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August 9th, 2003 @ The Elks Lodge in Queens, New York.

Paid attendance: 857 ($20 for general admission and $30 for ringside seats)

Sales from Merch (DVDs, VHS, shirts, hats, posters, autographed 8 by 10's): $4,340

Total gate: $22,480

The parking lot was full, except for but a few empty spaces, and the street lights were on, but unnoticeable with the warm summer air and the sun shining. It may have been late, but Summer was still here, and it wouldn't be nightime in New York until after the show was completed.

The Elks Lodge, a building that is known as having many of wrestling's historic moments, is coming to a close at the end of the month. And while the IWO may be on it's new legs, not exactly standing tall and proud, they felt it behoved them to pay tribute to the building they should have been going to all along.

And although the building may die, and become a frozen yogurt stand or whatever they want to do with it, it will always have the memories.

The building may be gone.

But its spirit, as clichéd as it sounds, will always live on.

In every fan who's watched a Raw. In every fan who turned on ECW.

In every fan who's seen the IWO.

Thank you Elks Lodge.

Thank you.

Meygon(VO): WELCOME! TO THE INFAMOUS… ELKS LODGE!

“Fortune and Fame” by the K.G.B.

GP: Wow, I knew HardCase was insane, but I didn't know this!

HardCase lays in with shot after shot to Hardcore God's back with a steel chair…

Ford: There will be eight men…

Rapid shots of the eight men, Greg Allocca, Markus King, Trey Vincent, HardCase, Keith Scott Zimmerman, Jack Breaker, Schitzo Tod, Coral Avalon.

GP: Dear God! HardCase just laid out the boss!

Shots of HardCase wrestling with Ford for the title, before Breaker runs down and chases him away with a large trout.

GP: I… CAN NOT, BELIEVE IT!

Trey Vincent's arm is raised, when Keith Scott Zimmerman races out from the crowd and slams the metal folding chair into both Vincent and Greg Allocca's skulls.

Ford: Maybe not, but I think you DO give a damn about getting your hands on HardCase in a match. And you'll get that in August, as well as a World title shot if he's got the belt, if you just lay off him until then.

An image of Hardcore God snapping a kendo stick over the head of HardCase.

Chris Astro: Your winner, via Pinfall, HARDCASE!

HardCase delivering the Retro Active Abortion to Markus King.

Chris Astro: Your winner, via Pinfall, Keith Scott Zimmerman!

An image of KSZ delivering a beautiful Rolling Elbow to knock Greg Allocca out cold.

Meygon: Here is your winner, Jack Breaker!

Breaker dives off the top rope with a 450 Neckbreaker on Trey Vincent.

Jax Stone: It seems as if… Coral isn't coming today.

Image of Schitzo Tod, stumbling out of the backstage at Gold and Glory.

Dolby Jenkins: Mr. Ford told me to kill some time…

High Flyer walks out to replace Tod, and eats a Rattan cane to the back of his head from Dolby, and a small beatdown follows.

JT: Zimmerman is FIRST on the board!

Image of Zimmerman powerbombing Flyer on his face after countering a shining wizard.

GP: What a rally of counters that went KSZ's way!

Zimmerman hitting a mahistrol on Breaker and hooking the tights.

Meygon: For HardCase's disqualification for hitting an official, he has… been deducted a point!

HardCase punches an official.

GP Breaker hits the Clockwork DDT!

Breaker nailing Flyer with a spinning ddt, driving him head first into the mat.

JT: Attitude Adjustment!

HardCase pinning Breaker after his DDT.

GP: Now how is that fair! The rules state that Breaker gets a rest…

HardCase dropping Breaker rib first on the exposed turnbuckle.

GP: HardCase has gotten three pinfalls in the matter of moments…

HardCase hitting a huge Tiger Driver on Flyer for a three.

GP: And a three way tie for first!

Breaker nails HardCase with a HUGE backbreaker.

GP: Breaker just wouldn't submit, but Flyer is once again ring into this thing!

Flyer hooking on the Peaceful Slumber on Jack Breaker.

GP: SEE! Now all four men are tied at two!

Flyer hooking KSZ's tights and the ropes all at once.

An image of HardCase hitting Flyer with a chair, and pins him twice to make up for the DQ.

