trying to help Gato, catches a series of strikes from the blinded lucha, and then a death valley driver. Straightening his mask, Gato sees what he's done, and seems horrified. Sneaking up behind to bash Gato with his flask, Mayfield underestimates his opponent, who'd been watching him on the plasma screen. Ducking low, hitting a few kicks, and rebounding off the ropes, Gato nails a hurracanrana pin on Mayfield. The crowd counts to 5.] BJ: Cat's Cradle! But the referee is down! DJHV: Damn, kid! You lost yo' mind! You're the one who clobbered the ref! [Apparently tougher than anybody's giving him credit for, the ref recovers somewhat, and on the 2 count, Mayfield kicks out. Shaking out the cobwebs, the ref suddenly turns angry, and looks at Gato with utter hatred before pointing to the announce position and signaling for the end of the match.] BJ: What the? DJHV: Ring that bell, man. You said you was doin' the timekeeper crap this time 'round, so do it! *DING!* *DING!* *DING!* [Approaching Harvey, the ref explains what happened, and Harvey laughs a moment before repeating it.] DJHV: Hey guys, get this ... good guy Gato done got the DQ on account of cleanin' the ref's clock. [Glare from the ref to the jerk behind the table.] DJHV: So yo' winner ... it's Preston Mayfield, y'all! Bwa-haha! *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* BJ: Now another look back. This time to the crowning of the first HUGE champion ... “Sheriff” Bob Bobley. This was when HUGE was just finding its legs, and the talent was mostly locals rather than professionals. Bobley was, literally, the Scioto County Sheriff, and he'd been somewhat ... racist from the beginning, and his behavior had raised the ire of one “Martin X”, a man who fashioned himself after the Black Panthers. We can't show much of this match due to its content, and in compliance with Strickland Sports ... we have to keep the show PG. So here we go! *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= "Sheriff" Bob Bobley -vs- Martin X =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= MARTIN X: STUPID MOTHER*BLEEP*IN' PUNKASS CRACKA' RACIST PIG COP!!! [Punch, punch, punching Bobley in the face. Surprisingly, the fans cheer the black racist as he beats up the white racist.] BJ: NOT YET! NOT YET! Dammit, we don't even have a referee yet! [Barney stands up, "satchel" in hand, and runs over to Mason Dugan, HUGE's chief of security.] DJHV: Hey, man, yo! Why you takin' yo' purse!? [Reaching Dugan, he points to the ring, then to a young man running to it from the basement. Mace quickly grabs onto the boy before he can get in, and pulls the "HUGE Referee" shirt off of him. Mace puts it on...which is somewhat humorous, considering that he's about 350 and wearing a shirt made for a runty little 160 pound college student.] DJHV: Man, Mace is in! Pullin' Martin off! What the hell is goin' on!? BJ: GENTLEMEN! [Yes, Barney has grabbed a microphone. Probably the same one Bobley used moments ago.] BJ: Please, you're about to ruin my grand unveiling here. This match, between you two, is the final match in what has been an unofficial tournament. You two, the last undefeated men in HUGE, will now fight for the right to call yourself... THE HUGE CHAMP! [POP! God, that was loud. Maybe DJ Har-V's using that canned cheer button he was fiddling with awhile back. Opening the satchel, Barney pulls out a black vinyl weightlifting belt with an embossed steel plate on it. Steel, or maybe tin. Regardless, it looks cheap, with a very shoddy design portraying a fist and a slanted word "HUGE" through the middle. Niiice, Barn.] BJ: And now, do as you will. May the better...uh, racist...win. *DING* *DING* *DING* [And Mace backs off, having apparently been made the referee of this matchup. Towering over both men, and dwarfing them with his mass, he looks very much out of place.] DJHV: Barn, welcome back, but man, if you had to unveil somethin' cool like that, why'd you do it by carryin' a purse? BJ: IT IS NOT A PURSE!!! *Whump* [And Har-V is struck in the face with the purse, er, I mean "satchel".] DJHV: BITCH! *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to later in the match.] BJ: I--MARTIN! He hit him with the nightstick! [But Bobley nosells it completely, striking back with a right hand.] BJ: AGAIN! No affect! What the hell? DJHV: Maybe cops're immune to nightsticks. Y'know, like, they use 'em, so they can't be hurt by 'em. BJ: Hush. [Spun around by Bobley's punch, Martin is completely caught off guard as Bobley heaves him up on