Aggression 12-10-2012

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Massacre

“Bad, Bad Man” by John Cena is the first loud sound to overcome ringside, and that could only mean one thing: UX Legend Reece Jackson. But he’s not wearing his pure white tights as usual. Instead, the old-school wrestler is dressed as Santa Claus! With a very long roll of parchment in hand, Bad Santa (aptly named by a flash pop-up window viewers at home only see), walks to the ring whilst waving at all the delighted men, women and children. Up the steel steps Bad (Man) Santa wobbles, and on the apron Bad Santa performs his trademark funky dance, which garners louder cheers. Some techie fetches a microphone for Bad Santa, but it’s when he receives it do UX fans take the throwback to the good old days (which were only seven months ago).

Bad Santa Reece Jackson: “HEY HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! Merry Massacre, all you boys and skanks!!”

That isn’t for another week, bad man..

Bad Santa Reece Jackson: “Bad Santa been sitting at home watching this horeshit of a promotion while Mrs. Claus licks Bad Santa’s sack, do ya feel?”

Bad Santa winks at a child in the first row, whose mother is shocked, judging by her agape mouth and hands that quickly cover her boy’s ears.

Bad Santa: “When all is said and done, only one faggot managed to not be shittier than missing your mates wedding to go see Foo Fighters live, Bad Santa’s son, Macca! He broke records! He realized the dream his baddy couldn’t! Bad Man so damn proud to call him son.”

Bad Santa wipes a tear from his eye.

Bad Santa: “But Marvin Wood? Two words: Tommy Idol! Simon Kalis? Maybe you’ll get a wig in your stocking, faggot. Virgil Keenan? Climb in a steel cage with Bad Man, asshole! Bad Man will FACK you humble!”

Uhm, two of those people are gone, and what did Simon ever do to you?

Bad Santa: “Worst of all, that retarded-eyed, little SHIT who would cling to Bad Man’s ten inch thick knob, Jake Norton, tried to fuck Macca’s hot streak worse than Bad Man’s alleged rape on Fluffy the cat!!”

Several “Fluffy” chants break out in mockish tone, but Bad Santa thinks they’re supportive.

Bad Santa: “–Bad Man did not have sexual relations with that feline. Ok, maybe Bad Man 69′d it but it was consensual. Ask Larry Fields how wide Bad Man ripped Willie William’s juicy sweet pussy cat! By the way, while you’re at it, ask Larry how Sabu is coz Bad Man meant to visit him in the hospital but traffic has been FACKing horrible lately, so Bad Man sold the children to some local rapist named Bob.”

… Really, Bad Santa? Insinuating you traffic children and helped a child molester get off is smart?? Where do we draw the line?!

Bad Santa: “Speaking of Rapist Bob, Bad Santa should have dropped your too-retarded-to-ride-a-bicycle, faggot-asshole off at his flat, too, Jakey! BAD SANTA FACKING HATE how you think you can be a tough guy without da bad guy’s permission!”

Bad Santa does the Scott Hall pose with his hands, showing off his nonexistent abs.

Bad Santa: “You can’t drop the pipe bombs like Bad Man. You can’t wrestle clinics! Can’t even ride a FACKING BICYCLE yet you FACKing try to be a World Champion?! You won’t win the big one, Jakey! Not if Bad Man got a say!!”

A handful of seconds go by with Bad Man continuing his vulgar output, but John Williams’ “E.T.” cuts him off, to fans’ delight! Out in ring attire, ready to fight here and now, if need be; Norton also has a microphone!

Jake Norton: “Jesus, Reece. What the hell do you want?”

Rather serious upon Norton’s arrival, Bad Santa sternly points to Norton with a scowl.

Bad Santa: “You, punk ass motherfaggot!”

Pointing at himself now, Norton smiles goofily.

Jake Norton: “Now?”

Bad Santa: “FACK No! Bad Man won’t wrestle for these faggots for free! At Merry Time Massacre, in Santa’s Grotto, WE WRESTLE!!”

Confused by the stipulation, Norton wonders aloud, “the heck is that?”

Bad Santa: “Time.. to die!”

Reece Jackson points to the rafters in Sabu fashion, and when the camera looks up, Christy Greene is at the top, with a rope in her hand!! She releases her hold on the rope, then back down at the entrance-way, a pile of shit comes falling down onto Jake Norton!! Fans MARK as Norton slips each time he tries to stand! We fade to commercial on audio of Jake Norton cursing worse than Bad Man has in this segment!

Vintage C-Luke

So these guys in the back drinkin, eatin, an sittin behind whatever desk pad and pen their sittin behind. Decide to put me in my debut match against the prodigy child of Goldust and Marlena. Well my message to that jolly gold giant is: I’m sorry you gotta be the first victim in C-Luke the light knights long raise an run to the top. But with all due respect and no respect at the same time the N.B.W.F starts its foundation on you glodipops.

Welcome to REBEL Pro Match!

C-Luke versus Jeremy Gold

As C-Luke and Jeremy Gold stand in the ring, Gold sighs heavily and begins to pray that this battle be done with quickly. However Jenny Jersey quickly gets back on the microphone and announces that someone else has been added to this match and suddenly, “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons hits and the marks in the crowd immediately go nuts.

Welcome to REBEL Pro Match!

C-Luke versus Jeremy Gold versus Mike Majere

Mike Majere comes out to the ring and immediately slides in, with both Gold and Luke rushing him to stomp him out as the bell sounds. Majere rolls away and Gold accidentally slaps C-Luke, and immediately drops to his knees and begins to cry and apologize for his own insolence. Majere takes the distraction as an opportunity and goes up behind C-Luke but C turns around only to be met with an enziguri for his trouble. He hits the canvas hard and then Majere grabs Gold and pulls him to his feet, and unleashes a number of kicks striking Gold over his thighs and ribs before putting him down with a roundhouse kick. C-Luke goes for a roll up pin on Majere but doesn’t even get a 1 count as Majere immediately rolls out of it. Both men up and C-Luke goes for a clothesline and gets whipped into the corner for his trouble. Majere charges and spears him, crushing C-Luke in the corner. Jeremy Gold, crying and screaming, charges at Mike Majere. Majere grabs him and whips him into the ropes and as Gold comes back he hits Beau Idéale!!! He covers! 1! 2!! 3!!!

Winner: Mike Majere in 3:25

Earlier This Week

We fade in on the office of Simon Kalis, current defending majority owner of REBEL Pro. A knock is heard at the door… something Kalis isn’t exactly used to. Cause it’s a sign of respect, and who the fuck has any respect left for Simon?

Simon Kalis: Door’s open.

In walks REBEL’s most electrifying star to date, the ever insane Jaice Wilds. Jaice closes the door behind him as he walks in, Kalis with a slight grin.

Simon Kalis: Wilds, my boy! Good to see you back from Mexico! How was your stint down there?

Jaice nods, extending a hand to his employer. Kalis reaches out, the two shaking as Jaice replies.

Jaice Wilds: You were right, Mr. Kalis. The talent down there is out of this world. I think I’ve added a whole new edge to my already crazy style.

Simon Kalis: Is that possible?

Jaice Wilds: I asked myself that a hundred times. And the answer is- surprisingly- yes.

Simon shakes his head, muffling a laugh. He motions for Wilds to take a seat, sitting on his own side of the desk as he takes a moment.

Simon Kalis: So, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you in my office again?

Jaice raises a brow, a cocky smile spreading as he speaks.

Jaice Wilds: If you don’t know the answer to that already, I’m not sure you’re quite the genius I thought you were.

Simon gives Jaice a ‘watch-it-boy’ look, shaking his head. He goes into a desk drawer, pulling out a sheet of paper.

Simon Kalis: Well, Jaicey-boy, I just might have something for you. Let’s see… how about we test your ring rust in a little return match against…

Jaice Wilds: Anna Mathews? Bubba J? Emily Corlen. Matt Stone? Is he even on the roster anymore? How about one of the UX guys? Or maybe even…

Simon Kalis: … Bobby Lee.

Jaice pauses, raising a brow. He shakes his head, looking for a hint of sarcasm in his boss’ face.

Jaice Wilds: You… you’re joking, right?

Simon Kalis: What’s wrong with Bobby?

Jaice Wilds: Nothing… I mean… Okay, he’s got heart, and I respect that he comes in day in and day out purely for the love of the game, but…

Simon Kalis: The perpetual losing thing?

Jaice Wilds: The perpetual losing thing!

Simon shakes his head, jotting something on the paper. He stuffs it back in his desk drawer, looking to Wilds.

Simon Kalis: I like you, Jaice. You’re potentially one of my top guys.

Simon smiles.

Simon Kalis: But I can’t just rearrange everything for the simple fact that you want to hit the roster again. You and Bobby Lee. Take it or leave it.

Jaice takes a deep breath, thinking it over. Simon awaits, seeming to already know the response coming his way. Jaice shakes his head, a sigh.

Jaice Wilds: Well, I guess it’s better than sitting on the sidelines. Alright, I’ll face Bobby. Let’s hope he’s learned a few tricks while I’ve been away.

Jaice stands, nodding to Simon. Kalis nods back, Jaice turning towards the door. He pulls it open, walking out. Simon shakes his head.

Simon Kalis: Now, where was I?

Simon turns the TV back on in his office and resumes playing the new Dragonborn DLC for Skyrim as we fade.

Jaice Who?

“Jaice Wilds”

Bobby Lee is in the middle of his delapidated, dirty, filthy, and obviously belonging to a drug addict living room. Bobby Lee is sitting in a pair of torn bluejeans, no shirt, and with a hippy style bandana tied around his head.

“Jaice Wilds…”

He seems to be in some sort of meditative state, but white stuff covers his face from below his nose down.

“I am going to defeat you because you are worthless.”

Calmness from the former Curtain Jerker Champion.

“When you left no one missed you, no one even cared, they were like Jaice Who?”

A smirk across his features.

“I know that I am a laughing stock in this company, I have embraced that role. I know that I am not much of a fighter, I am not much of a wrestler, but at the same time I know myself to be a laughing stock.”

He opens his eyes, staring into the camera.

“While all of that is true, I remained here, I went in week in and week out. I gave Bubba J a match for the ages! People know my name, regardless of if I am here, if I am not, if I am booked, or if I am not. You on the other hand… it was… Jaice Who?”


Welcome (back) To REBEL Pro Match!

Jaice Wilds versus Bobby Lee

In what was one of the craziest matches we’ve seen in a long time EVER Jaice Wilds displayed incredibly acrobatic skills with his full frontal aerial assault on Bobby Lee. While Bobby Lee did manage to get in some offense, Jaice Wilds ended that with Aerial Ace and his triumphant return was complete with a victory. The crowd cheered the former Aggression Champion, and everyone was happy. Except maybe Bobby Lee.

Winner: Jaice Wilds in 15:42

Bar Sluts Rock!

A red truck, more specifically a Z-71, sits in the parking lot of some bar in some city. Smoke streams out of the window as the man, more specifically Bubba J, sits in the truck waiting on his tag team partner to come back out.

~Scene switch~

Macca is in the bar, stepping up to the counter, where the bartender steps up as well, shock on her face.

BT: “You are Macca!”

Macca turns around, as though he’s looking for Macca himself, he quickly turns back.

Macca: “Where?!”

Again he spins around, looking for Macca.

BT: “You are!”

She’s star struck.

Macca: “Oh yeah, I forget…”

He points to his temple.

Macca: “You know, all the chair shots and all.”

The woman laughs.

BT: “What can I get for you?”

Macca leans on the bar.

Macca: “A date with you?”

The woman is blushing now, when the door opens up and a smoking Bubba J steps into the bar.

Bubba J: “What the hell man?”

He walks up to the woman, he eyes her breasts.

Bubba J: “Nice tits.”

The woman is in shock, but manages to blush even more.

Bubba J: “They real?”

The woman nods, Macca laughs, Bubba J stares.

BT: “You are Bubba J!”

Bubba J lifts his underwear band out of his pants, looking down at it then nods.

Bubba J: “Yup, last time I checked… and that was recently.”

They all laugh, though the woman(BT) is doing it nervously.

BT: “Whaa…(throat clearing) What can I get you gentlemen?”

Macca: “A beer would be nice.”

Bubba J: “A shot of Jack Old Number 7, with a beer chaser.”

Macca: “Sounds better.”

Bubba J: “Amberbock or Coors if ya got it.”

Macca: “Piss…”

Bubba J: “I can give you some piss, if you’d rather drink that.”

They both laugh again, they seem to be getting along very well. The woman fixes their drinks before coming back and setting them down.

Bubba J: “So, what do you think about our match this week in the tag fest shit Simon’s got booked?”

Both men down their shots in an instant before following it up with a mouthful of their beer chaser.

Macca: “Should be a laugh if nothing else. We’re up against Golden Inferno yeah? Sounds like someone with a urinary tract infection is describing taking a piss.”

A chuckle comes from Bubba as he signals for another two shots while taking another drink from the beer in front of him.

Bubba J: “It’s an opportunity though Mac.”

A raised eyebrow from Macca is Bubba’s only reply.

Bubba J: “Almost the whole tag division will pretty much be on display this week. It’s our chance to show them what we fucking plan to do to this division. I say we go out there and really step up our game. We can put on such a clinic that Wrestling’s Undisputed vs. Might & Magic will look like amateurs taking the piss. We can make it so that compared to us Fine Wine should be called goon bag and The Uproars we will make look like such a shambles that people will doubt if they should even be a tag team. And Golden Inferno?”

The bartender makes her way back to the two men with the new shots. She places them down on the bar but they don’t sit there long as Bubba and Macca immediately slam them down.

Bubba J: “I think we make it so they just plain can’t walk.”

Macca: “Let these cunts know that we are The Toughest Bastards in REBEL? I’ll drink to that.”

The men share a nod before taking another chug of the chaser. Another round of shots is also ordered.

Macca: “So how do we plan on doing this anyway. You probably know more about these sacks of crap than I do. Any suggestions?”

Bubba J slides onto the bar stool, reaching for an ashtray and lighting up; he’s sitting there thinking.

Bubba J: “Well, Jeremy is in two matches that night, both of which he’ll lose.”

Macca leans forward on the bar.

Bubba J: “Well, he’ll lose the match in which he faces us anyways. He’ll be distracted by trying to run away from pain, looking for who knows what shit, and all around being a petrified cunt.”

Bubba J with a nod towards Macca, for him using the word “cunt”.

Bubba J: “I’m not saying that he’s definitely going to be a push over or a definite win, nor even an easy win; because look at what happened with me and Bobby Lee.”

Macca laughs, swallowing some beer as Bubba J does the same, chasing that with a drag of the cigarette(Marlboro Menthol Light).

Bubba J: “Not damn funny.”

J stares at him, a grin around the cigarette.

Bubba J: “But I do know that this pathetic replica of the real Inferno… is nothing but like an after-market part for a vehicle. It fills the spot, but pales in comparison to the real thing.”

He takes a drag.

J: “He likes to set things on fire, perhaps him and Gold set each other’s brushes aflame every night I don’t know, but I know he’s nothing to worry about. I’ve fought the real Inferno on a few occasions and after watching this guy… I’m more fearful of facing Bobby Lee without his steroid induced courage and strength.”

Another smirk from Bubba J.

J: “But what I want to know is how tough do we get? Do we show all that we have in one match? Do we leave a little bit in our back pocket? Or do we go out and wow them with it all Monday night?”

A shrug from Bubba J.

J: “They know that we are the Toughest Bastards, they know it isn’t just a name, they know it is a life style… and for those that don’t know…, after they are picking dentures out at a dentist’s office… they’ll know.”

Bubba J waits, thinking to himself as another order of shots arrive, then he nods.

Bubba J: “And like I love to say… There. Ain’t. Nothing. They. Can. Do. About. It.”

They throw the shots back, chugging down the last of the beer.

Bubba J: “Another?”

Macca: “Never knocked back a drink before, don’t plan to start now.”

Bubba gives a nod in return and another shot is placed in front of them. This shot gets replaced by another, then another and yet another. Finally after another dozen shots, Macca decides (for possibly the first time n his life) to be the voice of reason.

Macca: “Alright J, as cozy as this place is I think we should head off. Don’t want to turn up late for the show.

Bubba Lets out a grunt but nods his head to show that he agrees. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieves his wallet before pulling out a handful of notes and slapping them down on the counter. As both men stand to begin to make their way back out they are stopped once more by the bartender.

BT: “Excuse me gentlemen. I was just-”

Bubba lets loose with a loud growl.

Bubba J: “For fucks sake woman. Hurry up and get us a napkin and you can have your fucking autograph. Just make it quick, we need to be out of here soon.”

The bartender is momentarily stunned before she regains her composure and tries to speak again.

BT: Actually I was going -”

But is cut off again.

Macca: “A bit of respect for the lady Bubba. Fucking hell. Can’t you see the slut is keen on my number? Now have you got a pen love? Let’s see if I can help you out in making your future a good one.”

Macca gives the bartender a grin that looks like it should belong on a sexual predator. The bartender blushes and for a moment looks like she is considering the offer before she remembers that she is supposed to be doing her job.

BT: “I actually was going to ask which one of you is the DD.”

Bubba J: “I think they’re sitting on your chest love.”

High five!

BT: “No, I meant the designated driver.”

Macca/Bubba J: “Oh, him.”

Both men point to the other before they notice what they are doing.

Macca/Bubba J: “Fuck.”

BT: “I’m sorry gentlemen, but I am going to have to ask for your keys.”

Macca lets loose with a string of expletives as Bubba just gives an annoyed nod before reaching into a pocket to grab his keys.

BT: “Sorry guys, just doing my job.”

Bubba gives a nod and pulls his hand out of his pocket -

Bubba J: “No worries love. Here you are.”

- and flips her the bird.

Bubba J: “Fucking bail!”

And with that Bubba legs it out the front entrance of the bar. Macca takes a second to realise what is happening before following in J’s example, but not before tripping over a barstool on his way out. The bartender can only let out a sigh as the sound of a Z-71, leaving the majority of the rubber from its tires in the bar parking lot, speeds off to freedom.

Poor Gold Is Double Booked Match

The Toughest Bastards versus Golden Inferno

Be serious, when Simon Kalis announced this booking, what did you expect the outcome to be? Would it be Jeremy Gold slap and scratch his way to victory? He definitely tried. Yet, Bubba harshly served his bronze-ass haymaker punches into a Thesz press, followed by even more mindboggling punches! As that happened, the Cuntster catapulted Inferno over the top rope, and then slung himself to the outside for an angled swan dive! Effectively eliminating Inferno permanently by flapjack dropping him atop nearby steel steps, Macca then rolled back into the ring to see Bubba J suplex powerslam Jeremy.

