We see the typical HT opening, with the IWO logo and the heart beating three times and then it exploding and all that good stuff there. The arena is then shown, with the crowd panning and showing all the purty drunken idiots while "Hell Yeah" by the Bloodhound Gang plays. Many people in the crowd are holding up signs such as "Syphon Fission Owed Me $40, So He Better Not Be Dead" and ... well, use your imagination, you lazy bastard. The camera cuts to GP and JT, who are sitting at the announce table, which for a change of pace is made entirely of mini-Bop Its glued together.
JT : Hey, um, why is our announce table like this?
GP : Budget cuts.
JT : How is making an announce table entirely out of mini-Bop Its less expensive than using the tables we already have?
GP : It just is.
JT : Makes sense.
GP : Oh yeah, I forgot. Fans, WELCOME TO HOSTILE TAKEOVER!!
JT : Oh, you don't have to keep acting so excited. You know damn well no one's watching.
GP : Yeah ... well ... anyway, we still have a great show tonight! We'll see the return of the Extreme title, which will be decided when the two friends Mad Max and Schitzo Tod do battle! Also, we've got more preliminary Gold & Glory Tournament matches, on the road to determining a new World champion!
JT : Hey, we should give our World title a nifty name, like the WWE call theirs the Unified.
GP : Yeah, well, we're way too lazy for that.
JT : Yeah, I guess we are.
GP : Tonight, we've also got the tag team debut of the Nation of Retardation, Bob Job and Pen. That should be ... well, not "good," per se, but it'll be something, I can tell you that much.
JT : Bad?
GP : Quite possibly, yes. But first, our commissioner has got some kind of announcement.
JT : Man, I thought he was dead.
GP : Why would you think that?
JT : Well, I guess it was just wishful thinking.
The camera cuts backstage to AWS Commish (also known as Dictator)'s office: a public bathroom with a desk in the middle of it. The commissioner glances at the camera and hastily fastens a clip-on tie to his collar that could probably cause epileptic seizures in young children (the tie, that is, though I'm not saying the collar couldn't if it wanted to). He stares into the camera and flashes a big phony politician grin, the effect of which is lost since he's wearing a paintball mask.
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Good evening, ladies and freakin' not-so-gentlemen! Hoho~! I'm so freakin' funny I slay me! How do I think these up?... Oh yeah, Pen writes them freakin' for me. Oh, uh, anyway, I unfortunately have some tragic news today. IWO President Tom Ford has had to freakin' call in sick with Parkinson's Disease. At least, I think it was freakin' Parkinson's. I wasn't really paying attention, cause while he was talking I got distracted by that commercial for that product, where the stuff happens! Not too sure what it's for, but it's a freakin' funny one, let me tell you!
Pen : ...
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Oh yeah, the Aleve one! Hahaha, the elderly thinking they're people. That freakin' cracks me up every time. So anyway, I think Ford says he's dying or something, which is freakin' good news after all, because it means that puts me in full control! Oooohhh, this is gonna be so much freakin' fun! We can stay up all night telling ghost stories, and none of you audience members had better fall asleep, or you're waking up with your hand in warm water and some of your toes missing! Ohhh, I love that gag freakin'. So don't you freakin' go anywhere, because this party's just getting-
Suddenly, a bunch of loud popping sounds start going off all around the commissioner's desk.
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Ahhh! We're under freakin' attack!
The Insane One dives out of his desk and into a nearby stall. The camera turns around to show former North American champion Harold Hash, holding a box of those little things that you throw on the ground and they make really loud popping sounds so that stupid people think they're getting a whip cracked at them or something.
Hash: Shoot me with a Pie Bazooka will you. Well you have met your match my not-so-friendly friend. You will never forget the name of...
Hash looks at the package to read TNT brand Moron Poppers.
Hash: ..TNT brand Moron Poppers.
Hash then goes and leaves but throws the rest of the poppers on the ground. AWS Man (also known as Dictator.) spazzes out like The Rock over selling a move. The show goes to commercial break, but not before Rob Kestler throws a whole bucket of rubber chickens at Hash for always coming into his house and eating all his pie.
Bungle is stomping around backstage, he seems to be really upset, he starts to scratch his arse when he pulls out a tampax he looks at it and throws it on the floor.
Bungle: This means only one thing!
Bungle walks off...he comes back on again and picks the tampax up and eats it.
We cut somewhere else backstage, where we see Jack and Aubrey Breaker, wandering the halls aimlessly. Jack is carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder and a smallish green cardboard box in the other hand.
Aubrey: ...wait a second, explain to me again why we're even here tonight. You don't have a match... Jake doesn't have a match... I don't even wrestle... so what's up?
Jack: Well, Bob Job has a match tonight, and he usually needs me to pick the eggshells out of his hair after he loses..
Aubrey interupts him in mid-thought.
Aubrey: How does the eggshell get in his hair?
Jack continues, paying Aubrey's query no mind.
Jack: ..Plus, this gives me a chance to finish something that I should've done a long time ago.
He brandishes the cardboard box proudly. Aubrey takes a good look and sighs audibly.
Aubrey: Oh, Jack, no. Not the jigsaw puzzle again. You promised me no more. Not after... the incident...
Jack: You don't understand. I HAVE to do this. It's my duty as a human being. What kind of example would I be setting if I let this thing go unsolved?
Aubrey: I don't think anyone really cares about the puzzle...
Jack: Oh, but they do! You know that Joey Malone guy? He polishes off like two or three of these things an hour!
Jack: The point is, if I don't finish this puzzle tonight, then next thing you know, we're all speaking French in one of those German prisoner-of-war camps.
Aubrey: Prisoner o... what?
Jack: I dunno. I was just watching 'The Great Escape' last night and it stuck with me.
Aubrey: Didn't I tell you to stay away from that Steve McQueen? I don't want you getting any ideas.
Jack hangs his head in shame.
Jack: No, ma'am. Sowwy.
The show goes back to the announcers, for stuff.
Bob Job & Pen vs. Those Damned Mexicans
GP: Well. This next match looks to be action... oh, who am I kidding? It's Bob Job and a friggin' spatula versus their intellectual equal, Those Damn Mexicans. Let's go to Meygon to just get this thing over with.
Meygon starts her spiel in the ring, animosity towards the comming entourage of stupidity ever-present.
Meygon: The following contest is sheduled for one excruciating headache. Making thier way to the ring first, from a remote part of Lichten... oh, come on! Do I really have to say this? Ugh. Here are that Bob guy and a fucking SPATULA named Pen... The Nation of Retardation.
"Hyakugojuuichi" starts playing as Bob appears on the stage, weilding Pen in his right hand and half a baloney sandwich in his left. A small but steady chant of "CORY FELDMAN~!" starts up in the immediate ringside area. Bob hops up onto the apron, slips, and lands head-first on the ground. After some concentration, he manages to climb into the ring. He poses and elicts a small pop from the crowd. He then retreats to his corner and rests Pen carefully on the turnbuckle.
Meygon: Making their way to the ring next, from... uhm... Mexico, I guess... weighing in at a combined weight of... jeez, I'm a real bad judge of weight... I'll say eleven trillion pounds... Diablo and Edguardo, those Damn Mexicans. Whoo hoo.
Meygon retreats to ringside and quickly downs a bottle of Tylenol as TDM's theme hits and the Mexicans hit the ramp to a thunderous boo. They charge angrily to the ring and slide in, posing on the turnbuckles to a tremendous negative reaction. They hop down and the bell rings.
GP: And this match is underway... much to the chagrin of just about everyone in attendance.
Bob turns away from Pen and stares up at the faces of the Mexicans. He raises his fists in readiness. Diablo turns to Edguardo and they laugh hysterically in Bob's face. Bob takes a step back, and unleashes a tremendous triple-backflip and turns into a spinning heel kick. The audience gasps in amazement as he comes about eighteen inches short of Diablo's face and he hits the mat with a resounding thud. Edguardo saunters casually to the apron as Diablo pulls Bob to his feet effortlessly. He hoists him up in a powerbomb position, and simply tosses him off his shoulders. Bob sails across the ring and lands on the far turnbuckle. Pen, who had been resting on top of said turnbuckle, falls on Bob's head. The ref signals a tag, and forces Bob onto the apron. Diablo, clearly amused, turns to Edguardo and strikes up a conversation. He is suddenly struck in the back of the head by Pen.
GP: OH MY GOD! Did you see that incredible dropkick by Pen?
JT: Oh, shut up! Bob Job just threw him across the ring. He's a fucking SPATULA, for crying out loud!
