Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to JTF Squaretable. We hope you enjoy your visit.


You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
HUGE LIVE 01/24/2009.; Slightly late, but that's normal, right?
Topic Started: Jan 30 2009, 09:29 PM (405 Views)
Mozeart
Member Avatar
Sheik-ee, Sheik-ee, give me your answer do...
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
[Cue the horns. “Hell” by the Squirrel Nut Zippers plays. Sabbath is seen looking at a ludicrously dressed (in a rubber muscle suit) Vile “Vince” Viper Deluxe from behind as he flexes his fake muscles.]

#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.#

[Leon Wellsley brushes imaginary dirt off his shoulder, crushing his opponent with a cross body. Twinkletoes Tiwilliger hits a 500+ pound legdrop, the Crimson Dragon hits a hurracanrana.]

#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.#

[The Spectre drops a huge, musclebound circus clown on his head. Antonio Morientes hits a vicious lariat, Grant O'Hara powerslams a hapless victim.]

#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!#

[Scott Nielsen comes off the top, twirling in air. The instrumental finish to “Hell” hits as Dylan Scott hits a double knee smash in the corner. Preston Mayfield hits a low blow. Then, filling the the viewer's web browser, HUGE's logo shines upon the screen.]

.____________________________________________.
| _ _ _ _ ___________ |
| / / / / | | | / __ \ ____\ |
| / / / /| | | || | \_\ \ |
| / /_/ / | | | || | __ \ \___ |
| / __ / | | | || | | | \ __\ |
| / / / / | | | || | | | \ \ |
| / / / / | |_| || |__| | \ \____ |
| /_/ /_/ O \___/O \____/ O _\_____\_O |
| /_ | / \ |
| Hellfire's Ultimate Grappling / / | [] | |
| \\Excitement Version 2.0.// |___\O \__/ |
|--------------------------------------------|
| Now in glorious on-line 720p, 16X9 HD! |
'--------------------------------------------'

[Cut to a studio setting. Massive computers dominate the scene in HUGE's expanded studio. Several rack mount servers are pressed against the walls, curtains line the walls in spite of the lack of windows, and a desk with a dropcloth over it displays the HUGE logo with the words “Strickland Sports” running around its edge.
Stepping into the scene from the left and right come the always nondescript everyman HUGE boss Barney Johnson, and his partner in announcing “DJ Har-V”, Harvey Jenkins. For those who have forgotten, Harvey's a wannabe long-haired Kid Rock impersonator.]

BJ: Hello wrestling fans, we thank you for once again streaming us into your computer room ... or whatever room you have your computer in. HUGE is building steam, and the influx of talent and resources from Strickland Sports is ensuring that we'll be bringing you the best developmental talent for a long time to come!

DJHV: Yeah ... good thing too, 'cause the only thing Portsmouth has in spades anymore is unemployed folks and mutants.

BJ: That's not true! I mean ... it is true, but there's more!

DJHV: Oh yeah? Name something.

BJ: Uh ... Shawnee State University! Lowest tuition rates of any college in the U.S.!

DJHV: Which is good, 'cause you guys don't have any money!

BJ: Ah, GO BACK TO KENTUCKY YOU FRIED-CHICKEN-EATING--


*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Cut quick to show a black vinyl weightlifting belt with a single sterling silver, ovular plate dominating the center, and several smaller plates on the side. In the center, the letters “H.U.G.E.” fill most of the area, with “Strickland Sports” on the top and “Heavyweight Champion” on the bottom. The other, smaller plates show maps of the states of Ohio, Kentucky and West Virginia. A fourth, to balance out the sides, just has a stylized picture of flame.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Back to the studio. Looks like take 2! Harvey now wears dark glasses.]

BJ: Hello wrestling fans, we thank you for once again streaming us into your web browser. HUGE is building steam, and the influx of talent and resources from Strickland Sports is ensuring that we'll be bringing you the best developmental talent for a long time to come!

DJHV: That's right, Barn. Doing great. Yup.

[Tense moment between the two.]

BJ: Uh, sorry about before.

DJHV: I want a raise.

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[We fade up from the obligatory static to see a bare cinder-block wall somewhere in The Dungeon beneath Hellfire Bar and Grill. Sat on the bare concrete floor, leaning against the wall elbows on knees, is HUGE’s rawest recruit; the 22 year-old Scott Nielsen.]

[Decked out in a pair of stonewashed blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt, Scott looks every-inch the average fresh-faced guy in his twenties; especially when you factor in the simple spiked brown hair and five o'clock shadow.]

SN: This... This is it.

[Scott turns his attention to the camera.]

SN: For four years now I’ve been at it... working in small bars, schools, gyms and who-knows-where else trying to catch a beak in this business and now... now I’ve found it.

[Pause.]

SN: I know some out there – the guys in the big leagues, PVW and the like – think of this as one step up from wrestling in someone’s back yard for food and a few beers... but, for me, this is the start of something great... A career and a record I can be proud of.

[Scott gives a wry smile.]

SN: And, trust me, compared to some of the dives back in Portland I’ve fought in, this _is_ the big time.

[Scott breaks his stare into the camera and looks back into space.]

SN: So, my first step on the ladder is an opening match against Jerko D. Clown... I know it isn’t much to anyone else... but it’s something to me.

[Scott’s gaze falls back to the camera; the eyes set in steely determination.]

SN: It’s a test of who I am and what I can do out there.

[Pause.]

SN: It’s that simple – I’ve got this chance and it’s up to me to use it to show everyone... least of all myself... that I _can_ do it; that this career of mine isn’t a joke.

[Scott looks down at his entwined fingers.]

SN: But maybe I’m just reading _way_ too much into this... Maybe I should just have a couple of beers, relax and just enjoy myself...

[A small smile to himself.]

SN: Look at me... I’m just going ‘round in circles here... killing time until the bell rings; I think it’s time to bring this to a close and let you get back to whatever it is you’re up to.

[Nielsen brings his focus back on the lens.]

SN: I’m not going to make any bold claims about what I’m gonna do to him out there... I’m just gonna keep it simple and say what I should’ve said from the start...

... I _will_ win.

[Nielsen’s eyes almost literally smolder with intensity for a second.]

SN: God help me, I will win.

[Scott sucks in his lips in a gesture of visible tension and lowers his head as we fade.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Back in the studio. Barney and Harvey, exchanging glances, Barney concerned, Harvey amused.]

DJHV: Kid's dead.

BJ: I don't know about that, Harvey. I did see a match between Nielsen, a hopeful for an eventual PVW contract, and that Icelandic guy ... Dolph ... uh, and he outlasted and outskilled the larger man.

DJHV: Really? What you think Jerko has to say about that?

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Cut to show a dingy underground area constructed of loose-fitted stones. A huge, muscular man in clown makeup does squat thrusts, 10 of them, then skips forward, doing 10 clean and jerks.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

BJ: Jerko doesn't really say much of anything, does he?

DJHV: The guy lifts like 400 pounds over his head... That's all I know. Nielsen is gonna be breakdancin' for life once Jerko's done with him.

