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OLYMPICS DAY 5; Yay?
Topic Started: Nov 2 2012, 01:03 PM (11,594 Views)
MBCKyle
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The Soda Dog Refreshment Squad
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]


[Fade in to see the hallway of a Holiday Inn Hotel Room in Styx, Alabama. Standing outside, a phone from the room hanging off his ear, is one Tony Beaumont.]

TB: No... because the room has bedbugs in on.... [pause] and the bugs are large enough to shove me out of the room. I swear, I said 'Rover' and four of them turned and looked at me.... Well, find me another room!

[Tony hangs up the phone in frustration, then shouts towards the door next to his.]

TB: UNCLE BOBBY! Which event are you guys entering again?

[From behind the next door, we hear the slightly muffled voice of Bobby Beaumont, one half of "The Battlin' Beaumont Brothers".]

BB: The Bar Room Brawling Event! It should be fun!

TB: Fun?

BB: Yeah! Did I ever tell you about the time your uncle Ricky and I made a political statement and nearly caused a riot?

TB: Uncle Bobby- calling Jimmy Carter a "weenie" is NOT a political statement!

BB: In 1976, it certainly was.

[The door opens, and the camera is blinded with the glare. Bobby Beaumont is wearing a golden sequined jacket, a polyester shirt, a giant medallion around his neck, and baby blue bell-bottom pants. Tony winces and covers his eyes. Bobby adjusts his thick black-rimmed glasses and struts out.]

BB: What do you think? Too hip to the room?

TB: I...

BB: You know... when I put this away in 1981 I never thought I'd let this see the light of day again. It just goes to show you that style never REALLY goes out of fashion.

RB VO: DAMMIT BOBBY! You gotta take these Olympics seriously! You need to dress for WAR!

TB: Um, Uncle Richard, I don't think you need to go that fa--

[Another door opens and out steps Richard Beaumont, wearing a shiny red, white & blue track suit that sports "USA" on the front in big block letters. His wild white hair is pushed back with a stretchy red headband. Richard flexes his biceps, not noticing that his once beautiful body has since gone to seed.]

RB: You can't move around in that get-up, Bobby! Those kids are gonna embarrass you out there!

BB: At least I don't look like the secret love child of Rambo and Richard Simmons. You gotta loosen up more, Ricky!

RB: RICHARD!

[Tony tries to step in between his two uncles.]

TB: OK, I think you two need to step back and rethink--

[Both Richard and Bobby shove Tony back three steps and get into each other's faces, yelling at each other. The phrase "Miss El Paso 1973" and "Sioux Falls Bullriding Champion" can be heard above the din. Tony finally shakes his head.]

TB: Screw it- I'm getting a drink.

[Fade out]

=====================================
2012 BASTARD OLYMPICS
=====================================
DAY FIVE - TESTS OF INEBRIATION - FINALS
=====================================

RB: And really, that’s what it’s all about. Getting a drink.

[And back we go to the Olympic Control Center. At the long desk sit two faces: James “Fiend Machine” Tempo and Sheriff Roy “Laser” Beam. Pinhead and Slush are absent, but in their place is a plethora of liquor bottles, covering every color of the rainbow. It’d almost be a Frat Boy Candyland. Somewhere, Larry Hagman’s liver is rolling in its grave.]

Fiend Machine: How many have you had?

RB: A few?

Fiend Machine: I guess you’re not on duty if you’re having a drink or two.

RB: I’m _always_ on duty. But remember this. “Know your enemy.”

Fiend Machine: Enemy as in...

RB: Those who drink on government sponsored drinking days.

Fiend Machine: I can tell you’re in a “mood.”

RB: A mood for “justice.”

-------------------------------------------------------------
DRUNKEN BOXING - MEN’S DIVISION
-------------------------------------------------------------

Fiend Machine: It was Bedlam at the Styx Events center. What was meant to be a fun filled day of spirits and “Rock Em Sock Em Robots” turned into mass chaos as an ever dangerous element was introduced to the proceedings.

RB: I’m still in shock that somebody thought it was a good idea to bring these to this event.

Fiend Machine: These things are called toys but they are in fact instruments of destruction and mayhem. They should be banned.

RB: After today’s events, I can guarantee you they will be no longer allowed within Styx city limits. No one needs to needlessly suffer from these... these....abominations.

Fiend Machine: Ladies and gentlemen, we are of course talking about....

…”Hulk Hands”.

[Cut away to footage of an all-out brawl. The footage itself is a bit blurry and out of focus with the action as it looks as if the camera man was punched out. The few things we can see clearly are empty alcohol bottles and the boxes that once contained “Hulk Hands.” In the backgrounds, the unmistakable sounds of “AARRRRRRGH!” and “HULK SMASH!” can be heard. Oh and things shattering. Lots and lots of things shattering.]

Fiend Machine: Our participants were all ready to get going with the “Rock Em Sock Em Robots.“ Admittedly, they weren’t too happy about it. There were more but just like the women, many walked away from the event.

RB: If only they had known...

Fiend Machine: Most of the remaining Olympians already had a few drinks in them but the bottles were there. And then... someone brought the Hulk Hands.

RB: I’m betting it was those monstrous fellows from the Resistance. It’s just like them to introduce this sort of element into things.