GP: ..I was TRYING to create an aura of mystery, thank you very much.
Diablo picks Pen up and seems to engage himself in some sort of mock test of strength. Pen seems to be winning. Diablo suddenly collapses to the mat, Pen resting on his chest. The ref drops to his knees and counts.
GP: Okay, that was just a little too close. If Diablo - a former tag champion, mind you - can't kick out from under the weight of a spatula, then what is that saying for the integrity of the rest of the tag division?
JT: Everyone knows that the tag division has been going downhill since... uhm... it's conception.
GP: Good point.
In the ring, Bob Job is stretching to reach Pen for a tag. He does so, and slides in with Diablo. He charges and lowers his shoulder for a spear, but goes a little too low and collides with Diablo's ankles. Bob lands on his face and Diablo quickly lands a few soccer kicks to his side. Diablo then tags Edguardo as Bob works his way upright. Diablo whips him into the ropes, and he rebounds right into Edguardo's waiting arms. He lifts him up and nails a tilt-a-whirl sideslam. Diablo returns to his corner while Edguardo starts working into Bob with some stiff right hands. Bob catches one fist in his hands, twists the arm around behind Edguardo's back, and snaps in a front headlock. Edguardo drives with his shoulder and slams Bob into the turnbuckle. Bob goes limp in the corner, and Edguardo backs up. He raises his arms to the fans, who react with thick animosity. Edguardo then charges at Bob with a flying forearm. Bob quickly grabs Pen from the nearby ground and holds him up in front of his face. Edguardo collides with Pen and drops to the mat in agony.
GP: Oh, Jesus Christ. It's a SPATULA! It can't hurt that much!
JT: Woah, Greggy. Calm down. Did you take your pills this morning?
GP: I mixed a bottle of Flinstones vitamins in with my corn flakes.
JT: Okay, that's probably not too good for you.
GP: I like the purple ponies, mommy.
We cut back to the ring, where we see Bob Job, standing cautiously on the top rope. Edguardo is lying curled up in a fetal position on the mat in front of him. Bob takes one good bounce and lands a body splash on Edguardo's prone figure. He then covers.
GP: Kickout! Edguardo kicked out!
JT: Yeah, I know. Everyone SAW it. You don't need to say it!
GP: That's my JOB, dumbass.
JT: Well, you're not doing a very good job of it. Dumber-ass.
GP: Dumber... what?
JT: You heard me.
GP: Unfortunatley, I did.
Back in the ring. Bob Job has Edguardo in a standing headscissors. He gut-wrenches, but Edguardo simply back body drops him and he hits the mat stiffly. Edguardo tags Diablo, and they double-team Bob, nailing consecutive Hulk Hogan-style leg drops. Edguardo then retreats back to the apron, leaving Diablo to fend off the one-man Lichtensteinean invasion known as Bob Job. He does so in the form of a one-handed swinging chokeslam, sending Bob reeling back into the corner. Diablo backs up, as if preparing for something tremendous. He charges and lets loose with a twisting body splash. He connects but hits nothing but turnbuckle, for Bob had been conveniently misplaced at the last second.
GP: What? Where is Bob Job?
The camera pans across the ringside area, where we see a gigantic pasty-white guy. He's fat - like, very bulbous and plump. The camera zooms in further to reveal...
JT: What the hell? Santa Claus?
GP: Well, it looks like Bob Job has been saved by Santa... and I really wish there was something unusual about that.
Bob Job: I knew you'd come to rescue me, Santa! You got my letter, after all!
Bob Job quickly rolls into the ring, where Diablo is standing dumbfounded. Edguardo rushes in to help his partner, but Santa intercepts him with a candy cane shot to the head. Edguardo goes down as Bob sneaks in a cradle on Diablo.
GP: There's the lucky pinfall! Bob Job might actually win a match! What the hell is going on, here?!
Meygon: Here are your winners.... no! No, I am not saying this! This is absurd. *sigh* Bob Job and Pen, ladies and gentlemen. Shoot me now, please. Please.
Bob, Pen, and Santa celebrate in the ring as the Mexicans glare at them from a safe distance away. Cause, you know, noone wants to mess with Santa.
Camera cuts backstage to the men's toilets, the toilet cubical door swings open and Bungle walks out holding something, its not clear what it is to the camera.
Bungle: Blue...OH GOD NO!
Bungle drops the plastic object on the floor and runs off, he back seconds later and picks the plastic thing up and puts it in his mouth.
We cut elsewhere backstage, to Jack Breaker's dressing room. We see him pacing the length of the room, stopping periodically to look at the jumbled mess of puzzle pieces on the table to his left. Aubrey is half-asleep on the small sofa, watching TV.
Jack: They should really put a warning label on these things, you know. This can't be good for my mental health.
Aubrey: I told you, Jack. Just put it away. It's not worth the anguish.
Jack: [Almost in tears] But it's just not FAIR! All those little pieces! They don't fit! They just won't fit together! And I try, oh God, do I try! But it JUST DOESN'T FIT!
Aubrey: Yeah. How `bout that. Well, I'm gonna go get a soda from the caterer's table. Do you want anything?
Jack: How about a sledgehammer?
Aubrey: I don't think they have those at the caterer's table.
Aubrey gets up to leave. She stops for a second and glances at the puzzle. Without much thought or effort, she snaps together a rather large section of pieces. Jack stares at her, incredulous.
Jack: How did you.... how the... h... kill me. Just kill me now, please.
Aubrey: I might just have to. Now. I'm going for a soda, and when I get back, I want to see all of this put away. Okay?
Jack: I can't do that. It has begun. There is no turning back now. I... the puzzle... we are one.
Aubrey: When we get home, I am going to set fire to all of those puzzles in the closet.
Jack: Would you just as soon set fire to our child?
Aubrey: We don't have a child.
Jack: Would you just as soon set fire to... uhm... an adorable puppy dog named Scruffy?
Aubrey exits, and Jack turns to pore over the puzzle again.
Taped earlier this week
The office of Thomas Ford was greeted by the sound of his door knocking. Ford looked up, and sighed.
Tom Ford: Come in.
Thomas went back to work and allowed the man to walk into his makeshift office. The man stood in front of him in silence, and waited for Ford to look back up. This lasted about a minute, before the man coughed to get his attention.
Thomas looked back up.
Ford: Yes, what do you want?
Guy: Mr. Ford, sir... uh, I came here because I was promoted?
Ford thought he recognized this kid. The odd hair colouring, the ponytail, the tights... it's the same kid that one of the road managers mentioned. But he had to make sure.
Ford: What's your name?
Man: Coral Avalon. *flinching* ...don't laugh at the name, please.
Tom Ford scratched his chin with the hand that wasn't still injured.
Ford: Odd name.
Avalon: Y-yeah, guess you could blame Mom and Dad for it.
His statement was met with much confusion from Ford. He shrugged, before he stood up and approached Avalon. Coral tilted his head at him, before he added the reason why he came by.
Avalon: I, uh... I came to finalize that contract.
It took him a second to realize what he was talking about.
Ford: Oh! Right! The contract. Certainly.
Ford reached over with his good hand and prodded a few papers into Coral's chest.
Ford: Sign here.
The scene faded as Coral signed.
Sitting in a plain office with merely a few pieces of furniture here and there, Simon Seaman was situated behind a poorly constructed desk. With his arms neatly crossed, he sat up straight and then awaited the cue to begin whatever he needed to begin. Once given clearance to speak, he adjusted his attire for a good minute before putting on the infamous smirk and turning on the 'Seaman' charm.
Simon: Ladies and gentleman of the general public as well as the Internet Wrestling Organization. I am here before you tonight to make a very important announcement, but hey...when you see this mug on television, you know it's going to be important. Uh huh, oh yeah! You got that right...
Pausing briefly to show the onlookers what he apparently had to offer, he continued.
Simon: Anyway, the announcement that I am about to give may shock, annoy, or turn you on. Seeing that the "Internet" community is watching this program, I am aware of the community's needs as well other IWO followers who may be too stupid, too poor, or too Tonya Harding to have internet access.
Tenting his fingers in front of him, Simon cleared his throat and raised his voice.
Simon: So as you know, the Gold and Glory tournament is one in which the winner will receive the IWO World Heavyweight Championship as a reward for the victor's hard work and dedication. As you saw last week on Hostile Takeover, first round matches began with the winners of those matches advancing in the tournament. Impressive battles they were indeed...especially the one that involved the animal with a supposed alternative lifestyle against a wrestler...who should consider an alternative lifestyle. Though if that doesn't equal ratings, what does really?