BJ: Breakdancing?

DJHV: Y'know, on account of all the broken bones.

BJ: I'm not sure that necessarily follows...

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Cut to the arena. “The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down”, that old circus and carnival favorite plays, but it's a sinister-sounding version that's mostly electric guitar, with some pipe organ mixed in. From the Dungeon comes an evil-looking clown that towers over HUGE's patrons, and whose makeup and hair glows in the dim light of the Hellfier.]

DJHV: Introducing first, fo' yo' glowstick-waving pleasure, he's from the Big Top ... this is JERKO D. CLOWN, y'all!

[A very mild pop goes up. Cut forward to show the next entrance. As Kanye West’s ‘Jesus Walks’ hit the PA, Scott Nielsen emerges from The Dungeon looking ready for business, with his face a mask of tension. His eyes were set firmly on the big clown in the ring and he it looked like he could have been wrestling in an empty room for the lip service he paid to the fans.]

DJHV: And now the lamb to slaughter ... he's from Portland, Oregon, and ya gotta love the kid for tryin'. This is SCOTT NIELSEN! Give it up!

*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*

=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=
Jerko D. Clown
-vs-
Scott Nielsen
=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=

[Dancing around his large opponent, Nielsen avoids being grabbed no fewer than 5 times. The crowd starts to chant “boring” time and again, causing the rookie cruiserweight to seemingly panic. Flying at the larger man, he hits repeated dropkicks, flying clotheslines, and finishes with a step-up enzuigiri. Staggering, the clown tries to shake off the cobwebs.]

BJ: Unreal! Nielsen seems set to fell the tree!

DJHV: Ain't no way! He's half this freak's size! He's like ... the monster clown from It! Remember? Tim Curry? Freaky *BLEEP*!

[Charging, Nielsen ducks a Jerko clothesline, rebounds, ducking again. Stopping short, he dives with a chop block! The knee to his massive leg buckling, the clown is helpless to avoid Nielsen as he rebounds, and with a full head of steam hits another chop block, leaps up onto the ropes, and MOONSAULT!]

BJ: The crowd is coming alive! Cover!

[The referee counts 1, counts 2-- KICKOUT! His head wobbling, Jerko tries to sit up, and Nielsen scrambles up to the top rope again, leaping off with another moonsault!]

*CRASH!*

BJ: NOBODY HOME!

[Jerking the smaller man up roughly, Jerko immediately hits a hard powerbomb on Nielsen, going for the cover. 1, 2--]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Cut to later in the match, Nielsen hasn't yet recovered, and lays on the mat, getting stomped. Jerko then lifts him from the mat up into a gorilla press slam. Nielsen writhes on the mat before being gripped with a chinlock. Cut forward again, and he's fighting his way up out of the hold.
Elbows to the gut loosen the hold, and a kick to the knee of Jerko's hurt leg breaks it. A quick skip in, and SUPERKICK floors the big man!]

BJ: Down goes Jerko! Listen to these fans scream!

[Unable to capitalize, Nielsen gets up slowly, the fans chanting his name. Jerko recovers at about the same time, but misses with a clothesline. Nielsen hits a springboard moonsault, gets caught, but manages to wriggle free. Rebounding again, he hits a flying forearm that floors the big man.
His head wobbling, Jerko nevertheless tries unsuccessfully to sit up. Seeing that the big clown might not stay down, Nielsen immediately pulls him about 6' closer to one corner, laying him out in position, then dashes up to the top rope once, leaping out.]

BJ: Nielsen's going to jump again, after the last time cost him dearly!?

*CRASH!!!*

BJ: 450 SPLASH CONNECTS! GOOD LORD! That has to be it! THERE'S THE 3!!!

*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*

DJHV: Ladies and gentlemen, David done SMOTE Goliath tonight, 'cause yo' winner, pinnin' some pancake makeup-wearin' freak right there in the middle of the ring ... it's SCOTT NIELSEN! Give it up, people, the kid earned somethin' tonight!

[Mad pops for the kid from Portland. Cut back to the arena.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

DJHV: Gotta give big ups to the kid. I didn't think there was any way he was gonna pull it off.

BJ: Nielsen is, in my estimation, an up-and-comer. He's gained a couple wins thusfar, and only time will tell how far he might go in HUGE.

DJHV: Well, I'll tell you this much, if the kid keeps diving when there's no water in the pool, he ain't winnin' nothin' but a stay in the hospital.

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[We cut to the HUGE backdrop set up in the Dungeon Area. Standing in front of it is Antonio Morientes, dressed in his wrestling gear and with an almost sad look on his face.]

AM: Hola, amigos y amigas out there! I am Antonio Morientes! Tonight I am set to do one on one battle with "The King Of The Cruiserweights".. Twinkletoes Tiwilliger!

[Morientes looks more torn and sad.]

AM: My friends, I do not really wish to do this battle! I have seen this man around. He has a hard time getting to and fro, from place to place he seems to struggle to get to his destinations. And then he steps inside the ring, and he is very successful! He is unbeaten so far here in HUGE! But I feel very conflicted about stepping into a ring and trying to batter a man into defeat who is in need of aid, compassion and encouragement!

[Morientes shakes his head.]

AM: I do not wish to seem as if I pity Tiwilliger, that is wrong! The man does not deserve pity or mockery! He deserves our respect and admiration. He is a human being and one of God's children like the rest of us! I understand clearly that he can very well best me and leave me squashed in the ring, a defeated man!

[Morientes nods sadly.]

AM: But is it really a victory if I see a man who needs help, who needs compassion, who needs encouragement.. and I assault him with vigor and ferocity.. All in the pursuit of self glory? Is my hand raised in victory really victory when a hand used to help another in need is called for?

[Morientes shakes his head.]

AM: Twinkletoes Tiwilliger.. I do not doubt that you will come at me with everything you have! And you should not take my conflict as me desiring defeating instead of victory. I will pursue victory.. but in the way that the moment defines it! I will fight you Tiwilliger! I will fight you with vigor and with compassion! And we will reach our conclusion however destiny decides it!

[Morientes nods.]

AM: May God bless us both and may the better man win!

[Scene fades.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Back to the studio. Harvey's removed his glasses, and seems more jovial in general. He has a small, understated red mark under his left eye.]

BJ: Well, that was Antonio Morientes. Morientes showing a lot of respect for his opponent, Harvey.

DJHV: Y'know, it's hard to not like Tony ... but I try. The guy can fight, good for him, but dammit, he needs to come out and try to hurt these guys! They're out to hurt him! Only thing playin' nice does is get a sucker knocked out!

BJ: He's getting the job done so far, Harv. Morientes is a tough cookie, but is he tough enough to bowl over the mountain? This man ... Twinkletoes Tiwilliger?

DJHV: Why's this guy have like two nicknames? I mean, what the--

[Cut to pre-recorded, live footage in the Hellfire arena.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

BJ: --and now lets hear from Cindy Hewitt who is standing by with Twinkletoes Tiwilliger.