his shoulders in an inverted Samoan drop.] BJ: THE SLAMMER! THE SLAMMER! DJHV: HE GOT THEM ROPES! [Indeed, Martin grabs the top rope, and pulls himself down back to his feet.] BJ: LOW BLOW! He kicked Bobley in the groin! [Bobley turns around himself now, looking to escape at a hobbling, groin-clutching pace.] DJHV: Hey, HE PULLED DOWN THE COP'S PANTS! *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to later in the match. [The rough and tumble barbrawl continues, both men falling to the floor and tumbling around.] BJ: Dugan counting...dammit Mace! Don't you dare count 'em both out! We need a champion! [Raising an eyebrow, Mason nods, stopping the count and allowing both men to brawl on the outside without interruption. It can be assumed that the fight lasts for some time, as the scene cuts once, showing punches traded again. Twice, and X whips Bobley into the guardrail. A third time, and Bobley slaps on a full armdrag and twist, slamming an elbow down across X's shoulder.] BJ: Elbowsmash on X! Twice! Again! [Abruptly, X counters, twisting about once to send Bobley down with a twist of his own.] *CLINK* BJ: What was that? [With a jerk, X suddenly realizes that he's been handcuffed. Bobley holds the other end of the cuffs in his hand. Grinning, he seems to taunt Martin, who throws a clothesline. Ducking, Bobley twists X's arm behind his back.] *CLINK* [And connects the other end to the guardrail.] DJHV: What the hell just happened!? The cop's got the brother in chains! [Then, ducking under the ring, Bobley comes away with...a bucket of paint.] BJ: What the...NO! [With a toss, Bobley covers X, and about 10 members of the crowd, with white paint. He then shouts, loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd.] Sheriff Bob: NOW WHAT'S YER EXCUSE BOY?! [And the crowd goes absolutely insane. The group of black youths in the corner of the cheapseats gets up and makes it's way through the crowd. Security moves to intercept, and a riot begins... In the meantime, Bobley's rolled in. Dugan, looking absolutely disgusted, knows what he has to do. The 10 count begins...] MD (Mason Dugan): 1! 2! 3! BJ: Good god! X is covered in paint! He's livid, but trapped! There'll be hell to pay for this, Bobley! DJHV: That paint ain't comin' off yer floor, either, Barn. MD: 4! 5! 6! 7! 8! 9! 10!!! *DING* *DING* *DING* DJHV: Aw, *BLEEP*. Yo, people, yo' winner by way of breakin' several laws and two commandments is "Sheriff" BOB BOBLEY! Try not to lynch him too bad, eh? [With that, however, Bob pops out of the ring, grabs his REAL nightstick off of his motorcycle, and comes back at X, yelling...] Sheriff Bob: Hey, remember Rodney King, Mister Ecks? REMEMBER!? *WHACK!* *WHACK!* *WHACK!* BJ: Mace! Don't just stand there! Stop him! [But Dugan doesn't need any prompting. As soon as he notices the beating, he slips out of the ring and grabs onto Bobley's nightstick. Bob lets go, and quickly retreats, snatching up the HUGE title as he goes, then hopping on his motorcycle and actually riding the thing right out the door of the Hellfire, laughing all the way.] Sheriff Bob: Gya-gya-gyah! BJ: This is disgusting! DJHV: Hey Barn...that's your champion? BJ: Oh Jesus... Well, hopefully Martin X won't want to press charges against...well, me. He can sue Bobley all he wants as far as I'm concerned. Mason Dugan checking to see if any of his keys will unlock those handcuffs. What chaos. This...just...chaos. *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Pretty bad, eh? Now imagine if it were broadcast in its entirety. Cut back to the reconstruction of the Hellfire's arena. Harvey looks over the finished product approvingly.] BJ: There we are. Folks, this is what the finished arena looks like. Beautiful, isn't it? [To reiterate, these are recorded before the matches.] BJ: Again, I'm going to have to thank the Strickland Corporation, parent company for Strickland Sports Network, Rebel Television Network, and others for this opportunity. I'm sure our brand of wrestling will hit and hit big. It helps too to have international support. That's something that SSN helps with too, in that we couldn't afford to import a European talent until the funding came in. Sure, we have Gato, but he was already working for Strickland Sports ... and he was Mexican. This guy's from Spain! His name's Antonio Morientes, and now he's taking on the Motown Man. *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to show the arena. An asian man in 1970's garb and an afro wig does a silly martial-arts inspired dance