Shrugging his shoulders comically, he raised his arms up bewildered and unable to answer his own question. As his chair began to creak, he fiddled with it for a bit and proceeded.
Simon: Anyway, my announcement is this. As I currently sit in a chair that I actually had to bring from my home, behind this desk that is really a patio table stolen from Home Depot, and situated in this room most likely made of straw and twigs with a wolf outside it probably attempting to blow it down, I am here to tell you the winner of this so-called tournament.
Reaching down at his feet, he grabbed a set of visuals containing photos of members of the current Internet Wrestling Organization vitals and presented them beside him.
Simon: Now I could use big words to seem more intelligent and distinguished such as "intelligent" and "distinguished", but I choose not to. I'm going to tell you, straight up mind you, who will win this tournament.
Sifting through the possible candidates, he shook his head in disagreement at the choices before him.
Simon: In the process of finding possible contenders, I am aware that you need a champion that you relate to. A champion that you can call a friend. Someone who will constantly use you to get ahead, someone who will steal your boyfriend or girlfriend and leave you living alone for the rest of your pathetic life, someone who, when you're low, will smack you upside the head for being an ass. Heck, how about someone who will turn up the groovilious sounds of the Limp Bizkit when you need cheering up? Regretfully, what I see here is not what you are looking for.
Throwing the visuals throughout the room, he sat there quietly.
Simon: Therefore I am proud to tell all of you that the winner of the tournament will be none other than myself. Simon Seaman.
Kicking his feet up on the desk, almost falling off the chair in the process, Simon admired his name for a good while.
Simon: That name just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? Maybe you think that the individual with the same name of a diary product or that high flying High Flyer are just as catchy, but you know something? The world has diseases 'catchier' than those people.
Standing up from his chair and moving in front of his desk, he leaned against it and addressed the eager nation. A nation, willing to give up their kidney or their first born child, just for a few more words from the individual shown on their computer screens.
Simon: I'm guessing there is a mutual question that you men, women, and children are asking yourselves. How do you, Simon Seaman, know that you are going to win the tournament? To answer that query, I say to you this. Come in real close because I don't want others to hear.
As the camera moved in closer, Simon quickly glanced down at the ground and then started to shake the camera violently, yelling at it at the same time.
Simon: Cause I'm Simon Seaman! Do I need to spell it out for you? How ignorant can you people be? I can't believe your not putting bets on this thing already. The name is Simon Seaman. Should I sound it out or must there be captions under this shot so you can understand what I'm saying?!
Letting his emotions and temper get the best of him, Simon decided to walk away with his head high before causing a scene.
Simon: Now back to you, stellar wrestling program.
Talking to himself under his breath, he strolled on out of the room.
Simon:What do I need to do to make it any clearer? A translator? Sign language? For goodness sake...
The door was heard slamming in the background as Simon's voice was faintly present.
Simon: Calm down, just calm down. Remember what Dr. Mom said and you'll be fine. Take some Robitussin and relax.
The show switches back to the ringside area.
GP : Well, that was a tad arrogant of Seaman. I think there are many other wrestlers in the tournament that have a promising chance of winning.
JT : (Snort) Yeah, you keep believing that, Greg.
GP : What about Daniel Phillips? Don't you like him, too?
JT : Well ... err ... damn, have to choose between two heels...
Suddenly, 'Song 2' by Blur starts to play and Bungle walks out to the ring, his normal bear like happy go lucky self is not evident as the bear man climbs into the ring where he is passed a microphone.
Bungle: I'd just like to thank Tim for giving me this time....Tim the invisible Crew member said I could have as long as I wanted, and that's a good thing because I have a pretty big announcement....I'd just like to say sorry Mum....Ladies and Gentlemen....IWO....I Bungle Bear.....I am pregnant.
Bungle pulls out a condom
Bungle: Yea I know what this is now but up until last night I thought it was one of them boil in the bag meals, I suppose you want to know who the father, is well I'm afraid I can't say, as I don't really know. All I can tell you is that the father is a member of IWO......and he....is a he..
Bungle rolls out of the ring with his head hung low.
GP : Well ... Bungle's pregnant.
JT : Um ... how?
GP : Some things are better left unknown. But moving on, it's now time for our first Gold & Glory Tournament match of the night, with IWO legend Psycho Jay taking on IWO newcomer Banderas.
Gold and Glory Tournament
Banderas vs. Psycho Jay
JT : Do we really have to bother with actually having this match? It just seems like a pointless technicality to me. We should just announce Jay the winner and move on.
GP : JT, you don't KNOW Jay is going to win. He did lose at Beach Party, after all.
JT : Yeah, but Jack Breaker's actually GOOD.
GP : Banderas isn't so b- Well, OK, but Jay could always get a brain hemorrhage and fall unconscious or something.
JT : No, Greg. No.
Meygon is in the ring. Yay for slutty ring announcers!
JT : Boy howdy!
Meygon : The following contest is set for one fall, and is part of the Gold & Glory Tournament's preliminary round! Introducing first ... I don't know crap about him since his vitals page is down, except that he's Colombian and ambiguously gay ... he is BAAAAANNNNDDDEEEERRRRRAAASSSS!!!
Banderas' music, whatever the hell it is, plays as the hot pink shirt-wearing wrestler walks down to the ring to a mixed reaction from the fans. I don't know who the hell would be cheering for Banderas, but some people apparently like him.
JT : Banderas just needs to come out of the closet. Hey, I bet he's the father of Bungle's baby!
GP : JT, I don't think Bungle is really pregnant. He is MALE, after all.
JT : Oh, what with modern day technology and whatnot, minor details like that don't even matter anymore.
Meygon : And next ... a former IWO World champion ... he, um, hates Evan Levine and stuff ... he is PSYCHO JAAAYYYYYY!!!!
Jay's music, which I really should know but can't remember since the webpage is down, plays as Jay walks out to a mostly positive reaction. Some fans don't take a liking to his racist shenanigans, though, and voice their opinion. Jay waves to the fans that cheer him and flicks off the fans that boo him at the same time as he walks down the ramp. He slides into the ring and walks right up to Banderas, ready to get the match started. The bell rings as Jay shoves Banderas back into the turnbuckle with such force that Banderas staggers out, clutching his back, so that he can get run over with a clothesline from Jay.
GP : I think Jay wants to get this one over with as quickly as possible. Jay never did receive his World title shot for winning his second Conspiracy Theory that he's competed in in a row, so I'm sure that he feels he has more claim to that vacant title than anyone, and he's going to do whatever it takes to get it.
JT : Wait, is Jay a face or a heel now?
GP : Mmmm, I'd say probably a heel.
JT : In that case, the very fact that he's JAY is reason enough that he deserves that title! Ford is screwing Jay by not handing him the title here and now!
GP : But I thought you said that Seaman was going to win without a doubt.
JT : Oh ... yeah ... uh ... damn it, Greg, don't bring up other heels while I'm sucking up to one!
GP : My bad.
Banderas slowly gets up to his feet and sees Jay coming towards him again. He shrieks and throws up his arms for protection in a very womanly manner. Jay, looking disgusted, grabs Banderas by the hair and pulls him into a short-arm clothesline.
GP : Jay just leveled him with that one!
JT : Yeah, that's generally what happens when you nail a much smaller guy with a vicious short-arm clothesline, Greg.
GP : Shut up, JT.
Banderas again starts to get to his feet, but he sees Jay reaching for him and dives under the bottom rope, escaping to the outside of the ring. Jay looks slightly frustrated as he steps through the ropes to follow Banderas to the outside. As he hops off the apron, though, Banderas straightens up and catches him with a poke to the eyes. Jay stumbles around, trying to regain his vision, and is dropkicked in the back by his opponent. The dropkick sends Jay into the barrier with force, crushing his sternum. Jay gasps loudly before he's grabbed by his hair and rolled back into the ring. Banderas hops back up onto the apron while Jay starts to stand back up. The Colombian wrestler leaps with a springboard off the top rope and rolls Jay up in a sunset flip.
GP : Jay barely kicked out of that one! That could have been a HUGE upset.
JT : No, I really don't think it could have.
Banderas scales the turnbuckle and leaps with a high crossbody, but Jay catches him, flips Banderas up onto his shoulder, and nails a running powerslam. Jay nonchalantly covers.
GP : Jay can't believe Banderas kicked out of that! This kid's apparently got more heart than Jay gave him credit for.
JT : Or he's just driven by his lust for the penis.
GP : JT!