[Cindy is standing centered against the HUGE backdrop setup in the Dungeon Area. She has her hand clasped to her ear as she listens to the introduction of her by Barney. Standing to her right in all his cruiserwieghty-ness is "The King of the Cruiserwieghts" Twinkletoes Tiwlliger.]

Cindy: Thank you Barney, once again i'm standing with the ....."King of the Cruiserwieghts" Twinkletoes Tiwilliger. So Twinkletoes, last time out you beat Silverfoot and now you face Antonio Morrientes. Do you plan on beating Antonio with the same level of ...grace as you did Silverfoot.

Twinkletoes: Absolutely Cindy, in my last match, everyone saw that goon Silverfoot try to use his size and weight advantage against me. Not only did he try to bully me but he tried a few underhanded moves. Thankfully all my training and discipline paid off and i put on both a clinic in technical wrestling as well as a dazzling aerial display to once again pull off an upset win!

[crowd responds with laughter and some scattered boos]

Cindy: Dazzling? The only thing that is dazzling is just how out of touch you are with ---

Twinkletoes:---- The powers that be? I'll admit my size is an issue with this company.They feel they can't build a solid image for the promotion around someone as small in stature as me. That's why i find the deck stacked against me, other people are putting these monsters in the ring to try to tarnish my abilities. They are just in denial that i am perhaps their greatest star.

[crowd again responds with derisive laughter, grumbles of disbelief.]

Cindy: Well you are right that someone around here is in denial. So what are your thoughts on your opponent?

Twinkletoes: Once again the powers that be have decided to slant the odds in their favor by matching me against another behemoth of a man. This Antonio, is a big menacing goon, all mass and no muscle, a complete contrast in physique to me.

Cindy: Contrast? You got that right tubby.

[Crowd lets out loud burst of laughter.]

Twinkletoes: What did you say?

Cindy: Um, yeah Antonio might be considered....chubby.

Twinkletoes: You know it toots. And because he lacks the skill and quickness of someone like me, he is sure to try some underhanded tactic, like using the ropes, pulling the tights, lying cheating, and worst of all...being Mexican!

[Crowd starts booing wildy from that last comment]

Cindy: What did you just say, that last comment was outrageous! You should be---

Twinkletoes: ---Concerned? Yes i am concerned that this fat slob may try to end the reign of the King of the Cruiserweights. But if i commit myself to being in ring discipline and giving it all my talents and speed are capable of, that and with the love and support these fans shown me, I might just pull of the victory, proving once again good things come in small packages.

[Crowd is purely bewildered now, as is Cindy who has a look of puzzlement and disbelief at what she has just heard.]

Cindy: Ummm back to you guys.

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Back to the arena.]

BJ: Hm. You know ... I should probably pay a little more attention...

DJHV: What'd they call that masked guy?

BJ: Silverfoot...

DJHV: I thought it was Matchbox Twenty.

BJ: Lightning Foot III! I'll have a talk with Cindy. Regardless, a few minutes later, HUGE fans were treated to this match. It's Antonio Morientes taking on the 500 plus pound “cruiserweight” known as Twinkletoes Tiwilliger.
Now we join that contest, already in progress.

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Looking for a lockup, Morientes tries on several occasions to grab onto the wrist or hand of Tiwilliger, only to have the big man pull away, then step forward to overbear his smaller opponent. This dance goes on for a minute before Morientes becomes frustrated, and hits a series of both knife-edge and overhand chops.
All seems to go well, until Morientes makes the mistake of trying to bodyslam Tiwilliger. Falling right on top of Antonio, the ref counts 2 before Morientes manages to wiggle free. Scrambling up, he goes for another lockup attempt, pressing the giant of a man back into the corner for more strikes, including kicks to the gut and upper thighs.
Finally, failing to ward off Morientes, covering his head, Tiwilliger inspires pity in Antonio ... then shoves him into the corner and starts laying in the 500-pound stomps. HEEL POP!]

BJ: Twinkletoes playing possum! Boots, punches! LOW BLOW! Now just ramming his posterior into Morientes' head!

DJHV: That's a big ass, Barn! I'm not sure if his head can take that much ass, Barn.

BJ: Stop saying that.

DJHV: What ass Barn?

BJ: Not funny, Harvey.

DJHV: Ass ass barn ass.

[Tossing Morientes to the floor outside, Tiwilliger follows, kicking him in the face, causing the smaller man to stagger into the guardrail, then fall to the floor, clutching his ribs. Twinkletoes then sits on him...
The fans boo heartily, and some throw food. One patron hits him squarely in the face with a burger, and Twinkletoes snatches it up from the floor, cramming the whole thing in his mouth before rolling into the ring, then out again as quickly as possible (not that quick) to break the count.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Cut to later in the match. Morientes struggles to his feet, but is caught immediately by his fat opponent, who is pressing the advantage. Twinkletoes irish whips Morrientes into the ropes. Twinkletoes catches Morrientes with a clothesline. Twinkletoes adds insult to injury by stepping several times on and off the torso of the now prone Morrientes. The crowd boos as the referee admonishes him for his cruel, but not illegal tactics.]

BJ: That's the “Twinkling Tap Dance”. Just further injuring the ribs of Antonio Morientes.

[Struggling up again, a game, but hurting Morientes lays a painful chop into the fat chest of his opponent. Catching a second chop, Tiwilliger goes for an Irish whip on but he puts on the brakes and spins around! Twinkletoes swings at Morientes, who ducks the blow easily! Tiwilliger slowly spins around and goes for a short clothesline on Morientes.. And Morientes avoids that blow as well! Twinkletoes, even slower now, spins around looking for Morientes. Spots him and charges, but Morientes dodges to the side! Tiwilliger begins to wheeze and pant,
seemingly out of breath. Looking concerned, Morientes turns tot he referee.
Confused, the referee motions for them to fight but then Tiwilliger drops to one knee and Morientes drops his fighting stance and begins to ask "The King of the Cruiserweights" if he is alright ... ONLY FOR TIWILLIGER TO SPRAY MORIENTES IN THE FACE WITH THE TWINKLE MIST! A disgusting burp of food debris and gas floors Morientes!]

DJHV: The Man from Madrid goes down. Hey, fatty's down too! The hell?

BJ: It looks like some debris from the “Twinkling Mist” has gotten into Antonio's eye, and that's the same one that has been injured by Motown Man and Dylan Scott!

[Morientes staggers to his feet as Tiwilliger struggles up. After several punches to the head of Morrientes, Twinkletoes whips his still blind opponent hard into the turnbuckle. Twinkletoes follows up with a butt first slam-squish and wiggle.
Twinkletoes then elbows a stunned Morrientes. The big man holds his hands up and looks to the crowd-who he feels should be applauding in deference to the excellence of his technical wrestling. They are less than enthused.
Tiwilliger whips Morientes into the corner and begins to charge ... A slow, slow charge! He slowly makes his way towards Morientes and goes for a body splash, but Morientes to move out of the way! Morientes does a quick go behind on Tiwilliger and tries to go for a German Suplex, but he releases his grip realizing he can't lift the big man and he begins to back off. Only for a backwards elbow to
catch Morientes in his bad eye!]