Fiend Machine: To be fair, some missed out...

[For a moment, the video feed cuts to a shot of ASLL participant El Oso Volador Jr slumped against the wall, passed out and empty whiskey bottle cradled in his arms.]

Fiend Machine: Some were passed out before the violence began. But once the Hulk Hands showed up, everybody was drunk enough that they wanted to put a set on.

RB: They’re all possessed. Once you put them on, you must fight. There is no choice.

Fiend Machine: Oddly enough, the boxing element to the event was allowed to continue due to “Hulk Hands” being allowed to the bylaws of Styx “Fight Club.”

RB: Which you’re not supposed to talk about.

Fiend Machine: What resulted was massive amounts of property damage and a multi person brawl that somehow resulted in medals being awarded.

-------------------------------------------------------------
2012 Gold: Jerry Titus [MBC-Lone Star]
2012 Silver: Harley Sanders [Hand of Doom]
2012 Bronze: Nathan Taylor [Devils You Know: Bastard Edition]
-------------------------------------------------------------

RB: A pox on the house of he who invented the Hulk Hands...

Fiend Machine: I’m told all the Hulk Hands have been rounded up and burned. Is that correct sheriff?

RB: We held one for questioning.

Fiend Machine: Why? It can’t answer your questions.

RB: More like it refused to answer my questions. “Hulk Smash” is not a viable response.

Fiend Machine: It’s doing what its programmed to do.

RB: We’ll see how it answers when we break out the water boarding.

Fiend Machine: Riiiight.

[The scene opens upon a familiar sight to anyone who has ever watched Atlantic City Entertainment. Standing before the camera, with her back against the wall and her fully tattooed arms crossed over her chest, is the raven haired ACE Queen of Heart's Champion herself, Melinda Rhodes. She sports a stylishly shredded black tanktop, tattooed skin and a red bikini top visible through the many openings, nearly skin tight faded and distressed blue jeans, knee motorcycle boots, fingerless gloves, mirrored aviator sunshades, silver dogtags, and a wide black leather belt slung across her hips featuring a wide silver buckle that read... MBC? Pulling those shades from her face, a brilliant smile splits those ruby red lips.]

Melinda Rhodes: Surprise!

[She hangs those shades on the front of her tanktop, right at the cleavage line.]

Originally, I was going to stand in front of this camera, wearing my ominous trench coat, [MEEP] loads of belts, and a tight leather costume, with the Queen of Heart's resting on my shoulder but then I thought about something...

[Melinda's head tilts ever so slightly.]

...I have an opportunity to be what I want to be. So instead of representing ACE and doing the usual routine, I would like to introduce myself. I am Melinda Rhodes. I'm not here as ACE's Rebel Queen. I'm only representing myself, something I'm not allowed to be in the very promotion I helped put on the map.

[Clearing her throat, Melinda uncrosses her arms. Shifting slightly on the wall with her head dipped forward, she lifts her leg and props her foot on the wall. Hooking her thumbs in the forward most belt loops of her jeans, she lifts her head and looks directly into the camera.]

That's ok though. I'll give them what they want, but here, I get what I want. What I want is to succeed without compromising who I am and without playing some bizarro version of myself. I just want to be me and nobody else.

[Melinda flattens her lips and nods her head, eyes cast away from the camera briefly.]

So I've come to the MBC-Styx territory.

[A wry grin crosses splits those ruby red lips. Melinda brushes a few loose strands of black hair from her face.]

I've chosen the MBC Olympics as my starting line and I've picked the Bar Room Brawl challenge. I intend to walk into whatever bar they pick, face an opponent of their choosing, and do what I do best...

[Intensity burns in those brown eyes, her head inclined as she looked from beneath a furrowed brow.]

...Whup...that...ass. Years ago, before I signed up to ACE, I bounced bars for a living. I used to lay out guys who were 300 pounds with nothing more than my fist connecting to his face.

[Unhooking her thumbs, The Rebel plants fist to open palm with a nice smack.]

There's a reason I'm one of the most dangerous women in professional wrestling and I'm here to prove it to the world. Man, woman, thing... Doesn't matter, for this straight edge bitch is just at home fighting in a bar, as I am fighting in a ring.

[Melinda pushes off the wall and steps right up to the camera.]

While some of you act tough and think because you can handle your liquor and spend a lot of time in bars, that makes you a bar room fighter...

[With a sneer, she shakes her head.]

...No that just makes you an alcoholic and that much easier for a good bouncer to bounce your sorry ass right out the door.

[That sneer gives way to a sardonic smile.]

It's easy to say, but for me? It's even easier to do.

[Melinda cups one hand over the other, tilting her head slightly.]

I'm sweet as an angel from heaven, but when I get into a fight with somebody, even the Devil goes "DAMN GIRL!" I promise that whoever has the stones to pick a fight with me, their face is going to get intimate with every piece of furniture, bottle, wall, floor, and light fixture the place has to offer.

[Grim determination writes itself with a flourish across her features.]

I've fought some of the bloodiest and most destructive fights in Women's professional wrestling and I have no intention of stopping the trend.

[She chuckles very softly.]

Heh heh heh... some would say I have mental problems. That there's a part of me that gets off on beating another person senseless. To be honest though? I just love a good fight.

[Mel shrugs her shoulders.]

