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!
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.”
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.
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!
Wilkie: ON ONE CONDITION!
Santa and McNasty look at Wilkie with surprise.
Wilkie:…I want a ton of Twinkies before they disappear forever.
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?
McNasty: SHOULDN’T YOU BE EATING TWINKIES?
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: 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.
Xbox 360 is better Allen(EVEN YO SEG TITLES ARE BIASED AGAINST U!)
“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.
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.
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.
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.
Her eyes narrow. Those buttons that act as eyes stay wide. With a florish, the cake disappears.
“No cake for joo!”
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.
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