BJ: Morientes having trouble with Tiwilliger's bulk.

DJHV: I think they both are.

BJ: And Morientes is bleeding from that eye!

[Staggering, Morientes spins back, becoming angry, and SMACKS a hard knife edge chop across the chest of Twinkletoes! Tiwilliger grimaces in pain and stumbles back a half step to lean against the ropes, gasping for breath! Morientes rears back for another, but his face softens and his arm drops and he looks into Tiwilliger's face and asks once again if Twinkletoes is Ok ... only for a boot to the midsection to double Morientes over and a big clubbing forearm across the back sends Morientes down to the canvas! HEEL POP!]

DJHV: DAMMIT TONY! STOP BEING NICE!

BJ: He was only concerned--

DJHV: NICE GUYS FINISH LAST!

[Twinkletoes Irish whips Morrientes into the ropes and picks him up on the rebound for a gorilla press slam. He then starts waving his hands around in a “kung fu” style while sneaking up on his fallen opponent as he tries to recover, and kicks him in the back of the head, sending him face down on the mat.
Rising, a mix of pain and anger marring his features, Morientes clutches at his eye and staggers backwards to his feet, Tiwilliger begins another slow charge, but Morientes side steps and sends him down with a drop toehold! Morientes tries to rub the blood from his eye, then runs at Tiwilliger for “St. Raul”, his patented running kick, but he stops short at seeing Tiwilliger struggle to get to his knees Morientes stops to help Twinkletoes up.
The referee shakes his head in disbelief, many in the crowd are angry at this compassion! Morientes asks Tiwilliger if he is alright.. Only to get HEADBUTTED and sent to the canvas for his troubles! The crowd cheers that! That's right, now they're cheering Tiwilliger cheating ... because Antonio keeps falling for it.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Cut to later in the match. Morientes charges Twinkletoes in the corner but Twinkletoes catches Morientes with a back elbow, opening his perpetually injured eye! Antonio staggers back, clutching the now bleeding wound, Twinkletoes clotheslines Morientes from behind over the top rope and onto the ring apron. As he struggles to his feet Tiwilliger begins a very slow run, rebounding off the ropes and charging at Morientes.
Clearing the blood from his eye in the nick of time, Morientes ducks. Twinkletoes falls through the ropes to the floor outside. Morientes rolls back in the ring, laying still and trying to recover.]

DJHV: DAMN! That's a big, fat guy to be fallin' all the way down on the stone floor, man! You need pads down there!]

BJ: There are pads!

DJHV: Thicker ones then, dude's fat, man!

BJ: Tiwilliger struggling, got a leg up ... FALLS BACK DOWN!

*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*

[Reaching 10, the referee signals for the end of the match.]

DJHV: Yo' winnah, in spite of himself, is ANTONIO MORIENTES! For the love of Pete, man ... you have got to get meaner.

[Rising to his feet, leaning on the ropes, Morientes allows the referee to raise his hand in victory, then pulls away, looking down to see the security staff and several referees struggling to help a red-faced Tiwilliger to his feet. Ducking out of the ring, Morientes makes the difference, helping Twinkletoes to his feet and offering a handshake, then raises his hand as if he won too.]

BJ: Great show of sportsmanship by Morientes.

DJHV: Ugh, you kiddin' me? I think I'm gonna be sick. I mean, you won, c'mon, laugh and point, kick and stomp, but don't go all gay on us!

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

BJ: Wow, that was ... interesting.

[Harvey's laughing in a very unprofessional way.]

DJHV: Fat ... couldn't even...

BJ: Harvey, really. I think I need to get in touch with Strickland Sports and see if we can't institute some sort of employee health plan. As it is, I don't have enough authority over these guys to enforce, like, a diet or anything.

DJHV: Where do these guys come from!?

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Cut quick to show a black vinyl weightlifting belt with a single sterling silver, ovular plate dominating the center, and several smaller plates on the side. In the center, the letters “H.U.G.E.” fill most of the area, with “Strickland Sports” on the top and “Tag Team Champions” on the bottom. The other, smaller plates show maps of the states of Ohio, Kentucky and West Virginia. A fourth, to balance out the sides, just has a stylized picture of flame.
Pan over and zoom out, showing that there are two belts, laid out next to one another.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

DJHV: Hey, man, what's up with the weightlifting belts you got goin' on this monitor?

BJ: Oh, uh, I'm doing some live editing. See, the top monitor has the actual scripts I put together for the show (you usually ignore those), and the bottom monitor displays the footage that gets mixed in. Like, right now, it's us, but a moment ago ... it was the championship belts for HUGE!

DJHV: Say what? We gettin' belts finally? Damn, most wrestling leagues have tourneys right out the gate, man. I thought you was never gonna get with the program, start handin' out gold!

BJ: Well ... we couldn't really afford gold ... on our budget.

DJHV: They ain't gold?

BJ: No, not so much. Pewter, actually.

DJHV: What the hell's Pewter?

BJ: Mostly tin with some other stuff mixed in, but it shines! Just not with a yellow tinge. Something like silver, but less expensive.

DJHV: You kiddin' me? Yeah, wait, speakin' of that ... how you handin' out the belts this time?

BJ: Hm?

DJHV: I mean, last time, you did a “secret tournament” in which you didn't even tell the people there was a strap until right before the finals. That the plan?

BJ: No. No, I'll just see who's left after the shuffle of talent settles in a little from SSN, right? Then the guys with the best records will be arranged in brackets. 8 guys. Quarterfinals, semifinals, and finals. 7 matches.

DJHV: That's so ... standard. I'm surprised. Lot of stuff is surprising me lately. I need more booze.

BJ: Well, it's, in part, to keep with the SSN program. We're part of a larger sports family now, Harvey. We can't just do things willy-nilly anymore. Harvey?

[Having walked off-panel, Harvey Jenkins reappears from stage right, a mixed drink in his hand, being sucked out via a swizzle stick.]

DJHV: Long-Island Iced Tea, man. Freakin' nectar of the GAWDS! Aw, so nice...

BJ: Wow. Just ... wow.

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[We cut to our favorite amazon, Cindy "Bar Bitch" Hewitt, who is standing inside the men's room where Preston Mayfield has turned the handicapped bathroom into his own personal office. The room has a trough urinal (with standard ice!), stained "off-white" tiled flooring, all too bright overhead flourescent lights and three stalls, one of which has had its little handicapped sign taped over and says: "Preston Mayfield - Marketing" on it now (little white masking tape with what looks like lipstick).]

Cindy: Ew... this place stinks! Preston, where are you?

[A few assorted grunts and curse words fly out from Mayfield's office. Cindy cautiously knocks on the door, which swings open slightly so we can get a view of the Mayfield with a noose around his neck, his pants around his ankles and he's doing God knows what...]

Preston: *gurgling noises of protest*

Cindy: Well now, ain't this a surprise...