It just so happens I'm in the perfect profession.

[A sweet sweet smile splits her lips once more.]

See ya'll at the MBC Bar in Styx, Alabama!

[The Rebel then plants a kiss on the camera lens, then pulls back with a wink and heads off camera in short order.]

[Fade to Black]

Fiend Machine: So tell me Sheriff...

RB: One does not order Laser.

Fiend Machine: Please tell me Sheriff...

RB: Much better.

Fiend Machine: With the likes of Melinda Rhodes participating in the Bar Room Brawl event for these Olympics, can Styx handle the destruction? We saw what wonton destruction was wrought by Hulk Hands. Can putting a large population of violent drunks in one place be good?

RB: We have learned our lessons from the “Hulk Hands” incident and I promise you what happened to Timmy McGeever won’t go unavenged or forgotten.

Fiend Machine: Timmy McGeever? Who’s that?

RB: I promise you what happened to Timmy McGeever won’t go unavenged.

[Beam shakes his head looking at Tempo.]

RB: I can’t believe you forgot him already. You sicken me.

Fiend Machine: Yes well, you and my mother.

[The scene changes, as it inevitably does, to something drastically different that what was seen before. Is it better? Is it brighter and shinier? Probably not. We are, afterall, in Styx, Alabama. Even if this place was only half as dark, twisted and dreary as its Wyoming predecessor, even the most gothy and emo of teenagers would run away screaming.

That and the chainsaws.

Oh, how the people of Styx love their chainsaws.]

Slush: Why can’t I find a damn thing to eat around here?

Pinhead: Because you refuse to try local cuisine.

Slush: I’d rather live off my own fat.

Pinhead: Don’t take that as me disagreeing with you... for once.

[And so, we find Pinhead and Slush continuing to wander the city of Styx, Alabama. With much of the activity going on around them, you’d think you’re either in a carnival or what the Styxians pass off as an “Olympic Village.” Who is to say that the Bearded Lady can’t have multiple jobs? Who is to deny her happiness and equal rights? Did I just take a shot at Republicans? Maybe... Your turn is coming Democrats! Beware!]

Slush: So where are we wandering too exactly?

Pinhead: I’m kind of holding out hope that some of the Resistance forces that helped out Skullhead when he was being hunted in Wyoming are still around...

[As Pinhead and Slush walk, searching for a bastion of sanity. They do catch _someone’s_ notice, but it may not be what they’re looking for.

A well tanned man with slicked back dark hair and a small scar above his right eye steps out of the shadows, tossing aside a half finished cigarette back into the darkness as he does. Pinhead stops with a start as the man positions himself right in front of the two, blocking their way forward.]

??: Hey... we have a business deal to discuss.

[Pinhead looks warily at this stranger - he doesn't look like he belongs here in Styx, but it's probably for the best to be wary of anyone in this place, whether they seem to be a local or not. Slush, however, reacts not with wariness but with excitement.]

Slush: FINALLY. You must be the pizza guy. Did you remember the extra olives?

[The man in front of them - who it should be pointed out is not carrying a pizza, is nowhere near a potential delivery vehicle, and who is wearing clothes more suited to a night out at an exclusive club rather than the casual work wear of a pizza guy, rolls his eyes. Pinhead, practiced at this sort of thing, mouths a silent apology for Slush's usual lack of awareness.]

??: This is some kinda territory youse are running here.

[The man looks around, his eyes showing disbelief at the... rather unusual sights of Styx.]

??: Some kinda territory. I tell ya, Fighting Spirit ain't nothin' like this.

Pinhead: Fighting Spirit, huh? I've seen some of your shows, and I've met some of your team for the Olympics. You're doing good work up there.

[The Fighting Spirit Representative... you know what, that sounds better than a couple of question marks, let's go with that... waves a hand dismissively at Pinhead.]

FSR: I ain't here for compliments, I'm here for business. Business like how your outfit and my outfit, how two competitors... ought to figure out a way to compete. Like this inter-promotional match my bosses want to see.

Pinhead: I've heard rumors that there might be an MBC/Fighting Spirit match at some point.

FSR: It ain't just rumours, pal...

[The Representative reaches into the inside of his suit, rummaging around in his pocket for something. The motion, along with the rather... shady look of this perhaps less than fully legitimate businessman causes Slush to flinch and duck ever so slightly behind Pinhead, in case the man in the expensive and garish suit is planning to pull out some kind of weapon.

He doesn't pull out a weapon, though, instead producing a small sheaf of official looking papers.]

FSR: It's a made match. Contract's right here...

Pinhead: A contract? Can I see that?

[Pinhead puts his hand out, looking to take the contract out of the Representative's hand so he can look over it, but the man apparently doesn't care for grabbiness, forcefully pulling the papers back so Pinhead can't see them.]

Pinhead: You don't have to be like that. I just want to know who signed for such a match on MBC's behalf.

FSR: You don't need to see that, pal. Just know it was signed by a man in power.

Pinhead: Well then... and I hate to be rude... but maybe you should talk to that person.

[The rather shady looking Fighting Spirit Representative just smirks in response.]

FSR: I don't exactly understand how the power structure works over here... seems like a pretty crazy setup to me. But from what I hears, you got a book... some "Bastardnomicon" or somethin'... and that because you've got that book, that makes you the capo here. So to speak.