GP: Hardcase just used a disqualification to his advantage!:

GP: THE HEARTBREAKER! HARDCASE'S HEART HAS BEEN BROKEN!

Breaker gets the three count on HardCase after his manuever.

GP: CROSSFACE! AN ODE TO THE CANADIAN GODS OF WRESTLING! KSZ HAS THE HOLD LOCKED IN!

KSZ comes into the ring and locks Breaker into the Crossface. Breaker however, won't tap. HardCase can't get into the ring, and leaves.

Meygon: The result of this matchup… is a thirty minute draw between HardCase and Jack Breaker!

The fans are obviously not happy, and that's when HardCase enters, freezing the ring, until chairs thrown by the fans destroy it, crumbling it into pieces of ice.

[open.sesame]
Written by : Ford & Butch

And that's when we fade back into the arena, where the fans have packed the Elks Lodge as best they can. They cheer, and President Ford is in the ring to kickstart this broadcast, in difference to the normalcy of both Chris Astro and Meygon fighting like six year olds over who gets to say welcome.

GP: Fans, welcome to the Elks Lodge Tribute show, but I think we have to get right into the action. Ford is in the ring, microphone in hand, and whatever he has to say, it has to be important.

JT: What if he says Banana hammock? Is THAT important?

Ford taps the microphone as the fans in attendance slowly ease their way to their seats, and a quiet hush falls over the arena.

Ford: Fans, I'd like to say a few things and I'd like to not be interrupted while doing so, so even though I'm welcoming you all to this fine establishment, please hold off on any applause until I'm through.

The fans do so for the most part. A few boo, for whatever reason.

Ford: There's been a pressing issue backstage here in the IWO ever since Gold and Glory. While HardCase destroyed the ring, and the fans in Philadelphia were a bit too violent for my taste, mimicking and ol' ECW historic moment, but that's not what I'm concerned about. What I'm concerned with, is the fate of the IWO World Heavyweight Championship.

Cheers, although Ford seems to be more annoyed than thankful.

Ford: Listen, I ask to not be interrupted because I want to get right on with the show, but this has to be addressed, and I don't want to be out in this ring talking for fifty minutes because I can't get a word in edge wise. But with that, I'll just come right out and say it. Last month, Breaker and HardCase fought to a tie during the thirty minute iron man match. And it will be those two, who tonight, square off one on one, for the HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD!

Huge cheers. Coming to the show to see the main event of Case/God might have been thrilling, but a World Heavyweight Title match is so much more.

Ford: So, I know what you're all thinking. What about the match with Hardcore Go-

That's when Ford is interrupted, to his dismay, not by the crowd.

But by “Main Offender” by the Hives.

Out from the backstage area saunters Keith Scott Zimmerman, receiving a mixed reaction. He has a microphone in his hand, as the music dies down.

KSZ: Chevrolet, hello.

This did nothing to further split the crowd reaction.

KSZ: And now, one small rhetorical question: just exactly how much of the government's crack are you on there, Tonya?

Ford: I didn't call for you young Zimmerman. Why are you honoring us with your presence? And more importantly, why does it have to be now?

Zimmerman: I'm honoring you with my presence because on our last little soiree a mass injustice happened. Worse than Billy Gunn winning the Intercontinental Title. Worse than that lame-ass music of his. Worse than him period. I had him set to tap. Everyone saw it. He didn't fight out of the hold, never made the ropes. That time running out was a bunch of GARBAGE. That was another fall for me. I should've won the belt. So, you're going to put me in that little match for the title, or you're going to get turned into an Oompa-Loompa in a suit and tie.

Ford: Well Keith, this IS my chocolate factory, and truthfully, you all are my oompa loompas. So you know what K-S-Z, I understand where you're coming from. And I'm going to right the injustice you spoke of. Even though Breaker NEVER submitted to your hold. Even though you NEVER tied HardCase or Breaker to truthfully be apart of sudden death overtime, you'll have your chance tonight. But it won't be in the main event.

Ford pauses, the fans are hanging on his words to see what's going to happen.

Ford: But it'll be you, Keith Scott Zimmerman, going against the Hardcore God, and Trey Vincent in a triple threat match. The winner? They'll go to the show at the end of the month and face the WINNER, of the main event!