[Instead of being disgusted, Cindy looks left, then right then walks right in and shuts the door, leaving the camera guy out in the cold. Several very hard slamming noises can be heard along with numerous grunts and the camera man just sort of makes an "aw man" noise before we go back to the guys at the announce table.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

DJHV: You KIDDIN' me!?

BJ: What the? Why would they even give us this video file!? Now I have TWO reasons to talk to Cindy!

DJHV: Uh ... y'know what? I think I wanna talk to her too. I still get free drinks if I wanna chat up a lady, right?

BJ: God ... if the camera angle were a little different... I feel ill.

DJHV: Oh, uh, that prompter thingie... “Now let's see what happens when Lightning Foot III faces off against the man we just saw, Preston Mayfield.”

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

#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: Hey, y'all, comin' out here first, he's from Syracuse, New York! He might just be the grossest cat in all of Ohio, if not the world ... this is PRESTON MAYFIELD!

[Looking around slyly, Mayfield takes a swig from his metal flask of liquor, then hunkers down behind the guardrail, shushing the crowd as they start to react to his presence.
The lights die, and a crack of thunder is heard. As the houselights come back up, Lightning Foot III is seen ... laid out on the stone floor, and Mayfield is again seen drinking from his now very dented flask! Heel pop!]

DJHV: DAMN! Hey people, looks like Mr. Mayfield done laid out the man from “Parts Unknown” already. Lightning Foot III ... WELCOME TO PORTSMOUTH!

[Mayfield strains, pulling the mostly limp form of Lightning Foot III up by the chin and braincase, shoving him into the ring, then entering himself.]

*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*

=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=
Preston Mayfield
-vs-
Lightning Foot III
=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=

[Struggling up to a knee, Lightning Foot falls to his side, and as the ref goes to count him down, Mayfield dives on him, throwing all his weight into a blatant chokehold. The masked man struggles feebly as the referee counts to 5 several times, Mayfield backing off just before being disqualified time and again.
Gasping, Lightning Foot pulls himself up using the ropes, only to get jabbed in the eyes. The referee admonishes him, but he ignores it and applies “Preston's Eye Opener”, running LF3's eyes across the top rope.]

BJ: This is brutal! Mayfield took him down before he even got out of the gates. Look at his eyes! Somebody needs to stop this!

DJHV: You mean someone ... like the big boss of the whole place?

BJ: Yeah, I mean ... ohhh ... that was dirty. I meant the referee!

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Preston Mayfield jerking up on Lightning Foot III's ankle and stepping on his ankle. Each time the ref checks him to see if he wants to submit, Preston kicks him in the groin again. The ref checks for cheating, then back to LF3's face. Wash, rinse, repeat.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Hobbling, barely able to stand, and clearly out on his feet, LF3, holding his groin, falls forward into a Mayfield DDT.]

BJ: Oh, oh no... The Mayfield Industrial Complex takes down Lightning Foot III, and I know that a man with his athleticism and skill set wouldn't be caught by such a move if he was at all there mentally.

[Looking cocky, looking over at his comatose opponent, Mayfield dusts off his hands, stands, swaggers/stumbles over to LF3, picks up a single leg, and drops down in a simple leglock submission. No reaction from Lightning Foot.]

DJHV: Oh yeah, he's helpless! Yeah! Better tap out, you masked weirdo! The Mayfield done punked you out!

BJ: The referee ... he doesn't understand!? Christ!

[A ruffling is heard as Barney gets up from his seat, dropping his headset and runs to the ring.]

DJHV: Barn? What the hell, man! I don't know what these damned moves are called! Play by play's gonna suck if you don't come back, dawg! DAWG!?

[Rolling into the ring, Barney grabs the referee and frantically tries to communicate what's going on. The ref, an older gentleman with thick glasses, looks confused for a moment, then signals out to the announce position, and DJ Har-V, Harvey Jenkins.]

*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*

DJHV: Whoa, okay, match is over! Looks like ... uh, the match got stopped by the ref for some reason.

[Shouting from the ring, indistinct over the mixed heat of the crowd.]

DJHV: Oh, oh yeah, Lightning Foot III has lost consciousness. Yo' winner be PRESTON MAYFIELD! Cheer the man! Talk about tactics, oh yeah!

[Mayfield insists his hand be raised in the middle of both the ref and Barney checking on LF3. From the restaurant area of the Bar & Grill flood various personnel, including HUGE's security force and medical staff. The EMTs isolate Lightning Foot III's neck and stem bleeding from bites and other injuries.
Pulling the referee away to raise his hand, Mayfield gets an earful from Barney ... and jabs him in the eye. HEEL POP!]

DJHV: DAMN! Barney goes down like a sack of doorknobs or our interviewer chick! Heh, been sittin' on that one for awhlie. Oop, uh, here comes the big, fat security guy, whatsisface, “Hippo” Higgans.

[...Aaand Mayfield gets lawn-darted out of the ring by HUGE's chief of security, Hippo Higgans, who immediately starts helping to get LF3 on a stretcher. Rising with his same drunken swagger, Mayfield finds his flask, dropped out of the ring during the mugging he just gave his opponent, and finishes sucking it down as he wanders back to the Dungeon, “Lie” playing him out.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

BJ: Lightning Foot taking the hard fall to Preston Mayfield in typically disgusting fashion. It's unfortunately been established that Mayfield is going to break the rules just to the point of almost being disqualified while in the referee's field of vision, and well beyond that when he's not looking.

DJHV: Yeh, heh, uh, how's that eye, Barn?

BJ: Not that you really care, but it's fine. He just got the lid. I'm not a fighter, Harvey, so I recoiled and fell when attacked. You gonna make fun of me again for it?

DJHV: Naw, naw man, y'know, you mah blood like, right? Just worried about ya'.

BJ: Mm-hm.

DJHV: But yeah, Mayfield, entertaining, but really... That guy just ain't healthy. Looks like maybe he's been in Portsmouth too long already. Done sucked up too much radiation from the Uranium Refinement Plant. Or ... maybe crystal meth...

BJ: Speaking of unhealthy ... let's hear from the twisted mind of the Spectre.

[Whispering, clearly hoping the camera doesn't pick them up.]

BJ: Harvey, you have GOT to stop ragging on Portsmouth before our patrons hear you and KILL you...

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

"Are you frightened yet?"

[The scene opens on a back room in the bar...the stool is overturned with the padding on top torn, the large mirror running along the back wall is cracked and the light fixture is hanging by a wire. Holes have been punched and kicked into the walls and a blade from the ceiling fan has been torn off and rammed into the drywall.

In the midst of the chaos, the imposing form of The Spectre paces back and forth like a caged animal. The dreadlocked goth stalks back and forth, his tattered black trenchcoat flaring behind him as he kicks debris out of his path with his combat boot clad foot.]

"We thought it was a simple concept for the powers that be in this place that any that placed in our path would suffer...we warned them that we would baptize them in pain...we warned them that their blood would be on their hands, and their careers could be forfeit.

And yet still...they place them in front of us...one by one as the crowd watches in horror while we introduce these lost souls to the hunger that lives within The Beast.