JT : What?! I'm just sayin'...
Jay picks Banderas back up and sets him up for a powerbomb. He lifts Banderas up and holds him up in the air for several seconds, but this proves to be an unwise decision when Banderas spits in Jay's eye. This causes Jay to stagger backwards and shake his head, giving Banderas the opportunity to slip out and bring Jay down with a DDT.
GP : What a reversal by Banderas!
JT : ...He spit in his eye!
GP : It was still a good reversal.
JT : ...But that fag spit in his eye!
Banderas quickly rolls Jay over for the cover.
GP : Jay kicks out with authority!
JT : Of course.
Banderas again scales the turnbuckle, but this time leaps with a missile dropkick that catches Jay in the jaw. Jay rises back to his feet, albeit a little shakily, and swings an arm at a charging Banderas. Banderas ducks and bounces off the ropes on the other side, using his momentum to leap up onto Jay's back and locking him in a sleeperhold.
JT : Now why the hell do little guys ever do this? It NEVER turns out good for them.
After stumbling around for a few moments with the weight of Banderas on his back, Jay grabs Banderas by the arm and whips him forward, throwing him across the ring.
JT : See what I mean?
Jay walks over to Banderas and stomps him a few times, before taking his time in lifting him to his feet. He pushes Banderas back to the turnbuckle and gives him a few chops, then rearing back and using all his force to make a thunderous knife-edge chop to the chest of Banderas. Jay's opponent crumples down in the corner, giving Jay an opportunity to zestfully head-hump his prone foe.
JT : Haha! Look at that head-humping action!
GP : You know, I'm not too sure if Banderas doesn't enjoy that...
Sure enough, Banderas has a big grin on his face as Jay humps away. Jay looks down and notices that, and looking angry that his humiliating technique didn't work, forcefully drives his knee into Banderas' face.
GP : Man! He might have just broken Banderas' nose!
JT : Oh, you and your sympathy. When will you learn to cherish the BLOOOODDDDD?!!
GP : When you stop being a sick freak.
JT : Well, that ain't gonna happen.
Jay waits for the woozy Banderas to get to his feet, then grabs him in a front facelock. He throws the arm over his shoulder and lifts Banderas for a stalling brainbuster. After several seconds, he drives him down hard.
JT : Ohhhh! This match is so over!
Jay once again nonchalantly covers.
GP : Hey, the referee is signaling rope break! Jay left Banderas to near to the ropes!
JT : Damn you, referee! Since when did you actually start doing your job?!
Jay, looking frustrated, drags Banderas up to his feet and rears back for a punch. Banderas ducks, though, and catches Jay with a superkick that staggers him. He then starts lighting Jay up with punches, sending Jay teetering.
GP : Banderas is suddenly a house afire! He might have a chance yet!
With Jay wobbling, Banderas launches himself into the ropes and charges back with a clothesline. Unfortunately for the IWO rookie, Jay ducks and catches Banderas' arm, lifting him and driving him back down with a Death Penalty.
JT : Yeah, apparently not.
GP : Jay catches Banderas with the ... move that is his finisher.
JT : Yeah, way to cover up not knowing the move name.
GP : I thought I told you to shut up!
Jay covers, this time hooking the leg.
GP : Banderas put forth a valiant showing, without a doubt, but he never really stood a chance against the seasoned veteran Jay.
JT : Yeah, what a surprise.
The cameras cut backstage. Coral Avalon, newly signed to the Internet Wrestling Organization, was wandering down the halls, looking for someone, apparantly. It's unknown if he's looking for a friend or an opponent for the evening, but he must have found who he was looking for, because he entered a locker room soon after we see him.
The Legion of Dairy's locker room.
egg NOG was standing in front of a chalkboard with multiple X's and O's on it, and a bad looking-ring drawn around these X's and O's. cHEESE was sitting down on the bench in front of said chalkboard, and listening to egg NOG's sound strategy for cHEESE's match with Daniel Phillips.
egg NOG: Now, listen, cHEESE, you've got to watch out for his Greco-Roman kick in the nuts. I mean, it can come from anywhere! From in front! From behind! From Grandma Edna's attic! From your mama's womb, from MY mama's womb! Anywhere!
cHEESE: Am I an X or an O?
egg NOG: That's irrelevant, you just have to...
cHEESE interruped before egg NOG could finish.
cHEESE: How can it be irrelevant? What if I get humped by the triangle?
cHEESE proceeded to point at the chalkboard.
egg NOG: There *is* no triangle, you ninny!
Avalon coughed to get their attention. egg NOG was surprised, while cHEESE was confused. Avalon finally decided to break the silence.
Coral Avalon: Um... hi. NOG, I think you owe me... what was it? Five bucks?
egg NOG just grumbled, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, before selecting a five dollar bill and handing it to Avalon.
egg NOG: *sigh* Another five bucks down the drain.
cHEESE stood up and looked rather annoyed.
cHEESE: Hey! What about my five dollars over us not getting into Asylum!? Huh?! HUH!?
egg NOG turned to cHEESE as Avalon left, smiling to himself.
egg NOG: Shut up, cHEESE.
The camera cuts back to AWS Commish (also known as Dictator)'s bathroom office. He's diabolically plotting his revenge on Hash for the Moron Popper incident.
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Aha! I know just what I'll freakin' do to get revenge on that poopiepants, Pen!
Pen : ...
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Actually, yes, it was stealing Rob Kestler's plan of opening his freakin' car door so the light would come on until his car battery ran out. Pen, remind me to buy the copyrights of that plan from him.
Pen : ...
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : What? How could he not have gotten it freakin' copyrighted?! It was genius! ... Well, good, I'll just freakin' steal it from him. But just in case that plan doesn't work, we'd better send a bunch of freakin' ninja assassins after Hash, too.
Pen : ...
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : OK, OK, if you insist. Geez, what is it with your freakin' obsession of having your enemies' heads mounted on your wall?
**YOU LIKE COMMERCIAL BREAKS!!!**
The show returns to find Harold Hash walking around the section of the arena where all the concession stands are.
Hash : Hmmm ... I wonder if I should get a burger for Gus ... I doubt he's very hungry, but it would just be all kinds of wrong!
Suddenly, five men come flipping onscreen, instantly surrounding Hash. They are attired in the dress of traditional ninja assassins, complete with black masks covering their faces, black jumpsuits, and black ... legwarmers. OK, so maybe that part's not so traditional.
Lead Ninja : Harold Hash! Prepare to fall victim to the Clan of the Venomous Leg Warmer!
What the fuck?
Lead Ninja : For centuries, our clan has trained in the deadly martial arts, becoming one cohesive killing unit ... that wears leg warmers. We have passed our assassin secrets down from one generation to the next. None who see us live to tell the tale. The last thing you shall ever see is-
Hash : Wait, didn't leg warmers just come out, and also go out of styles, in the '80's? How has your clan worn them for generations?
Lead Ninja : Um ... damn it, we're just a bunch of white guys who really liked leg warmers, OK?! It's a travesty how those bastard "fashion experts" deserted the leg warmer in its hour of need! And now, we shall take our rage over the fall of the leg warmer out ... on you! YAAAHHHHH!!!
The ninjas all charge forward at the same time. Hash simply sidesteps, and all the ninjas crash into each other. They drop to the ground and begin moaning and rolling around. Hash looks down at them and shakes his head.
Hash : You should wear pink flip flops, those are the mack
The camera pans down to show that Hash himself is indeed wearing pink flip flops ... and they are the mack. Harold walks off.
Lead Ninja : Damn it, now one of us has to commit ritual suicide again. I vote Larry. Who's with me?
All the other ninjas but one raises their hand.
Remaining Ninja : Oh man, not again!
The camera cuts back to the ring, onto GP and JT.
JT: Isn't it time for Erik Blake and Ash Robinson? Cuz if so, I gotta get my popcorn and spanish prostitutes ready.
GP: According to the program it is, but I'm fairly sure someone's going to interrup...
"I Hope You Die" by the Bloodhound Gang.
And a large pop welcome the current tag team champions of the IWO, the former jOlt champions as well, Team V.I.A.G.R.A. Kestler is nowhere to be seen, but Davis makes up for it by holding a cardboard cutout of their friend and partner alongside him. Davis had his tag team championship wrapped around the neck of the Kestler cutout, as Flyer has his in his arms, dangling to his sides. Flyer raises his belt for the fans to react, as Davis raises the cut out as well. Both men make their way into the ring, slapping the fans hands, before Flyer grabbed a microphone.