around the ring to the strains of “Kung-Fu Fighting” by Carl Douglas, and swings nunchaku around as if he knew what he was doing.] DJHV: That's right, folks, he hails from the 1970's and makes as much sense as a snowsuit in Hawaii, give it up for Motown Man! [Motown poses, giving a karate kid “crane position” before turning to face the entranceway.] BJ: Motown Man ... somewhat confused, I'm thinking. DJHV: Yeah, uh, he's from the 1970s ... which was more Disco than Motown, and he's asian, is doing karate or something... BJ: Plus the afro wig, and his clothes ARE more like Disco. DJHV: Wait up, here comes the other guy. [Harvey clicks a button, and his voice goes over the PA again.] DJHV: Spin da tunes! [Mario Lanza's voice singing "Ave Maria" comes over the PA and out walks Antonio Morientes, wearing his white tights with purple stripes down the side and yellow boots. He walks to the ring with his head lowered in prayer and he climbs onto the ring apron, makes the sign of the cross and then climbs into the ring, ready for battle.] DJHV: The man from Madrid, that's in Spain, I think, and he's one tough bilingual cat. Okay people, give it up for ANTONIO MORIENTES! BJ: Not bad, Harvey. DJHV: You know it. [The pair face off briefly, and before they can find contact for the initial lockup--] *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [--Cut to later in the match. Morientes and Motown square off. A series of maneuvers are traded back and forth. Hiptoss by Morientes, dropkick by Motown, a second from motown gets swatted aside, and Motown rolls away from a followup elbowdrop.] DJHV: Looks like they can both go ... doing ... whatever that stuff is. BJ: Both men still sizing each other up, and neither having much luck gaining an advantage. [Lock up in the middle of the ring leads to Morientes shoving Motown to the corner and laying in a series of knife-edge chops. This gets a good reaction from the crowd until Motown GOUGES Morientes' eyes, and follows up with a bulldog. Fans boo and shout as he runs to the corner, bounds up, and MOONSAULT!] BJ: Pin attempt by Motown! 1! 2-- *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to later in the match. Morientes actually bleeds slightly from one eye, and looks the worse for wear because of it. Motown has him in a figure-four sleeper, practically choking Morientes with the crook of his knee.] DJHV: I thought this Spanish cat had some cred, man, and Motown was a joker! What's the dilly? BJ: The match isn't over yet, Harvey, and what Morientes has shown us is that he's tough and has a lot of heart; will to survive! [Pulling Motown's legs apart, Morientes almost has it, but can't quite match upper body strength to Motown's leg strength. Ultimately, he turns, rolls through, and arches. A quick 2 count, and Motown Man has to release the hold to avoid losing right then and there.] BJ: Both men to their feet-- *SMACK!!!* BJ: MASSIVE CHOP! Morientes gets his second wind! [Staggering back to the corner, Motown gets his button-up shirt ripped open by Morientes, and gets chopped repeatedly, trying to run out of the corner twice before finally tumbling through the ropes to escape, his chest almost blood red, with spots where his pores actually seep blood from over 20 chops.] *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to later again. Motown's regained the advantage, hitting a martial arts combination before getting his leg caught, spun around, and GERMAN SUPLEXED!] BJ: BRUTAL! [Holding on, he hits a TIGER SUPLEX!] DJHV: Damn, man, his neck! [Finally, a HALF-NELSON SUPLEX, and then he lets go, Motown tumbling through to his feet, staggering against the ropes, and then--] BJ: That's Suplexo Trio! A signat—BURNING LARIAT!!! That's his finisher! “Saint Amuro”! [It's all over save the 3-count. Motown is unconscious, and Morientes gets his hand raised.] *DING!* *DING!* *DING!