We are at one with the darkness that lives within us. We are the personification of what lies beneath the thin veneer of civilization...violence made flesh...and you send clowns against us. You send out drunks...and you send out children to do battle against an adversary that is beyond their understanding.

And this week, your parade of foolishness continues.

So once more we will enter your squared circle. Once more we will watch as you send another into the breach...and once more we will leave them lying inert upon the ground, staring up at the lights and wondering if they'll be able to move their legs again."

[Spectre stops, glaring at the camera and smiling evilly.]

"We have wearied of these games. We require a better quality of sacrifice or we will come for you.

Our exile here does not amuse us...and before we go, you will all know what it means to fear the dark."

[fade]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

DJHV: Ohhh man, I don't think I like the sound of that, Barn.

BJ: Apparently Spectre doesn't like the competition he's gotten so far! I mean, we're only just really getting going now!

DJHV: Let's hear what that other guy has to say about it. What's that thing say? “Tray” Jordan?

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[A dark screen...before these words in white...]

"Last week..."

[The camera man is nearly running toward what can only be called a non-manly yelp. A scream, if you will. Busting open the man's room in the backstage area, the camera man halts as we see Tre Jordan grabbing at his most intimate location with a look of absolute pain mixed with horror. Apparently, he is feeling the awful effects of what Preston Mayfield did to him. Dressed still in his ring attire, he notices the camera and stops for a second, a nervous smile on his face.]

Tre Jordan: "Ah, yes, Mack...I am in need of your assistance...um...NOW!"

[From off-screen, we hear the sounds of a cane hitting the floor repeatedly. We can assume through conductive reasoning that our blind friend, Billy McWilliams, or "Mack," is on his way to come to Jordan's assistance as he so desired.

And the camera man just angled the camera up toward the ceiling quickly and yelped. Methinks Mack as arrived and the camera man's knee doesn't feel so hot. He whips the camera around toward the blind man, who wears a suit and dark glasses.]

Mack: "My apologies, sir. I did not know you were right there. How can I assist you?"

Jordan: "Um, Mack, that's the stupid camera guy you let get in here. I told you to keep watch! You were talking to those girls again, weren't you? We are never going to be champions if you are not ready to commit to this. (He takes a deep breath before continuing) Now, I need to ask you a simple question. Do you know a doctor that specializes in...(looks nervously at the camera)...um..._special_ locations?"

Mack: "Sir, I do not quite understand. Do you mean a doctor that may deal with just eyes?"

[Jordan sighs and gives a pained expression while trying to avoid putting pressure on his manly zone in front of the camera. He tries to stay a little turned away from us in fact.]

Jordan: "How best to put this...let's see...Mayfield was not a very nice man in that ring. In fact...I think he may have caused there to not be any little Tre Jordans or whatever-the-girl-equivalent-to-Tre-is Jordans running around...if I, ya know, tie the knot with the lady friend of my dreams. If you catch my drift."

Mack: "Not really, sir."

Jordan: "Oh my bejesus, are you dense? My balls hurt!"

[Mack's face shows great horror. His eyebrows raise, his mouth opens, his nostrils seem to become enflamed.]

Mack: "I am most sorry for my ignorance, sir. Perhaps now will not be a good time to inform you of your next match."

Jordan: "My...next match? It's already signed? I'm main eventing, aren't I? My skills are finally being recognized!"

Mack: "Well, yes, you are main eventing, as you in the business call it. I'll get right on finding that doctor."

[Jordan quickly shuffles over and grabs Mack to keep him from leaving the bathroom.]

Jordan: "No, please let me know who is next in the line of those who can say to their grandkids that they once were defeated by Tre Jordan. Is it Glen Peeps? Jerko D. Clown? El Gato? Army Man Doug? Who is the 'worldclass talent' this hellhole has me facing next?"

Mack: "Well, sir, he goes by the name The Spectre."

[Jordan's eyes quickly enlarge and a brick seems to get caught in his throat.]

Jordan: "Surely...that was a typo, right?"

Mack: "Sorry, sir. I'll go get that doctor."

[Mack leaves, his cane hitting the ground as he leaves so that he can sense what is coming. Jordan watches him leave with an expression of absolute dread. He looks at the camera and again, we see a nervous smile. His voice...is considerably higher.]

Jordan: "Ah, yes, The Spectre. Well, I hope it's a good clean...match. Two brothers-from-another-mother just wrestling to give the fans something to cheer about, eh Spect-dawg? No hate here or a need to tear off my limbs, just good clean fun. I'll buy you a beer after the match, in fact. Or a live chicken for you to sacrifice. Whatever you want, pal, cause that what we are! Pals. I've always respected you, S-Pain. You're like the best friend in the movie that has the great advice that allows me to find the love of my life. I look forward to our match...really, I do. And our continued friendship well beyond it."

[And there is that now patent nervous smile before we fade away.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

BJ: And that just about sums it up. Spectre, the feared, world-caliber talent that he is ... facing off against the veteran of the World Wrestling Organization; Tre Jordan.

DJHV: Uh, Barn ... hate to break it to ya', but I took your advice and started watching some of those old WWO tapes.

BJ: Yeah? Pretty nice, ain't they? I especially love that Tyrone Hayes. FATTY BUOYZ MEAT SNAX! Hah. Just a commercial, but ... what a commercial.

DJHV: Anyway ... Tre never really seemed to, y'know, “take off”, in those tapes. He mostly just got killed.

BJ: Well, but, see ... he's a veteran, and...

DJHV: No, he's a sacrifice. You did it again, great and powerful booker-man. You fed another hapless loser to a dude what eats faces.

BJ: Oh no ... good lord!

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Cut to the arena. The arena lights suddenly cut to pitch black without warning. Over the PA system, the faint sound of a heartbeat begins after ten seconds of complete silence.

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

"Do you fear the Dark?" a gravelly voice asks in a whisper.]

DJHV: Alright, people, here's the Main Event for the night, week, whatever. Out first is my own personal favorite, and a man I'd like to call my friend ... if I knew he wouldn't kill me for it.

[A single red spotlight cuts through the blackness, illuminating the
solitary form of The Spectre as "Beautiful People" by Marilyn Manson
cuts in over the PA System. Spectre, clad in a pair of cutoff jeans,
a black t shirt and combat boots stands with his taped forearms held
up at angles away from his pale, scarred body as the combination of
his dark dreadlocks and the red lighting paints a ghastly picture over
the ghoulish wrestler.]

DJHV: He's 6'4”, a lean 275 pounds, the scariest thing EVER to come out of New York City ... and that's saying something...

[As the music picks up, the lights start flashing in time with the
beat, creating almost a stobe-effect as The Spectre makes his way
towards the ring, ignoring the fans lining the aisles. As he reaches
the apron, the pale skinned grappler speeds up to a run and slides
smoothly under the bottom rope, standing and stalking towards the
ropes in front of the announce table. Climbing to the second rope, he
stares coldly at the announce team for a moment before stepping down
and moving to his corner to await the start of the match.]

DJHV: This ... is ... THE SPECTRE!!!