High Flyer: So, two weeks ago, we regained the World Tag team championship belts. And although we had to beat a popular team, and a team we respect, in order to do it, the Legion of Dairy...
High Flyer: We still realize that these belts should have never left us in the first place.
JT: What the hell are these freak stalking about.
High Flyer: You see, two years ago when we won these championship belts, we made a few bad decisions. We came out here week after week, pleasing the fans, winning matches left and right, but it came to the point where there wasn't any competition anymore. In order to get a whole new field of fights to compete in, we made the biggest mistake of our professional careers.
Flyer took a deep breathe.
High Flyer: We sided with Evan Levine and his war. And he used us like only he could use us. When Kestler and Jay tried to save us, we just brushed them off, and lost the tag team titles because of it. Only because Kestler and Jay interfered to help us realize our mistakes. So in reality, we cost ourselves these titles, and in all fairness, they should have never left our shoulders. At least, not when they did...
Flyer handed the microphone to Davis, who cleared his throat.
Tony Davis: I've been up and down the road with this man right here, and I know that he's a great guy with a good heart, and a talent that matches no other. I wish him well in his World Title attempts here tonight, but I realize that there are more pressing matters to deal with, as in, the current situation of the tag team straps.
A collective murmer of confusion. Sort of like in the Simpsons where when there's a crowd, they all react the same way.
Tony Davis: And more importantly, the tag team division. All I can say, is that we WILL be fighting champions, as best we can be in the circumstances that are the IWO, and we'll put our tag team titles against anyone and everyone, for fairness of course, and maybe jello pudding...
Cheer for your heroes, mindless follower. Go ahead and conform to what you're told to. Look away, for reason is coming to save you.
No wait, I'm sorry this isn't Syphon Fission coming to the ring, my bad. So, um, dance puppet! DANCE! It's Legion time! Ho-rah! Cheers abound!
The loyalists of the IWO cheer for the former World Tag Team champions as they step from behind the curtains and into the spotlights. No fancy tron this week, Action made their buck and has long since packed up and left the IWO on their own once more. IWO will live on... it always does.
cHEESE and egg NOG -along with manager, YoGuRt- slowly make their way to the ring. Not their usual selves, that's for sure, as they roll into the ring and hit the ring corners for the standard posing. cHEESE raising his arms for the fans and egg NOG pounding his fist against his chest and raising the fist into the air, YoGuRt stands on the outside and applaudes his friends. The members of Team V.I.A.G.R.A. stand fast in the center of the ring, eyes locked on the duo from Dairytown. NOG and cHEESE climb down from their posts and get in the faces of High Flyer and Tony Davis. cHEESE looks down at the microphone in Davis' hand and quickly snatches it away. cHEESE turns and walks away from Flyer as egg NOG smirks.
cHEESE looks out at the cheering crowd,
cHEESE: Let's talk about 'fair', shall we? Let's talk about 'fairness', let's talk about 'fair play', how's that sound?
The God of Wrestling pauses for the cheers from the crowd to simmer as Davis shifts the Tag Title on the Rob Kestler cardboard cutout's shoulder.
cHEESE: Last week, High Fyler was granted a shot at the IWO World Tag Team Titles for reasons of almost costing the B.F.D. and myself the title belts the week before. It was promised that Tony Davis, (pointing to Davis) there, would be the fourth member of our Conspiracy Theory team, a Legion of V.I.A.G.R.A. so to say. However, when the match came and the clock hit zero, what happened? Did Tony Davis -the hero and legend of IWO- come to the ring? No. Tony Davis -the flake and fraud- stayed home munching on his Cocco Pebbles and scratching away on his groin. His personal past time I came to learn.
The fans don't know what to do. Before them are two teams they have come to love over the years. Now, they don't know who's side to take and whom to cheer. The volume stays at a murmur as cHEESE continues his rant.
cHEESE:If not for the fact that Mr. NOG won the match for our team, I don't know what we would have done. Those belts mean more to us than breathing. Those belts are our life. They're why we exist. You see, the Legion of Dairy is tag team wrestling. It's what we do and, by God, we're darn good at it.
The fans respond with cheers as Flyer nods grimly at cHEESE. NOG crosses his arms and glances at the title belt on "Kestler's" shoulder. Davis shifts once again, lowering the belt to his side.
cHEESE: Now back to last week -Beach Party IV- it was a match for the ages, the first time two of Tag wrestling's greatest teams would face each other. It was hyped and hyped and hyped. Everyone was excited, everyone wanted to watch.
Enter the champions. cHEESE and egg NOG come to the ring and await the arrival of the challengers. Cue 'Loco'. High Flyer comes out -as expected- but, no partner. That's cool, he still has time to show. Blink-182's 'Degenerate', good ol' Tony's music. But -surprise, surprise- no Davis. Hey that's fine, if Davis decides he wants to bail on Flyer, I'm not going to argue. What Tony Davis does is his business. If he wants to keep flaking, that's fine by me. We're under contract to wreslte and that's what we're going to do. So we put a pretty good match together just the three of us when someone just... shows up. I believe 'Hey Tony, glad to see you could make it' was mentioned. Next thing I know, Rob Kestler's in the ring and three guys are pinning NOG. New champions. Yay.
The fans cheer as Tony and Flyer glance at their belts and then back at cHEESE. He switches the microphone from his left hand to his right as hs licks his lips. He points to the belt wrapped around Flyer's waist and continues to point, not saying anything. The cheer grows louder as Davis lifts his title belt for all to see -and at the same time- rubbing it in the LoD's face. NOG frowns at Davis' actions as Davis' smile widens.
cHEESE: That's fine though, we've lost title belts a millions times over. One more time isn't going to kill us. So long as we get the rematch we so very much deserve.
The fans roar with cheers at the thought of a LoD/V.I.A.G.R.A. rematch. Tony and High Flyer look at each other and then back at the two members of the D.
High Flyer: Well, we've gotta discuss it with Rob!
Flyer and Davis walk over to a small corner of the ring, Davis carrying the Rob Kestler Cardboard cutout.
Flyer: So Rob, what do you think?
Flyer: Damnit, why don't you talk! Everything in the IWO talks! The IWO World Title, the IWO Extreme title!
Tony Davis: Yeah! That's why you have the tag title on your shoulder, so you can speak to us vicariously through it! And if you're not even going to bother, I'm just going to take it back.
Davis snatches the title off of Kestler's shoulder, as the cardboard cutout falls down to the ring. Davis' eyes widen.
Tony Davis: Oh my God! I hurt Rob!
High Flyer: Well, PICK HIM UP!
Davis picks up the cardboard cutout and sets it up, as Flyer returns over to the Legion of Dairy. He grabs raises the microphone to his lips.
High Flyer: Well, we're defending champions, and we've got a weird fairness kick, and personally, I wouldn't mind seeing who the better team is, in a LADDER MATCH!
The fans gasp.
cHEESE: Fine! We'll face you in a street fight at the pay per view!
Tony Davis: Great! The tag titles up for grabs in an inferno match at Gold and Glory!
egg NOG: Yes! Great indeed! A cage match it is!
GP: Are these two making even less sense than usual?
JT: I think it's the water...
High Flyer: Well, we see your hell in a cell, and we raise you a viagra pit fight!
egg NOG: Okay... now I forget what we're doing.
Tony Davis: So do we. :-(
egg NOG: Fine, how about we fight to determine, WHOM, is the best Cult Tag team!
High Flyer: Dude, it's who!
egg NOG: No, it's whom! W-H-O-M.
High Flyer: Dude, you can't be serious.
egg NOG: I think I am!
egg NOG and High Flyer get into a staredown over the word whom. Tony Davis and cHEESE get into one themselves as they don't want to feel left out.
GP: WHAT A HEATED STAREDOWN...
JT: With a ring full of idiots, the most heat you could have combined is barely enough to warm a body to it's normal temperature level.
GP: Was that supposed to be some sort of mock?
JT: Yeah, I need to work on those, don't I?
GP: Yeah, you do.
Officials come out from the back, headed by Call-It-Straight Cal. Flyer and Davis leave the ring before anything happens, tag team titles in hand...
The camera cut backstage, where Daniel Phillips sat down alone on a bench in his locker room. He was leaning forward, his chin resting on his clasped hands, as if he was talking to someone.
It just so happened that he was.
Daniel Phillips: Now, listen, guys. I don't really like very many people, so you'll have to bear with me if I sound really fucking pissed off, okay?
There was a pause.
Phillips: Anyway, we've been here for... what? Two years? And how many stupid fucking idiots have we met?