Ascending the top turnbuckle, Macca flies forward, with Bubba assisting by throwing Macca off the turnbuckle, thus increasing Macca’s range, height and impact with the body splash onto Jeremy Gold! Without complaint, that finish is enough to extinguish Golden Inferno and give the Toughest Bastards their first formal tag victory! Fans rejoice (but not in the lame Keenan sense), “Kick It In The Sticks” cues and it’s only natural for the two redneck cunts to throw a beer bash at ringside along with the thousands in attendance.

Filmed Earlier…

We’re in a mall. Kids and their parents are looking eager, and frustrated, as they wait for the chance to sit in Ol’ Saint Nick’s lap. However, as we pan down the line towards Santa, we see a sign that says “Thirty minute wait.” The surprise it, it’s right next to him. Santa doesn’t look very cheerful though, as sitting on his lap, each to a leg, are Mark McNasty and Alex Wilkie; Fine Wine. Odds are, if things don’t speed up, Wilkie’s ass will cost him that leg.

Santa: Boys, I still don’t get what you want.

McNasty: It’s simple Santa. We want our valuable time. Because last week, we beat The Uproars.

Santa: The who?

Wilkie: This isn’t musical Jepordy Santa.

McNasty: So like I said, we beat them, but now we have to fight them again, AND Allen Chaney.

Wilkie: So we want them to get the point that they are wasting their time, and ours!

Santa simply tries to blink a few times to grasp what’s going on.

Santa: Boys, if I promise to do what you’re asking, will you move along so the little tykes can get a little cheer in their day?

McNasty and Wilkie smile.

McNasty: Of course!


Santa and McNasty look at Wilkie with surprise.

Wilkie:…I want a ton of Twinkies before they disappear forever.

Santa: Um…done.

Wilkie: YIP-PIE!

Wilkie jumps off Santa’s knee, and jumps in the air, kicking his heels; before running off-screen. McNasty simply face palms and slips Santa a fifty for his time before walking off.

Also filmed earlier:

We go backstage to find McNasty and Wilkie standing infront of a Rebel banner. They are both in wrestling attire, but stacked behind them are about fifty boxes of Twinkies. Wilkie is shoving one after another down his gullet.

McNasty: Wilkie, why are you eating them like that?

Wilkie speaks inbetween eating.

Wilkie: Because…despite popular belief…Twinkies expire. I figure…if I store them in my stomach…I can pull them out whenever I want….Like Mayor West on Family Guy stored that survival kit.

McNasty: Wilkie, there is so much wrong with that theory I don’t think we have time to go over it. Therefore….keep at it champ.

Wilkie holds a thumb up and smiles as he continues eating. McNasty turns his attention to the camera.

McNasty: Uproars, I’m a nice guy. I hate to disappoint people. That’s why it kills me so that you two are going against us again. And there isn’t even money on this line this time…

McNasty suddenly turns green and looks like he’s seen a ghost.

McNasty: Wilkie…where did you get the money for all those Twinkies?

Wilkie stops eating to finally breath.

Wilkie: I found some suitcase full of money in the back seat while you went into that gas station to pee.

McNasty goes from green to red. He really is in the holiday spirit!

McNasty: Excuse me a second folks.

The screen changes to a white background with a still picture of McNasty and Wilkie skipping through a field of flowers with the words “We’ll be right back.” on it. We come back to find McNasty downing a bottle of Jack. When he finishes, he tosses it off stage.

Wilkie: Aren’t you an alcoholic?


Wilkie: *Gasp* you’re right!

Wilkie goes back to that as McNasty attempts to stand up, speak, and look forward all at the same time. A bit difficult for him now.

McNasty: So…Uproars, as I was sayin’, there is no money on the line. You simply are in this for…for what? I don’t know. To show you two can work together? Is that it? Did I get it? Or maybe you just don’t want to give up. Don’t want everyone to think you’re quitters. Well boys, lemme tell you sum’in. Quitting when you can’t win is sometimes the best thing to do. Of course,

McNasty laughs, and leans back to the point he is against the wall. He pushes off and stumbles a little before finding his footing again.

McNasty: I would not know about quitting. But you know who would? Allen Chaney. Yep. Allen was on top of the AOWF world. For a week or so at least. Then he lost the belt, retreated to TGW, or BWF, or RXW, who can keep up with this crap anymore? Wait, where was I?

McNasty blinks one eye at a time. Wilkie takes a deep breath.

Wilkie: Chaney, quitting, TGW.

McNasty: RIGHT, RIGHT…right. He goes there, and pretty much bips off the map. Next thing we know, he works at Burger Queen, and fights fans. Stay classy San Diego!

McNasty burps.

McNasty: Chaney, Uproars, you both want to be here…I think. But me and Wilkie, we live here. We’ve been here almost half a decade. We aren’t leaving now. And we sure as hell aren’t taking three steps back by losing our stride now. If you guys want to get made, stop trying to cheat the system by fighting the tens, when you are on the two level. Beat some level three talent, maybe even steal a win from a level four! In a few years, maybe then you can try to beat us again. But for now, it’s just another thing that is going to keep causing you stress. Keep making you feel like you can’t win. Because, lets be honest, against us…

McNasty and Wilkie pose. It doesn’t necessarily give the desired effect though considering McNasty is plastered and can barely stand, and Wilkie has a half eaten Twinkie hanging from his mouth.

McNasty: You guys just don’t have a chance. So we’ll see you out there. But hopefully, after losing to us for a second week in a row, you’ll get the idea. I hear Golden Inferno is looking for training partners.

McNasty begins laugh uncontrollably, and falls off camera. Wilkie looks down, shrugs, and goes back to his Twinkies.

We pan out to the ring.

Larry Gordon: I hope McNasty sobered up by now.

Linzi Martin: I hope Wilkie’s heart didn’t stop.


“IS THAT WHAT I ASKED YOU TO TO FUCKING DO, NATHAN DRAKE?!?! YOU SMARMY COCKSUCKER!” shouts Allen Chaney from his new super comfy gaming chair. He downs another Diet NoS energy drink and crushes it on his skull before tossing it behind him. We hear it collide with what we can assume is a large pile of cans offscreen. Allen is in a ‘MF DOOM’ t-shirt and his trademark sleeveless flannel. He has a Playstation 3 controller in hand and dark circles under his eyes.

“Oh…hey…camera. I uh…I did some black friday shopping and got…you know what? Too many. I got too many games. I bought a lot of games I never got around to buying and uh…well lets see yesterday I beat Rage, beat the ‘Classic Era’ mode of AOWF ’13, played Dragon Age: Origins for some amount of time, then took a breather with Uncharted Thr- BAG OF SHIT!” says Allen as Nathan Drake falls down another ravine. he’s usually a far better game than this, but playing nonstop for a day and a half has taken its toll. He hadn’t even STARTED on God of War 3 or Transformers: Fall of Cybertron. Allen starts at the last checkpoint and never takes focus away from the screen as he talks.

“So, Simon Kalis is continuing to flex his revenge boner in my direction and I say good. Put me in tag match by myself against two teams? Awesome, a chance to show how unfuckwithable I am. The odds are not in my favor for sure, but as Walt Disney once said, ‘It is kind of fun to do the impossible’. Then he probably said something about wanting to kill all the Jews. I think if I focused I can finish off four dudes. Hell, my old tag partner Marina could finish off four dudes and all she had do was lay back. HEY-OH!” Allen says, turning to the camera top flash us a big cheesy smile and a thumbs up. He falls down another pit but he lets it go and loads up his checkpoint.

“Still, there is the possibility the odds are stacked up so high that I may need a little help, unfortunately there’s a ton of strictly enforced rules in REBEL Pro that would prevent people from helping me and…oh wait. No there aren’t. I guess the only thing THEN that would be stopping that is the fact that there’s probably no one in REBEL who has that night off who would be willing to help me. Say like a good friend or a roommate who happens to be a tag team specialist.” says Allen as Johnny Maverick wanders into the kitchen area behind Allen in their apartment and yawns as he pours himself a bowl of Boo Berry, he’s wearing a tshirt, pajama pants, and his REBEL Tag Title.

“Now my opponents are probably going to tell you all a THRILLING tale about how I am fat and not funny and how me being here is an affront to all that is professional wrestling as these are the only things people seem capable of saying about me even if someday I was able to get on stage, drop 150 pounds in an instant, yank Matthew Engel out of hiding from the back of my audience, cocksmack him into submission and pin him then do a joke that causes the first few rows of the audience to suddenly die of Uproarious laughter. Uproarious, see what I did there? The Eastern Uproars I’m sure will be no exception to this rule, despite me holding a victory over one of them. I beat one of them once, and the other one was interfering like a motherfucker…I think. I don’t know, my memory of that one is a bit sketchy what with all of the walls currently dissolving around me. So yeah, all I remember about Loomis is that his name is interesting to say and I beat him once by moonsaulting on top of him and all I remember about other guy is…less. I’m gonna guess his name is Jasper because that name is about as good as Loomis and it makes them both sound like very kind elderly African-American gentlemen. Like, two guys playing chess outside of a barber shop in a movie made by Tyler Perry. There, do you see what your names did? Now I might lose because I’m laughing at you while I’m fighting because I’m going to imagine you in a Tyler Perry film. Just kidding, I’m not going to do that. I’m going to smash you into things. Pointy things. Grrrr.” Says Allen, making an angry Grr face for real as Nathan Drake gets shot by a sniper.

“Alex Wilkie and Mark McNasty. There once was a time they were both serious competitors, but they have nearly done as good a job of ruining their credibility as Jay-Z and Kanye West did when they started unironically referring to themselves as H.A.M. and wanted us to all take it super seriously and not point out how absolutely fucking ridiculous that was. You know the thing about fine wine? Just like any other wine if you open it up and spill a few drops It’ll quickly just become vinegar. I plan on spilling more than a few drops of Fine Wine on the canvas. You two have had your glory days, and mine are coming quickly. Within these next few months I am going to have a title belt around my waist and my boot is gonna be so far up Rob Robinsons ass he’ll be able to floss with my shoelaces. You two are probably going to fade back into the obscurity you probably belong in and will hopefully do it before you shit on even more of your reputation.” Ouch, Allen doesn’t pull punches when he’s fucking exhausted.

“In UX I showed that I was there to dominate and I arrived here and showed I was going to do the exactly the same thing. Put whatever obstacles you want in my way, Simon. There isn’t a damn thing that is gonna stop the Stand-Up Smackdown.” says Allen as he hears chewing beside him. He finally looks away from the screen and turns his head at the sound to see a floating chipmunk in a spacesuit.

“Allen. You need to get some rest before your match.” says the chipmunk.

“Yeah, yeah you are probably right cosmic chipmunk. Thank you for sharing a few bits of your interstellar wisdom with me.” Says Allen. He stands up, takes two steps, then collapses on the floor. Johnny ‘The Cosmic Chipmunk’ takes his seat and grabs his PS3 controller. We fade out as Johnny starts playing.

Rubber Match Triple Threat of Doom NOW WITH MORE COMEDY! (You wanted to be here Chaney!)

Fine Wine versus The Uproars versus Allen Chaney

“Cult of Personality” brought the comical Fine Wine many cheers, as expected. They’re hilarious skits and uncanny chemistry have skyrocketed the AoWF icons back into mainstream adoration. The Uproars, on the other hand, aren’t doing nearly as excellent as their UX days, unfortunately. In fact, even some fans have grown disdain for Edison’s excessive arrogance.

Both teams fittingly fill the goodies and baddies columns, but Allen Chaney’s arrival drew a grey area. Due to his anti-AoWF message during his short-lived yet wildly successful UX days, Chaney has to work his way back into these REBEL diehards’ hearts, but UX fans in attendance certainly embrace him. More so when Chaney pointed behind him and fans saw one half of REBEL’s Tag Team Champions, Johnny Maverick, enter wearing attire appropriate for action!

Although formerly fit, Alex Wilkie can reasonably still take flight, not so much through the assistance of ropes but off the mat alone: midway through the match, Wilkie flipped backward for an amazingly flexible moonsault side slam to Maverick!

Edison’ high-risk diving technique (variations of snap DDTs in both inverted and reversed fashion, backbreakers delivered by the knees, and an effective tilt-a-whirl which sent McNasty against the ropes back-first upside down, and then harshly landing on his noggin) evidently prove superior to everyone else’s technique, likely due to his feather stature.

Whereas Chaney ranks in a league of domination on his own, one cannot underestimate Erik Loomis, a powerful amateur boxer that so far reverses Chaney’s attempts of basic heavyweight throws like a powerbomb and sidewalk slam all thanks to Erik’s vicious strikes deliberately testing Chaney’s chin. One Tigerplex and several back-fists later, Erik Loomis weakens Chaney bad enough to leave and assist Edison, who just springboard spinning heel kicked Wilkie into a corner, to wheelbarrow facebuster Wilkie as Edison double knee gutbusters Wilkie, too!

Ignoring the temporary adoration, Loomis returns to Chaney for settlement. Throwing his arms around Chaney, Loomis tries to deadweight lift but gets smashed with two bionic elbows! Breaking out of Loomis’s grasp, Chaney overloads with bionic elbows before pulling Erick inward to lift and deliver the punchline (package piledriver)!

Laid flat out, Loomis easily but unconsciously permits Allen Chaney to pin, but Edison acts hero by missile dropkicking Chaney’s backside! In retaliation, Chaney no-sold, hit Edison with bionic elbows thrice, and then forced Tony onto concrete face-first, thanks to a nifty and gorgeous double underhook facebuster (he didn’t plant Tony inside the ring, no, he lifted Tony as if he would go for a sit-out, but instead, Chaney released Edison after heading towards the ropes, where Edison fell forward as if frogsplashing the concrete)!!

Goofy as it may be, Wilkie’s headbutts switched to a theatric combination of punches ending in a parodied Maverick attack (running shotei) – CAUGHT! Maverick caught the foot, so in retaliation, Johnny ankle locks Wilkie without delay! Having reversed McNasty’s suplex attempt to a tornado DDT, Allen Chaney aids Maverick in a Total Elimination to Wilkie (Chaney executes a spinning leg sweep to the back of the Wilkie’s legs while Maverick executes a spinning heel-kick towards Alex simultaneously, knocking Wilkie backwards)! Jumping for the cover, Wilkie kicks out of Chaney’s pin attempt before the second count!

Fascinating as it was, Fine Wine’s elevated corkscrew neckbreaker followed by a lionsault from McNasty & (from the top turnbuckle) a diving leg drop from Wilkie in one fluid motion couldn’t keep Chaney down for a three count! Dealing punishment, Johnny Maverick brought about a reckoning of which neither ‘Fine Wine’ has dealt with before: springboard knee strike to the McNasty’s throat & double underhook suplexes Wilkie into a corner turnbuckle.

All sides having dished spectacular teamwork, its obvious no team is unfit to be Tag Championship contenders (though Maverick is already a tag champion). The fans appreciate this match, and despite all six either currently or had heat at one time, these fans chant ‘Thank You Kalis’! Well, until Edison accidentally cracked referee John Chellios in the face when Maverick dodged a leaping forearm smash! When Edison stood, realizing his error, Maverick clotheslines him from behind, taking them both over the top rope and onto the outside.

In the midst of the referee bump, Allen once more delivers the punchline, but this time to Alex Wilkie! At the same time, McNasty soars through the air for his Malicious Intent (shooting star press) on Loomis of the Uproars. Very unexpected, Simon Kalis runs down the ramp as he pulls a referee’s shirt down his neck! This cannot be good. Especially when in ring, Kalis stands between two men pinning two separate men, but Simon signals his intent by tapping his eye patch, grinning, before counting McNasty’s pin attempt! And so the victory goes to Fine Wine, leaving Allen with a huge “WTF” face, similar to the crowd’s collective enragement; running away lol’ing, Simon Kalis has screwed Allen worse than prison sex. Fine Wine couldn’t careless, and are, in fact, celebrating this win in style: Alex Wilkie bashes his fists together and then shoves four twinkies into his mouth while McNasty poses on the top turnbuckle.

Fake Empire IV

A good way to return from commercial break would be “Game of Thrones Main Title” singing Wrestling’s Undisputed down to ringside, which exactly happens. Prepared for their non-title bout against resident REBEL medium talent, Might & Magic, sporting all white attire, prepositions to their distil purpose in the tag division, the wealthy, healthy Mexican and sacrilegious yet sacred prophet of homeless folk arrive side-by-side, confidently indifferent. Tonight, a first in some time, fans appreciate the UX tag champions by singing the chorus of Queen’s “We Are the Champions” when the dynamic duo have settled in-ring and their theme music has gone silent.

Cesar Salazar: “It’s good to know people still remember who we are.”

Slick-haired Salazar says as he leans against a corner turnbuckle, with arms hung over the top ropes.

Deicide: “Because we’re hardly on camera?”

‘The Risen’ has centre stage, preferring to stand straightened and buffed.

Cesar Salazar: “Technically we are, if we manage to sneak ourselves into special guest commentator roles.”

Deicide: “Or request refereeing our competitor’s tag matches.”

Cesar Salazar: “Either way, we’ve previously acknowledged Simon’s bookings don’t often include us merely due to his terribly exhausted division, and also we’re novel commodities.”

Deicide: “So he got the pass for not constantly having us wear out filler bores like Golden Inferno, and, well, Might & Magic, because if we were to defeat those likes repetitively great, it’d be counterproductive in furthering our quest of conquer, wreck and rebuild grandiose. Subtract the vanguard and we’re left with ‘Fine Wine’ and ‘The KKK’, who’re unquestionably the only bodies capable of bridging our last act in stage one:”

Cesar Salazar: “Elevate these gemmed straps buttoned firmly around our waists into Main Event stature.”

Deicide: “But then last week, REBEL aired a teaser trailer advertising ‘Merry Time Massacre’ with us nowhere involved, without a single mention of the Tag Team unification match.”

Most of this back-and-forth looks as if they’re privately discussing outside at a table belonging to some café, occasionally oblivious to the thousands in attendance.

Cesar Salazar: “We took Simon’s tweak of billing us as the Disputed champions as a lighthearted poke, because otherwise it’s an indefensible stance. Yet this overt snub to recognize us is a knife-edge chop.”

Pushing his cowboy hat up a little to scratch his forehead, Deicide’s frown is noticeable only by his winkled brow, since the rest of his unidentifiable mug hides underneath a forest of beard.

Deicide: “Why, Simon? Don’t we provide this company with social relevance, shelter REBEL from phony standards, and ensure bundles of dough stay in its tummy, even double stuffing its swollen, pink-black pussy whenever she aches?”