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[With the sounds of "Plowed" by Sponge over the crappy PA system, Tre Jordan steps out in front of the Hellfire Grill crowd to an oddly nice amount of applause. Jordan seems, however, to have expected this. Behind him, with his trusty cane, is Billy "Mac" McWilliams, the blind personal assistant/tax man for Jordan.
The Canadian cruiserweight, by the way, is dressed in a pair of green tights with black running down the sides. In the blackness, Jordan's last name is written in green, cascading down on both sides. His short blonde hair is combed up as he heads toward the ring, McWilliams in his nice suit behind him. Jordan's jovial mood at the fans' appreciation quickly fades as he looks at The Spectre, who looks far too happy to see him. Jordan enters the ring.]

DJHV: And his opponent-slash-victim, “Dinner Tray” Jordan!

BJ: HARVEY!

DJHV: Oh, I mean, he's 6'2”, 222 pounds, from “Treronto”, Ontario which I'm told is in Canada, opponent victim Tre Jordan.

[Cut the mic that plays Harvey's voice to the PA system.]

*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*

=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=
Tre Jordan
-vs-
The Spectre
=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=HUGE=

DJHV: There, happy?

BJ: Not really. Look at Jordan!

[Glaring over at the announce table for a moment, Jordan jerks his head fearfully back over towards Spectre, who practically drools with anticipation. The crowd, previously showing their support for Tre during his entrance, now starts to chant.]

Crowd: Jor-dan! Jor-dan! Jor-dan! Jor-dan! Jor-dan! Jor-dan!

[Looking around, smiling, Tre starts to clap along with the chant. Spectre, cocking his head and looking at Tre very oddly, grits his teeth at the cruiserweight's terror easing, and charges in.
Dodging to the side, Tre lays a few punches into the back of Spectre's head, only to be shoved halfway across the ring! Heel pop! Continuing to chase, Spectre follows, continuing around the ring. Jordan shouts “MOVE MAC!” as he rounds a corner, then knocks his blind manager prone in an effort to prevent him from getting hit by Spectre.
Sliding back into the ring, Jordan gets caught by one ankle. Holding onto the middle rope, however, he pulls Spectre in, then mule kicks him back into the guardrail before fleeing back inside to the corner. Sliding back in, Spectre charges again, but the cruiserweight moves. Spectre turns around after hitting the turnbuckles hard and is met with a series of kicks to the shin, hip, midsection, and then a powerful leaping roundhouse kick that has Spectre reeling. Jordan follows that up with a bicycle kick, hitting Spectre a few times on his way up.]

BJ: Good lord! Look at Tre go!

DJHV: What the hell!? How the hell is he even still alive!?

[Roaring back to life, Spectre grabs Jordan by his hair, slams his face into the top turnbuckle, then slinging him back to the center of the ring. Getting up slow, Jordan is clearly stunned, and holding the back of his head, where his hair was pulled.
Shockingly, the referee, a 30-something man in good shape gets in Spectre's face, admonishing him for the hair pull.]

DJHV: Who the hell is that?

BJ: Well, after Wednesday's debacle with Mayfield, I called Strickland Sports and asked if they could hook us up with an actual professional referee to take the big matches and teach the other guys.
That's Freddy Jacobs, formerly of ACWA and JJG. He comes from a wrestling family, you know.

[Shoving the referee back, Spectre goes back on the attack, pulling Jordan back into the ring after the lighter man nearly escapes through the ropes. A flurry of body blows, a spinning backfist an a diamond cutter later, Jordan is twitching on the mat.]

BJ: Fata Morgana! Brutal combination by Spectre!

DJHV: That's about what I thought. This ain't a track meet! Kid got caught, kid done bought ... the farm, that is.

[Dragging Tre to the center of the ring, Spectre drops an elbow across the throat of Jordan, then holds on with a headlock while biting him viciously on the forehead. Jordan shrieks, frantically kicking and kneeing Spectre in the back in a desperate effort to free himself.]

BJ: Bite and gnaw!

[Repeated 5 counts do little to break Spectre out of his reverie, and referee Freddie Jacobs seems reluctant to DQ someone in his first match for HUGE. Instead, he works his fingers in behind Spectre's hands, and pops Tre's head out. The cruiserweight thrashes on the mat, holding his bleeding head in obvious agony.
Standing up, trying to intimidate Jacobs, Spectre sends him scrambling backwards a few paces, but the veteran ref stands on his toes to match Spectre's height, and seems to protest Spectre's aggression. Spectre starts to advance towards Jacobs, who starts to head out, until he sees Spectre fall backwards. FACE POP!]

BJ: SMALL PACKAGE! Kickout by Spectre at just the 1-count! This is amazing, I thought maybe you were right, Harvey, maybe this was just a sacrifice ... but Tre could actually win this!

[Spectre rushes forward, diving with a decapitating lariat that gets ducked by Jordan. Trying to make a comeback, Jordan bounces off the ropes with a clothesline, staggering Spectre. He comes with another and again Spectre stumbles a few steps back. Jordan looks to the crowd for a moment before hitting the rope and going for his Rolling Thunder Lariat, but as he rolls and comes up, The Spectre moves forward, meets him with a headbutt and follows that with a belly-to-belly suplex.
The crowd gives a heel pop as Spectre lays in the stomps on Jordan, whose blind manager shouts from the corner to “just quit!” rather than take further abuse. Crawling, Jordan shouts “no” to the referee, who asks him if he wants to quit, then “shut up!” to Mack on the outside.]

*ZZZSSSHHHHZZZSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHHTTT*

[Still on the advantage, Spectre sends Jordan into the ropes via an Irish whip. However, he telegraphs a backdrop, and using his great balance, Jordan leaps, twists, bringing his leg up and hitting Spectre with a modified Rocker Dropper.]

BJ: And Jordan takes back conrol!

DJHV: It's just a stay of execution, Barney!

BJ: Wha'?

DJHV: CSI: Miami. Great show.

BJ: You really confuse me sometimes.

[In the ring, Jordan tries a few bunches to the face of Spectre to keep him at bay, but that only angers the bigger man. He stands, barely phased by Tre's shots, and rains blows to Jordan's head, pushing him back toward the ropes. Irish whip, and on the rebound, he simply tosses him up with high elevation and steps aside, letting him crash and burn on the canvas. Jordan goes fetal as the crowd boos Spectre, who leans out over the top rope to mock them.]

DJHV: I think you're gonna have to stop another match, Barn!

BJ: No, no ... Jacobs is a real pro. He won't let it go too far.

[Jordan rolls to the outside, and, crouching, he struggles with the cobwebs at the ring ropes. Unfortunatley, he does not see Spectre coming and just as Jordan pokes his head up, Spectre nearly takes it off with a huge lariat that takes Jordan from the ring, hitting his upper body and head on the apron during his fall, and all the way down to the barely padded stone floor. HEEL POP!.)

BJ: Jordan wearing the crimson mask, and now he's on the floor. Jacobs counting. Here comes Spectre ... and Mack!?