An Oddly Familiar Voice: Tons.
Phillips: Exactly. Now, I don't know about you guys, but I hate every fucker that comes into this federation and thinks they're better than us. I hate every arrogant fucker that comes in with their big limos and their stupid motherfucking bunny rabbits. And let's not forget every stupid fucking legend that comes back to this federation and thinks that they're hot shit and deserving of being a champion of some sort just because they were remotely something back in `99 when IWO's fans didn't really know any better but to cheer for a guy with a stupid name like 'Al Coholic'." he finished.
Another Oddly Familiar Voice: Um, yeah... sure.
There was an awkward pause.
AOFV1: So, what about the garbage throwing? You think we can nail the Legion of Dairy?
Phillips burst out laughing.
Phillips: Oh, of course! Of course! They'll be the first to feel the wrath of us.
And before we can go any further, the camera fades back to the ringside area.
JT : Oooohhhh, what kind of dastardly evil top-secret plan must Daniel Phillips be a-cookin'?!
GP : Oh, who really cares? We've got another match now.
Gold and Glory Tournament
Erik Blake vs. Ash Robinson
Meygon: This match is for the qualifying round of Gold and Glory tournament. The first is the current North American champion Erik BLAKE!
I can't get to the vitals pages so I don't know what his music isI am going to say "Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred. Erik steps out with his North American title across his shoulder. He makes his way to the ring and gets inside.
Meygon: And the challenger, Ash Robinson!
Again no idea what his music ishe will have the theme music from the Christopher Lowell show. He makes his way to the ring. After getting in the ring Harold Hash appears on the megatron.
Hash: I am appointing myself as dictator of this match. Cause if I don't do it who will? No one that's who! So I am making this match no disqualification, and also it is a flaming rubber chicken match!
The camera shows AWS Man (also known as Dictator.) watching back stage.
AWS Man (also known as Dictator.): I should do something but there is porn onso freak it!
Guy in the stall next to him: You choose the right thing there.
AWS Man (also known as Dictator.): Thank you Mystery freakin man.
The camera goes back to Hash on the megatron.
Hash: Now start the damn match!
Stage hands come out and are holding buckets full of flaming rubber chickens. Hash picks up a rubber duck and squeezes it twice.
JT: I guess the duck squeezing was the bell?
GP: Yeah I guess. Erik and Ash are going to the bucketsboth of the men have one bucket of burning rubber chickens. Blake moves towards Ash.
JT: But Ash turns around and smacks Blake on the face with the bucket. Blake drops to the floor. The bucket drops with him but doesn't spill over.
Ash moves towards Erik and drops the bottom of the bucket on Erik. Erick reaches in and holds one of the heads of the chickens. Ash bitch smacks Erik with the chicken. The rubber is on Erik's face as he screams out in pain. Ash starts to kick on Erik as he screams. Erik rolls out to the outside of the ring. Ring crew throws water on Erik's face.
JT: This is an evil match. These wrestlers could get seriously harmedI love it.
GP: That is terrible JT!
JT: I know, so sue me!
Erik gets to his feet. Some how me makes it back to the ring. He gets in and charges at Ash taking him down with a football tackle. Erik starts to lay punches into Ashes face. Erik gets up and goes to the top rope, Erik hits a huge splash on to Ash. Erik moves and gets a bucket and places Ashes foot in the bucket. Ash starts to yell and spaz out all over. He somehow makes it to the outside where the ring crew takes the bucket off and waters it down.
GP: That was a smart move. Ash can't really do much if he can't use his legs. That shows Erik is thinking!
JT: Erik Blake thinks? Man that is mind blowing!
All of sudden Santa Claus falls from the raptors and breaks his neck.
GP : Well, that'll learn him to interfere with the will of the gods and make Bob Job win a match.
The arena gasps and then cheers. There is mass hysteria as the crowd starts to loot and gang rape Santa's dead body. No one pays attention to the match at hand.
GP: What the hell! This makes less sense then a Jack Domek match! What do you think JT?
GP turns around and sees that JT is not there. He looks around, the camera pans and sees JT standing behind Santa's dead body.
JT: NOT GIVE ME A MYSTERY DATE GAME WHEN I WAS 11 WILL YOU! YEAH THAT IS WHY YOUR GETTING RAPED IN THE CORNHOLE FAT BOY! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, OH YEAH YOU LIKE THAT DON'T YOU FAT ASS BITCH!
The camera goes back to GP who is throwing up next to his table. JT comes back with a Mystery Date game.
GP: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU! GOD YOU HAVE PROBLEMS!
JT: I wanted a Mystery Date game. Calm down I got you something too, here.
JT hands GP the dismembered head of JR. GP starts to tear up.
GP: I have never been so happy in my life.
Finally the crazyness has been stopped for now. No one knows how, or really cares. Erik Blake has Ash in a cross face chicken wing. He goes back and does a belly to back slam. Erik is standing up cheeringall of a sudden Nuke runs from no where with a metal bat. He hits Erik on the back and knocks him to the ground. Nuke starts to wail on Erik with the bat. Then Ash looks at Nuke. Nuke runs up at him and starts to beat him with the bat as well.
GP: Well Nuke has gone even crazier now. Its sad when the crazy lose it, really it is.
JT: Nuke is going all out! The carnage the pain and suffering! NUKE IS CLEAING OUT EVERYONE WITH THAT BAT!
Nuke picks up Blake and goes to the turn bucklehe does a super Russian leg sweep with the bat under Blake's chin. Nuke drops Blake and moves so Ash pins him.
Meygon: Winner and going on in the G&G tournament..Ash Robinson!
Nuke stands up cheering as many boo. All of a sudden Psycho Jay runs from no where! They start to fight back and forth, fighting up and down the ringSome how some way they get up to the top of the entrance way. Psycho Jay picks ups Nuke and lays him out with a humpinator. Jay spits on Nuke and turns around.
Once again, we see Coral Avalon, wandering around backstage, though about five bucks richer. Coral was about to sit down, when he happened upon Team VIAGRA, while they were in the middle of their pre-match training. This happened to involve sitting around, eating Doritos, and watching reruns of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
High Flyer: Yeah! GO LEONARDO~!
Rob Kestler: How silly!
Tony Davis: No! Watch out for the...
All three of them looked disappointed.
Flyer & Davis *at the same time*: ...Shredder.
Coral Avalon: Um, hi?
Flyer and Davis both stood up(while Kestler just looked confused... as usual), and Davis pointed a finger at Avalon.
Davis: You! You were seen with those... those... hey, who are those guys with the odd ways to spell their names and the guys who we, uh, beat at the pay-per-view?
Avalon: The... uh, um... Legion of Dairy?
Davis: Yes, them!
Flyer: They're all mean!
Suddenly, Kestler went all wide-eyed, and went into a fetal position, shivering and shaking and generally being all scared.
Kestler: They....... they'll kill Christmas!!
Avalon pointed at Kestler.
Avalon: W-what's wrong with HIM?
Flyer and Davis both looked over their shoulders, before they turned back to Avalon, and Flyer pointed over his shoulder at Kestler.
Flyer: Him? He's Rob Kestler. I believe that says it all.
Kestler: Um, help? ...Am I still in Andy Richter's ass? This is not very silly at all.
Coral blinked, as Davis prodded at Avalon for information.
Davis: So, uh... whoever you are...
Avalon: Oh, so-sorry. My name's Coral Avalon.
Flyer: Dude, that's the dumbest name I've ever heard.
Avalon: I, uh, get that a lot.
Davis turned back to Flyer.
Davis: Dude, no, I actually think "JoBo" would be a worse name. Who, in their right minds, would call themselves that?
There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, before Davis got back on track.
Davis: So... *Coral*, if that is, indeed, your name... who do you like better, the Legion of Dairy, or Team VIAGRA?
Coral thought about it.
Avalon: Er... I dunno... um... well, I've known the Legion longer, and, um....
Davis pulled out a hundred dollar bill and slapped it in Coral's hand. He then smiled at him.
Davis: How about now?
Avalon: Er... *excitedly, once he figures out what Davis gave him* you guys! Yeah! Uh, um... sure.
Davis patted Avalon on the back.
Davis: There, now was that so hard? Now, run along, kid, Fly's got a match.
Flyer: I DO!?
And with that, Flyer ran right past Avalon and Davis, and headed for the ring. Avalon looked incredibly confused, and decided to just simply wander away.
Now a hundred and five bucks richer.