* DJHV: Cats'n'kittens, the winner by knockin' the other guy right the *BLEEP* out is the man from Spain, Antonio Morientes! Hey, man, if anybody tells you I said you was Mexican? They lyin', okay? Or, if you don't dig that, I got confused. Lots of new guys around. Damn... *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to the completed Hellfire Arena. It's dark save for sports being displayed on the Plasma TV. It's some college football game that may or may not be live. Barney looks over the finished product, seemingly in awe.] BJ: It's real. It's really real. DJHV: Yo man, when this thing gettin' goin'? [His attention torn away from the particularly clean and fresh wrestling ring, Barney turns to find “DJ” Harvey Jenkins has come up behind him.] BJ: Hey, Harvey, just taking it all in. We'll be starting at about 8pm. DJHV: Man, that's more than an hour from now. And hey, let me get this straight ... we ain't doin' no more dance floor? No more DJ Har-V being a DJ, just talkin' about wrestlin'? That's all? BJ: That's right. The only entertainment is wrestling now. DJHV: Yeah? What you call that? [Harvey points towards the plasma TV.] BJ: Well, there's no LIVE entertainment right now, so I'm letting the patrons watch TV. DJHV: Okay, so we are still sellin' beer? BJ: Yeah. DJHV: You still brewin' beer? BJ: Yeah, well, I can't just shut down the brewery. We have clients throughout the tri-state area. DJHV: And all the stores are gone? BJ: Well, yeah. Only two of the storefronts had anything in them anyway... DJHV: Yeah, the comic shop where I get my superman fix, and the knife shop that keeps me in ninja stars. Man, now when I play darts, I'll have to use real darts. That's whack, yo'. BJ: Sorry to hear that. Look, Harvey, I'm trying to recap HUGE's history right now. Showing some matches from HUGE's golden era and also our more recent matches. DJHV: What? You mean those crapfests we had the last like 4 years? BJ: No, I mean ... after SSN's investment. DJHV: Those ain't happened yet, man! BJ: Harvey, stop. We're being recorded. [Looking to camera, Harvey stifles a laugh.] DJHV: I mean, OF COURSE they happened, and you just watched some, didn't ya? 'Cause our boss is an editing genius. Aw man, Barn, I need to drink if I'm gonna keep this up. I'm headin' up to the bar, uh, I mean “concession stand” for a brew. BJ: Yeah, fine, thanks ... jerk. [Harvey's gone, and Barney screws on a smile once more.] BJ: Now, our final match of the night. It's Blake versus Scott. *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [“Higher” by Creed plays as Dylan Scott emerges from the back, along with his right hand man Buster Stallworth. Scott wears bright yellow and green while his manager wears a suit.] DJHV: Yo guys and girls, on his way to the ring, with his buddy “Truth Serum” Buster Stallworth, this cat's known as “The After School Special” and his name's Dylan Scott. [Coming to the ring, Scott talks trash with the fans, telling them to get their lives together in some detail. The camera pans over to show a 1970's reject of mixed heritage disco dancing.] DJHV: And that skinny brother in the purple with the Jheri Curl? That's “Superfreak” Tony Blake. He's got my vote for best dressed, yeah buddy! *DING!* *DING!* *DING!* BJ: There's the bell, and we're underway! =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= “The After School Special” Dylan Scott -vs- “Superfreak” Tony Blake. =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= [The pair circle one another momentarily before going for the lock up in the middle of the ring. A push war ensues, with Blake first hiptossing Scott, then hitting a monkey flip before dancing to taunt his opponent.] BJ: Blake starting strong, and I have to tell you, I didn't see that one coming. [Standing up straight, dusting himself off, Scott starts back in, and returns the favor. First he hits a snap suplex, kips up, and then hits a running knee to Blake's face before he can get to his feet.] BJ: BRUTAL! [Standing back, Scott does a mocking imitation of Blake's dance, then barks some sort of angry advice at him. Only the words “you should” can be heard over the din of the crowd as they give a mixed pop, half liking his moves, half hating his attitude.] DJHV: Damn, this cat's like a motivational speaker! BJ: He thinks he knows better. DJHV: You sure he don't? BJ: Time will tell... [A third exchange leads to Blake first hitting a drop toe hold, rebounding, nailing a shining wizard, then running towards the ropes to follow up on his downed opponent, only to get tripped up by Stallworth. Blake kicks Stallworth into the gaurdrail, then catches a knee to the groin from his recovered opponent.] BJ: GROIN SHOT! The referee was looking at Stallworth. DJHV: Man, you're actually paying for referees now, and they still can't see *BLEEP*! *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to later in the match. The referee has Scott in the corner, dressing him down, but Scott argues, seemingly repeating much of what the referee has to say back to him as a rebuttal. Meanwhile, Stallworth chokes Blake in the corner.] BJ: Tony Blake has still not managed to recover from Dylan Scott's tactics