A couple of boos, but a couple of cheers as well. The crowd is definitely split. Zimmerman ran his hand through his hair before smirking.

Zimmerman: Fine. You want me to jump through your little hoop, all right. But after I get rid of those two heat sinks it's on to the belt. And this federation is going to learn there's only ONE way to spell wrestling in this day and age, and it's...

Some people sang along as Keith stood an eyelash away…

Zimmerman: K! S! Z!

With that, he shoved the mic in Ford's hand and "Main Offender" rehit the PA. Both men calmly exit the ringside, and we head to the booth.

[debut.match]
Deft vs. Vandal
Written by: Tim

GP: Now, we have a match-up that'll pit IWO newcomer Vandal against Action! Wrestling star Deft.

JT: I can hear you..

GP: What are you on about now?

JT: You said deaf, and obviously after all this time, you should know I'm not deaf. Because if I was deaf you'd have to stand in front of me making those little hand movements..

GP: What hand movements?

JT: Just like that?

GP: Like what?

JT: That! You did it again, I'm telling you, I can hear you just fine.

GP: I.. Uh.. Never mind.. This match will be a contest that pits two men of vastly different styles against one another, Vandal being a large power wrestler, and Deft being the more all around wrestler. Let's send it to Meygon.

Meygon: The following match is set for one fall. Making his way to the ring first, by way of Coatesville, Pennsylvania… weight 307 pounds and standing six feet and nine and a half inches tall…. VANDAL!

“Quiet Storm” by Mobb Deep plays over the PA system as Vandal slowly makes his way to the ring. The crowd at large is mostly sitting on their hands watching as the large man, steps up the ring steps.

JT: Uh.. Greg, I think you were right, after the show, I'm going to have to buy a set of Miracle Ear off e-bay.

GP: Vandal is the oldest member of the wrestling family known as the Corteias, and from what I'm reading on this paper, he has wrestled in such promotions as XWF, Y2KWF, FWA, and he's currently on the thReat roster.

JT: This is weird, I can't hear a thing, but I can hear you? I'm not getting too old now am I?

GP: *cough* Let's send it back to Meygon..

Meygon: And his opponent, hails from Los Angeles, California… weighing 209 pounds and standing five feet and nine inches tall… DEFT!!

“Ashes in the Fall” by Rage Against the Machine blares over the sound system, as Deft makes his way out to the arena to positive fan fare, compared to Vandal's response. Deft made his way towards the ring darting down the ramp, and sliding right under the ropes.

JT: Well there's one good thing about this match..

GP: ….

JT: If we close our eyes, and squint really hard, without talking, it'd be like there was no match at all.

GP: There's tons of great things about this match, just watch, you'll see..

JT: It's working!!

Vandal charges over and puts a stomp to the back of Deft before he can get to his feet. The big man reaches down bringing Deft to a stand, and rockets him towards the opposite side of the ring in an Irish Whip. As Deft returns, Vandal telegraphs with a big boot, but Deft ducks! Rear waist lock by Deft..

GP: Deft's getting a little too ambitious, overrated his strength just slightly. And as a show of strength Vandal just shrugs off Deft.

Vandal turns and reaches down yet again to bring Deft up, but his adversary darts between his legs, and uses the ropes as a boost, and nails a bulldog! The ring rattles as a result of the move, Deft goes right after the big man's legs by locking him into the Boston Crab. Deft tries to apply as much pressure as physically possible.

GP: Obviously the move is being used to wear down the legs of the thReat wrestler. Wow, what another show of strength by Vandal he just tossed Deft forward with his legs.

JT: Ahh.. What's next? What the hell? This is still on?

GP: Hey, quit it, it's not good for the product for you to be bashing the match like this. What if someone is watching and they turn it off because of your comments?

JT: Wouldn't be my fault.

Vandal's back up onto his feet, and so is Deft, but the big man charges right into an arm drag. Deft walks back to his legs, and this time flips Vandal onto his back, Vandal thinks fast as he slams his boot right into the face of Deft knocking him back to the mat. Vandal wipes the sweat off his head, as he begins to stalk towards Deft, he lifts the masked wrestler to his feet, and fires a harsh knee to the midsection… and another!.. And another!.. And another!