[With a world weary sigh, Pinhead shakes his head.]

Pinhead: That damn book!

FSR: So the way I see it, you're in a business deal with my bosses. You owe us a team to come up and fight our best in a six man tag match. Unless you want to break a business deal with my bosses...

[Pinhead shudders, watching as the Representative cracks his knuckles while a sadistic smile crosses his face. Slush, drawing the implications from this man's demeanor about the kind of violence he likes and is employed to threaten and dish out, edges as far away as he can without being seen to run away.]

Pinhead: No, no, I don't want to break a business deal with your bosses...

[..or have them break my bones, goes unsaid.]

Pinhead: So I can go around the territories and look for some volunteers. It's a three man team you need, right?

FSR: That'll work just fine. I knew you'd be reasonable. They're always reasonable once they consider the... consequences. You find your team, I'll send you details on when and where they need to appear... and you'll be reasonable. Right?

Pinhead: (gulp) Right.

[The two men nod at each other, the deal sealed. And just at that moment, Slush turns away with excitement in his voice.]

Slush: Hey look, a shaved ice cart!

[And just like that, Slush takes off - perhaps not prudently - running towards the cart. A street food cart in Styx... yeah, that seems safe and completely above board.]

RB: Underhanded business deals? On my watch? I can’t allow this to stand.

Fiend Machine: Sounds like something that was already in the works.

RB: Ah, then it is someone else’s problem.

Fiend Machine: Is that a healthy way to look at it?

RB: Avoidance is the key to a happy, healthy life.

[The scene opens upon one Big Mike Foyer, seated in a rather large recliner, his feet propped up on a foot stool. Behind him is a massive DERP Banner that scrolls the entire wall. His attire consists of a pair of cowboy boots, blue jeans, a red and white DERP Bowling Jersey, maroon sunshades with gold frames, and a folded cowboy hat. He scratches at his muttonstached face, reaching into a cooler beside the chair, he pulls out a Derp-Wiser, pops the cap and takes a big healthy swig of the promotional beer. He speaks with a deep voice that hints at a southern Texas drawl.]

BMF: Don't mind me, I'm practicin' for the Mighty Bastard Championship Olympics.

[A big smile crosses the big man's face as he flips the lid of the cooler shut and sets the beer down on it.]

You see, bein' a big guy and having lived a good portion of my life at higher altitudes, I find I have an exceptionally high tolerance for alcohol.

[Propping his elbows on either arm rest of his recliner, Mike crosses one leg over the other. He then clasps those massive hands of his together over his modest belly.]

Plus I'm one hell of a bowler, even when I am drunk as hell, so I opted for the Drunken Bowlin' challenge.

[Mike's head tilts slightly to the left.]

Mainly 'cause I'm sure there are enough big sons of bitches signin' up to toss Midgets around. Personally, I ain't much of a fan of midgets in wrestlin'. Sure they are funny, but they love to throw 'em at guys like me and to be quite frank... I call bull[MEEP] on that nonsense. Be reasonable. If you're gonna' throw a little guy at me, he needs to be quick and still able to hit hard enough to be felt by the windshild he's goin' up against at the very least!

[He smirks.]

...but I have digressed. I sit here in this chair, downin' beer after beer, gettin' myself good and sauced up because that's what tha' rules call for and I pride myself on the ability to hold my liquor and I'll be damned if I'm gonna' shame tha' Foyer name at the MBC Olympics!

[BMF reaches down and grabs the bottle of beer. Pressing it to his lips, he chugs the entire thing down in short order and launches it off camera with a might crashing sound as it bounces off the wall...]

...That'd be beer number 62...

[...He flips the large cooler lid open, reaches in, and grabs another beer. Slamming the lid shut, he promptly twists the cap off, tosses it aside and takes a big chug of it.]

...Might I also mention that DERP will have an open Merchandising booth in the MBC Olympic Arena and they will be selling cold, frothy DERP-Wiser beers? It's made German-style, which means this [MEEP]’ll [MEEP] you up pretty quick. So if while you're watchin' the event, you should find yerself havin' trouble enjoyin' our mighty fine product, Might I suggest you head down to the booth and get yerself a bottle of DERP-Wiser.

[He then power chugs the remainder of the bottle and tosses it aside too!]

...63...

[Then shoots a big grin at the camera.]

DERP-Wiser, the drink of choice for DERP enthusiasts and the Breakfast of Champions for professional alcoholics around the world!

[Once more, that big hand dives into the cooler and out comes another DERP Wiser. He holds it out for the camera.]

Take it... hold it... love it... DERP-Wiser.

[The cap is twisted off and tossed over his shoulder once more. The Camera fades to black as Big Mike Foyer chugs his 64th bottle like water....]

-------------------------------------------------------------
DRUNKEN BOWLING
-------------------------------------------------------------

Fiend Machine: After all the violence we’ve had with our drunken events, you’d think there’d be civility in bowling.

RB: And you’d be wrong.

[At the Styx Bowl-o-rama, HANA [PGE] lines up her shot with a ten pound, polyurethane core ball, painted like the fire of a thousand screaming souls. She approaches, releases and hits one of the bowling alley attendees as he goes to clear out a pin trapped in the gutter three lanes over. Her accuracy is superb, though it counts as a zero on the scorecard. Still, she’s pleased and downs another double shot of coconut rum.]