earlier in the match. Looks like Dylan Scott is a grade A hypocrite. DJHV: Hey, the guy looks pretty solid to me, man. He's winnin', ain't he!? BJ: That's not the point, Harvey! [Turning around, the ref almost catches Stallworth in his chicanery, but is distracted by Scott dashing in and hitting repeated corner stomps. Further brutalization occurs when Blake, trying to rise, catches a running knee to the face.] BJ: Scott just brutalizing his opponent, COVER! [Counting only to 2, the referee notices that Blake has put his foot on the bottom rope. Scott, knowing that his opponent hasn't kicked out, jumps up to celebrate what he thinks is a victory, giving Blake time to recover.] BJ: Scott doesn't realize the match isn't over. DJHV: Man, I thought you was smarter than this *BLEEP*. BJ: Harvey, remember? PG. No cursing. DJHV: Man, just bleep that *BLEEP*, y'know? [Finally, Scott realizes what's going on, and dashes in to finish Blake off. Pulling him up by the Jheri Curl, he catches a series of shots to the gut, but a pair of elbowsmashes to the back of the neck stops that. A powerbomb attempt leads to Blake leapfrogging Scott, then dropkicking him into the turnbuckle.] BJ: Blake rallying! Unbelievable! DJHV: Yeah, right, whatever man. [Blake hits an irish whip, but gets reversed, and followed in FOR A MASSIVE DOUBLE KNEE! The crowd goes absolutely wild as Scott drags the prone form of Blake to the middle of the ring for the easy 3-count.] BJ: BRUTAL! That's called “Means to an End”! *DING!* *DING!* *DING!* DJHV: Yo folks, Scott Dylan wins, and you better do what he says if you don't want your brains knee'ed out, a'ight? [Stallworth raises Scott's hand in victory as “Higher” plays again. Meanwhile, medical personel check on Blake, isolating his neck to move him. *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to show Barney in an office, behind an antique wood desk. On the desk is a trio of large flat-panel monitors connected to a full-size tower computer. Against one wall is a huge rackmount server, and everywhere else the place is crammed with electronics equipment.] BJ: Hey, welcome to the nerve center of HUGE. This is how our programs are made. Mostly by me, although now we can afford for me to have some assistance putting the shows together. I hope you've enjoyed this blast from the past and a taste of what's yet to come. Now, as we leave you, one last match, and the final one of HUGE's golden age. It's a massive cluster-you-know-what, but what it lacks in order it makes up or in entertainment value. Edited just a little bit for time, because we're supposed to keep these shows down to about an hour, here's Ryan versus Vorschenko... *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* [Cut to the match.] DJHV: Yoyoyo, people, LISSEN UP! [The private conversations in the Hellfire's small venue quiet to a low drone.] DJHV: That's better. Word, yo, here's the deal. It's time to see the American Fatass whoop up on the commie drunken loser! BJ: Hey, he's not a Communist! DJHV: Whatevah. First up, give it up for the potbellied lord of the drunks! He's from Kazan and not Siberia, he's every bit of 250, and his name? "VICIOUS" VLADIMR VORSHENKO!!! [The grinding technobeat of "Hatesong" by Cubanate fills the smoky interior of the Hellfire Bar & Grill. A few seconds pass, but no Vorshenko. Odd.] BJ: I...don't see him. What's going on? DJHV: Aw *BLEEP*...dammit Barn, I thought he was off the sauce! BJ: He is, he-- [Har-V points, Barney looks.] BJ: *BLEEP*! VLAD!!! [The camera pans to where the DJ points, and catches Vorshenko enjoying what looks to be his 1,000th beer of the night. Joe Holliday sits with him, or did, until he passed out, face down on the table. Vlad lifts his eyes to the broadcast location and shouts, but can't be heard... He shouts again, still silence. The third time, however, he's joined by several college students. The fourth, dozens. The fifth, most of the people in the Hellfire.] Vorshenko: Free beer! FREE BEER! FREE BEER!!! BJ: Dammit, Joe, wake up! Get him to the ring! [Blearily, Joe's eyes open, and he staggers to his feet. Surprisingly, although he's been drunk under the table, he does drag Vlad to his feet, then through the crowd, towards the ring.] BJ: Jesus...Harvey, hit that music of his again, willya? DJHV: Sho' nuff. ["Hatesong" blasts once more as Holliday tumbles headlong over the guardrail, followed by a slightly steadier Vorshenko, who manages to get a leg over the railing before crashing to the stone floor of the club.] BJ: Aw man, aw