Cesar Salazar: “We’ve treated REBEL better than any past boyfriends. Doesn’t seem unreasonable for her to pick up the pom-poms, slip on a skirt and ponytail her hair in our favor.”

Deicide: “Seriously, all we want is some oral support. Don’t paint a picture of us unzipped and limp. We’re bulging with erections, seeking to drop a load of greatness atop your savage face. Aren’t girls supposedly infatuated with pearly jewels?”

Cesar Salazar: “I’ve heard Anna Mathews goes nuts for shinnies, but unfortunately for her, she’ll need to wait till ‘Merry Time Massacre’ to receive her necklace. Plus Maverick apparently teeter-totters, so he might want one, too.”

Deicide: “Homosexuality is gradually becoming a widely accepted practice. Besides, we don’t discriminate, anyway.”

Cesar Salazar: “All somewhat unfunny sex puns aside, it suffices to say that REBEL is our slavish slut; hence why you and all these people call us Champions. And as your Champions, we demand that whenever you consider running another ad promoting anything associated with us, be certain to include us.”

In an exaggerated pose of fright, Deicide throws up his hands as if told to freeze by policemen.

Deicide: “Shouldn’t indicate a threat, now! We wouldn’t want to be grouped with fleeing, crybabies, pseudo-emerald and stone.”

Cesar Salazar: “Not at all, D. Nobody could have the impression we’d do anything to harm REBEL’s reputation since our work is toward enhancing its cruel premise. There are other ways of protesting, such as now, where we just devour airtime, chat about truths whilst cementing our presence.”

Deicide: “And we haven’t begun to disparage Phoenix’s minions yet. Is that a comment in itself?”

Cesar Salazar: “There’s all this talk of The Pantheon resurrecting, which is this big deal if rumors have merit, but none of this hype suggests Might & Magic are needed in Phoenix’s plan.”

A snap of Deicide’s fingers says he’s discovered the answer.

Deicide: “Therefore, they’re weaklings; meat added to a torso just for a heavier reflection.”

A nod escapes the clean-shaven Salazar.

Cesar Salazar: “Mere numbers to increase the delusion. Within this month, The Phoenix’s clutch on REBEL’s World Championship will perish once Sean Robinson locks Achilles, to cap his lightning-in-a-bottle momentum. For us to squeeze tears from the already battered Might & Magic can only heighten the ringing truth of our collective Undisputed nature.”

Deicide: “I’ve totally forgotten we’re also undefeated.”

Cesar Salazar: “When victory becomes mundane, that’s what happens. Back in UX, we divided and fired El Pollos, The Giants, Soviet Union, Commissar & HOLOKOST.”

Deicide: “Then we came here to bury ‘Golden Inferno’ like everyone who’s anyone does, disclose The Uproars as a lost cause-“

Cesar Salazar: “People once expected them to beat us for these titles.”

Deicide: “Again: lost cause. And now, Simon Kalis offers Might & Magic up to us almost as if another one of his bizarre cow sacrifices, except we’re tasked with slitting their throats.”

Cesar pats his thighs jokingly in search of something.

Cesar Salazar: “I didn’t bring utensils, what of you?”

Deicide: “Like a voodoo child, we’ll chop them down with the edges of our hands.”

With a smirk, Cesar says, “Might even raise a little sand.”

Deicide: “This match isn’t about winning just because, though. Like all that we say, think and do, if between the lines are read, our actions, most importantly, shape the foundation we plan to build the tag division on. Moke and Dragon, you two are simply faces to be shown in our highlight reels bleeding, screaming and spirits fading to get across just how massive we are.”

Cesar Salazar: “Since Simon Kalis got amateur promotional skills, we’ll treat you two as if this were pottery class, with the end product being two crippled vessels flying the message of our Undisputed.”

Deicide: “Crippled? They’d not get far, then.”

Cesar Salazar: “Metaphorically speaking.”

Having said that, the two drop their microphones, creating a loud staticy crash sound and “Game of Thrones Main Title” conjures as the broadcast sinks into a quick commercial interruption.

Non-Title Match

Wrestling’s Undisputed versus Might & Magic

Cool on the surface for their segment prior to this match, Wrestling’s Undisputed’s frustrations with how they’ve been marketed and booked are on full display now. Usually, Might & Magic are at least capable of bringing a lengthy competitive exchange, despite rolling on a loser streak. This week, however, only within the first minute of this tornado tag bout do Moke and Dragon deliver solid offense of punches.

Because of Deicide’s background in jujitsu, the Sacred caught a swinging arm from Moke and so judo thrown the bulky figure into an arm-bar leg-trapping takedown. Opposite to this, Dragon clotheslined Salazar over-the-top-rope, but he safely landed and immediately counteracted via jumping enzuigiri that smacks Dragon forward throat-first onto the top rope!

From there on out, the next three minutes see the (Un)disputed Tag Champs perform a variety of double team combos: held in an inverted DDT position, Dragon is blasted in his backside by a swung upright knee of Cesar Salazar, who releases the reversed headlock to shove Dragon into a jumping big boot by Deicide, yet Dragon does not collapse; only further dazed and stumbling backward, Salazar concludes Dragon’s round of punishment with a double knee backbreaker!

Doshky managed to catch Deicide off-guard with a one-handed bulldog. Though that sneakiness has a consequence, which is Salazar quickly pulling Moke backward by the neck for an inverted headlock backbreaker, which in turn allows Deicide to reemerge for a jawbreaker lariat! Once Moke is sent head-over-heels, The Dragon, who struggles to gather himself, is left to eat a European uppercut to the backside of his head (Deicide) and straightforward discus elbow to the face (Salazar) that promptly ends the match via pinfall by Cesar.

Again, like previous weeks, Paul Alba, the Undisputed Voice, is at ringside holding both tag championships for his boys, and is ecstatic when they win. So when they exit the ring, Paul Alba leads them atop the steel ramp and raises their hands, gloriously. Interestingly, Alba shouts to a cameraman next to these three UX legends and undoubtedly soon-to-be REBEL powerhouses, “Hey Johnny! Managing Chaney may be a better gig after all!”

Everyone Hates The Phoenix

“Welcome Home” by Coheed and Cambria starts to play as North Carolina’s least favorite wrestler walks to the ring. The crowd lets the REBEL Pro World champion know he’s not welcome, but he ignores them as he calmly climbs the steps to the ring and ducks through the ropes. He’s wearing his AOWF World title belt and carrying the REBEL Pro World title on his shoulder. As he gets to the middle of the ring, he drops the REBEL Pro belt on the mat.

The Phoenix: People have been talking, like they always do. And as is so often the case, the Phoenix has been the topic of conversation. Why hasn’t he been living up to his legend? Why has he been taking it easy in REBEL Pro? How have those scrubs been beating him every week?

The Phoenix: Those are interesting questions, to be sure. The fact is, the Phoenix just hasn’t been giving a damn about REBEL Pro. That’s not news, though, now is it? I’ve never given a damn about this company, not since it turned its back on me and was stolen from me. I’ve never wanted to wrestle here and I sure as hell don’t want to be your champion.

The crowd boos to let him know they agree with the last statement.

The Phoenix: I just didn’t have any choice in the matter. REBEL Pro was due a shot at the AOWF World title and as the champion, I had to defend my belt. It isn’t my fault nor was it my choice for the REBEL Pro World title to be on the line in that match. REBEL Pro managed to put one over on me. They know that it is my curse to put everything on the line to defend my titles. I just can’t help myself. So by tricking me into becoming their champion they were able to force the biggest star in the history of the AOWF to wrestle for them, to be the face of their fucking company.

The Phoenix: And since that day, what have I done? As little as possible. Why should I give REBEL Pro an ounce of effort when I clearly don’t want to be here in the first place? Why should I allow this pathetic excuse of a company to leech off my hard earned reputation? The answer, clearly, is that I shouldn’t. They haven’t earned it and they sure as shit don’t deserve it.

The Phoenix: So I come out and do the bare minimum that still allows me to honor my contract. I say a few words, as few as possible and I come out and do a couple moves and allow myself to be put on my back for three second. Then I rush back to my hotel and take the hottest shower possible to wash away the stink of this place. And the whole time I haven’t cared one bit. I know that the end is coming for the AOWF and I know that I’ll be the one to deliver the death blow. Plans are in motion and events have already started, nothing can stop them now. But the death I’m bringing is a cancer. It is slowly eating away and destroying from within. The keyword there was “slowly”. I’m the harbringer of total destruction, have no doubt about that. But it will be eventual destruction.

The Phoenix: In the meantime, I’ve got to suffer the barbs and insults of people that are so far beneath me they have to use a telescope just to see the treads of my shoes. I’ll admit that I’ve got a bit of an ego, however. And to hear these fucking peons questions me, to wonder if I’ve lost my skills, my abilities… Well, it has become too much to bear.

The Phoenix: I would have been content to let REBEL Pro enjoy this brief calm before the storm. To continue taking loss after loss to lull you into a false sense of security. That would have made your fall so much sweeter. But you just had to keep poking the sleeping giant. When that happens, you can’t be surprised that the giant is pissed when he wakes up.

The Phoenix: So you want the Phoenix you’ve heard so much about? You want the real Phoenix? The super Phoenix? I guess no one ever told you to be careful what you wish for, because it looks like you’re going to get it. I may have to team up with Anna Mathews this week, but even that space brain can’t hold me down now. I may not want to be your champion, but that’s not going to stop me from acting like it from now on.


We fade in to a place full of drama. I know that’s not much of a description seing as how any place filled with Kaliseseses has drama. But bear with me here. In the center of this room, PuppetSimon and his somewhat outdated spawn, PuppetMasa do their serious foreshadowing over a slice of cake. For those new to this neck of the woods, it’s “omg awesome!” But for those that’ve watch the real life counterparts nearly try to kill each other and come back together again, it starts sounding like Charlie Brown’s teacher.

PuppetSimon: Wah-wa-wah-wa-wah.

Like that.

PuppetMasa: Wa-wah-wa-wah-wahwa-wah!

And that. It doesn’t help that their invisible mouths were stuffed. They’ve been doing this literally since the Titanic sank. You can tell by the lifesaver wrapped around PuppetSimon. He doesn’t seem to mind it though. Why should he? Dude’s worn stanger shit.

PuppetSimon: *gulp!* Once again, you underestimate me, son. You underestimate my foresight. I know what war is. I can smell it from miles away.

PuppetMasa: *gulp!* And you think I can’t, old man? Have you forgotten how many times I’ve been in the trenches? That’s why I’m doing this! That’s why I have to get rid of the corrupt. Even you.

PumpkinDyce: Aye!

The Dyce puppet sits on the couch with a naked PuppetMaya giving him a blow job. Yes, it is possible. He’s also drunker than fuck after inhaling a thousand twelve packs of Grizzly Beer.

PumpkinDyce: We have to do what’s best, lads! That Elena minch couldn’t put a dent in me an’ neither will the rest o’ em. Give me yer Tee-Em-Bees and yer Scottie Snows and yer candy covered fish!

A gunshot rings out as a bullet strikes across his kneecap. His slut stops sucking for about five minutes, shrugs and keeps on keeping on. As the boyo whimpers, our camera pans back just in time to see a smoking gun being hidden.

PuppetSimon: Where were we?

PuppetMasa: The fuck?! He’s one of your students!

See that shrug? That’s the cue that he doesn’t really care. Besides, we were missing a cripple puppet. The prodigal son is furious as he jumps from his chair, cape and such fluttering in the breeze.
PuppetMasa: That’s it. No more games. I challenge you…

Dramatic extreme close up.

PuppetMasa: …to a Kalistic Slapfight!

Dun-dun-duuuun! The elder rises to his feet and lands a uberbrutal cheapshot. You can tell this because the soft hitting noise was, like, a tiny bit louder than what it’s supposed to be. The Adrian-thing that kinda is and kinda isn’t retaliates with quick strikes that actually look quite impressive for somebody stuffed with fluff. It quickly deteriorates into two puppets slapping the shit out of each other with barbed wire and fire and other manners of hand whipping fun. Meanwhile in 17th-century America, a wanna-be prophet slaps on his rose-colored glasses and proceeds to make up shit.

Joseph Smith: Mister Harris, you know I can’t do such a thing! This is God’s work.

He follows through with a stomp while his scribe pretty much stares at him like he’s nuts. Which he is really. Dude believes that two sparkling golden belts from the gawd-damned future are golden plates that recorded supernatural things that people long dead believed in. Yawn.

Martin Harris: Listen, if you’re not going to show me these imaginary gold plates you’re allegedly translating from, at least let me show the script to a few of my relatives.

Le sigh. How horrible. It took him a few years to get this endeavor off the ground and now, his impromptu secretary wants proof.

Joseph Smith: Fine, whatever. But don’t lose…

Didn’t even get to finish his sentence. The other guy runs away with all his papers to show off to his family and snicker about how much of a nutjob he is. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Remember the time you told people you efed and then explained it to them and they looked at you like you were crazy? Don’t tell me you’ve never had that moment. You’d be lying.

“Heh, heh. Sucker.”

Joseph Smith: What?

He whips around to see the Master of Time and Space in living color…sort of. She totally stole the toga from some Roman on her way over and the sandals have been torn to bits.

“Eye sayz yoor an idiot.”

Despite this clear insult, it doesn’t stop our former treasure hunter from bowing to her.
Joseph Smith: Ah, Moroni! Great to see you.

Eye roll. We don’t get to see snarky, frustrated, hope-you-die-in-a-fire Anna very often. But when she’s dealing with Justin-Case-with-a-wig type stupidity, it boils to the surface like lava.

“Four the fifteenth tyme, my name’s nawt Moroni. Und are you done wif my shinys yet?”

Joe-joe turns sheepish.

Joseph Smith: Well, not exactly…

She raises her hand up.

“Spare me. Aye kan tell already this ish gonna be a pain in the ass. Sew I’m gonna let joo bathe inn yoor own horribleness. But I’m gonna need mi titles bak soon. Iz important. Got et?”


Joseph Smith: Got it.

“Gud! Nao yif u’d excuse mii.”

A bright flash of light later and we’re right back where we were before. The Kalistic Slapfighting has turned into a slapfighting rumble. PuppetMasa slaps PuppetSimon whose slapping PumpkinDyce whose smacking PuppetMaya on the ass. It’s a hand to flesh orgy that resumes for no reason. The Dodo Queen teleports to the scene and headtilts.

“Um. Wat’cha dooing?”

And everything stops at once as they all turn towards her.

PuppetMasa: …nothin’.

Her eyes narrow. Those buttons that act as eyes stay wide. With a florish, the cake disappears.

“No cake for joo!”

Puppets: Awww.

Sadness everywhere. The Aggression champion sighs and puts on her best disappointed mother face.

“Cereal. Iz this et? It this all we’ve become?”

They still stare, clueless.

“Look at olive yoo. I’ve created ev’ry single won of you too do one simple solitary fing. I brought you life. I gave you moveable parts. Eye lets jou speek even when ya haz no plase to speak. And this ish what I get? A load of bitchin’ and fighting constantlee?”

All the felted heads hang low.

“No, no. I realize thar’s a lot awn my plate. I’m busy defending titles and tring ta git titles and preparing for this inevitable skewjob of a tag match tonight and starting up the Mormons dat eye kant’s bea around all the tyme. Ish my fault and I’m sowwy.”

Silence. What exactly can you say about something like that? Then slowly, one by one, the PuppetKaliseseses (and a limping PumpkinDyce) crowd around and hug her. It’s sweet and heartwarming and deserves a fucking award. They squeeze tight enough to where a lightbulb appears.

“I haz an idea. We’d hav ta get the rest ov ‘em together four it but—“

They look up at her.

“Wii need to do sumthing big.”

She grins to everybody as we fade the hell out.

All of The Lights

On any given night, the lights of the Vegas Strip turn the city into an oasis of mid-afternoon in the desert of midnight. On this particular night, however, the bulbs don’t burn quite so bright. The neons go cold and dark. Vegas Vic’s big smile seems a little smaller, and the rest of Glitter Gulch has lost some of its shine.

All of this can be attributed to one thing: Once again, the old UX Arena is dark and dead. REBEL has moved operations back to North Carolina, much to the chagrin of Vegas bookies and Durham police.

One man hasn’t given up on the place so easily, though. Sean Robinson stands outside the UX Arena, his back to the camera. He stares up at the large neon sign out front, gaudy even by local standards. HOME OF THE UNDERGROUND, it states. Not anymore.

“It’s almost like leaving home.”

He turns around and faces the camera. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, a reflection of the Strip’s constant illumination, but there’s almost a wet sheen in his eyes.

“Boston hasn’t been home for me in years, and the people here in Vegas are the only ones to appreciate me in a long time. Those hicks back in North Carolina certainly don’t, and I can’t figure out why. I’m trying to take the REBEL World Title away from a man who clearly wants nothing to do with the belt, or the company for that matter. I’m trying to bring back a standard of professional wrestling that hasn’t been seen in the Carolinas since the days of Rex Caliber, and all I get is a hail of boos every time I step into the ring.”

He turns and delivers a kick to a nearby trashcan, which goes flying off into the night, leaving a trail of garbage in its wake. A rare moment of rage from the usually calm Robinson. He takes a deep breath, rubs his temples, and composes himself before continuing.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not here to make friends. I’m not in this business for the adoration of children, or even for the ring rats, contrary to popular belief. I’m not here for the money that comes with being the merchandise cash cow. No, I’m here for one reason, and one reason only. To prove to the world that I’m the best wrestler in the game today. And the only way to do that is to take the REBEL World Title from Rob Robinson.

And this week I get a shot at him. Oh sure, it’s a tag team match. But I don’t have any worries about Anna Mathews. I’ve made her tap out once already. If she gets in my way, I’ll just do it again. And this time I won’t let go of the hold when she passes out.

This might be a non-title match, but you still better be ready, Rob. See, next week is the big night. And if you were to suffer a horrific injury tonight, say a blown-out knee or a broken arm… Well then you’d lose by default, wouldn’t you? I’m sure that would be embarassing for Kalis, and disappointing for the fans, but like I said. Their opinions don’t mean shit to me. Only one thing matters, and you’ve got it around your waist.

For now.”

Robinson walks out of the frame, and the camera zooms in until the UX Arena sign fills the frame. The letters on the sign flicker and die one by one, until the only thing left is UX and HOME. They persist as the scene fades to black.