Fiend Machine: Apparently, target practice is the official unofficial sport of these Olympics.

[Apparently not really a bowler herself, Tesla St. James [UWF] joins HANA on the fun, this time targeting one of the more annoying teenagers in the arcade behind the ball racks. Tesla uses a twelve pound house ball for added effect, even managing a curve. She scores a direct shot, then demands payment from HANA as she downs a double shot of vodka.]

RB: And to think, the gallery cheered this.

Fiend Machine: Some even sacrificed themselves for the sake of being given the honor to be maimed by an Olympian.

RB: And there were side bets. I think nobody made more money on these Olympics than Mister Halliburton.

[Indeed, the well-dressed bookie and gambling kingpin watches from his office high above the lanes as his men take bets on the action. On one pairing Tomoko Honda [PGE] and Omar Oscavedo Martinez [ASLL] draw considerable interest. Honda looks strong early, bowling nothing but closed frames at the start but her game quickly fades the more she drinks, her tolerance for booze nothing like her competitors. With each successive shot, her balls goes further off target, winding up in other lanes and finally in someone’s chest. At that point, Tesla St. James pays HANA on another bet.]

Fiend Machine: I don’t think I’ve seen so many horrible bowlers... ever.

[Meanwhile, Omar Oscavedo Martinez starts off rather strong, boldly proclaiming that he is a real man and that all others before him are sissies. But the drunker he gets, the worse his game becomes. Soon, the pins and his balls take the blame for his shoddy game. At various times, he can be spotted yelling at his balls, calling them sissies and... well... without balls.]

Fiend Machine: Some things just speak for themselves. And of course, there were some who spent more time arguing over things.

[Nearby, Fighting Spirit’s Nico Villanova argues with an Olympic official, not about the venue or his fellow competitors. Instead, he argues about both the quality of the alcohol and the Olympics’ refusal to play bocci instead of bowling. Much like the other events Nico participated in, he proves to be loud and obnoxious. It isn’t long before Tesla St. James and HANA bet on who can hit Nico in the head with a fourteen pound ball.]

Fiend Machine: Oddly enough there _were_ some people who were actually interested in bowling. Not only that, they were good at it _and_ they could handle their alcohol. Amazing Grace picked up some very difficult spares to secure a bronze medal. Meanwhile, power bowler Harley Sanders was, in his own words, “extreme” enough to grab the Silver. And for the gold...

[Up to the line steps DERP’s “Big” Mike Foyer completely blitzed beyond belief, the stench of alcohol enough to keep the booze serving waitresses at bay. His first few frames are horrible, a gutter in each of the first two. But as the frames go on and the drinks go down his throat, he begins to get strike after strike.]

Fiend Machine: I can safely say I’ve never seen somebody bowl like this.

[Creativity flourishes with each successive drink. The highlight comes as Foyer hoists his sixteen pound ball on his shoulder one handed, much like a Shot Putter. Enveloped by the Olympic spirit (and the whiskey, vodka, rum, beer and whatever else they had at the bar), he spins and hurls the ball down the alley with deadly accuracy, getting the most insane strike of the night.]

RB: I think in baseball, they’d call that a walk off homer.

Fiend Machine: Or beaning the opposing batter for looking at you funny.

-------------------------------------------------------------
2012 GOLD: “Big” Mike Foyer [DERP]
2012 SILVER: Harley Sanders [Hand of Doom]
2012 BRONZE: Amazing Grace [PUNT]
-------------------------------------------------------------

Fiend Machine: And that brings an end to the Drunk-a-thon.

RB: All the ninja-mounties gathered to tabulate results and let me say, there were some impressive people here.

Fiend Machine: I’d say that somewhere Chris O’Brien sheds a tear but he may be too drunk to cry.

RB: Or care.

Fiend Machine: Either way.

-------------------------------------------------------------
DRINKING
-------------------------------------------------------------

Fiend Machine: Really, the unquestioned winner of this cumulative event was PGE’s HANA. Given her ability to both drink and maim, the ninjas were understandably impressed.

RB: I dare say I fully understand Slush’s attraction to the young woman.

Fiend Machine: Are you smitten there Roy?

RB: Indeed I am. I intend to court the young lady. Harness her power and genetics for the House of Beam.

Fiend Machine: Are there a lot of Beams in your House?

RB: We hold up a mighty roof.

Fiend Machine: So after HANA, there were many people who competed for the Silver and Bronze. However, none could have anticipated what was unfolding at the Flavor Flav Music Hall.

[An outside shot of the mentioned hall. Around it, a large, standing room only crowd has gathered, hoping to hear some of the music that comes from it. Inside, two figures stand upon the stage. Between them sits a bar. A tired bartender stands ready to hand drinks to the two men who stand before their own Karaoke machines.]

Fiend Machine: Though the Karaoke event was long over, two of its competitors remained. Something between the two triggered a battle unlike anything anyone in Styx has ever seen before.

[On one side, jumpsuit and all, stands The King from Socktopolis NOW! Sweat drips from his brow. A microphone is loosely gripped in his right hand with a banana, peanut butter and cognac smoothie in his left.]