man! My biggest star and my referee for THIS match are both totally *BLEEP*ting-in-their-pants level drunk! Intro Ryan. Just hurry up and intro that fat bastard. DJHV: Damn man, calm down. I'm spinnin', I'm spinnin'! [In synchronisation with the attitude-laden "American Badass" by Kid Rock disrupting the airwaves at extreme volume, a somewhat rotund figure is seen moving into view. Almost as wide as he is tall, the 5' 10", 338lb bald man known simply as "Battletruck" Kerry Ryan limps in his own personalised style towards the ring. A wholly exaggerated scowl sits upon his less than attractive face, while he absent mindedly grooms his bright red goatee into a spike below his multiple chins. Ryan, wearing an ill fitting bright lime green tank top, jeans of the same shade and heavily scuffed crimson wrestling boots, then steps into the aforementioned squared circle and duly shows the fans his appreciation of their somewhat favourable reception by flipping a double fisted "middle finger salute" to all and sundry. Oddly enough, the cheers only grow louder ...] DJHV: The guy that just come in the ring, that's the winner of this match, "BATTLETRUCK" KERRY RYAN!!! BJ: Harvey! The match hasn't begun yet! DJHV: Damn man, take a goddamn pill! *DING* *DING* *DING* DJHV: See? Now it's begun and over. RYAN WINS! BJ: NO HE DOESN'T! The match is on, but Joe Holliday's passed out on the mat, drunk! =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= "Vicious" Vladimr Vorshenko -vs- "Battletruck" Kerry Ryan =HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE= [Staring at his addled opponent with a look of mixed fury and confusion, Ryan thinks for a moment (that's a first) about what to do, rubs the bruises on his face from last week's attack on him by Licensed for Devastation, and SPRINTS (yes, you read right) right at Vlad, breaking Vorshenko's rousing rendition of a Russian Opera sung in a strong Tenor.] BJ: TRUCK TACKLE! TRUCK TACKLE! [Vlad goes down, but hardly misses a note! As Kerry picks himself up, making ready for the Battlesplash, he's shocked to find his opponent getting up! And still singing...] DJHV: HOLY *BLEEP*! Vladdy's alive! Alive and better than before! BJ: Ryan--RIGHT HAND! Again! A third--he tried to block, but Ryan hit him anyway! [Yes, Vlad tries for a standard wrestling punch block, grabbing your opponent's shoulder to block his arm, keeping the fist from your head, but after three more attempts, it's pretty clear that it's not gonna happen.] BJ: Ryan overwhelming Vorshenko, but Vlad doesn't seem to feel a thing! Irish whip to the corner, SPLASH against the turnbuckle! [Laughing, Vorshenko staggers back out, much to Kerry Ryan's chagrin. Ryan grabs the big Russian up in a bearhug.] DJHV: DA BIG SQUEEZE~! Oh, he's gone now! BJ: Vorshenko still not even noticing his opponent's actions! [It should be noted at this point that the crowd has started chanting "BO-RING!" as well as "FREE BEER!".] BJ: That bearhug's doing less than nothing. I--WHAT THE *BLEEP*!? *CLANG!* DJHV: REGGIE STARR WITH A CHAIR! That rung Ryan's bell! DIZZAMN! [Indeed, dressed much the same as last week, Starr has made himself quite an entrance. Kerry Ryan staggers forward, dropping Vorshenko to the mat. Vlad simply tries his best to pick himself up, but only suggests in a crawl... Additionally, he still seems to be singing.] BJ: Oh no... And there's Johnathan Chaos, stepping over the top rope. DJHV: What's the dilly wit' dat, Barn? He _was_ your referee! BJ: Yeah, but he was like Mace. He refused to play because we can't pay...enough for his services. But he got pissed at Kerry Ryan, and his friend was around, so it just happened. *CLANG* [Starr, having floored Ryan with a chair to the forehead, puts the chair to good work by pressing it's point into the fat man's throat.] DJHV: Too good to be a cheap wrestler but not to be a cheap referee? That don't make sense. BJ: I tried to ask them, but they just muttered something blow... DJHV: Uh...? BJ: No idea. [Chaos looks around the ring, wearing dark sunglasses in spite of the fact that it's 1:40 AM and the houselights aren't all that bright. He's still a huge man, of course, weighing 300 and being 6'9". More importantly, this huge man's just decided to abuse Vlad Vorshenko, putting the Russian on his back, head on the bottom turnbuckle, and stepping on his throat. This, if nothing else, finally gets a reaction out of Vlad. The big Russkie gurgles and kicks, trying in vain to escape.] BJ: Good god! It's broken down completely! We don't