GP: Vandal for the first time is taking an advantage. Did you know he was a former NBA draft pick?

JT: Did he have relations with some hot nineteen year old chick out in Colorado?

GP: Not that I know of, but he might have…

JT: Not interested..

Hard Irish Whip right into the corner by Vandal! The recoil sends Deft stepping away from the corner and into the middle of the ring blindly, Vandal charges forward, and hits a splash in the corner!

GP: Deft is crushed! And Vandal is letting the world know, that he knows that he just put the masked man down!

JT: It's a splash.

Fan: You suck!

Vandal: Fuck you!

JT: Did you see that?

GP: Yeah, I see that Vandal is trying to rip Deft's mask off. That's not a good thing as…

JT: No, he got a crowd response.

Vandal pulling at the strings on Deft's mask, the smaller man tries to fight it off but Vandal replies by feeding him a mouth full of turnbuckle. Drawing the crowd in with his now savage movements, Vandal drew the crowd in as counting along as he slams Deft's head on the turnbuckle. The referee moves as trying to stop Vandal, but he won't be stopped!

GP: He's risking disqualification in his first match, that wouldn't be a good way to start his IWO career.

JT: Come on.. Just one more time!

Deft reaches up and grabs a hold of the ropes, stopping Vandal's assault. Vandal goes to slam his head again, but Deft blocks it again! Vandal tries a second and third time, but both times, Deft blocks again! Deft turns and nails a sharp elbow to the side of Vandal, easing the big man off of him. Deft turns, mask strings hanging in the air, and he charges forward towards Vandal.. The big man goes for the clothesline, but Deft ducks. Vandal turns and charges right into the drop toe hold!

GP: Just like that the flow of the match has changed, and now Deft has taken control, listen to the crowd roar in support. Stomp by Deft to the knee of Vandal.

JT: I bet this makes some think of the 60's, masked man beating a black guy. Not that I approve of that but still.. Come on masked guy!

GP: One of these days, I'll have a new partner, one of these days.

Deft stands and watches as Vandal slowly pushes himself to his knees, gritting his teeth as he attempts to push himself to a stand. Deft latches on with a sleeper hold, the ref goes to check if it's a choke and it's not. Vandal fights right through the hold, and stands up reaching back he grabs a handful of Deft and slams him onto the mat! Deft quickly found himself right back on his feet and he charges right back towards Vandal, but is stopped as the mammoth paw of Vandal grips onto his neck!

JT: Finally something interesting.. Drop him! Drop him!

GP: Vandal's going to try and choke slam out of the rin… No, eye rake by Deft and the big man drops Deft.

Not wasting a moment, Deft charges forward and nails a solid boot to the midsection of Vandal, effectively doubling the big man over. Deft turns and.. Nails the Ace Crusher! Deft quickly goes for the cover..

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT!

GP: Vandal is fuming, and seeing how large of a man he is, it's hard to blame him. But it speaks volumes of Deft's ability, despite being a foot shorter, despite being a hundred pounds lighter, he's keeping the larger man off balance.

Deft goes around to Vandal's legs, and attempts a figure four, but Vandal boots him off and back into the ropes. Deft bounces right off the ropes and attempts a elbow drop, but Vandal rolls out of the way and gets back up to his feet. Vandal brings Deft up as well and sends him towards the ropes, as Deft returns he's back dropped out of the ring!

DP: And just like that Vandal has gotten control of the match right back. And for a guy who people call the Mute, he's doing a lot of bantering with the crowd.

JT: And he's getting a response, I'm impressed. You know what? Maybe he's not so bad after all, now get outside and do something!

Vandal jumps down to ringside, like a predator, eyeing Deft, Vandal sends a vicious stomp to the back sending Deft right back down to the ringside mats. Vandal grips up Deft and throws his back into the ring, he grabs back onto him and throws him into the steel railing and back into the side of the ring! Deft comes off holding his back in pain. Shouts of the refs count went on behind Vandal's head, but they went unheard he lifted Deft up and.. Gorilla Press!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TE…

GP: Vandal tossed Deft back into the ring, and climbed back in just in the nick of time.

Vandal sets Deft up, and lifts for a power bomb, but something strikes in Deft and he reverses nailing a hurricanrana! Hooking the legs for the cover..