Gold and Glory Tournament
High Flyer vs. Simon Seaman
JT: Why are we even having this match? Everytime Flyer has faced Seaman, Seaman has just SCHOOLED HIS ASS TIME AND TIME AGAIN! I mean, it's unfair!
GP: ... Unfair? Care to explain?
JT: It's unfair that Seaman doesn't even get an actual match in the first round. He needs to warm up, he needs to be limber. We don't want him pulling a neck muscle while posing for his next photoshoot!
GP: So, just because Flyer hasn't been able to pin Seaman before, means that Seaman has an easy breeze into the next round?
JT: Yeah. You have a point to this?
GP: Yes, my point is that Flyer is an extremely talented athlete, and these two could have been meeting in the finals had they not been facing here tonight!
JT: Shoulda coulda would, might as well get Flyer's whooping out of the way now.
*ding, ding, ding*
Meygon stands in the ring, looking sexy. Well, she can do that when she's wearing underwear for no reason.
Meygon: This next match, is a Gold and Glory first round matchup! Introducing first, hailing from Bethlehem, PA, but currently residing in Hollywood, California, he is one half of the current tag team champions... High Flyer!
"Loco" by Coal Chamber hits the pa system as the fans start their reaction. Flyer walks out from the back, his half of the tag team straps drapped to his side. He begins to slap the fans hands on his way down, but suddently, he's caught from behind with a chair.
A silver one at that.
JT: YES! SEAMAN IS GOD!
Seaman brings the chair down two more times onto Flyer's back, before dropping it and throwing the dazed team V.I.A.G.R.A. member into the ring. As S2 climbed the turnbuckles, Flyer begins climbing to his feet.
JT: SHORTEST... MATCH... EVER!
Flyer turns to see Seaman on the top turnbuckle, and immediatly climbs up with him. Flyer hits Seaman with a couple of right hands, and then leaps into the air, attempting to super hudaconrada Flyer off the top rope. Seaman however, having his feet planted on the second turnbuckle instead of the top, is blocked by the top rope and his shins. Flyer's held in a prone position, dangling from Seaman's neck.
And that's when Seaman climbs all the way up to the top rope, hooks Flyer in the reverse waist lock, and leaps off with a jumping inverted tombstone piledriver from the top rope.
Flyer lands face down on the canvas, motionless, with the fans letting out a chant of "Holy shit."
GP: I think I'm going to echo the fans sentiments and say that Seaman pretty much has this match won.
Seaman turns the limped body of Flyer over, and covers, making sure to hook the leg.
Meygon: Your winner, via pinfall... Simon Seaman!
Seaman climbs to his feet in joy as his hand is raised. He looks down at his handy work, smiling, before exiting the ringside area. Tony Davis and Rob Kestler walk out to help their friend out to the back, as we cut elsewhere.
The camera cuts yet again backstage, to AWS Commish (also known as Dictator)'s "office." He's looking through a deck of Pokemon cards.
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : They may not have freakin' genitalia ... but they don't wear clothes, and that's good enough to freakin' turn me on!
Suddenly, Harold Hash once again storms in.
Hash : Hey, I know it was you who sent those stupid ninjas after me!
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Well ... yeah, but they freakin' needed the work. Plus, you asked me to do it.
Hash : I don't remember that.
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Well, that might be because you never freakin' did it, but whose fault is that, huh?!
Hash : (Looking ashamed) I sorry.
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Oh, it's OK, freakin' buckaroo. I can't stay mad at you with a face like that.
Pen : ...
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Ah, yes, so I am freakin' looking in a mirror. Freak, I'm a handsome devil! Although it looks like I could use a shave...
Hash : Hey, what are we fighting about, anyway? Let's just go out for pie and porn! We can go to Dave's All-Night Pie & Porn Depositarium.
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : That sounds like a freakin' plan! Hmm ... but I do have the IWO to run ... What's the freakin' responsible thing to do? Ah, of course! Pen, you're in charge for the rest of the night.
Pen : ...
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : Now, don't you be letting the homeless into the arena while we're freakin' gone, OK?
Pen : ...
AWS Commish (also known as Dictator) : OK. And if the wrestlers get out of hand, disembowel them one by one like the freakin' dogs they are. Or just threaten pay decreases. C'mon, Hash, the freakin' pie and porn awaits!
Hash and the Insane One run out of the office. A moment later, Evan Levine comes in.
Evan: Eye deemande a poosh! Eye amm the Reewul Heal, reemembur?
The camera shifts to show only the bathroom wall.
Evan's Voice : Hay, wot ar yu dooing with that hrpune? Yu'd bettre knot dissemboul mee! AAAAHHHHHHH!!!
The camera fades away.
Gold and Glory Tournament
cHEESE vs. Daniel Phillips
GP: We're back, and it's now time for...
GP: ...must you do that every time I'm about to introduce a match with Phillips in it?
GP: *sighs* Annnnyyyway... we've got a qualifying match up next for the Gold and Glory tournament, pitting the IWO Cruiserweight Champion up against one half of the Legion of Dairy, cHEESE.
JT: And, of course, Daniel will win this match, and the tournament, and then he can be King of the World or something, after he smashes the crap out of Chris Jericho and Leonardo DiCaprio in a three-way King of the World match.
GP: Riiiight. I'm just going to pretend that you didn't just say that.
"Downfall" by TRUSTcompany began playing, which was met by a large amount of booing from the crowd. Out came Daniel Phillips, the IWO Cruiserweight champion, who walked to the ring with both the IWO and TPW Cruiserweight belts in each hand.
Meygon: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Gold and Glory qualifying match, set for one fall! Introducing first... from Phoenix, Arizona... he is the IWO Cruiserweight champion... DANIEL PHILLIPS!
Phillips entered the ring and climbed up a turnbuckle to display his title belts. As he did so, his music was replaced with "Wide Open" by Soil, signalling the arrival of cHEESE, accompanied by egg NOG. They walked into the ring.
Phillips smirked in their general direction, before dropping his title belts into his corner. As egg NOG left the ring, the bell rang, and Phillips aggressively charged at cHEESE. Unfortunately for him, cHEESE ducked out of the way, and started hammering at Phillips' face.
JT: Hey! No fair! Closed fits! Ref! REF!!
GP: Haven't you learned through the years that closed fists are rather legal around here?
JT: Shut up!
cHEESE continued to pound on Daniel until he whipped him into the far turnbuckle. He charged in, only to be met with a pair of boots to the face. As cHEESE staggered back, Daniel pulled himself up to the second rope and tried to leap with an axehandle, but cHEESE caught him with a dropkick to the face. Daniel fell to the mat with a thud, before cHEESE dropped a leg and went for the cover.
GP: One! Two! NO! Kick out!
JT: Come on, you're not going to beat Daniel that easilly. As a matter of fact, it's going to take a large mallet, several armed Zulu tribesmen, Ken War's amputated left leg, and an act of God to beat him!
GP: You really joined the Daniel Phillips bandwagon, haven't you?
JT: Parker, I *AM* the bandwagon.
cHEESE persisted, though, and waited for Phillips to get to his feet. When he did so, cHEESE charged him, but Phillips dropped down and pulled the top rope down with him, making cHEESE fly out to the outside. As egg NOG tried to help cHEESE up, Daniel took flight with a pescado. While egg NOG saw it coming, cHEESE didn't, and he got caught. Daniel rained down right hands upon landing from his pescado, before pulling him to his feet.
JT: Now, you see, right THERE, is why Daniel is so awesome!
GP: Sheesh. You'd praise him if you saw him explode in the middle of the ring.
JT: It'd be a spectacular explosion!
Phillips tossed cHEESE back into the ring, and then proceeded to slide back into the ring and attempt to lock him into the Royal Treatment. However, cHEESE spun around before Phillips could lock the hold in, and put him directly into Government cHEESE. The crowd erupts, hoping for a Phillips tapout, but Phillips was too close to the ropes, and the ref forces the break.
JT: Whoo! Close call, but Phillips is just... that... damn... *good*.
GP: Right. That's it. I'm revoking your permission to speak until you learn to not steal lines from Triple H.
As cHEESE and Phillips both got to their feet, cHEESE went for a right hand, but Phillips blocked it, and then grabbed cHEESE's throat for a choke. As the referee concentrated on breaking the chokehold physically, Phillips lowblowed cHEESE with a kick in the nads, which the ref missed.
GP: I cannot BELIEVE that Phillips would just cheat so blatantly like that!
As the referee admonished Daniel for his choke, Daniel simply smirked at him, knowing that his low blow plan went through. He then kicked cHEESE in the gut and nailed him with a DDT. He went for a cover.