have a referee, and now both men are getting the tar beaten out of them by outside interferers! [Suddenly, dashing from the hellfire's "Dungeon" of a basement, Jack Britain comes. Running first to the announce position, he shouts...] JB: RING THAT BELL AGAIN! Starr and Chaos are in there, so it's a TAG MATCH! [The crowd, the few that heard him, anyway, starts to cheer.] DJHV: Whoa, damn! Uh, folks, the match has done been changed! It's a tag! Kerry Ryan and Vlad Vorshenko taking on Licensed for Devastation! That's Chaos and Starr! [Jack's since run on, pulling at Joe Holliday, and taking the man clear out to the floor. Holliday, still unconscious, doesn't notice one bit as he hits the bricks, and has his "HUGE Referee" shirt ripped from his body. Jack's all ready to put it on, until he notices the bigass pit stains on the shirt, plus the fact that it's soaked in house brew (really bad beer). Rather, he simply slides into the ring, and it looks like Jack Britain's the new referee!] *DING* *DING* *DING* BJ: Jack's made a powerplay! He's taking control of the situation, not with security, but by himself! [Grabbing the chair being used on Kerry Ryan, Britain orders Starr from the ring, and pulls at Kerry to get him out of the ring as well. Leaving Ryan to get to his corner (assuming he's aware enough to know he's supposed to), Britain taps Chaos on the back, and begins to apply a 5 count.] DJHV: Whoa! Jack actually knows what he's doin'! Big change from normal referees in HUGE! BJ: YES! He got Chaos off of Vlad! GO JACK! DJHV: I thought you were supposed to be the impartial one. BJ: Just be quiet. I'm enjoying myself! [Chaos, not quite aware of the change in plans, gets in Jack's face (bends down to do so), but HUGE's Director of Wrestling Affairs simply turns red in the face, screaming right back at the big man. In the meantime, Vorshenko grins like a loon and wobbles back and forth. Chaos finally turns back around and finds Vlad staring right at him. Chaos looks down at the taller Russian and seems about to yell something at him when suddenly Vorshenko opens his mouth... and breathes. Ryan's eyes water fiercely and the monster of a man staggers backward, gasping for breath from the cloud of noxious fumes that rushed through Vorshenko's lips.] DJHV: WHAT A MOVE! I think that Vlad calls that the "Pukeface" or something... [Static, cut to later in the match. Somehow, Kerry Ryan's gotten into the ring, and Vlad is on the apron! Guess they figured out how to be a tagteam after all. Interestingly enough, Joe Holliday's standing, shirtless and disgusting, in Vlad and Ryan's corner. He hands the inebriated Russian a bottle of Vodka, and seems to offer advice.] BJ: Lefts and rights, the two big men are simply going toe to toe, neither gaining an advantage! [As if on cue, Chaos jabs Ryan in the eyeball. Then, with great force, he slings Ryan into his own corner, and tags Starr.] *SLAP* BJ: There's the tag, and Britain sees it! Now...doubleteaming! Ryan's taking a stomping from both Starr and Chaos! [Bleary-eyed, Vorshenko stumbles through the ropes in an effort to reach his partner. Still clutching his bottle, Vorshenko staggers for a moment before Chaos notices his presence and clobbers him with a thunderous forearm. But as the Russian shootfighter falls away from the blow, his flailing arm spins around and accidentally smashes the vodka bottle against the side of Chaos' head, glass exploding in a spray of blood from his temple.] BJ: GOOD GOD! That bottle of liquor just wiped out Chaos! Britain wasn't looking at them! Both men laid out, glass everywhere! I...RYAN! [Showing his strength advantage, Kerry Ryan forcefully reverses positions with Starr, slapping the smaller man off the turnbuckle. Starr staggers out, and is met with a European uppercut that s ends him bouncing off the turnbuckle, then falling forward...RIGHT INTO THE GLASS ON THE MAT! Suddenly, Starr's bleeding.] BJ: That caught him! Starr trying to get up--TRUCK TACKLE! Kerry Ryan just speared Starr down! He's in the glass again! [Pierced in many places, all Starr can do is lay there...as the fat man climbs the turnbuckles.] DJHV: Aw geez...it'd be way embarrassing to get jumped on by a fat guy when you're a flyer yourself, wouldn't it? BJ: Yes...yes it would. I...BATTLESPLASH--MISSED!!! RYAN MISSED!!! [Landing on bare mat and glass, Ryan finds himself filled with brown glass from the Vodka bottle. In just a minute or so, the mat's been soaked with about a pint of blood from three men. Now, everybody's laid