ONE…

TWO..

THR..

NO!!

GP: This match was almost wrapped up just like that by Deft, the whole match he's been able to keep Vandal off balance, the question is can he seal the deal.

Deft crouches on the top rope and waits as Vandal finally gets to his feet, and nails a drop kick sending Vandal back onto his back! The wind knocked out of Vandal, and he's having trouble getting up.

JT: This Vandal guy is pathetic! He can't even work the crowd right, he's pathetic!

GP: Calm down JT, he doesn't even come close to your level of pathetic-ness.

JT: Exactly!… Wait no… no.. he's worst, trust me.

Deft locks on the figure four, and all 6'9 of Vandal writhes in pain, fist pounding against the mat as he tries to force himself across the ring to grab the ropes. The ref asks whether or not Vandal wants to quit, and Vandal yells back “NO!” every time. Using his strength advantage, Vandal drags himself and Deft across the ring, and he locks his hands on the bottom rope, subsequently breaking the hold.

GP: Vandal is slow to get back to his feet now, that work that was done to his legs, seems to have finally gotten to Vandal. Look at him grimacing as he forces his way up. He's no spring flower either, just think about the pain he's going through.

Deft goes to the apron, and nails a springboard DDT! Vandal lies on his back, as the crowd roars in approval for Deft, who quickly mounts the ropes. He leaps off and nails the leg drop! The crowd roars as Vandal shows no sign of movement, but Deft lifts him to his feet anyway..

GP: Vandal is dead to rites..

Deft nails the Newer-Age Estradaplex! And Vandal's out cold, Deft hooks the leg..

ONE..

TWO..

THREE!!

Meygon: The winner of the match.. DEFT!!

GP: And there we have it. Deft comes out with a huge win, ruining Vandal's debut in IWO.

JT: Vandal ruined it, look at him, he's that big and he doesn't win? Someone get him out of here, he shouldn't be allowed to wrestle here.

GP: It was one match..

JT: He's a bum, we've had some crap come through here, but he's the absolute worst. BOO! Vandal.. BOO!

The ref raises Deft's hand as the crowd applauds the size-wise upset. His music plays as he heads back to the back.

[Winner:Deft]

[setting.things.up]
Written by: Errol

HardCase sits comfortably in his locker room lounge chair, looking listlessly at the beginnings of the show.

Seconds later his door swings open and in walks Jack Breaker. HardCase isn't startled, or concerned.


HardCase: Take a seat.

Breaker complies and sits on a wooden bench to HardCase's side, and looks on interestedly while HardCase bothers not even to make eye contact.

Breaker: Well uhm...I got your message. And I'm here. What do you want?

HC: Well I was thinking about our match tonight. I'm sure you heard Ford's announce mean yea?

Breaker nods yes.

HC: Nice. So its gonna be a pretty big match huh?

Breaker: Uh...yea.

The two fall into an awkward silence. HardCase didn't think this out thoroughly enough. The second h heard Ford make the announcement he begin setting a plan motion. He had the papers already typed up. All he needed was for Breaker to sign them...and there in lies the problem.

How would HardCase get Jack Breaker to sign the papers for tonight's mainevent? What should he tell him? How could he dupe him? What crafty ingenuity will he have to spawn in order to coax Breaker into signing his name to the dotted line? Surely Jack would figure something was off. Just how the hell is HardCase supposed deceive him without him suspecting a thing? How is-

Breaker: My cat has a furry face.

HardCase turns around and stares deeply into Jack's eyes. He looked on letting Breaker's comment about his cat's face hang awkwardly in an air of silence...maybe HardCase was giving this guy too much credit.

HC: Say...sign this.

After a moments consideration.

Breaker: Okie Dokie.

Breaker scribbles his name onto the papers and hands them back to HardCase without question.

HC: Thanks buddy.

Breaker: No prob.

HC: ...Now fuck off.

Breaker: Kay.

HardCase sets the papers aside as Breaker leaves completely unaware of the repercussions of this seemingly pointless meeting. HardCase relaxing, thinking about how he would wear his IWO Title belt.