Fiend Machine: No one is sure how it really started but nonstop, these two warriors have done karaoke, slam poetry, interpretive dance, Shakespearean sonnets all while consuming psychotic amounts of spirits and libations.

[And on the other side, with an Iran flag decorated beer stein in his right and a microphone headset placed on his head is the AWA Sultan Azam Sharif.]

Fiend Machine: Rightfully these men should be in the hospital for sleep deprivation and alcohol poisoning but these men... these immortals.... these Highlanders of song persevered.

[The two battle rap furiously, taking shots between verses until finally...]

Fiend Machine: Sadly but mercilessly, it came to an end as The Sultan sang what The King could not...

...a song by Lisa Marie Presley.

[His opponent defeated, the Sultan walks to the edge of the stage to face the audience. With one hand, he holds up one finger...]

Sultan: IRAN, NUMBAIR VUN!

[...and the other, he holds out the microphone sideways and drops it.]

-------------------------------------------------------------
2012 Gold: HANA [PGE]
2012 Silver: Sultan Azam Sharif [AWA]
2012 Bronze: The King [Socktopolis NOW!]
-------------------------------------------------------------

RB: He’s so street.

Fiend Machine: And I hope for his health and well-being, he’s off somewhere getting some sleep and sobering up.

RB: A man like that... no...

Fiend Machine: What do you mean?

RB: That is a man that bards and songsmiths write epic songs and Vogon poetry about much like Vin Diesel and Chuck Norris. And sometimes that cat from “Sabrina the Teenage Witch.”

Fiend Machine: Yeah.... right...

[The cameras start rolling backstage to find Melinda Rhodes, sporting full ring gear and a tense look on her face as she rolls those shoulders and stretches those tattooed arms. Apparently she was on her way to the MBC Bar Room for a the Brawling competition. As she turns a corner, she stops dead in her tracks and lets out a wild guffaw of laughter, nearly doubling over. The Camera turns away to find "The Street Samurai," Spade, standing in the hallway wearing that Sumo suit, his hair still done up in a japanese bun. Adjusting the shades on his face, he smirks.]

Spade: ...what?

[Melinda walks up to him, merely shaking her head with a chuckle.]

Mel: ...You... look... rediculous... meheheheheheheh...

[The Samurai shot the Rebel a flat expression.]

Spade: Hey, I take my Sumotori very seriously.... Even if I only started really studying it a three days ago.

[He slaps that thick padded belly. Melinda just grins at him and shakes her head.]

Mel: I can't believe you're here, with me, at another Supercard event. This is kinda' how we met in the first place.

[Sighing softly, Spade places his hands on his hips and tilts his head slightly to the left.]

Spade: The 2010 Wrestlebowl. Seems like a lifetime ago doesn't it?

Mel: Yeah...

[Melinda slowly nodded her head and slinked up to him, a hint of desire in her eyes. Spade raises a hand, halting her movement.]

Spade: ...Melinda, I told you it was over.

[Lifting the shades up onto the top of his head, Spade locks eyes with hers. A sadness sweeps over his features.]

Spade: I saw the things you did in ACE. The bull[MEEP] you perpetrated on Mallory Adroit in particular was awful...

[Melinda's expression grew somber, her head lowering.]

Mel: ...It was, I won't deny it. I was in a difficult position, Kinda' like the one you told me you fell in a long time ago. As I recall, you made the same choice I did and you didn't feel a 10th as bad about it as I have walking the same path.

[Her head lifts and she looks right up into Spade's eyes.]

Mel: I burned bridges, ruined relationships, and lost everything that mattered to me. That's why I'm here, representing myself. I need to get away from ACE so that I can be me...

[She takes a few more steps forward and wraps her arms around his neck, leaning fully into him. There is hesitation at first as Spade's arms slip around her lower back. Closing his eyes, he presses his forehead against hers.]

Spade: ...Mel I don't know. So much was said in anger the last time we spoke. All the crap I called you...

[Melinda chuckles softly.]

Mel: ...and you had every right to be angry, Spade. I deserved all those insults and more for the things I did, especially now that none of it even matters anymore. I'm finished in ACE. I've got two more shows to go through and the contract is up and I'm gone.

[There's moisture in her eyes as she pulls her head back from his, looking directly into his eyes.]

Mel: I won the championship, but I lost my heart and my soul doing it. I wish I had listened to you and gone somewhere else to scratch the itch.

[Spade slowly nods.]

Spade: Mel, I still feel for you, but you have to understand something. You turned your back on everyone, including me. I can't just forgive you and pretend it's all better.

[Melinda nods and pecks a soft kiss on his lips. Unhooking her arms from around his neck, she places her hands at either side of his face.]

Mel: I understand....

[A soft sigh escapes her lips and her eyes trail away from his.]

Mel: ...It was nice to be held in your arms again though.

[Pecking another kiss on his lips, she pulls back from him, Spade's arms slipping away from her waist. One could see conflicting emotions in his face as he watches step to the side and walk away from him. We watch for several seconds, only for her to stop and look over her shoulder.]

Mel: James, if you change your mind, I'm moving back to my home in Rome, Georgia. You know my number

[Spade nods.]

Spade: I'll definitely think about it...

[With a soft smile on her face, she turns and heads through a nearby door. Slipping his shades back down on his face, Spade places his hands inside the pockets of his sumo suit, and continues on down the hallway. Cut to elsewhere....]