Challengers versus Champions Tag Team Match

Justin Case & Sean Robinson versus Anna Mathews & The Phoenix

With everyone in the ring, the match began under normal REBEL Pro Tag team rules: that being of a tornado variety. Justin immediately gunned it for Anna while Robinson and Robinson grappled, putting the entire crowd on their feet. Case went for a clothesline on Anna, but she ducked and hit him with a spinning heel kick. Phoenix twisted Sean around and then laid him out with a DDT while Anna followed up her attack on Case with a Mandala hineri which really excited the crowd. Sean Robinson got back up quickly and grappled again with Phoenix, a power struggle ensuing between the two until Robinson got out of it before quickly taking Phoenix down with a german suplex. Anna tried getting at Case with her speed as her advantage but Case finally caught up to her and laid her out flat with a stunning fisherman’s suplex. Meanwhile Robinson of the Sean variety locked in an single leg crab on The Phoenix, yelling for The REBEL Champion to tap out. Case went nuts on Anna, pounding her face with lefts and rights while Anna tried to lift her arms up over her face to protect herself.

Anna kneed Case as Phoenix grabbed the bottom rope, although Sean did not let go of the hold. Referee Alan Stone informed Sean that no tap out from Phoenix will count with Phoenix’s grip on the bottom rope, although it didn’t matter as Phoenix used a last bit of strength to use his free leg to somehow kick Sean Robinson, forcing him to let go. Though stretching himself awkwardly like that did seem to have an adverse effect on The Phoenix’s lower back, while Anna laid Case down handspring back elbow as Case came at her. Rob-Rob recovered and tagged Robbo with a spinning neckbreaker, quickly going for the pin but Robbo kicked out by the 2 count.

Case powerslams Anna suddenly and the ring shakes, he covers her but he too only gets a two count. The Phoenix rushes at Case and spears him to the canvas and begins climbing the ropes. Robbo rushes to knock Rob-Rob off the top rope but Anna Mathews rolls Robbo up in a schoolboy pin. She only gets a two count but it gives The Phoenix ample time to hit The Ashes just as Justin Case was about to get up, putting The Legendary Legacary right back down. Susan Boyle attempted to jump into the thick of things only to have Anna shove Sean Robinson into her as The Phoenix covered Justin Case.


Anna throws herself on Robinson, taking them both down to the canvas.


Robinson shoves Anna off of himself.


The Phoenix quickly rolls out of the ring and raises his own arms, with Sean Robinson leaning over the ropes and pointing at him livid. Anna Mathews somehow ends up with a paper plate and a slice of cake in her hand as she walks off, her two belts over her shoulder. The Phoenix grabs his two belts, and Anna offers Phoenix a bite but The Phoenix scoffs and snubs her as he leaves, ignoring her, the fans and especially Sean Robinson. Case sits up, looking out toward Anna who smiles and waves with a fork and cake in her hand as we fade.


Mike Majere defeats C-Luke and Jeremy Gold
Jaice Wilds defeats Bobby Lee
The Toughest Bastards defeat Golden Inferno
Fine Wine defeats The Uproars and Allen Chaney
Wrestling’s Undisputed defeats Might & Magic
Anna Mathews & The Phoenix defeat Justin Case & Sean Robinson

Newswire 12-2-2012

Aggression is up! Click HERE to check it out! Site updates to tell you about include the roster pages and the quote of the week and all that jazz. Next card is on the forums, it is the last Aggression before Merry Time Massacre! And Merry Time Massacre will be epic…

Aggression 11-26-2012

There Are Always Two.

“Seven Devils” by Florence and The Machines begins to play.

Jenny Jersey: Introducing! Accompanied to the ring by Lacey Gloria!

The crowd cheers as the lights go out in the arena.

Jenny Jersey: He is the AoWF Television Champion, ADRIAN KALIS!

Seven devils all around you!
Seven devils in my house!
See they were there when I woke up this morning!
And I’ll be dead before the day is done!

The entrance explodes with fireworks. Suddenly, walls of flames gush up from the left side of the entrance ramp. A platform begins to raise.

Seven devils all around you!
Seven devils in YOUR house!
See I was dead when I woke up this morning…
And I’ll be dead before the day is done!

The flames circle Adrian and Lacey, who is in Adrian’s arms, holding herself close to him. The crowd jumps to their feet, cheers echoing through the arena. Adrian and Lacey share a passionate kiss in the midst of the flames, and then she slides herself behind him as Adrian steps forward through the flames, lifting his face mask back up. Fireworks pop off all along the entrance ramp beside him, with every three steps he takes. The flames dissipate and Lacey quickly follows Adrian, right behind him smirking. Adrian stops at the ring, looking up into the ring.

They can keep me alive!
‘Till I tear the walls!
‘Till I slave your hearts!
And they take your souls!

Adrian circles the ring, before jumping up on the ring apron and entering.

And what have we done?!
Can it be undone?!
In the evils heart!
In the evils soul!

Adrian lifts up the AoWF Television title with both hands as flames shoot from the four corners of the ring, and the arena is lit by pure fire.

Seven devils all around you!
Seven devils in YOUR house!
See I was dead when I woke up this morning…
And I’ll be dead before the day is done!

Adrian places the belt over his left shoulder, and gets the microphone in his other hand from Jenny. Lacey waves to the fans, as all the orange flags raise up in the arena.

Before the day… is.. Done.

Adrian Kalis: LAS VEGAS!!!!!

The crowd cheers, of course they would.

Adrian Kalis: The last of my blood to finally stand before all of you here in the Underground Arena. It’s good to finally make your acquaintance.

Adrian looks around the crowd and nods respectfully.

Adrian Kalis: Do you see that, folks?

Adrian points to the REBELTron, which is flanked at either side by large black and red Order of Chaos banners.

Adrian Kalis: Most of you may not understand the significance of that, but those flags are there as a constant reminder to all in REBEL Pro and all those across the Alliance of Wrestling Federations as to who it is who is in control of REBEL Pro. A battle which resulted in the effective termination of a dozen individuals, great names and wrestlers who fell to the sword.

Adrian taps his chest.

Adrian Kalis: My sword. Yet! In my zealous pursuit of absolute victory in the first half of this year, I found myself left out in the cold. Underappreciated, unsung for the great work I had done and swept aside by the companies I had done it for. I became an outcast, a nomad. A champion of this community without a home.

Adrian adjusts the AoWF Television Championship on his shoulder.

Adrian Kalis: Fast forward to today and I am the most successful wrestler on the TGW roster, yet with TGW in unknown waters what am I left with?


Adrian shakes his head.

Adrian Kalis: Not in how you think, folks. You see I am returning to REBEL Pro. My old man has given me full control over the show this week, to do as I please. It isn’t the first time I’ve been the one calling shots in REBEL Pro, and I don’t plan to let it be the last. You see, this compromise that sees me standing here in front of all you tonight is a direct result of the actions I took last week. My old man understands why I did it, but I know him. It wasn’t the first time he placed himself in a title match in REBEL Pro, and I know it won’t be the last.

Larry Gordon: Where is the kid going with all of this?

Linzi Martin: Beats me, Larry. Maybe he’s going to set some clause preventing Simon from competing in REBEL Pro again.

Adrian looks to Lacey, who leans back against the ropes and winks.

Adrian Kalis: Mmhmm. Yes. So. I am booking a match. Except this match won’t be for tonight. This match has been over twenty years in the making, when you really think about it. As Simon Kalis will face me, Adrian Kalis at Merry Time Massacre!

The crowd erupts into full blown chorus of cheers and camera flashes blind the ringside area for a moment.

Larry Gordon: Did he really just do that?

Adrian Kalis: This is what the orange revolution is all about, ladies and gentlemen. To root out the corrupt and unworthy, no matter who they are and what position they are in. And so at Merry Time Massacre, Simon and I will battle for the title of President of REBEL Pro. His title.


Linzi Martin: Well shit, we may have a new boss Larry!

Larry Gordon: Speak for yourself, I still own 49% of REBEL Pro.

Adrian waits a moment for the crowd to calm down before raising the AoWF Television Championship.

Adrian Kalis: And I will put my AoWF Television title on the line as well.

Larry Gordon: Oh my!

Adrian Kalis: And before you think that’s all? Merry Time Massacre will be taking place at the Olympic Stadium in Montreal, Quebec- the largest building in all Canada for us to fight in. With enough seating

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for over 75,000 people! It will be the largest event in the history of REBEL Pro, and on that stage I will take this company back and let the actual REBEL stars fight rather than Rob Robinson and Mark Sommers wannabes acting like this is the fucking PWA.


Linzi Martin: He just went there. Ouch.

Adrian straps the AoWF Television title back around his waist.

Adrian Kalis: And the most important part of all? This will be a match that was never allowed in the Pioneer Wrestling Association when my old man and my uncle sought to do it. But here? In REBEL Pro? Anything goes, and we will see the birth of the Kalistic Death Match. Wait until you see this match from hell. Until then? Wave your orange flags, folks. And never forgot! ALL HAIL!


“Seven Devils” hits again as Adrian drops the microphone and sits on the middle rope for Lacey to exit the ring first. He follows her and they both make their way back up the entrance ramp, slapping the hands of fans as they pass by.

Linzi Martin: What the hell just happened? That was mind blowing announcement after mind blowing announcement.

Larry Gordon: The Kalistic Death Match…

Linzi Martin: What? You know what that is?

Larry Gordon: Yes, I do Linzi. And suffice it to say, one of them will likely lose their career if not their life. Hell, if not both of them.

Linzi Martin: …And Aggression has only just begun.

Basketball Diaries Starring Bobby Lee

Bobby Lee:
“Oooh, my Head!”

Bobby Lee is sitting in his recliner, shaking violently and pressing both hands into his temples. We notice this first, then the fact that he is but ass naked with a bag of ice thankfully covering his testicles.

“Umvne theehe, coowvnet, ggghhhelsing.”

He’s still shaking, probably going through withdrawals.


He gigles, but winces from the pain in his head, there are still track marks showing all over his body.

“Mowvyay.”‘He’s possibly asleep, but highly doubtful.

“Heemsn doowavllegyiuas.”

He pukes.



3:17 P.M. Two days before Misgivings.
Popular Fast Food Restaurant.
Overland Park, KS.
Footage sent in by a fan.

Allen: Hello, sir. Welcome to [REDACTED], How may I help you?

???: Hey! You’re Allen Chaney! Weren’t you AOWF World Champion?

Allens eye twitches and we see a quick glimmer of Allen as a part of A-Squared bringing a steel chair down on several peoples heads. Back to ‘reality’.

Allen: Yeah…Yeah I was.

???: Yeah! Hey, and you used to date Jen Corlen, too! Man, why did you ever break up with her.

Another eye twitch and a glimmer, this time of Allen winning the AOWF world title.

Allen: I…I don’t…

???: Imagine, if you hadn’t of dumped her she might not have been in that car accident and ended up paralyzed.

Another eye twitch and we see Allen unleash brutality on Reece Paxton, Willie Williams, and several other members of the UX staff with a barbed-wire wrapped toy lightsaber.

???: Well anyway, I’ll have a [REDACTED], and a large [REDACTED].

Allen: Your….your total will be 3.58…. Here’s your receipt…

???: Hey, can I get a pic…

Allen: No.

The man walks off in a huff and probably tweets about what a dick Allen Chaney is. Another customer comes up and Allen thinks he is having a flasback again until said possible flashback smacks him hard across the face and yanks him over the counter he’s standing behind. It’s Johnny Maverick, voted ‘Wrestlings Worst Role Model’ for a second year in a row.

Allen: Johnny? What the hell are you…

Johnny: Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

Johnny takes an envelope out of his pocket and slaps it against Allens chest.

Johnny: If you waste this, you are going to regret it for the rest of your life.

Johnny takes someones milkshake and leaves. Allen opens the envelope to see a front row ticket for Misgivings. He looks at it for a moment before he looks around at all of the people staring at him. All eyes on him, like it used to be. He smirks. He stands up and takes off his [REDACTED] Shirt and hat and tosses them in the garbage. He turns to ??? and flips him the bird before walking out the door whistling ‘Take this job and shove it’.


We find Allen backstage standing in front of a a REBL Pro sign. He’s definitely lost some weight and put on some muscle since we saw him last.

“A Jolly fat man in red WILL be here for the Holiday season, but he’s decided to forego the usual gifts you’d expect and instead is going to be the Oprah of Bionic Elbows.”

We cut to Allens match last week as he levels each of his opponents with ‘The Set-Up’. We hear his audio this time as he states “YOU get a bionic elbow. YOU get a bionic elbow. EVERYBODY GETS A BIONIC ELBOW!”

“I’ve lost a few things since I’ve last been in an AOWF ring. I’ve lost the RXW tag title. I mean, I never actually lost it in a MATCH I just misplaced it after a night of heavy drinking. I’ve lost a shirt sixe, which is pretty nice, and I’ve also lost any sense of giving a fuck about who I have to hurt to get what I want, as seen last week at Misgivings. Ask me how many fucks I give about what manner of hell Simon Kalis has planned for me?”

Allen pauses, as if waiting to be asked.

“None. None is the amount of fucks I give about who Simon puts in my path. I hold no illusion of Simon and I having ‘buried the hatchet’ after all that happened between us in UX. Marina and I beat his ‘Golden boy’ who disappointed the ever-loving shit out of him and his daughter. Johnathan Cage and Maya Kalis? No match for a Porn Star and a Comedian. Do your worst, Si. I welcome it with open arms. I want you to place impossible task after impossible task in front of me and I want to see the look on your face as I plow right through them. For once the only one who is going to be laughing is the Comedian.”

Allen chuckles a little bit.

“That’s the difference between my other job and this one. At the other job I am all about entertaining people. This job? is all about entertaining me. So what does a Comedian do for fun? What tickles my funny bone? Kicking ass like a mad bastard, Bringing a flaming folding chair down on the head of someone who minutes before was questioning my credibility or the fire in my gut, or giving someone the Punchline of ther lives. It’d also be nice to attract the attention of a pretty lady, but I take these things one step at a time.”

Allen cracks his neck.

“So, I drew a handicap match? Never been in one of those, but apparently I’m supposed to be worried about your tweaker underlings. Gasp. Look at all of the worry in my face. I am so worried.”

Allen has no expression on his face at all.

“This is going to be a massacre. I am going to take these two from pillar to post and gice this audience a show of powerthey won’t forget. Every single one of them will be in the palm of my hand before I nail them hard with the finish. That’s just how a comedian does things, guys.”

Allen gives two thumbs up.


With a flourish, the thumbs transition to a pair of middle fingers.


Allen smirks devilishly before heading offscreen.

Welcome To REBEL Pro- Handicap Match!

Allen Chaney versus Jeremy Gold and Bobby Lee

Seven minutes were spent toying with poor Bobby and shitty Jeremy, but Allen needed something to do this week. And so a big damn clothesline sent Jeremy head over heels, landing on his unlucky neck, and then Allen approached a horrified into a quivering jam, Bobby Lee, to unload a flurry of elbows, in vein of a certain 80s American dream. As result, Bobby’s forehead split open and gave Allen blood to offer as a visual treat for these enthralled fans. Another storm of bionic elbows overwhelmed Jeremy Gold because fuck else does Allen need to prove?

A snap suplex puts Jeremy out of commission, and Bobby gets a leftover of scoop slam into inverted DDT. Standing leg drop quickly follows, but Allen doesn’t lateral press. Instead, the funnyman lifts Bobby off the canvas into a military press and walks to all four separate sides teasing a throw into the crowd! Deciding on the section of tonight’s crowd where a camera is conveniently placed far back in the arena to record ringside, which is the entranceway’s right and announcer’s left, Allen throws Bobby so far, he lands in the fourth row! However, that was due to the momentum Allen gained by running across the ring. Not waiting for fans to settle their markage, Allen’s punchline (package piledriver) predictably lays Jeremy outward for the three.

High Five!

Tony Edison and Erik Loomis are seen preparing for their match tonight against Fine Wine.

Loomis: You gonna choke again like you did last week?

Edison: What the fuck are you talking about?

Loomis: It’s clear, isn’t it? I’ve been carrying you since UX was purchased. It’s like since its no longer under the UX label, you don’t care anymore or some shit.

Edison: Don’t you dare question my love of this sport. I’m the one who brought you in here, and I can take you right back out if I want to. Now are we going to go out there and win this tonight, or are you gonna keep going on about this crap?

Loomis: I don’t know, maybe we aren’t meant to–

Edison: Don’t you dare say we aren’t meant to team. We are the best team in this place, dammit. We’re going to go out to this hole, and show these fans what they paid to see. We’re going to climb that ladder, and retrieve that case!

Loomis: Then we’re gonna be the tag team champions?

Edison: No, but we’re going to be rich. It’s a briefcase full of money, dude, do you not read the memos we get?

Loomis: That works too. How much is it?

Edison: I’d imagine its however much cash Kalis could stuff into a briefcase that size. Because he’s awesome like that, apparently.

Loomis: And our opponents?

Edison: Fine Wine. Stupid name.

Loomis: Who are they?

Edison: I don’t know, but we’re going to go out there and find out. You ready to smash some grapes?

Loomis gives him a nod.

Edison: Good, me too. Now lets go do it!

The two high five, resembling an awkward cartoon friendship moment as we cut.


This day, we start anew. A new mixed breed era in wrestling’s advanced showcased talents. I am the solo founder from the ground up of the N.B.W.F New Breed of Wrestler Foundation. You want action come see, Luke. You need packed go See, Luke. You crave never before witnessed watch to see, Luke. Not only is that the name, husbands and boyfriends beware she might wear it out. But that’s a first impression trademarked statement. From momma white daddy black best of both worlds VINTAGE C-Luke!

Fine Wine

Filmed Earlier:

We open inside a very nice looking restaurant. We have a close up of a wine glass being held up. In a few seconds, red liquid begins filling the glass. We zoom out to see a man in a suit holding the glass up as a waiter tells him about the history of that particular pinot noir. We pan across the room to see multiple tables where this is going on, and some where people are spitting into buckets in the middle of the table. Finally, we end at a small table off in the corner of the restaurant. Sitting there are none other than Rebel Pro rookie allumini, Alex Wilkie and Mark McNasty. McNasty is wearing an overdone tux ala dumb and dumber as it is a light blue with a ton of ruffles. Meanwhile, Wilkie is wearing black sweat pants and a t-shirt that looks like a tux shirt. McNasty is toasting to anything he can think of, and thus thrusting his full wine glass in the air multiple times in quick succession. Wilkie is kind of swimming though as his head swings in full circles, trying to stare at his glass which he is holding.


On one of these toasts, he knocks the bucket in the center of the table over. It’s empty…like you didn’t see that coming.


Wilkie: HERE HERE!

The two goes to toast their glasses, but Wilkie over shoots and face plants on the floor, and McNasty loses his balance and falls backwards in his chair. As he goes back, one leg catches the table and pulls it over with them. We pan to outside where after a few seconds, McNasty and Wilkie are thrown. They pop to their feet, and dust themselves off.