[got.those.survivor.blues]
Written by: nick

All is quiet backstage, you could consider this a bad thing, but it somehow isn't. cHEESE and egg NOG sit in the quiet of the locker room, opting out of one of Ford's big "pep-talks." The mood is rather somber, the two hardly saying a thing to each other. YoGuRt sits next to cHEESE in a rusting folding chair, gray chips of paint flaking onto YoGuRt's brown, standard-issue shirt. He doesn't seem to notice, or he simply doesn't care, a theme that all three men seem to share. So they sit in the quiet room, only the voice inside their head to keep them company. The serenity of the moment is lost when someone knocks on the door. Before anyone can say anything, the door creaks open and a head pokes in. That being the head of Tom Ford. He owns the joint you know, he doesn't need permission to enter.


Ford: Hey boys, missed you at the meeting.

egg NOG: Yeah, sorry about that. Must have slipped my mind.

Ford simply nods.

Ford: Yeah, that seems to be a growing theme with the two of you. Missed you last show, by the way. I'm sure Joe, Julius, Donell and Amanda did too.

cHEESE: I'm sure they did.

Ford cringes at the sarcastic remark, he wants more than anything to snap back, but he knows better. He needs talent, he can't afford to follow the road traveled by ECW or WCW. So he only nods as he continues.

Ford: So, care to explain where you two were last month?

egg NOG: Home.

Ford: Home, eh? Care to divulge why?

egg NOG: Depression. Doctor said take some time off.

Ford: Did he?

cHEESE, never actually making eye contact with Ford, nods.

Ford: Well, listen guys, I need you two to work tonight. Is that asking too much?

The duo shrug. Ford sighs and accepts it as a "yes".

Ford: You'll be working with the Arcade's. Try to make it something special, ok? This is a tribute show after all.

egg NOG points to Ford and clicks his teeth.

egg NOG: Nothing but the best for the IWO.

Ford: Good... good.

Ford lets the door slowly close, but before it comes to stop, he pushes it back open and adds one, last statement.

Ford: Oh, boys? Next time you feel "depressed," care to share it with the rest of us? You know, so we don't run around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off.

egg NOG: Will do, chief. Will do.

[tag.team.match]
Those Damned Mexicans vs. Super Martin-O Bros.
Written by:


[mirror.mirror.on.the.wall.1]
Written by: JCS

Stepping into the Internet Wrestling Organization's locker room does many things to many people.

For the wide eyed rookies, it gives them something to talk about with their peers en route to the next show.

For the experienced and sometimes elderly wrestlers, like Action! Wrestling's Conrad Ramsey or Hulk Hogan himself, it is a place that one can go to hide from the spotlight and rest before, and possibly after, what usually ends up being a grueling match.

For the fans, who often view wrestlers as entertainers who compete and then leave the arena to go indulge in a glamorous lifestyle, it is a rude, and somewhat disgusting, awakening when they get the rare opportunity to step inside of the wrestlers' domain and enjoy the rampant smell of sweat.

For Kory Storm, who must be somewhere in the middle of all of those things, it was home.

However, as Storm stands in front of a mirror in said locker room, doing as he had done what seemed like millions of times before, the smiles and ideas that usually show his confidence and vision of victory aren't present.

Instead, he wears a blank look on his face, no doubt mulling over the fact that his home could be taken away from him shortly.

Still thinking, the man that critics and marks alike once deemed 'Perfection Personified' begins jumping up and down, a tradition that signifies the pumping up of oneself that Eminem stole to look cool in 8 Mile, in preparation for his match with Jamal Wilson.

It was to be the end of something that had defined him for months because regardless of the outcome, the two would never step foot in the same ring, together, again.

One of them, either Kory himself or Wilson, would be leaving the IWO promotion for good.

Kory stares into the mirror once more, and smiles, clicking his heels together as he did so and muttering.

Kory Storm: There's no place like home…there's no place like home.

Still repeating that oh so true statement to himself, he begins to walk away from the mirror that he may never face again and towards a match that will determine his future in a business that he loves.

Do you still think it's glamorous?

[mirror.mirror.on.the.wall.2]
Written by: JoSo

The scene shoots backstage to the tiny private locker room that the IWO gave to Jamal because the other wrestlers were afraid to change with him. The 'Hardcore Homo' Jamal Wilson stands in front of a full length mirror. He's not moving or talking, he's just standing in front of the mirror, looking at himself. As the camera zooms in on Jamal, he begins to speak.