RB: Ah, love... what a spiteful bitch...

Fiend Machine: No more than ten minutes ago, you were talking about courting HANA.

RB: I don’t see how love relates. My courting HANA will be mutually beneficial to the both of us: genetically, financially, etc, etc.

Fiend Machine: That being said, how about we move on to the final event yes?

-------------------------------------------------------------
BAR ROOM BRAWLING
-------------------------------------------------------------

Fiend Machine: Now, as we’ve covered before, the Bar Room Brawl is the final event, the massive end to the two days of binge drinking and violence. Anybody left standing, walks into a bar... and well.... tell any joke you want.

RB: A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel attached to his crotch. The bartender looks at him and says “Hey, do you know you have a steering wheel on your crotch?” The pirate says back “Arrr, and its driving me nuts.”

Fiend Machine: Not quite what I meant.

RB: I’m just going to leave it on the table. Let the genius simmer a bit.

Fiend Machine: Now a little known item about Styx is that bars are specifically allowed in only one part of the city.

RB: And for good reason.

Fiend Machine: They’re only allowed in the first floor of hospitals. Why is that again?

RB: One, the alcohol is medicinal and with the Styx Civil Hardship Entitlement of Medicine Examination Plan, your tab is covered.

Fiend Machine: The SCHEME Plan?

RB: Sounds redundant but it’s not... mostly.

Fiend Machine: So the second?

RB: Second, if you’re [MEEP]ing stupid enough to drink and drive, you won’t be too far from the hospital. You may be left in the creek if you end up hurting someone, but you’ll suffer knowing that your victims are being taken care of properly.

Fiend Machine: So at the St. Anger Medical Center Bar and Pub... isn’t that redundant?

RB: Not under the SCHEME Plan.

Fiend Machine: So St. Anger Medical Center Bar and Pub was prepared for drinking and more violence. To the best of our knowledge, all Hulk Hands had been confiscated.

RB: So we can assume...

[The bar is filled with the standing delegates, wearing half drunk smirks and T-shirts that proclaim that they caught some sort of disease while visiting Styx. Most of the cool diseases were taken early so both Tony and Richard Beaumont [SSW] end up with jaundice and leprosy respectively. The shirts are a gaudy neon color that only the 1980’s could love. So, they were at least pleased.]

Fiend Machine: Most delegations were represented as were many of the old rivalries. Oddly enough, there was a big standoff before the fight got under way.

[Straight out of the hype machine for the Bastardship of the Ring Tournament, four men stand opposing one another near the jukebox: Jerry Titus [MBC-Lone Star], Pablo O’Connor [MBC-Alamo City], Tyler Tucker [International Incident] and Ryu Osawa [Church of Bastardism]. But when the fight begins, the four are prevented from taking on one another as the rest of the competition moves from behind.]

Fiend Machine: You know, it made a great photo op but it wasn’t in the cards. The world would simply have to wait for the Bastardship of the Ring. But on the other hand, people did get to see something quite spectacular.

[Spectacularly drunk and feisty, Tesla St. James [UWF] and Miyuki Ozaki [PGE] lock horns causing sparks to fly. Literally. The two of them somehow got hold of various pieces of farm equipment and dueled atop the bar before both crashing through the stained glass window of the St. Anger Medical Center Bar and Pub.]

Fiend Machine: Last we heard, they’re still fighting their way through a local Wal-Mart.

RB: And watching for falling prices.

Fiend Machine: Art critics have gathered to declare their fight the greatest piece of performance art they’ve ever witnessed. Unfortunately for St. James and Ozaki, since their fight went outside the bar, they’ve been eliminated from medal contention.

[”The Burning Man” Kirk Houston [Scorched Earth] brawls with James Masterson [MBC-Lone Star] among others. Only Houston notices that The Hard Master [PUNT] is standing amidst a group of ten other brawlers, all circling up around him. The Hard Master has his hands at his side. Houston turns away to dispose of Masterson into the side of a pool table. Houston looks back to see those same ten brawlers left in an unconscious pile on the floor. The Hard Master’s hair is only slightly disturbed.]

Fiend Machine: Apparently there is a bit of history with Scorched Earth and PUNT, Houston and The Hard Master especially. Houston went after The Master and... it didn’t end pretty.

[Houston goes in with a wild haymaker, only to be dodge. The Hard Master spins Houston around and tosses him into the side of the jukebox.]

Fiend Machine: Clearly the most creative person in this event was Melinda Rhoades. The things she can do with a porterhouse steak...

[Rhoades [Independent], The Goblin Queen [PUNT] and Mike Kato [BAJ] are shown brawling in the freezer, all using kitchen instruments and food items as weaponry. A fast forward shows Rhoades slamming Kato’s head in the freezer door.]

Fiend Machine: The brawl went late into the night and early into the next morning. In the end and after the hospital burned down to the ground, winners were declared.

-------------------------------------------------------------
2012 GOLD: The Hard Master [PUNT]
2012 SILVER: Melinda Rhoades [Independent]
2012 BRONZE: Brandon Elyson [House of Elyson]
-------------------------------------------------------------

RB: But for the nuns of St. Anger, there were no winners.

Fiend Machine: They’ll bounce back on their feet. They always do.