out, Chaos and Vlad being the only ones showing signs of life. Static. Cut to later in the match.] RA: Starr and Ryan may both be injured! Chaos and Vorshenko both in the ring, but neither one looks fit to fight! [Indeed. Chaos looks just plain f'ed up after the blow to his temple. He wobbles slightly, nostrils flaring with rage, and circles, trying to get his bearings. The circled, Vladimr Vorshenko, blinks back fatigue as his obviously alcohol poisoned body tries it's best to slip into unconsciousness. All he can do is turn, hoping for Chaos to make the first mistake.] BJ: Chaos...misses with a clothesline! Vorshenko staggering...god, this is ugly. [Blood still dribbling down from his temple, Chaos moves like he's suffering from a concussion. Vlad, of course, is suffering from alcoholism.] BJ: Chaos misses again, but Vlad fell with his dodge! Elbowdrop! Chaos nailed him! COVER! DJHV: Whoa, somebody's trying to pin!? That's rare. JB: 1!!! *SLAP* 2!!! *SLAP* 3!!! [No, no slap. Vlad's foot is on the bottom rope! POP! (not loud, but it's there)] BJ: I'm surprised that anybody's awake enough in this match to cover! Chaos with mounted punches on Vlad! This could get ugly! [Static, cut again to later in th |
| And it was at this moment that the entire world realized, in unison, that tandem bicycles were AWESOME~! | |
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| texanspaniard | Dec 15 2008, 02:11 PM Post #2 |
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The Luther Burger
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That was a really fun show! The commentators here are going to give the commentators in MBC a run for their money in regards to funnest to read commentation! All the matches were lots of fun to read and lots of really funny stuff thrown in that made it a really entertaining read! I enjoyed this alot! |
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| Mozeart | Dec 15 2008, 06:36 PM Post #3 |
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Sheik-ee, Sheik-ee, give me your answer do...
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Apparently JTF has a length limit. Who knew? --- BJ: Why'd you ring the bell!? DJHV: Yo man, they done hit the ref. That's double DQ. Hear that, people!? DOUBLE DQ!!! [The crowd boos heavily, then pops suddenly. Why? Because Rex Fright, no longer dressed as Scooby Doo is coming through the stands, from the cheapseats to the ring.] BJ: What's going on? I--FRIGHT!!! [Rex Fright leaps in the ring with a bowl of chili and throws it at Kerry Ryan's face. Rex then kicks Kerry in the balls and chops him down to the mat. Kerry refuses to go down and Lady Phear slides a second of bowl in to the ring. Rex climbs the ropes and bulldogs Ryan straight in to the chili.] RF: Eat it Ryan! It's good! Come on! Eat My damn chili! It's the best chili in the universe! Eat it!!!!! [Phears puts another bowl in the ring. Rex takes Ryan face, and shoves it in the third bowl. Rex forces Ryan's mouth open and shovels the chili down his gullet.] RF: Good, huh? GOOD! [Rex leaves with the ring covered in chili and Ryan flat on the mat with his face in a bowl of chili. Chaos, just grinning at what he's just seen, kicks some imaginary dust in the ring onto Ryan's chili-covered body, waves to Starr, and the pair leave the ring, their opponents being totally unconscious, it seems.] DJHV: Damn, man, this truly is the place where the goodguy never wins! BJ: I hope not, Harvey...but right now, it looks that way. [Static. It seems the ending is just as abrupt as the beginning. This is where HUGE 1.0 ends, and now, HUGE 2.0 begins. See you next week, same HUGE time, same HUGE ... URL.] *ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT* A Strickland Sports Company, © 2008 RTN International. All rights reserved. |
| And it was at this moment that the entire world realized, in unison, that tandem bicycles were AWESOME~! | |
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| Picky | Dec 17 2008, 01:09 PM Post #4 |
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Now let us retreat wench, for tonight, we feast on snobbery...
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The only places the Mayfield seems to get into are run by Strickland Sports or the late Jerod Story. |
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Have I told you how much I loathe your continued existence today? Proud member of the Quote Pyramid Builders Union Local #317 | |
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3:38 AM Jul 11