Wilkie: Mark!

McNasty: What Wilkie?

Wilkie: Give me your keys…you’re drunk.

McNasty: Oh…good thinking.

They walk off screen. We now pan to the back of the arena, where we find McNasty and Wilkie sitting on a bench.

McNasty: I know a lot of UX guys don’t know me. Some of them may have seen Wilkie right before the place closed, but they probably never even heard of Grade A Nastyness.

Wilkie speaks in a quasi-sarcastic tone.

Wilkie: But Mark, why ever would you bring this up, when just a few weeks ago you said G-A-N was done?

McNasty: Because Wilkie, earlier this year, when G-A-N came back, people thought we were already done. One tag match later, we were Rebel Pro Tag champs. All I want to convey to these UX boys, is that they better not pull the same bit where they think we are just some crum bums coming out of nowhere thinking we can dominate the tag division. We have experience. We’ve worked together for years. And we beat the hell out of each other over a few belts before that.

Wilkie: I still don’t have all the feeling back right here.

Wilkie presses his finger into a random spot on his arm. McNasty shakes his head as he makes a few *tisk* sounds.

McNasty: Such a tragedy. So, you can understand that you do not have an easy night in for you. Instead, you have two men with four world title reigns between them, looking to waste as little of their precious time as possible while beating you two. Some would say we’re looking to make ourselves over you. Some would say we’re looking to use you to propel this new group of Fine Wine up the ranks. I say, those people are tards.

Wilkie: Binge drinking Tara Reid level tards.

McNasty: Because boys, at the end of the day, Wilkie and myself have already been made. We’ve done everything that can be done in so many feds it isn’t even funny. You know those guys who work their whole life at an awesome job, retire, and then get some shit job just so they aren’t bored? That’s kinda like this. Because you saw the reaction we got just from showing up together in that Rebel Pro ring a few weeks ago. We don’t have to prove anything. Win, lose, draw, people are still going to know who we are. They are still going to love us. And, they are still going to know that it is a bad idea to take Mark McNasty and Alex Wilkie likely. We’ve been declared underdogs plenty of times. And just like messing with real dogs, the people who did got a bite in their ass.

Wilkie: So fellahs, what my long winded friend here is saying, is simply this: as we have already compared ourselves to fine wine, remember that too much of it can lead to a hell of a lot of pain when you have to deal with the hang over the next day.

Wilkie and McNasty smile, before they stand and walk off.

Ladder Match for $100,000 Cash

Fine Wine versus The Uproars

Wrestling’s Undisputed, Deicide & Cesar Salazar, the (Un)disputed Tag Team Champions, join Linzi Martin & Larry Gordon for special guest commentary.

Although a fourteen minute match stipulated under ‘ladder’ rules, this match was relatively conventional. Spots you’d expect from such a showcase, such as Mark McNasty jumping from a top turnbuckle to dropkick a ladder supporting Tony Edison, thus sending him to the outside, but not farther than the barricade. Yes, viewers watched Erik Loomis release powerbomb Alex Wilkie onto a ladder sat on the edge of the apron while the other end rests atop the barricade across, also held steady by a fan, at Erik’s request. Another huge bump came when Erik snuck beneath a climbing McNasty and uppercuts Mark’s groin to halt him, therefore an electric chair were made possible, but Erik waited for Edison to leap off a nearby turnbuckle to missile dropkick McNasty off Loomis’ shoulders! Result being McNasty flew to the outside, tumbling along the ramp at an alarming rate.

Deicide: “If Simon booked us in this match, we’d make it a five star. Not this same-old.”

Cesar Salazar: “These guys aren’t world-class like us, is why.”

The game-changer was a fireman carry stunner by Wilkie to Edison off the very top of the ladder both just finished having a back-and-forth battle of rights, which Wilkie clearly won. The stunner was enough to finish Edison for the rest of the match, to no one’s surprise. While the whole world continued to mark, Wilkie had trouble standing afterward, likely due to his unfit physique and the fact he just fell fifteen feet off the top of a ladder to bring another man down with him. In the end, with only Loomis and McNasty left to retrieve the briefcase, the pair wrestled around for three minutes, as if this were a regular contest. Loomis relied on his boxing background, tapping into a combination of swings you could visualize yourself button-mashing a game controller to achieve. McNasty would eat several crucial shots to the ribcage that nearly kept him down long enough for Loomis to setup a ladder and climb midway, but eventually, McNasty found power to stand and return an uppercut to Loomis’s groin!

Cesar Salazar: “Did you ever low-blow someone in a match?”

Deicide: “Nope.”

Cesar Salazar: “Neither have I.”

Deicide: “Because we’re not unimaginative fucks dirtier than a Guerrero.”

Cesar Salazar: “Guerrero is very famous and beloved in my country.”

Deicide: “He was a great wrestler, yet still halfway.”

Linzi Martin: “In comparison to?”

Larry Gordon: “Them, obviously.”

Deicide: “Correctomundo.”

The final important bump of this match is a full nelson bomb, which McNasty used to force Loomis backward off the tenth rung and into the canvas, harshly. Then, McNasty climbed, unhooked and proudly raised the briefcase full of a total one hundred thousand dollars, to symbolize ‘Fine Wine’s first victory.

Deicide: “That’s likely the most money he’s ever had at once.”

Cesar Salazar: “A working class hero is something to be?”

Deicide: “So they can feast on pork ‘n’ beans, like fat, filthy clones of mongo.”

Hardcore Drinkin’

The Collingwood Football Club theme song hits the Underground Arenas speakers and the crowd comes to life. The REBEL fans seem to be starting to take a real liking to the angry little cunt that is Macca, not to mention the old UX fans that are currently living it up in their old stomping grounds. Macca makes his way out from the back and begins to march his way down to ringside. Stopping only for a moment to grab a six pack off of a fan, Macca grabs a mic before rolling under the bottom rope into the ring. Tearing one of the bottle out of the plastic, Macca pops the lid off of the bottle and takes a swig before lifting the mic to his mouth.

Macca: REBEL hasn’t exactly been kind to me since I made my debut all those weeks ago. I don’t know if it’s because I’m not seen as marketable or it’s just that people don’t like me. Either way it’s starting to get old. One man in particular I thought that I had developed an understanding of mutual respect with was a man who has just recently earned himself a two percent holding of this company and regained his name, Bubba J.

The crowd pop and as they rightly should!

After our first match he came out and congratulated me like a fucking gentleman and said he would like to have a rematch sometime, something that I would have been more than happy to do. Last week however he decided to come out and run his fucking mouth. Is having a name back and owning a bees dick worth of REBEL somehow now make you a big shot or something J? Well luckily for the fans and possibly unluckily for you Bubs, there has never been a time that I have not responded to someone calling me out!

Macca takes another drink from bottle as the crowd begins a duelling chant of ‘Let’s go Macca’ and ‘Bubba J’.

So the ball is in your court now mate. You called me out and here I am. We can either have a chat and discuss this like men over a few coldies-

Macca lifts up the now one lighter six pack of stubbies.

– or you can end up on the ground in a pool of your own blood from a smashed bottle over the skull! So tell me J, what’s it going to be?

The crowd waits, Macca waits, nothing.

“Fuck you.”

This comes from the speakers, but its quickly followed by “Badass” by Saliva as Bubba J, the Ragin’ Redneck himself, comes from the back already holding a microphone and a six pack of Amberbock.

Bubba J:
“You finally decide to come down and answer the summons, like a man.”

He looks around as the UX fans boo loudly, Bubba J only smiles.

Bubba J:
“You come out here with your beer, you try to be like me…”

He steps through the ropes.

Bubba J:
“You think you are some hot shot fucker… but you seem to be doing the same damn thing I did, do, and will always be.”

He looks down at the 5 pack that Macca is now holding.

Bubba J:
“You bring shit beer to your little confrontation… doubt those bottles are even glass.”

J lifts one of his Amberbocks up, placing the carton down on the canvas.

Bubba J:
“Now, this is a beer. This is a real glass bottle. This is a real hard core sombitch that don’t give a shit.”

He laughs right in Macca’s face.

Bubba J:
“But you wanted to sort of call me out on calling you out.”

He chugs some Bock.

Bubba J:
“Don’t say a damn word yet, I’m not finished.”

Another chug.

Bubba J:
“See, then you talk about my dick, like it’s something you’d like to have.”

He laughs as he shakes his head.

Bubba J:
“I’m not strutting around here like I’m some big shot, I’ve just got an… Ace in the Hole” so to speak, something I can use if all else fails. I can strut, I can walk normal, I can win matches, I can lose matches.”

Bubba J tosses the rest back before getting right up in Macca’s face and holding the bottle like a weapon.

Bubba J:
“And I can kick anyone’s ass that gets in my way. Understand that Macca, win or fucking lose, I’m still one of the toughest if not the toughest sumbitches in this arena… your old stomping ground.”

He laughs.

Bubba J:
“I’ll piss on this damn arena, then wipe the drips off my dick right across ya’ll’s precious name. I don’t give a fuck because that is who I am. Give me a beer, give me two beers, give me three beers.. it don’t fucking matter. But what I take exception to is someone coming out here like they know me, thinking they are better than me, thinking they are on the top of the ladder and disrespecting my company… the very fucking company that I helped build up from an indy fed that only ran two to three shows a month.”

A feral grin makes its way onto Macca’s face as he stays right up in Bubba J’s face. There is no give in either of these two men.

I bet once upon a time your fairy tale was true Bubs. You where once the biggest dog in this yard, king of your domain as it where. But guess what? You didn’t know it at the time but you where always keeping that throne warm for the true king, and he has just fucking arrived. And you can get that piss out of my fucking face.

Macca slaps the bottle out of Bubba J’s hand and it flies out of the ring. Oh shit I think it almost hit a kid!

If I wanted something that was as weak as that piss your drinking then I would have a glass of water.

BOOOOOOO! Oh shit Mac don’t turn the fucking American crowd against you!

As for your taking the company from nothing to the top, that’s nothing new for me. I did the same for UX before Salvatore flushed it down the shitter. Everyone was billed as being better than me. Kai Cooper. Gone. Larry Fields. Gone. Mainerishi. Gone. Cesar Salazar. I beat his holiness of wrestling three times in the span of a month. And Sean Robinson? To quote JC himself FUCK YOU SEAN ROBINSON! I don’t think I am better than you Bubba, I know I am better than everyone! And if you want to prove otherwise-

Macca takes a step back out of Bubba J’s face and upturns what remains of his beer bottle onto the middle of the ring before taking one more step back.

– here is your line in the sand. Stop me from crossing it J. Stop me from coming in here and becoming the best thing REBEL has ever seen. Go on, make a point! Before you do anything stupid though just remember what happened a month ago when this cunt got you for three!

This crowd is going nuts and these two men look like they may try and break each other at any second now! Bubba J smirks, then removes another beer out of his remaining five. Cracking the top, he continues to smirk then takes a chug before lighting up a cigarette.

Bubba J:
“King huh? Is that really what you think?”

He spits across Macca’s line.

Bubba J:
“Kings die, new kings are reborn, but the lineage is typically the same.”

He looks Macca up and down, then nods as he takes a drag.

Bubba J:
“And you ain’t from my loins, you ain’t my relation.”

Drag, then slow exhale.

Bubba J:
“You beat me… whoop de fucking do son, a lot of people have beaten me, but none have ever broke me. You can’t, you ain’t, and well…”

A smile.

Bubba J:
“It was fucking fun in that match, like I said most fun in a long time.”

He walks over to the spilled beer line, pouring his own on as well, never taking his eyes off Macca.

Bubba J:
“That’s why we ain’t from the same line, but we are two of the toughest bastards to ever step into a ring.”

He indicates the crowd, and the little kid that was hit by the bottle, he sneakily tries to get some drops out of the bottle.

Bubba J:
“That’s why some boo.”

Of course that part boos.

Bubba J:
“Some cheer”

They do cheer.

Bubba J:
“Some just pick their gawd damn nose.”

We don’t wanna know.

He looks down at the now empty beer bottle, tossing it… yup, it hits an elderly lady right in the nose, busting it at the very least; J doesn’t care and neither does Macca.

Bubba J:
“You poured a line in the sand so to speak. I added mine to it.”

He steps in the puddle, Macca follows; both grin.

Bubba J:
“And that’s why we are the tag team known as the Toughest Bastards!”

They both grab a beer bottle, then clink before chugging them both down.

Bubba J:
“Beer drinkin’!”

Hell Raisin’!

They both smirk.

“And ass kickin’”

Saliva’s ‘Badass’ hits the PA once more as the newly formed Toughest Bastards continue to celebrate in the ring.

Larry Gordon:
God damn it! I thought Macca was going to kick that drunkards head in! What a crock of shit!

Linzi Martin:
Well like it or not Larry, these two men seem to now be on the same page and considering what they are both able to do as singles wrestlers they may just take this tag division by storm. Only time will tell on that one though.

Larry Gordon:

Bubba and Macca start to take their party up the ramp and out to the back. The fans cheer them out as we fade to……


We fade backstage where Sean Robinson is just about ready for his match tonight.

“From the flames comes rebirth. That’s the story of the phoenix. The mythical bird that immolates itself at the end of its life cycle, then is reborn anew from the ashes of its own death.

My life here in REBEL has felt like that at times. I started my professional career here, before moving on to bigger and better things in UX. That’s where I made my name. I became Uncensored champion, then I became Undipsuted. Then I redefined what the word Undisputed meant. And then Mainerishi shoved my face into the flames. My career and my life, nearly extinguished in that moment. When I woke up, I couldn’t believe I was alive. My first thought after that, though, was ‘When can I get back in the ring?’ I wanted it. I needed it. This business is my life. Breathing and wrestling are on equal footing in my list of priorities.

So now comes my rebirth. From the ashes of my title reign, my UX career, and the Underground Arena. Here I am, back where it all began, and back on top of it all. On December 17th, in Montreal, seventy-five thousand screaming fans will watch me decimate the so-called Phoenix. But tonight, in these friendly confines, I get to roast Jonathan Cage. It all comes full circle, now.”

We fade to ringside…

Face The Fire Inferno Match

Sean Robinson versus Jonathan Cage

Wrestling’s Undisputed, Deicide & Cesar Salazar, the (Un)disputed Tag Team Champions, join Linzi Martin & Larry Gordon for special guest commentary.

Cage’s entrance wasn’t aired due to him being a big jobber, as of late. So he came out during commercial break, so viewers at home needn’t feel their time was wasted. Robinson, the guy who’s recently beaten blood out of Bubba J, tears out of Anna Mathews and the piss out of Jeremy Gold, on the other hand, got everyone’s attention the second “Amazing (heartbeats remix)” kicked in. Alongside Robbo is Paul Alba, the manager of Wrestling’s Undisputed, who comes out holding a sign which reads, “Wrestling’s Undisputed = truer Pantheon” in spite of Robbo’s ‘Merry Time Massacre’ opponent, The Phoenix.

Deicide: “You fought Cage to become UX’s first Undisputed Champion, right, Cees?”

Cesar Salazar: “I did. It was easy.”

Many technical wrestlers boast knowledge of and threaten to twist a person like a pretzel, but Robinson legitimizes his claim by means of a tilt-a-whirl headscissors takedown transitioned into a single arm DDT floated over into a fujiwara armbar! An over rotated step-over toe-hold sleeper and a seated over-the-shoulder single-leg Boston crab were done just because he could. Effortlessly, Robbo’s hat trick of seven back-to-back tiger suplexes humbled Cage to the point of unconsciousness. From there, Robbo dragged Cage by his hair toward the flames generated by machinery on all four corners of the apron. Similar to Robinson’s own stare into the flaming abyss back at Blacklist 40, Cage sits on his knees, dazedly. During this, Robinson runs across the ring and rebounds to dropkick the back of Cage’s head, sending the bastard flying through the ropes and past the flames! However, Cage’s lengthy, greasy hair caught fire!

Almost on cue, Paul Alba tosses black shades into the ring, which Robbo catches and then puts on.

Sean Robinson: “You’re fired.”


The Who’s “Baba O’Riley” suddenly becomes Sean Robinson’s outro song. Alba, Robbo, Deicide and Salazar regroup at the ramp as Wrestling’s Undisputed; the tag belts raised by the undisputed tag champs, and Alba motioning for the world championship around Robbo’s waist.

The Legendary Legacary and Friends!

The beginning to “All of the lights” by Kanye West sounds up as out steps none other than “The Chosen One” Justin Case. Proceeding by his side is his pony tailed plus sized manager, The Wiz.

But right away we notice something very different.

Linzi Martin: Now what is this?! Who is that hanging off the arm of Justin Case?! He’s not even scheduled to be out here!

Larry Gordon: Maybe if you calm down we will get some answers.

And there it is. Susan Boyle hanging off the arm of “The Chosen One” as Legendary Legacary makes his talented way to the REBEL PRO squared circle.

Mic in hand.

Case jumps up on the apron and opens the ropes for Susan Boyle as she enters the ring wearing something you would never expect her to wear. With The Wiz on one side dressed in his suit, Case is dressed in his ring attire, while a twisted smiling Susan Boyle hangs from off Case’s arm.

Linzi Martin: Look at that hooker looking tramp! She has on a black leather jacket, a black t-shirt reading “Cum with me!” in white lettering! Her cleavage leaves nothing to desire as her playboy ear rings hang to her shoulders, with a wide skin tight short skirt and long black heel’s on. Fuck me!

Larry Gordon: I think thats what she’s going for.

In the center of the ring Case puts his mic up to his lips as his music dies off.

Justin Case: Ever since I came back to REBEL PRO WRESTLING, I have dominated my competition!

The arena ignites with boos! People begin to throw garbage inside the ring.

Justin Case: From when I destroyed the corporate suit wearing doped up douchbag, in Jeremy Gold. As then I took a former World Champion and forced him to his knees, in Jonathan Cage. Moving up the ranks by dismantling a man who’s girl I just took from him. And now everyone, I’d like you all to meet my new Valet….Susan Boyle!

Susan is all smiles as she twirls for the camera.

Justin Case: Look at what I have created!

Susan Boyle takes the mic as the boos linger.

Susan Boyle: Shut the hell up!

Wow, that came from her? She smiles as the boos get louder.

Susan Boyle: For years I have been stuck inside this little box, that my people have placed me in, for the sake of my music. But now? Now I get to call my own shots, and Case? Baby, along with The Wiz we will go undefeated! You now have double the back up, and double the pleasure. If you know what I mean.

Linzi Martin: Gross!

Larry Gordon: Yep!