[Feeling his way around, walking towards his man's groans, somehow able to move towards him in spite of the noise from the crowd, Mack instead touches the Spectre on his heaving shoulder. Instantly aware that it's not his guy, he starts hitting Spectre, and the referee comes out, telling Mack to leave Spectre alone or risk his man being DQ'ed. Suddenly, out of desperation, Jordan hits a low blow on the man-monster. He flinches, buckles for half a second, then hits a backfist that sends Mack flying.]

BJ: GOOD LORD! He killed Mack!

DJHV: That's Mack, huh? Funny, I was picturing Ray Charles.

[The blind manager flying brings life back to Jordan, who struggles to his feet, gaining strength as his anger mounts. Spectre turns around at being hit in the back, absorbs shots to the head, then INSTANTLY TOSSES JORDAN INTO THE RINGSTEPS! HOLY *BLEEP!* POP as Jordan goes head over heels, the stairs falling on him.]

BJ: NO! No, it's getting out of control!

[Jacobs looks confused, at first warning Jordan for his illegal tactics, then moving to help Mack, then going to check on Tre Jordan. Moving the slim distance from ringside to the announce position, Spectre tosses Barney Johnson out of his seat.]

BJ: What are you d--*static*?

[Taking the chair, now properly angry, Spectre goes in pursuit of Jordan, swinging down with the chair, and catching him in the shoulder and hip as Tre tries to go prone. Jacobs intervenes, stopping a second shot, but Spectre spins around, shoves the chair into Jacobs, who goes flying into the guardrail. Less fragile than the average referee, however, Freddie gestures towards Harvey Jenkins frantically, then leaps over the guardrail as Spectre comes after him.]

*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*

DJHV: Holy crap. Holy crap holycrapholycrap. Folks, you're not gonna believe this, but Tre Jordan won the match by DQ! Oh man, Barney, c'mon man. Let's go!

[Leaving his friend in the lurch, Harvey flees over the guardrail as well, heading for the exit.]

BJ: This is out of ... Harvey? Where are you, GAH!

[Jumping over the guardrail himself, Barney retreats from Spectre, but can be heard saying “It wasn't my decision!” as he flees. Meanwhile, bleeding like hell, grabbing his half unconscious manager and retreating towards the dungeon, Tre makes like a bat out of hell. Slow in his anger to locate his prey, Spectre finally gives chase, but Tre's head start is too much, and he's gone before Spectre even gets around the ring.]

*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~!
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Dreamscape
Da Superiah Talent
[ *  *  *  * ]
Tre Jordan apparently has entered the witness protection program.
Dark Soul in PVW
Tre Jordan in HUGE
The guy with a restraining order from Elisha Cuthbert
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
orklad
Member Avatar
The Luther Burger
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Word is that Spectre is attempting to locate anyone who's name rhymes with Tre or Jordan...

Failing that, human shaped people will do...
Orklad

or

Don, Lord of Pudding
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mozeart
Member Avatar
Sheik-ee, Sheik-ee, give me your answer do...
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
orklad,Jan 30 2009
10:41 PM
Word is that Spectre is attempting to locate anyone who's name rhymes with Tre or Jordan...

Failing that, human shaped people will do...

Yyyeah, SSN appointed senior referee Freddie Jacobs is living at a battered women's home in an undisclosed location. He is, obviously, cross-dressing, and y'know what? He looks good. He looks good, and he thinks he likes it.

...

Gonna sleep now.
And it was at this moment that the entire world realized, in unison, that tandem bicycles were AWESOME~!
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
texanspaniard
Member Avatar
The Luther Burger
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Just read the show, (late I know but w/ the weekend and Jury duty I was delayed), that was a really really fun show! The Spectre vs Tre Jordan was probably the best match in HUGE so far! It was fun, exciting, felt out of control, was just a really good read! I enjoyed it alot! And Tre Jordan's promo was funny as hell! The Spectre's promo was really strong! And that Preston Mayfield segment, oh my god! I was not expecting that at all! Really really fun show, really good stuff!

Top 3 Promos:
01-Tre Jordan
02-The Spectre
03-Twinkletoes Tiwilliger

Top 3 Matches:
01-Tre Jordan vs The Spectre
02-Twinkletoes Tiwilliger vs Antonio Morientes
03-Preston Mayfield vs Lightning Foot III
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Picky
Member Avatar
Now let us retreat wench, for tonight, we feast on snobbery...
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Mayfield vs. Spectre

It'd be great!
Have I told you how much I loathe your continued existence today?

Proud member of the Quote Pyramid Builders Union Local #317
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Mozeart
Member Avatar
Sheik-ee, Sheik-ee, give me your answer do...
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Picky,Feb 7 2009
12:59 AM
Mayfield vs. Spectre

It'd be great!

Considering how impressionable I am, that is the single dumbest thing you could have said. Hehehe...

*Mozeart plots, evilly. Wait, is that a word? "Evilly"?
And it was at this moment that the entire world realized, in unison, that tandem bicycles were AWESOME~!
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Comrade_Bruffy!
Oglethorpe
[ * ]
test
a godless communist, bleeding hart liberal, and worse yet.... a Canadian!

Handler of Herscher von Donkerhardt in PVW
Handler of "The King of the Crusierwieghts" Twinkletoes Tiwilliger in H.U.G.E.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
E2dB
Walter Melon
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
See, now we truly have descended into a place from which we will never recover.
Parrots > owls
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Picky
Member Avatar
Now let us retreat wench, for tonight, we feast on snobbery...
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
E2dB,Feb 9 2009
05:28 PM
See, now we truly have descended into a place from which we will never recover.

In your heart of hearts you know it is true.
Have I told you how much I loathe your continued existence today?

Proud member of the Quote Pyramid Builders Union Local #317
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Comrade_Bruffy!
Oglethorpe
[ * ]
Twinkletoes was robbed! Morrientes used the ropes to avoid a beating from the more skilled and smaller framed King of The Cruiserwieghts! Morrientes had the gall not only to be a cheater but to be .....(shudders) a nice guy! Sportsmanship is plague on our industry that must be wiped out! ;)
a godless communist, bleeding hart liberal, and worse yet.... a Canadian!

Handler of Herscher von Donkerhardt in PVW
Handler of "The King of the Crusierwieghts" Twinkletoes Tiwilliger in H.U.G.E.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
texanspaniard
Member Avatar
The Luther Burger
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Morientes feels guilt over deeds he is accused of but did not even do! He goes to pray a rosary and beg for forgiveness!
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Dreamscape
Da Superiah Talent
[ *  *  *  * ]
Meanwhile, Jordan is living a great life as Irwin Schwartz in Mesa, Arizona.

Oh, damn, now I gotta get him another identity.
Dark Soul in PVW
Tre Jordan in HUGE
The guy with a restraining order from Elisha Cuthbert
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
texanspaniard
Member Avatar
The Luther Burger
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Morientes also prays an additional rosary for his well being as he will surely have to pay for Tre Jordan's sins at the hands of the Spectre! Never enough guilt or reasons to pray for Morientes!
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
« Previous Topic · H.U.G.E. · Next Topic »
Add Reply