RB: They’ve built hospitals with the money earned from giving piano and nunchuk lessons before. They’ll do it again.

Fiend Machine: This concludes the Test of Inebriation. Tomorrow we start the final phase of these Olympics. The Tests of Patience.

RB: I should get a Gold Medal for this show then.

[Fade in on what appears to be the main street of Styx, Alabama, where we find two men. One man, the bald and rounder Caucasian of the two looks nervous while his counterpart, the thinner Middle Eastern man wearing sunglasses is glaring at him.

Looks like PVW's Max & Sal have problems.]

Sal: I hate you so much right now.

Max: It was an easy mistake to make!

Sal: Five minutes to doublecheck...that's all it would have took!

Max: Beach volleyball is an official Olympic event. And MBC has done intergender matches before. I thought it was natural for them to put the two together!

Sal: Well, they DIDN'T! And now we're stuck in the middle of nowhere, Alabama--

Max: Styx.

Sal: --like I said, middle of nowhere, Alabama, where I'm pretty sure the locals are gearing up to do their version of "Deliverance" if we're not careful! Max, you have until the count of five to get us out of this mess! One...two...

Max: I--uh--!

Sal: Three...fou--

[As if by divine providence itself, Georgia Church and Madison Kobo pick this exact time to blissfully walk by the two tag partners, deep in their own conversation.]

MK: ...and I think I might have a good shot at the Jello Long Jump this year!

GC: Pfft, please. I hear the Cordovas are breaking out this somersault routine for it. And you should see their tassels! Hell, that and a thong is ALL they're wearing!

Sal: ...jello...long...jump...

Max: ...somersault...tassels...thong...

[As Georgia and Madison keep walking, Max and Sal shoot each other a look. Big grins pop back on their faces.]

Max VO: in that instant, we learned something very important...

Sal VO: ...and that was there was indeed a kind and benevolent god out there looking out for us.

Max & Sal: LADIES!

[Fade to black as Max and Sal start to chase after the two women...]
Everything I learned about soccer, I learned from Dro.

You are to refer to Katie as "The Duchess of Der Basterdmusen" as of June 2014. She'll get angry if you don't. You've been warned.
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Overly_Critical_Jue
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Amigo, I ain't anybody but Juan Vasquez!
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UPDATED MEDAL COUNT!

PGE: 3 Gold, 3 Silver, 1 Bronze
Trinity: 3 Silver 1 Bronze
Insanity Society: 3 Gold
PUNT: 2 Gold 1 Bronze
AWA: 1 Gold 2 Silver
Devils You Know: Bastard Edition: 1 Gold, 2 Bronze
Fighting Spirit: 2 Silver, 1 Bronze
Socktopolis NOW: 3 Bronze
MBC Lone-Star: 1 Gold 1 Bronze
Hand of Doom: 2 Silver
Bastard Underground: 2 Bronze
CoB: 1 Gold
MBC Alamo City: 1 Gold
DERP: 1 Gold
UWF: 1 Silver
The United States of Melinda Rhodes: 1 Silver
International Incident: 1 Bronze
House of Elyson: 1 Bronze

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Overly_Critical_Jue
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Amigo, I ain't anybody but Juan Vasquez!
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I just wanna point out that this thread has over 500 views...approximately 10-15 times more views than the average thread in the MBC subforum.

Perverts.
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MBCKyle
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The Soda Dog Refreshment Squad
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Overly_Critical_Jue,May 9 2013
12:50 PM
I just wanna point out that this thread has over 500 views...approximately 10-15 times more views than the average thread in the MBC subforum.

Perverts.

If it gets traffic into the MBC section, post away!
Everything I learned about soccer, I learned from Dro.

You are to refer to Katie as "The Duchess of Der Basterdmusen" as of June 2014. She'll get angry if you don't. You've been warned.
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Overly_Critical_Jue
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Amigo, I ain't anybody but Juan Vasquez!
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Almost 2100 views! PERVS! ALL OF YOU!!!
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RedRajah
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Shocked Woona is Shocked
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Or spambots... :spam:
And here's where I pretend to be a writer...
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Overly_Critical_Jue
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Amigo, I ain't anybody but Juan Vasquez!
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Over 10,000 views. Holy moly.
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sychosys
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This Space For Rent
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Overly_Critical_Jue,Dec 12 2015
03:33 AM
Over 10,000 views. Holy moly.

Since you're replying to two year old posts, how about sending out the next EPW flash packet? :spam:
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JeremyS
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MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!
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sychosys,Dec 15 2015
06:33 AM
Overly_Critical_Jue,Dec 12 2015
03:33 AM
Over 10,000 views. Holy moly.

Since you're replying to two year old posts, how about sending out the next EPW flash packet? :spam:

Of course he's replying to two-year old posts. How many new posts are there to reply to?
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sychosys
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This Space For Rent
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JeremyS,Dec 16 2015
12:08 AM
sychosys,Dec 15 2015
06:33 AM
Overly_Critical_Jue,Dec 12 2015
03:33 AM
Over 10,000 views. Holy moly.

Since you're replying to two year old posts, how about sending out the next EPW flash packet? :spam:

Of course he's replying to two-year old posts. How many new posts are there to reply to?

I really have to finish my WANA reviews!
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