Boyle brushes off her bottom lip as she hands over the mic to her new boy toy.

Justin Case: Next thing I’d like to mention is this. You see, knowing full well I have another match tonight versus Jake Norton, I am not only prepared, but last week on Super Aggression, on his own turf I embarassed him by using Susan Boyle as a means to defeat Norton. In doing so I have altered Jake Norton’s future inside REBEL PRO WRESTLING forever!

The boos begin to quiet down.

Justin Case: You see, I now have proof. If you all are wondering why Jake Norton was fired from Underground X. Among a shit load of other reasons, I now have proof of the real reason Jake Norton was let go from his contract in UX Wrestling. The proof will come in due time. Right now all you need to know is this. Jake Norton was fired because he was caught betting on Underground X matches for money! And who’s to say he won’t start betting on REBEL PRO matches? Now we all know we cant have that going down within a licensed professional organization. So now what?


Justin Case: Soon the proof will come. I can promise you all that. But tonight I will show Jake Norton a thing or two on how to lose.

LL pauses.

Justin Case: You can bet on it.

The new threesome laughs out loud as we go to commercial.

Merry Time Massacre 2012: Blood in the Snow

We fade in to an overhead view of the Olympic Stadium in Montreal, Quebec Canada at night with the island city’s night sky lit up behind the giant dome with snow falling over the island as “Skyfall” by Adele begins to play…

This is the end…
Hold your breath, and count to ten…

A flash over the screen, and The Phoenix is seen in the stands watching from high above within the empty Olympic Stadium, both the AoWF and REBEL Pro World titles one on each shoulder. Grainy black and white images are laced in the background and we see The Phoenix standing victorious over Marvin Wood with both the AoWF World and his then newly won REBEL Pro World title. As they fade we see them showing The Phoenix’s first “win” of the REBEL Pro World Championship. We see The Phoenix stand up amongst the seats, looking down towards the ring with anticipation.

Feel the earth move…
And then hear my heart burst again…

Flash. Sean Robinson stands before us, inside the ring in the grand Olympic Stadium. We close in on him and he delivers his trademark smirk as he looks up into the stands. As we fade, there are more grainy black and white images laced into the background showing Sean Robinson capturing the REBEL Pro Carolina’s Championship a few years ago along with his recent triumphs as UX Undisputed Champion. Sean Robinson climbs the turnbuckle in the empty ring, and points skyward as the dome above him opens.

For this is the end…
I’ve drowned and dreamed this moment…

A quick flash brings us to The Legendary Legacary himself, standing tall and proud with his arms crossed. Susan Boyle to his right, The Wiz to his left. Behind them are more grainy black and white images, showing the days of Justin Case’s two reigns as REBEL Pro World Champion and the look in his eye now that says he’s heading back to the top.

So overdue I owe them…
Swept away, I’m stolen…

Among her are the various puppets we’ve all come to love, as Anna stands outside the Olympic Stadium admiring the structure. She smiles, waving for the camera as both her REBEL Pro Aggression and Tag Team titles shine with the fresh snow falling over them. As she steps forward towards the Stadium, we can see the images of her many great victorious in REBEL Pro laced in the background around her with the lasting image of her bloodied face and broken body. Anna just shakes her head and suddenly she and those affectionately dubbed No Sellers Anonymous disappear leaving us with falling snow.

Let the skyfall, when it crumbles…
We will stand tall, or face it all together…

He takes a deep breath, perched above the entire area above the world’s tallest inclined tower connected to the Olympic Stadium, dubbed the Monteal Tower, and flicks some ash down. Simon looks up, sadness yet readiness in his eyes as the grainy black and white images laced around him show us some of the bloodiest moments in his career. The one that lingers is Riona Langly crushing his eye in the Glass Chamber, but Simon still holding the PWA World title with it covered in his blood… He flicks his cigarette away and lowers his head.

Let the skyfall, when it crumbles…
We will stand tall, or face it all together…

Adrian steps out of a cab, with Lacey Gloria right behind him. They both notice the footsteps of tiny puppets and Anna Mathews, and how they suddenly stop in the snow. He smirks as they walk hand in hand toward the arena. Around them are images from Adrian Kalis’ career; grainy, black and white which show him executing Fley of the Masters of Armageddon with Matt Stone by his side, ending the MoA’s war and cementing The Order of Chaos’ victory earlier this year. The laced images pause with Fley’s head being cracked in half, with one more shot of Adrian Kalis holding the AoWF Television up. He enters the arena with Lacey Gloria, ignoring us and showing he has but one intention in mind…

At Skyfall…
That skyfall…

Voiceover featuring Ron Pearlman: REBEL Pro presents, Merry Time Massacre 2012. Live, from the Olympic Stadium in Montreal, Quebec Canada. There will be blood on the snow.

Everything begins fading to black…

Voiceover featuring Ron Pearlman: War… War never changes…

To The World, V

Unlike previous segments, when we return from an advertisement teasing ‘Merry Time Massacre’, viewers alike are treated to a voice that booms throughout the arena, without notice.

Jake Norton: “Wrestlers believe in this curse that if they don’t cut a promo, it’s almost as if an automatic loss happens. Quite silly, really, but last week, maybe I was cursed. After all, I didn’t cut a promo, but that’s because I felt there wasn’t much to share that I haven’t touched on already. Few weeks ago, Justin Case and I battled in a ‘First Blood’ match that saw me, well, crack him with a wacky bat given to me by Bubba J. Case bled out and I emerged victorious, to the surprise of no one.”

During that paragraph of confession, Norton has passed through the curtains, came down the ramp and is now currently sitting on a barricade, facing a section of tonight’s audience.

Jake Norton: “I thought Case and I were done, at that point. But Simon Kalis saw us both fit to compete for a contendership at adorable Anna’s Aggression strap. And you know? That’s cool. I’d been down for that. Even though for a little over a month I’ve been preaching about defining a World Champion, that’s what every smart wrestler is supposed to do, coz that’s not just the primary prize but ultimate goal of all spandex-wearing cunts. But many people tend to overlook the social significance of a secondary belt. Sometimes it appears to just be there for others who’re not capable of headlining or drawing crowds, such as Justin Case; to keep them happy, so to speak.”

Falling backward off the barricade, Norton flips onto his feet, safely. Opting to now walk around ringside, Norton’s pace is at one a person at the beach would walk, possibly at sunset or something similarly cheesy.

Jake Norton: “But, no. The Aggression Championship doesn’t have to be seen as only a launch pad or stepstool, or whatever it is critics refer to it as. Look at Anna Mathews, a former world heavyweight champion that treats the Aggression belt just as valuable. Though that might be simply coz it shines, so she sees no difference, but regardless, that equivalence is welcomed. The Aggression could be used to define a division, to create a purpose, or develop a reputation. Who knows? That depends on who beholds.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Norton looks at the cameraman following him.

Jake Norton: “I tell you all my opinion because I do wish I didn’t fuck up last week. See, even though I’m the ‘cancerous bastard’ who likes ‘stirring the pot’ and brainbustering old people –“

Crowd pops for that.

Jake Norton: “I have, I’d say, respectable and knowledgeable ideas and beliefs. I’m not close-minded, which explains why I can be so damn radical. And lately, the businessman mindset has given me an undefeated streak. Sadly, I should say ‘had’. Again, we come full circle to last week’s consequence. Earlier I mentioned a curse and how some reckon – like Linzi Martin- it affected me. “

Off-screen yet still audible, we hear Linzi chip in with “I did tell him that” to Gordon.

Jake Norton: “And she’s wrong. There is no curse. I was warned about Susan Boyle’s attempt, by the ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ runner-up herself.”

Norton exaggerates a gasp of shock.

Jake Norton: “How dense is that? She wasn’t vague about it at all. Wait, here, I’ve brought the letter with me.”

Removing a paper that’s been visibly pressed between his hip and orange colored spandex for this entire promo, Norton unfolds it and starts to read.

Jake Norton: “To Jake Norton. You think you’re really clever, don’t you, Mister Norton? Or should I call you Mister Cheater! That’s right, Norton. The whole world knows you couldn’t have beaten Justin Case without Bubba’s aid. How would you like it if someone hit you on the head with an aluminum baseball bat from barbwire hell? Maybe you ought to find out, Mister Cheater. My mother used to tell me – this was before she died and left me with a house of cats that I fucking despise, so I starve them for fun and only feed them crumbs, mind you – she had eyes in the back of her head. Well, Mister lazy-eye, cheating fuck! You better pray to the Old Gods that you can borrow yourself a pair for this week. Let’s just say I got me a front row ticket to Misgivings. And it’s not to promote my upcoming album ‘Standing Ovation’ available in stores everywhere now! Sincerely, a rather talented fan of godly talent, unlike you.”

Looking up from the paper, Norton’s eyes scan the indifferent crowd.

Jake Norton: “Yeah, well. Turns out the Old Gods are cheaters, too. I gave them my faith and in return, nothing! How appropriate. So, I never saw that crazy bat coming. Actually, I did, up on the jumbo screen, but, you know what I mean. But anyway, that’s why I lost last week. Not because of some dumb curse. Simply over Susan Boyle interfering; though, it’d be hypocritical of me to complain since once upon a time I’d have done the same underhanded tactic to ensure I won, too. Yet, that’s when I was a slimy, apprehensive worm. Sort of like Justin Case is today, except he excels at overrating himself.”

Sliding inside the ring finally, when Norton stands, he points skyward to the steel cage that has yet to descend.

Jake Norton: “This is where the steel cage comes into play. After waking up hospitalized last week, I was pissed. Seriously, Justin Case successfully pissed me the fuck off. Throughout recent days in social media, we have people left and right crediting Justin Case as the guy who ended my undefeated streak; “a monumental feat” they say, yet blatantly ignoring the interference. Oh well, that’s the media spinning stories as they please, eh? The thing is I don’t want Justin Case heading to ‘Merry Time Massacre’ with that unfounded ‘pure’ victory on his shoulder. People must never forget that Justin Case is unfathomably stupid and should never be allowed to hold anything prestigious.”

A short pause follows, and then a chuckle.

Jake Norton: “Even though he’s already held the REBEL World Heavyweight Championship, twice. Anyway, Simon Kalis agreed to book a steel cage match so we can settle this dispute once and for all. These fifteen feet high walls of steel ensure that there will be zero outside involvement. To be fair, this isn’t only because crazy Susan Boyle is in attendance, but we all know that Bubba J has a very deep hatred for you. Seriously, that guy sneaks ways to mention you into his promos every week, it seems. Then again, it has become unnecessarily essential to take a shit on you so people don’t fucking forget you are awful and need to stay put in the jobbing category of Jeremy Golden.”

That drew a lot of laughs.

Jake Norton: “Technically, Justin, neither of us has defeated each other in the traditional sense. I’m looking to fix that. No more usage of baseball bats between us. As moronic as this is, I need to fucking prove I can pin you for the one-two-three. That is how I’ll redeem my embarrassing loss to you. The boring truth is, yes, you absolutely suck, and even when I pin you, it’s not going to drastically improve my career. Hell, it won’t even be considered a win, by slang sense. It’s just fucking expected. Still, even if the critics won’t be writing home about me dropping you on your brain-damaged head, I’m going to give you all I got, because that’s what I preach. A World Champion performs topnotch and delivers unparalleled quality because it’s expected of someone who wants to represent a company, an industry, and a profession, no matter who stands across.”

The cage is now starting to lower.

Jake Norton: “That’s just the general idea of a World Champion. Me, I got vision. Me as World Champion will be more graphic and foul, just as REBEL likes it. I think it’s time I start revealing this image by pounding your cunt so hard, it’d be as if my fists were aluminum bats covered in barbwire. And that takes talent.”

Tossing the microphone to referee John Chellios, Norton watches the cage settle atop the apron and awaits the ever so talented, Justin Case.

Cage Match: Norton V. Case III

Jake Norton versus Justin Case

The last image of the promotional video is still bright in the arena as the lights begin to brighten slowly, the last words echo still in the ears of the fans. The entire arena is buzzing from the anticipation of the cage match set to take place as they notice that there is something surrounding the entire ringside area, except for that of the announcers’ table; which has been set outside of the massive cage. The structure is made of cage wire, with several strands of barbed wire woven in for both effect, looks, and the obvious flesh tearing that is set to take place. At the top of the cage is strands of razor wire, looped as though this was a prison, which in some aspects it is. Several weapons hang from loops on the cage, hammers, chairs, kendo sticks, bats, lead pipes, and a rubber duck are among the items, though more are there as well.

Linzi Martin: What a massive structure, one of these men may not walk out alive.

Larry Gordon: Don’t be so over dramatic, it is so woman-like of you.

The door of the cage sits at the bottom of the ramp, open and waiting on the two combatents.

Linzi Martin: These two men will not leave the Den of Damnation the same way they walked in.

Larry Gordon: Do you have fake tits?

Linzi Martin: I’ll sue you for sexual harrassment if you mention that again.

Larry Gordon: Just something to pass the time, just curious.

Linzi Martin: To those hot guys with lots of money, unlike my broadcast partner who is no longer majority holder in Rebel Pro stock, they are real all the way.

Larry Gordon: all two inches worth.

Linzi Martin: Is that what your wife said Larry?

The banter is cut off as the lights dim again, showing several clips, in a very fast paced video package, of the matches, past words, and confrontations between Justin Case and Jake Norton. As the video package comes to an end, its replaced with Case vs Norton III Den of Damnation… fading into a live shot of the arena with the focal point being the cage.
Jenny Jersey: The following match is the Den of Damnation, with only one winner, only one loser, and the way to win the match will be revealed after enough blood has been shed from these two.

The crowd roars their approval.

Jenny Jersey: Introducing first!

“E.T”‘s theme begins to play.

Jenny Jersey: Jake Norton!

Jake is already in the ring, because he doesn’t have a cool entrance like most of the cool kids.

” Victory ” by P Diddy and company hits the P.A. Out comes ” The Millennium Game ” Justin Case! He stands at the entrance way, with his manager behind him, as pyro shoots on either side while he raises his oh so talented arms in the very talented air! Case struts down the ramp as Hugh Aredone limpingly lingers behind. He struts to the squared circle with a cockily arrogance that only he can endeavor. Once from inside the ring, he steps to the second turnbuckle and poses for the crowd on hand. Whether they like him or not, it does not matter. His manager hits his cane on the apron showing his approval. Jumping off the ropes he prepares for the match pulling on the upper rope as his music ends.

Ding Ding Ding Ding

Both men circle in the cage, wanting to keep away from the flesh tearing carnage, but wanting to get close enough to throw their opponent in there as quickly as possible. Collar and elbow, Jake with a go behind. Case goes to fall forward, but balances on one foot, spins, throwing Norton(who is still clinging to Case) against the cage wall!

Larry Gordon: First blood!

Norton winces, coming down, Case charges in, Jake drop toe hold sends Case face first onto a tack covered turnbuckle!

Linzi Martin: Case with a face full of tacks!

Case yells at the pain of the pin holes, pulling himself off and dripping blood from the wounds. He spins around, Jake with a big boot, but Case ducks under, tripping him up nailing him with an uppercut to the chin. Norton stumbles back, Case presses his advantage with a right, left, right right right, left left, right combinatio and Norton is on the wrong end of that is in a world of hurt and here comes Case pressing his advantage with a running knee. Norton lifts his body, driving both feet right into Case’s snarling face; it rocks him back on his heels. Norton charges in with a clothesline and tackles Case down to the mat where both roll around throwing punches, kicking, and possibly biting as nothing seems to have been solved here in this match, nor in the past two that they’ve had. Case with a punch, Norton with one of his own, Case retaliates, but Norton isn’t outdone when he lands a meaty fist to Case’s right eye.

Linzi Martin: They are like kids on the playground!

Larry Gordon: But with tons of fans and weaponry to aid them in this fight.

Norton with a shot right to Case’s “dice” gets him a snarling advantage as well. Case is bleeding, Norton is bleeding, but neither seems to want this to end in the other’s favor. Norton pulls him up, whipping him into a broken glass corner, Case screams from the sudden sharp pain and stumbles out clutching at his back as Norton grins saddistically. Norton charges in, Case slices his chest with a piece of glass from his recently violated back, Norton stumbles back from the onslaught with the deadly weapon. Case looks like a man on a mission of destruction and terror, or much more like a homeless guy looking to mug Norton of his win; which is likely the Case, except for the homeless bit.

Linzi Martin: What savagry!

Larry Gordon: You like it, you always have.

Linzi Martin: Damn right! WOOOOOOOOOO!

Case charges in again, Norton catches the wrist, ducking under into a half-nelson. He drops down, but Case rolls over, causing Jake to land on his back knocking the wind out of him. Case is up, kicking Norton right in the head for good measure before taking a steel c hair off the cage and coming back to slide it under the ring and follow it in. Case winds up, smashing Jake in the head with a golf swing, trying to make a hole in one, but he’s about six feet from the green.

Larry Gordon: What a shot!

Linzi Martin: I think Jake may be done. How can you win this match?

Larry Gordon: Unfortunately the acting Commissioner hasn’t revealed that yet.

Linzi Martin: Oh, you aren’t the acting Commissioner?

Larry Gordon: …

Case sets the chair up, going for his finisher onto the chair, but Jake trips him up, coming up and firing that slice of glass right into Case’s side. Case spins from the pain and Norton launches himself at Case, bulldoging him through the ropes and to the outside! Norton is up somewhat quickly fighting on sheer instinct, as that shot to the head should have knocked him out; his eyes are glazed anyways. Norton whips Case into the cage, back to the apron, where he rubs his face across the barbed wire there, probably making his face a scarred mass for Susan. Norton lifts Justin up, suplex onto the debris strewn floor.


Linzi Martin: C4 explosive!

Larry Gordon: Money, money, money… that isn’t cheap you know.

Both men are shocked, burned, and beaten, but the match still continues until the word of how to finish it comes down. Norton is barely able to pull himself up, Case is much the same in fact Justin hasn’t moved yet. Norton stumbles away to the ring, pulling out a table from underneath that is already wrapped in wire, light tubes, tacks, glass, and a rubber chicken leg. Norton grabs the leg, tossing it behind him to land on the still unconscious Case before he pulls out a ladder, a can of lighter fluid, and a box of matches. Case begins to slowly get up, rolling over then pulling himself up with the help of the ring apron. Norton is setting up the table and preparing it like he’s going to roast Case for Thanksgiving! Case is up to his knees, woozy from the large amount of blood loss, and here comes Jake over to do some more damage. Norton bends down, Case hits him with the chicken leg! It explodes right into Jake’s face causing him to spin around in circles clawing at his eyes and actually screaming from the pain as the heat is extremely intense.