GP: This could be it! One... two... NO!
Phillips was frustrated, and he went to complain to the ref. Unfortunately for Daniel, cHEESE had something to give to Phillips.
A nice warm glass of Shut Up Juice.
Or a spinning reverse stunner. Whatever you feel like calling it this week.
GP: Bam! Spinning reverse stunner by cHEESE! Phillips is down, and I think cHEESE is now going to set up for Gc2K now!
JT: >:o >:o >:o
Of course, before cHEESE could apply it, Phillips shoved him into a corner. Where the referee was. Oh dear, a ref bump. What a surprise.
GP: No! The referee is down! Where's Senior Referee Christ when you need him!?
As cHEESE rose to his feet, Edguardo of Those Damned Mexicans quickly slid into the ring and delivered the LOADED BURRITO! on cHEESE.
GP: DAMN IT! What the hell is THIS?!
GP: Didn't I tell you not to spe- OH MY GOD!
Parker was "oh my god~!"-ing at the fact that Diablo just came in and wiped out egg NOG with a Border Kick. As Phillips got to his feet, he nodded in the direction of TDM, before pulling cHEESE to his feet and executed the Perfect Halo.
JT: YES YES YES~! PERFECT HALO!
GP: No! The referee's back up, and he missed TDM destroying the Legion of Dairy!
JT: Phillips has the cover! One... two... THREE!!! YEAH!!
*ding, ding, ding*
The fans erupted in boos, as Phillips quickly crawled over to his corner to collect his titles, and roll out of the ring, along with who are seemingly his newfound friends.
Meygon: Ladies and gentlemen... the winner of this match, and advancing into the next round of the Gold and Glory tournament... DANIEL PHILLIPS!
GP: This is NOT right! Phillips couldn't have won this match without TDM to interfere!
JT: Bah. Excuses, excuses.
GP: I revoke your abilities to speak, again.
The show returned as Avalon, satisfied that his meeting of everyone in the back went well, was walking back to his shoddy little `91 Grand Prix in the parking lot.
Too bad that his smile was wiped clean off his face by a certain bitter, jaded, Cruiserweight champion and his newfound stablemates. Phillips smiled to himself, having blasted Phillips over the skull with a metal folding chair.
Daniel Phillips: Heh heh heh... welcome to the IWO. Fuckhead.
Diablo and Edguardo proceed to pick up the stray bills that Avalon dropped upon getting struck in the face.
Diablo: Oh man, we've got enough moolah to throw a LOT of garbage in people's lawns, now!
Phillips: *smiling* Let's go, then.
The newly formed team walked away, laughing amongst themselves. Meanwhile, Avalon blindly tried to sit up from where he landed, and took in what just happened to him. He groaned in pain before he stumbled to his feet, and then realized that the money he had earned from tonight was taken from him.
Coral Avalon: Aww, *dammit*.
Avalon kicked at some object that he saw in front of him, except that there was thin air there, and he ended up slipping and falling on his back.
Now, he was a hundred and five dollars poorer.
The show cuts back to the ringside area.
Extreme Title Match
Schitzo Tod vs. Mad Max
GP : And now, it's finally time to get this travesty of a show over with ... I mean, it's time to bring back the Extreme title! This match is sure to be full of good old hardcore EXTREEEEEEME action!
JT : Greg ... It's Schitzo Tod and Mad Max.
GP : Oh yeah. Damn it all to hell!
"Date Rape" by Sublime hits as the crowd goes BANANAS for Schitzo Tod. No, nut nuts. No, not grape nuts. No, not the cereal "Grape Nuts Hot." No. Bananas. Mmmmm Don't you just love bananas? I know I do.
Anyway, Tod gets in the ring. "Destro's Secret" by Dillinger Escape Plan hits as the crowd goes BANANAS again! Why? Because it's Mad Max! The crowd loves Mad Max! But the crowd also gets pissed off because they just went bananas twice.
GP: HOO-HA! THIS ONE IS FOR THE EXTREME TITLE!
JT: AND YOUR MOM!
Mad Max: REDUNDANT!
Greg Parker and JT fade out of existence, because they are redundant. Suddenly, at the announce table, is BAT!
Bat: IN YOUR EYE!
*DING DING DING*
Mad Max and Schitzo Tod shake hands. They then begin to play WWE's Smackdown! On an X-box. Max chooses Hollywood Hogan, erstwhile Tod puts his faith in Mick Foley. How hardcore! They choose a ladder match and begin to play.
Bat: IN YOUR EYE!
The grueling display of pressing buttons continues. On the actual television screen Foley and Hogan are fighting. The match is actually a Hell in a Cell Damn game glitches. OH NO! HOGAN'S ABOUT TO FALL OFF THE CELL AND DIE! BUT WHAT'S THIS FOLEY SAVES HIM!
Mick Foley: Hogan I want to mother your children.
Mad Max: DIE, SUCKA~!
IT WAS A TRICK! HOGAN ISN'T GOING TO FALL! HOGAN KICKS FOLEY! AHHH!
Schitzo Tod: BLAST THIS EVIL CONTRAPTION!
Mad Max: HAHA! YOU ONLY SAY IT IS EVIL BECAUSE YOU ARE LOSING!
Schitzo Tod: NO! GET UP! UP UP UP!
Mad Max: I'M GOING TO WIN~! I'M GOING TO WIN~!
Schitzo Tod: Erm Erm ERM!
Schitzo Tod stands up and presses the "off" button on the X-box.
Mad Max: DUDE!
Schitzo Tod: Um IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!
Mad Max: Dude, I was totally going to win.
Schitzo Tod: :-(
Mad Max: If you weren't my best friend, why! Why! I'd do this!
Max punches himself in the balls.
Schitzo Tod: Oh yeah! Well I would do this!
Tod suplexes himself. Don't ask me how.
Mad Max: Well.. I WOULD DO THIS!
Bat: IN YOUR EYE~! IN YOUR EYE~!
Max gives himself the Mania.
Schitzo Tod: OH YEAH!
Tod T.A.M's himself.
Bat: What a barn burner! Opps I mean IN YOUR EYE~!
Schitzo Tod: In my eye?
Bat: IN YOUR EYE!
Mad Max: In my eye, too!
Bat: IN YOUR EYE!
Mad Max: YAY!
Schitzo Tod: YAYAY!
Mad Max: YAYAYAY!
Schitzo Tod: YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!
Mad Max: You win
Bat: IN YOUR EYE~!
Mad Max gets all ready to make a speech. Kind of like Syphon Fission's speech at Beach Party. You know, the one where he rambled on about how he has no friends because he smells. What? He didn't say that? Oh well.
Mad Max: I have no friends, because I smell like Syphon Fission. Not to be confused with Fusion, who was just King Sting in an idenity crisis. Sometimes when I am lonely, I like to put on a silly hat.
Mad Max puts a weiner dog on his head.
Mad Max: I put the silly hat on my head, and think about how I have no friends. I think maybe if I took a bath, or a shower or something I would have some. But alas, I have no plumbing in the IWO janitorial closet that serves as my home! If only if only
Suddenly Kurt Godel appears.
Kurt Godel: The Principa Mathematica is wrong! AHA HA! And so are you Mad Max!
Mad Max: THAT'S IT! I'M SICK OF LIFE! I'M GOING TO DO IT! NONE OF YOU CAN STOP ME!
Max reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plunger. The crowd knows this isn't part of the script. They all sit in a hushed silence as the drama unfolds.
Mad Max: THAT'S RIGHT! Back off Tod! I'm going to do it, and there's nothing you can do!
Mad Max gets a look of real determination on his face. Like he's trying to push something really hard.
Schitzo Tod: NO MAX! YOU CAN'T!
Mad Max: You. Can't.. STOP ME!!! AHHHHHHHHHH!
Max lets out a primal scream and a brownish substance can be seen running down the back of his pants. A foul smell suddenly fills the stadium.
Schitzo Tod: NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Bat: IN YOUR EYE! IN YOUR EYE!
Some guys hands Schitzo Tod the Extreme Title. Sure, he wanted it But not at this price. Mad Max and Schitzo Tod are best friends How can this happen?
Schitzo Tod: Max No
Two orderlies wheel off Max, who gives Tod a "This isn't over" look.
GP : My God no! Mad Max has crapped his pants on Internet-wide webcast! The horror! Why, Max, why?!
JT: Why the fuck was this the main event?
GP: I have no idea JT...
Simpsons' Comic Book Store Guy : Worst ... show ... EVER!