Linzi Martin: C4 again?

Larry Gordon: Not sure, but it was definitely a bang.

Linzi Martin: Just Too Talented! Right into the damn burning table!

Larry Gordon: But a pin can’t take place, there is no idea of what it takes to win this match!

Case falls into the flames as well, but they are put ot for the most part, thanks to the quick response of the Jimmy Johnson volunteer Fire Department, the one man crew that it is. Jake is burnt, broken, bloody; Case is the exact same, and neither man is moving at this point. Johnson is helpless to do anything else, but check if they are still alive, when Case begins to stir or at least his fingers clench in a stiff looking motion. Johnson steps back and nods that they are still alive, t hough he looks a bit worried that no word has come from the back about how to proceed to obtain a winner. Jake is moving, Justin is moving, both are hesitantly and ever so slowly moving to their feet.

Linzi Martin: Sorry fans, but there is no action to call, they are still struggling up to just their knees.

Larry Gordon: This match is going to destroy one of them, but neither will be the same; this is definitely a feud ender!

Linzi Martin: Maybe not, they do have a lot of hatred for one another.

Both are up, their flesh cooked and the blood that had ran is now dry, though fresh blood still seeps from the numerous wounds on both men. Case with a right, Norton with one of his own, though neither has power behind it and the hits are less than effective on even a wet paper bag. Both fall back and shake their head before stumbling towards each other to exchange furious rights; they fall back from each other, not much left in the tank for either man. Case charges in, Norton with a back body sends him into the ladder, it falls up against the cage wall, Norton begins to climb towards something in the top level of the cage. Reaching up, he grabs a set of firecrackers and smiles before Case moves and causes Norton to slam first into the cage then fall backwards to land back first in the ring; the firecrackers still in his grasp.

Larry Gordon: What a fall!

Linzi Martin: I think he broke Norton!

Justin is struggling up, crawling his way to the ring, then under the apron as he is blinded by the blood in his face. Case grabs something, pulling out two sheets of glass then slides them into the ring, before gasping for breath as he leans on the apron. Case forces himself up to prop the sheets of glass on two chairs, before placing the second sheet on another set of chairs on top of the first level.

Linzi Martin: This doesn’t look good, not at all.

Larry Gordon: Not for Norton anyways, its just what he deserves though, filthy Ux’er.

Case slides back out, gingerly as he’s a mass of torn flesh to get the ladder; then he struggles, but manages to get it back into the ring.

Linzi Martin: Just Too Talented from the top of that ladder?

Larry Gordon: Then there will be no choice only to stop the match, no way this could continue.

Jeremy Gold: The winner of the match must keep his opponent from answering a thirteen count.

Larry Gordon: A thirteen?

Linzi Martin: Its unlucky for most.

Case smiles as he lifts himself up one more rung, on his way to the top of the ladder. Norton looks up, kicking the ladder with every single thing he can muster; Case reaches up, holding onto the barbed wire cage.


Case falls, shoulder and neck first through the table!

Linzi Martin: Norton is somehow up to his feet!

Larry Gordon: Case is dead! He’s got to be dead!

Jimmy Johnson begins his count.


Norton is out on his feet, his head lowered and blood pouring from all of his wounds.




Case isn’t moving at all, only shallow breaths.

Linzi Martin: At the very least he’s got broken ribs!



Susan is crying large tears on the outside.



Ding Ding Ding

Jenny Jersey: Winner of the match… Jake Norton!

“E.T”‘s theme begins to play again.

The Sacrifice

“Welcome Home” starts to play on the arena’s speakers as REBEL Pro World champion, the Phoenix comes out. He’s wearing his AOWF World title belt around his waist. Notably, the REBEL Pro belt is nowhere to be seen. The champ walks to the ring, basking in the boos of the crowd. These people hate him nearly as much as he hates them. Not even close to how much he hates REBEL Pro, though.

The Phoenix: You know, my match tonight, I think it perfectly embodies everything that’s wrong with this company. Here I am, the greatest wrestler and the biggest star this sport has ever known and what does REBEL Pro do with me? They throw an endless stream of no named losers at me. Is the plan to bore me so badly that I eventually lose the title by getting pinned while I take a nap?

The Phoenix: But that’s not what’s really bothering me. What I can’t stand is that I’ve stated time and time again that my one and only goal in life is the complete and utter destruction of the AOWF. That’s all I want. But REBEL Pro seems intent on destroying itself before I get a chance to.

The Phoenix: So I guess that just means I’ve got to step my time table up a bit. I’ve been taking things slowly lately. I wanted to let the suspense build, let people start to worry more. But I’ll be damned if I let you destroy yourself before I get to. For weeks now, the AOWF has seen me and my friends attack people. You’ve seen me tearing down Jethro Hayes with match after match of brutality.

The Phoenix: So tonight I’ll start things in earnest. Tonight what I do… what I have to do to Bubba J… That’s on all of you. It didn’t have to happen this way. I could have kept up with the slow build, but my hand has been forced. Tonight, there will be a sacrifice and the blood that I spill will be all…your…fault.

The Phoenix drops the microphone and heads backstage.

Out of The Furnance…

Bubba J:
“Out of the Furnace and into the Flame”

“Ya like that little play on words there? As if any of you fuckers actually read the titles, you just wanna watch us cuss, drink beer, shoot birds, bleed, make others bleed…”

He chuckles.

“Damn, sounds like a typical Rebel Pro show, but more importantly a Bubba J match.”

The camera lightens to show Bubba J sitting on a bar stool inside of Hardcore Drinking, a bottle of Jack Daniels beside him and an ashtray that Heidi should probably empty, if he’d stop putting butts in there.

“Hiya Phoenix.”

He waves the cigarette around in a genial wave.


He smirks, tapping the ash.

“I’ll get to your ass in a minute, but first there are some things that Sean Robinson must know.”

A loud belch and he rubs his stomach.

“Sean, its true Bobby Lee almost beat me and if he hadn’t hit himself in the nuts… he may just have known that. You aired that out like its some early breaking news on the Fox News show, like its something we didn’t already know, most importantly like I didn’t know it either… fuckhead. But what you failed to even mention in passing, something that everyone else with a gram sized brain knew… is the sumbitch was hyped up on steroids that Larry Gordon was feeding to him like candy.”

A raised eyebrow.

“Why didn’t you mention that Sean? I mean, you tried to make me look weak, but you failed to state the gawd damned obvious… and that sir… is why you are a bonefied fuckhead.”

He waves his fingers at the camera.

“Now go on and brag about how you beat Bubba J. Brag about how you get a shot at the Rebel Pro World Champion. Brag until your throat is sore like you’ve been blowing cock to get things, because that is the only gawd damned way you could ever be the longest reigning champion, unless the event is sticking your nose up an asshole at the top of the pecking order. Damn, you’ve got to be a bigger fuckhead than Phoenix, who’s waiting in the wings for his chance to be mentioned like a first grader waiting to know if his pink duck will get him an “A” in the class or if’ll he have to repeat because there are no pink fucking ducks.”

He smirks.

“But don’t go far Sean, this with you and me is far from over. I did not fail to notice that you mentioned nothing about how you failed to make the Extreme Elite group… fuckhead.”

Another smirk, a tap of the ash, its nearly finished.

“Now to my favorite bird brain.”

He chokes down a shot of Jack, wincing then sighing.

“Damn, nearly choked on saying that, forgive me but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth to say that… especially to think of you being the Rebel Pro World Champion.”

A glint in his eyes.

“And I already know that you don’t have the balls to put that title on the line, I know you are too prideful, after being burned so many times, to do that.”

He nods.

“So I’m not even going to bother. I’m going to list a few things here Phoenix, I’m going to get a few things off my chest.”

He looks down, putting out the cigarette and lighting up another quickly.

“I don’t like you, not many people do, and its doubtful that anyone believes your vision for a a rebirth of anything.”

A shake of his head.

“It isn’t like you are a blind guy with a different kind of vision. You are a fucktard, with nothing really but a strap that belongs on pretty much anyone but yourself and how you managed to obtain it… I’ll never know.”

A smirk.

“If you want me to list the ways I’m going to legally destroy you in the ring, you are dead wrong and its time for you to be reborn from the ashes…”

He taps an ash.

“But I don’t see that happenening, you are way past gone and into the land of insane that not even therapy would do a damn thing but waste your money. But it doesn’t get any easier this week buddy, old pal.”

Another chug of liquor.

“Cause the chances are pretty heavily in the favor of a concussion.”

A chug.

“A bit of flesh tearing.”

Another shot.

“A bit of whining.”


“A chair.”


“And maybe some weapons.”


“Maybe some fire.”

Shot and a smirk around the bottle before a drag on the cigarette.

“Because Phoenix, I’m going to wrap you up and bake you like the turkey that was forgotten in the freezer. I lost to Sean, I’ve lost to others, you’ve lost to other people, you’ve bled. I’ve bled.”

He snickers darkly.

“But you haven’t bled like you are going to bleed this week.”

He nods.

“Hold your wife close, kiss her good-bye, because the next morning… you’ll have so many holes in your flesh that she’ll be able to use you to water her flower garden.”



Non-Title Match

Bubba J versus The Phoenix

Jenny Jersey: The following match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first!

The chorus of Saliva’s “Badass” hits up in the speakers and the Rebel-tron stays pictureless.

“Cause I’m a badass
And you don’t want to clash
Cause your mouth’s writing checks that your face can’t cash
Cause I’m a badass
And this war is your last
You just crossed my path and I’ll drop you fast”
The song transitions to the first verse.

“I need you to hear this loud and clear”

As the first lyric begins to play from Saliva’s “Badass”, Bubba J walks from the back and stares out to the crowd, his fists wrapped in tape and then dipped in broken glass.

“The line and the sand is drawn and I have no fear
When I see red all I need is a reason to set me off
To drop this bomb and pick yourself off the ground”

He slowly begins to walk down the ramp, just staring into the ring, in his own “zone” he pays very little attention to anything surrounding him. No fireworks, nothing spectacular, nothing flashy; just music and him walking.

JENNY JERSEY: From Durham, North Carolina; he stands at six feet and two inches while weighing in at two hundred and fifty pounds… “The Ragin’ Redneck” Bubba J!

Bubba J steps up the ring steps before climbing through the ropes. Bubba J then steps over to his corner, facing the entrance ramp and waiting on the damn match to begin.

“Cause I’m a badass
And you don’t want to clash
Cause your mouth’s writing checks that your face can’t cash
Cause I’m a badass
And this war is your last
You just crossed my path and I’ll drop you fast.”

Jenny Jersey: And his opponent!

The arena lights shut off and several seconds of silence pass. Then, in the darkness an old man’s voice begins to sing…

Oh Death
Oh Death
Won’t you spare me over ’til another year?

Pyro explodes around the entrance ramp and stage area. As the flash from the lights fade, we see a figure standing there in a long black robe, his face hidden behind the large hood. In his hand is a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. As the fires continue to burn along the ramp, the figure advances to the ring. As he passes each fire, it extinguishes. Finally, he reaches the ring steps and climbs in before pulling back the hood, revealing the Phoenix, wearing a new black and white mask instead of his normal black and red.

Jenny Jersey: He is the Alliance of Wrestling Federations and REBEL Pro World Heavyweight Champion… THE PHOENIX!


And we’re off, with Bubba J immediately lunging at The Phoenix and throwing heavy lefts and rights towards the champ in quick succession. The fans are immediately on their feet, cheering as Bubba grabs The Phoenix by the head and pulls him down, while simultaneously bringing his knee up and cracking Phoenix in the face. He pummels The Phoenix into the corner turnbuckles before Phoenix slides down with a number of haymaker punches, his head resting on the middle turnbuckle as Bubba begins stomping down on Phoenix’s chest and head to the enjoyment of the fans. Bubba J with two middle fingers for Phoenix before going for another stomp but Phoenix rolls his head out of the way along the turnbuckles and ropes before slipping himself out of the ring. The Phoenix keels forward, clutching his reddened chest and throat before looking back up into the ring and shaking his head. Bubba J yells obscenities at the REBEL Pro World Champion, but the Phoenix ignores him and remains on the outside of the ring.

Larry Gordon: No count outs. If that raging bastard wants Phoenix he’ll have to go out and get him.

Linzi Martin: Looks like Bubba heard ya Larry.

Bubba J slides out of the ring and begins giving chase to The Phoenix. Phoenix grabs the time keeper at ringside

QUALITY. All your cool this thing con. Tried pharmacy canada university Buy on: than home. I which us. Scent. I douse pharmacy in canada skin from very an dry application at.

and shoves her in front of another haymaker from Bubba just in time, making Bubba knock her out cold. Bubba checks on her quickly but looks to Phoenix, who incidentally has grabbed the bell and chucks it at Bubba. Bubba gets cracked in the face and hits the ground, and this is when Phoenix moves in to capitalize. The Phoenix lifts Bubba J up and leaves him prone before locking in a sleeper hold at ringside. Phoenix wrenches the hold and seemingly scoffs at the immense booing from the crowd.

Linzi Martin: Don’t think these fans paid to see a sleeper hold.

One fan chucks a beer can at The Phoenix’s head which causes Phoenix to go of the hold and stand up to confront him. But The Phoenix isn’t a rookie nor a fool and quickly turns to grab Bubba J by the neck and head and lift him up before DDTing him hard onto the ground and onto that beer can, crushing it on his face and finally busting Bubba open. Bubba with a few quick lefts and rights from the ground is revitalized by the sudden bleeding and forces Phoenix away. Phoenix quickly slides back into the ring. Bubba is right in behind him and lunges at him, clothesline takes Phoenix down. Bubba climbs up to the middle turnbuckle and as The Phoenix gets to his feet, Bubba goes for a double ax handle smash BUT referee Alan Stone gets shoved in the way by the Phoenix! Alan goes down hard, and The Phoenix with a quick dropkick on Bubba as he gets up has him down momentarily.

Linzi Martin: That Rob Rob is a dick.

The Phoenix quickly back up but so is Bubba J.

Larry Gordon: Might be, but here’s to him being a victorious one!

The Phoenix kicks Bubba in the gut and sets him up, THE FLAME!!! Phoenix drags the referee closer to Bubba J and covers Bubba.

Linzi Martin: Alan is still out of it a bit.

Phoenix, while maintaining cover over Bubba J grabs referee Alan Stone’s hand and begins counting.




But no music begins to play, and Alan Stone is only now holding his head and wondering what’s going on. Bubba J is still a bit dazed but The Phoenix is demanding his belts. He quickly realizes no one is going to count that terrible bullshit. Phoenix turns around and is met with a kick to the gut of his own from Bubba J- TRAILER PARK TRASH! Bubba quickly hooks the leg!




Alan Stone made the count of his own volition, and calls for the bell. After a moment, the time keeper finds it, picks it up and


Bubba J has his hand raised and The Phoenix rolls out of the ring and grabs his titles. The Phoenix looks to the entrance ramp, perhaps waiting some hooded friends to come however security is what comes and they point at him.

Linzi Martin: If I’m hearing this right in my headset, Adrian has demanded The Phoenix being ejected from the building!

Security approaches Phoenix to inform him that he is, in fact, be ejected from the Underground Arena.

Larry Gordon: Apparently Adrian doesn’t want another Thomas Manchester Black incident as seen at the end of PWA’s London’s Burning.

Security waits for the Phoenix to begin walking away, as Bubba J gets a beer in the ring and climbs the middle turnbuckle to salute Phoenix before chugging it. The crowd cheers Bubba and The Phoenix shakes his head, raising both his World Championships high for the crowd to see before disappearing backstage.

Linzi Martin: Bubba coming up with a HUGE victory here over the great Phoenix.

Larry Gordon: And it looks like there will be no sacrifice of Bubba J or anyone else tonight in REBEL Pro.

Linzi Martin: That garbage might fly in the PWA, but not here Larry!

We fade backstage with one last shot of Bubba drinking yet another beer.

Foreplay In The Bowels of the Underground Arena!

The bowels of the UX Arena are alive with the sound of foreplay. That’s what these segments are. An attempt to get the fans arousal for matches that more often than not have been thrown together willy nilly. Old Man Kalis is clearly having fun with his new toys. He stuffs dynamite up their asses to see if they’ll survive. Cruel cold little taskmaster, ain’t he? But whatevs. Here we are back in Nevada in a still newish backdrop for Rebel Pro viewers with a grappling goddess that’s newish to Underground X fans. It all balances out in the end.

“Hellote, Macca!”

Frantic wave by Anna. And no, we have absolutely no clue why she’s dressed up as a penguin. I bet she doesn’t either, to be honest.

“Eye realize that we doan’t know each utter sew yer going to continue being drunk. Dat’s usually fine xcept I just realized that we haven’t really done very well inn introducing ourselves azza hole. Sure, ya know the Cycunt that runs the place and mayhaps hiz kids, Mopey Cunt and Yeast Infected Cunt. They hang around with Highlander Cunt four some reason.”

Le penguin shrug. Fuck knows.

“You’ve alsew rassled a few like artist formally known as Dale Petty Cunt. But sum ov us knned moar of a hello lyke Mavrick Cunt. Thar’s also GoldieCunt and InfernoCunt and Justin Cunt wit his flabby mananger. Ev’ry wonce inna while, we have an English Muffin Cunt and a Masked Cunt. They seemed to have died again doo to my surpemeness. There’s anutter cunt raoming ‘round talking about aliens and sugaries sumtymes. CageyCunt isn’t ours. Yoo can have him.”

Gag. It’s probably the facepaint. Or the fact that he sucks. Or the fact that he’s useless. A production guy tries to sneak by in the background. It doesn’t work as Anna turns around and points.

“Wat’s ur nayme?”

Production dood jumps a good fifteen and a half feet over the sheer enthusiasm of that question. He shuffles his feet and blinks in response.

“Know cereal. What’s your name?”

He tries to scurry away, but the poor bastard stepped into an electric trap.



“…Aiiiiieeeeee? What kinda name ish dat?”
The headtilt follows it up. She turns towards us again just as the Puppets gang up like a pack of damn wolves and beat him with piñata sticks. They love the smell of fresh blood. Despite the screaming and beating and other such noises, our Dodo Queen smiles with obvious give no fuckness.

“An then there’s mii! The Kooky Cunt wif the cursed cunt. Pleasure to meet ur aquaitance.”

She shakes the invisible Macca hand. It’s there somewhere much like everything else. Everything else like the Holy Grail, Domino’s Pizza, and the two belts she currently has hiding under a rock somewhere in Mormon county. Centuries from now, a jackoff will uncover these shiny thinsg and proclaim them to be the lost word of God because he’s an illiterate dumbfuck. He’ll say that something about black people being cursed and polygamy being a-OK and that GAWD N JEEBUS are just roosting on a planet with many virgins. All this and they’ll never know that it’s just the Aggression and Tag Team titles waiting for their proper owner to return and make ‘em disappear.

But you don’t know that yet. Don’t tell anybody. Shhhhh.

“There’s cake on the table rite over there.”

No lie either. There actually is cake. There’s always cake in a Rebel Pro show. It’s like, ya know…right behind you, dude. How about you get yourself a bite and hope it doesn’t bite back? Pffft. Who am I kidding? It always bites back with addictiveness. This one is special though. It glows like nuclear waste and sprinkles pixie dust all over the place. Mmmmm. Death via glitter.

“Und that’s et really. Ya know, I should make a list ov olive us. Woold mak it easier…”

While Anna plots on how to assimilate these new freaks in with the old freaks, let’s watch something completely different.

Puppet Marty

The feint sounds of the crowd coming to life can be heard as the jumbo screen shows Macca backstage getting prepared for his match. Just as he finishes putting on his wife beater singlet, Macca’s attention is caught by a knock at the door. The Cunster walks over an opens it up before taking a look to his left and then his right before looking down.

Marty! You crazy bastard I thought you were dead!

The camera pans down to show us a stuffed duck with a suitcase sitting beside it. The duck does indeed look to be alive (well as a live as a stuffed duck can be) but in very poor shape. He has stitch marks all over his little yellow body and is now rocking an eye patch that would make Simon Kalis proud.

Where are my manners mate, come in.

Reaching down to scoop up the stuffed animal and his luggage, Macca shuffles back into the locker room before kicking the door shut behind him. Placing Marty down on a bench the cunt begins to speak to his old friend once more.

Man, I seriously thought you had died when El Hijo de Pollo threw you out of the ring. How the hell did you manage to survive that one anyway?

The only reply we get is a blank stare from the glass buttons that are the ducks eyes but you would think he was chatting his little head off with the way Macca is acting. Listening (to what?) intently, Macca gives a nod every now and then sometimes even a laugh or a sound of shock from the little ducks tale.

Fucking hell man. To think you could get through all that. You’re a beast Marty! What brings you to REBEL anyway? Thinking of finally following up on that singles career you where talking about or just here for a visit?

Again nothing from the duck.

CCW you say? And how is that going?

He isn’t saying anything Macca!

CLINT was it? And evil Disney characters?

One possibly two people at most will even get that joke!

I don’t mean to be rude Marty but you have caught me at a bad time. I’m actually getting ready for my match tonight.

Marty gets up and puts a reassuring wing over Macca’s shoulder….. lol j/ks he’s a stuffed duck. He doesn’t do shit.

Yeah it is against Anna Matthews. How did you know that?

Macca stares at the duck for a moment before turning his attention to the suitcase that Marty arrived with. He walks over towards it before turning to Marty once more.

You dug up some stuff on her? You’re a fucking hero Marty. Let’s see what ya got.

Macca flips open the locks of the suitcase before throwing the top open. Inside the suitcase is a single piece of paper. Reaching for it, Macca examines the piece of paper before turning back to the duck.

Why would you have a whole suitcase for a single piece of paper?

The duck just stares at the wall because Macca isn’t even in the fucking things line of sight anymore.

Oh yeah. That actually makes a lot of sense.

Macca turns his eyes back to the sheet of paper in his hands. Glancing over the piece of paper the Cuntsters eyes suddenly darken.

What the fuck type of research is this Marty?

The piece of paper gets thrown to the floor. The camera is able to quickly get a view of what is on the paper before Macca stomps on it. ‘She has nice tits.’ Picking the duck up, Macca gets right up in its grill (or is that bill? Hahaha awesome!).

How the hell is that supposed to help me?

Still nothing from the duck in case you were wondering.

I was already planning on going for a grope mid match anyway you faggot! How did you even write that note anyway? You don’t even have opposable thumbs. You’re a stuffed duck remember cunt!

And with that Macca hurls the ducks body across the room. Hitting the wall with a soft thud Marty drops down onto the bench along the wall, laying down on his side. A grin of accomplishment makes its way onto Macca’s face as he goes to leave, until he turns back to face the duck once more.

Say that again cunt.

Say what again? How has this been going on for so long?

Like a bolt of lightning, Macca launches himself towards Marty but ends up slipping up on the piece of paper that started this fight. stumbling forward and trying to regain his footing, Macca ends up unsuccessful and trips over and lands skull first into the bench before rolling off and landing on the ground. The force of the impact is enough to shake Marty off of the bench and perch him on top of Macca’s head. Laying there for a moment while nursing his head, Macca tries to catch his breath.

Ok, so maybe I deserved that. I know Robb used to treat you like that and that was not cool. I am sorry. Still mates?

If this was anybody else a tear would be falling from their eyes right now over how touching Macca is being but no, it’s just a stuffed fucking duck. It does nothing.

Ok Marty, let’s do this.

And with that the two exit the room and begin to make their way to the ring.

Non-Title Match

Macca versus Anna Mathews

“Collingwood Football Club” brings the impeccable cuntster, Macca, out with Marty in-hand. Not for long, because Macca, although a huge football fan, opts to throw Marty like an American football player! Holy fuck, big deal, right? Marty flies through the air from atop the entranceway all the way toward the commentator’s table, bouncing off a ring post and then the table itself in the process, but safely landing atop Linzi’s shoulder, to her delight.


Larry Gordon: “In recent weeks, Macca defeated The Phoenix and Bubba J. Both men are either current or former World Heavyweight Champions. In a few minutes, Macca will fight another former world champion but current aggression champion, Anna Mathews, in our main event of the evening.”

Linzi Martin: “Gawd, Marty, it’s such a pleasure to have you with us.”

Larry Gordon: “And here comes the Champion, now. I can’t tell who these fans adore more! Macca has settled nicely in REBEL, but this is Anna’s territory.”

Linzi Martin: “Thanks for asking, Marty. I’m decent. Things could be better, but can’t complain, you know? Haha, of course you know, my friend. You’ve done it all, haven’t you? Hey, you should tell the story of when you taught Bill Clinton how to keep the economy afloat. Nah, the viewers won’t mind irrelevant subject matter. Commentators go off-topic all the time in pro’ wrestling,”

Larry Gordon: “Not in REBEL. Do your damn job, Linzi.”

Linzi Martin: “No need for that, Marty. I can handle some drinks.”

Referee John Chellios takes the Aggression belt from Anna and then raises it for all to see. Who knows why since this is a non-title match, and Gordon makes sure to acknowledge that. But it’s John, and he’s known to play by his own rules. Fuck you, Robinson! Anyway, Anna and Macca feel each other out by circling, and then when they hook up, Macca slips his hand onto Anna’s thigh, reaching for a grope, but she instantly knees him in the abdomen! Unleashing a ball of violence upon Macca’s cuntish mug, Anna inevitably spinning headscissors Macca across the ring, and when he lifts himself onto one knee, Anna’s savate kick pushes Macca to stagger backward into a nearby corner. A missile dropkick into the same corner soon follows.

Linzi Martin: “If four or more points are vertices of the convex hull, any four such points can be chosen? Marty, that’s brilliant! I never knew you solved the Happy Ending problem. Will you have a crack at the Brumer–Stark conjecture?”

Larry Gordon: “Why are you suddenly not doing your job?”

Linzi Martin: “You’re right, Marty. I’ve not seen. Is it really that good? Must be if AMC decided to bring it back. Honestly, “the Killing” doesn’t sound like a promising premise, but I’ll give it a shot.”

Handspring back elbow is narrowly avoided because Macca ducked, so Anna crash-landed flat on her back. Macca drops the leg and lateral presses, but doesn’t grope a feel on Anna’s boob, despite the clear opportunity. She kicks out before a single count and immediately elbows Macca’s skull! Sticking in there, Macca fights back by punching Anna repeatedly as hard as he could in her midsection, to stand and stomp her stomach as if he’d be aborting a baby. Pulling a weakened Anna to her feet, Macca whips her into the ropes, and when she returns, Macca lifts and slams her with a Samoan drop! NOPE! Midway of sequence, Anna reverses for a crucifix driver! Macca nearly stays pinned for the third count but luckily escapes by a millisecond! Anna kip ups before Macca, giving her ability to dragonrana him for another near-fall. Next, when both stand, Macca swings for a clothesline, but Anna avoids by low diving a shoulder into his midsection. Macca bends forward as result. Meanwhile, Anna tries schoolboying the Cuntster, but he drops onto his knees instead and elbows Anna in the forehead! Lifting Anna onto his shoulders, Macca unloads a torpedo via fireman’s carry dropped into a football kick to the skull!! That makes the three count easy to secure.

Much like last week, “Collingwood Football Club” theme music plays, announcing Macca as winner, but the beer bash in the audience did a better job of declaring. Drink up, Cunt!

All Falls Down

A camera crew quietly slips into the office of Simon Kalis, commandeered for the evening by young Adrian Kalis. Simon sits across Adrian, pleading his case.

Simon Kalis: Now is not the time for petty inner squabbles. You paying attention to what’s happening, Adrian?

Adrian Kalis: Yeah. Are you?

Simon Kalis: You can’t hold me over a different standard than Rob Robinson. It’s time to call the ba-

Adrian Kalis: Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan for The Phoenix to remind him of his place when it comes down to it. And we both know it will come down to it.

The camera pans around in the room, and on the left of the desk Adrian and Simon sit at, Benjamin Dyce is leaning back in a plush leather couch with Maya on his lap and the PWA Grizzly Beer title on his shoulder. He nods in agreement.

Benjamin Dyce: Ay. We cunt bunted his Hall of Fame ass once, we’ll do it up again should that need arise.

Simon Kalis: And his two goons? Do you have any idea who they are?

Adrian Kalis: Relax, old man. You need to lighten up. Have a drink, we’ve got an unlimited supply of Grizzly Beer thanks to Benji.

Benjamin Dyce: Ay, it’s happy hour every hour tonight lads.

Dyce raises a can in cheers and then takes a chug.

Simon Kalis: War is coming, Adrian.

Adrian Kalis: War is always coming with you, old man. Besides…

Adrian opens the right side desk drawer and pulls out a business card and slides it over to Simon.

Adrian Kalis: I believe we can make allies.

Simon picks up the card and then looks back up at Adrian.

Adrian Kalis: Let The Phoenix bring on his sacrifice brigade, I say. Conflict makes strange bedfellows.

Simon Kalis: This is the number for Paul Alba…

Adrian nods as we fade to the REBEL Pro logo and out…


Allen Chaney defeats Jeremy Gold & Bobby Lee
Fine Wine defeat The Uproars and win $100,000 cash!
Jake Norton defeats Justin Case in the Den of Damnation
Sean Robinson defeats Jonathan Cage and thus Cage is fired from REBEL Pro
Bubba J defeats The Phoenix
Macca defeats Anna Mathews

Golden Inferno

Golden Inferno

Members canadian pharmacyis cialis over the counter in canada Jeremy Gold and The [fake] Inferno

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Combined Weight – 380lbs

Theme music order viagra – “”Firestarter” generic viagra prices by Prodigy

Team Finisher: Golden Inferno Shower

Tag Team Finisher Description: Jeremy Gold begins his finisher the “Golden Shower” where he spits Red Bull into the opponents eyes, however with this move he will spit gasoline and then hit his sit down face buster and as the opponent rolls over, Inferno will set them on fire.

Fine Wine

Fine Wine

Members – Mark McNasty and Alex Wilkie

Combined Weight – 526lbs

Theme music – “Cult of Personality” – Living Colour

Team Signatures moves -

“The Hangover” – Wilkie hits his Total Awesome Knockout, and just as the poor victim stands up for just a second, McNasty hits the lightsout forearm to the back of the opponents head!

“Sault Splash Pin” – Wilkie sets up for his Frog Splash, while McNasty hits his Sault Slam, instead of simpson quotesalli couponwebsite

pinning, he lets Wilkie hit his frogsplash and they both pin at the same time.

Newswire 11-24-2012

Friday afternoon in a North Carolina district court, Simon Kalis filed a lawsuit on behalf of REBEL Pro Wrestling against the President of the Pioneer Wrestling Association, Rob Robinson as well as Matt Stone, naming both individuals as well as the PWA itself in a copyright infringement case. Simon Kalis cites the unauthorized use of the old

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REBEL Pro World Heavyweight Championship, which was never returned upon Matt Stone’s termination from the company although it is company property. While Simon Kalis would not elaborate on the details of the lawsuit, he did formally state that “Copyright infringement is the unauthorized use of works under copyright, infringing the copyright holder’s “exclusive rights”, such as the right to reproduce, distribute, display or perform the copyrighted work, spread the information contained within copyrighted works, or to make derivative works. It often refers to copying “intellectual property” without written permission from the copyright holder, which is typically a publisher or other

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the work’s creator.” He emphasized the word display on purpose, we imagine, to show the basis for this lawsuit.

Currently this is all the information availible. We will keep you updated.

Newswire 11-22-2012

SO! Super Aggression: Misgivings 2012 finally went up and what a show it was! You can find it HERE! The roster has been updated, as well as title history. The next card is on the forums

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Beauregarde, Ambrose Ulysses

Ambrose Ulysses Beauregarde

HEIGHT & WEIGHT: 6’5″ & 246 lbs.
HOMETOWN: Vicksburg, Mississippi
ENTRANCE MUSIC: “O Fortuna” by Carl Orff
STYLE: Old-School/Entertainer/Dirty Heel
1. DDT
2. Swinging Neckbreaker
3. Cobra Clutch submission into a Russian Leg Sweep
4. Spinebuster off the ropes
5. The Gentleman’s Agreement (Beauregarde removes his knee-pad, stomping his foot in anticipation for his opponent to get to his feet before hitting a vicious Running Knee Lift to the

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opponent’s head as the opponent is leaning forward)
FINISHER: Dixieland Death Drop
FINISHER DESCRIPTION: Elevated Fireman’s Carry into an Over-The-Knee Neckbreaker

BIO: Ambrose Ulysses Beauregarde was born into a wealthy Mississippi family, is allegedly a distant blood relative of former Confederate Civil War general Pierre G.T. Beauregarde, and spent his high school days as the starting quarterback at the local high school. After getting a scholarship to play in the FCS-division UT-Martin Skyhawks, Ambrose was a four year letterman before coasting into graduation with a 2.65 GPA and a major in business. Despite having a spot saved for him in his father’s cotton manufacturing plant as Executive Vice-President of the company, Ambrose wanted something more. Having always been a professional-wrestling fan ever since childhood, his father sent him to train in the Carolinas for former NWA prelim wrestler George South to learn about the business. Ambrose was a natural in the ring and had the innate ability to make a crowd absolutely hate his guts with his “Southern gentleman” gimmick, breaking rules

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and drawing white-hot heat on a nightly basis all over the Mid-South indy scene, along with his former Ole Miss cheerleader & former beauty queen wife, “The Darling Of Dixie” Jessie Rae Beauregarde. Recently, Larry Gordon offered Ambrose a contract to go national with REBEL Pro along with his wife and together the two of them plan a bit of a “REBEL Renaissance” of sorts to take the wrestling world by storm.

APPEARANCE: In-Ring: White Jerry Lawler-style singlet with gold dollar signs on the pant legs and gold tassels on the white boots.

Out-Of-Ring: Always immaculately dressed in an all-white business suit a la Tom Wolfe complete with white Oxfords and a black or red bolo tie and white hat with a black rim and a red feather on the side.

Physical Appearance: Shaved head, slightly long auburn red goatee, blue eyes, somewhat of an average build with some baby fat and no muscle to him.

Does your wrestler have a manger? Heck yes!
Does your manager cheat? Heck yes!
Does your manager carry a weapon? Primarily a brick-loaded Gucci bag, sometimes a bottle of bourbon whiskey

MANAGER’S NAME:Jessie Rae Beauregarde
MANAGER’S APPEARANCE: Long-White formal dress with a tiara and a sash saying “The Darling Of Dixie” while holding either a bottle of bourbon or a brick-loaded Gucci bag



HEIGHT & WEIGHT: 5’6″ 145
HOMETOWN: Jacksonville N.C
ENTRANCE MUSIC: Nickleback-hero
STYLE: Gymnastic.
1) Standing full twist splash. 2) double twist off top rope splash. 3) kick flip off rival’s chest spear. 4) back tuck star splash 5) front full twist splash.

FINISHER: Round off twisting star splash
FINISHER DESCRIPTION: A gymnastic round off into a balled up full twist spin open up into a star splash and land on rival.

BIO: I have been a street tumbler my whole life and can’t find anything to challege my personality I’ve lived pain and been a wrestling fan since 98. C-Luke is my real nickname and I’d like to help wrestling be more real with the characters. My punch line is me and ima stay that way while their trying to be everybody else.


Chaney, Allen

‘The Comedian’ Allen Chaney

HEIGHT & WEIGHT: 6’4 330 pounds
HOMETOWN: Overland Park, KS
ENTRANCE MUSIC: ‘The Mob Goes Wild’ by Clutch
STYLE: Brawling, Power, Hardcore.
I’m putting ten, because REBELLION!
Snap Suplex, Big Damn Clothesline, Big Boot, Scoop slam, Boston Crab, Double Arm DDT, Gutwrench Powerbomb, Bridging Fisherman Suplex, Standing leg drop.

‘The Set-up’: Bionic Elbow, used either to set up for his finisher or in succession to take out groups of people.
FINISHER: ‘The Punchline’, ‘WTFFF’, ‘Mencia-Cook Style’
FINISHER DESCRIPTION: The Punchline: Package Piledriver

WTFFF (Watch That Fat Fuck Fly!): A moonsault.

Mencia-Cook Style: Allen steals his opponents finisher. Claims

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BIO: Once described as ‘If The Incredible Hulk told dick jokes’. Allen is a Hyper-violent Blue Collar Stand-up comic that was trained by REBEL Pro veteran Johnny Maverick. He shocked the world by beating Matt Stone and Anna Mathews for the AOWF World Title Outside of the ring Allen is the funny fat guy you always like having around. He’s nice (if a bit vulgar at times) and loves making people laugh. Inside of the ring Allen has a mean streak a mile wide. In his real life he has a lot of frustrations and he seems to gleefully get them out of his system in the ring.

Since his last match in UX, Allen has lost nearly 30 pounds and appears to have put on a bit more muscle. He’s still losing weight every day.



Ring Gear: Black Boots, Black Kneepads, Red or black Dickies shorts, Black t-shirt with bloody smiley face ‘Watchmen’ logo, Sleeveless black flannel shirt, taped hands and wrists. Elbow pad on right elbow.