Jamal Wilson: HEYZZIES!

Jamal turns around and faces the camera. He's wearing a tight pink belly shirt that says "I Heart IWO" on it in black writing and he's wearing his trademark pink wrestling tights with a Rainbow across the crotch and the word "Pride" right below the rainbow where his. err. 'package' is. Jamal moves around and poses in his shirt and tights.

Jamal Wilson: Well, don't I look just fantabulous?

Jamal turned around and showed his 'booty' to the camera before bending over to tie one of his pink wrestling boots. While he was doing this, he continued to talk to the camera.

Jamal Wilson: If I'm going to leave the IWO tonight because I lose to Kory Storm, which I won't. I want to leave in style. Have you seen Kory Storm? For a rich man he is SO uncoordinated when it comes to fashion. He's always wearing that tired Abercrombie & Fitch brand. Let me ask him something, has he ever heard of Gucci, Prada or Burberry? Let me show you something.

Jamal moved out of camera view briefly and came back carrying a black purse with brown all around it.

Jamal Wilson: Kory, I know you're going to see this eventually so let me show you this bag. THIS. IS. GUCCI. Have you ever heard of it? It's what the REAL rich and famous own! Take your Abercrombie & Fitch and shove it up your ass, which I know wouldn't be the first time you've had something shoved up there. I'm tired of your complaining because I pinned you two times in a row. This promotion isn't big enough for the both of us, and it's time that you left. DON'T HATE, CONGRATULATE! And if you're young and hung, MASTURBATE!

And with that, Jamal Wilson heads for the door and towards the entrance of the Elks Lodge.

[loser.leaves.iwo]
Written by: JCS & Joso

Greg Parker: This should be an interesting match. These two hate each other so much that they're willing to put their IWO careers on the line to get rid of one another for good.

JT: Yeah, and here's to hoping that Kory Storm gets rid of that fa…

GP: Don't say it! Ford will have your ass if you make a derogatory remark about homosexuals, which Jamal is not a part of. Jamal says he's as straight as a ruler.

JT: Oh really? Jamal's straight? HAHAHA! I haven't heard something that laughable since I heard that Ford had a girlfriend. I always wondered how Jamal got his job here, and after hearing how Tom is defending the queers, I'm pretty sure I know how now.

GP: *sigh* Let's head to the ring for the introductions.

Chris Astro nods before speaking.

Chris Astro: Ladies and gentlemen of the Elks Lodge in Queens, New York.

The crowd cheers.

Chris Astro: The following match is scheduled for ONE fall and has NO time limit! This will be a No Holds Barred, falls count anywhere contest in which the loser will leave the IWO for good!

More cheers from the New York crowd.

Chris Astro: Introducing first, he hails from San Diego, California and weighs in tonight at 276 pounds…He is the FORMER IOW World Heavyweight Champion… he is 'PERFECTION PERSONIFIED'… KORY STORM!

“Jump Da Fuck Up” by Soulfly plays over the PA system as the crowd begins to jeer. Kory Storm steps through the curtains with a scowl on his face as the fans make obscene gestures towards him and cuss him out loudly. Kory lifts up both of his middle fingers and walks towards the ring. He slides into the ring and does a circle with his hands still showing the middle finger to the crowd.

JT: That's my kind of guy! He doesn't give a damn how harsh these dumbass New Yorkers are, he's telling them to go to hell!

Chris Astro: And his opponent…

The crowd begins to buzz in anticipation. Some fans in the audience are wearing their Jamal Wilson shirts that they bought either from the website or from a previous show.

Chris Astro: He hails from the MEAN streets of San Francisco, California and he weighs in tonight at 225 pounds… he is the FORMER PIW United States Heavyweight Champion of the world! He “HARDCORE HOMO”… JAMAL WILSON!

The crowd cheers as “It's Raining Men” by the Weather Girls blares throughout the loud speakers and some fans begin throwing pink ribbons into the air.

The cheers get much louder as Jamal Wilson steps through the curtains in his black “I Make Boys Cry” t-shirt and pink wrestling tights with the word “Pride” across the crotch and the rainbow in the background. Jamal walks down the ramp, throwing glitter into the air as the cheering intensifies. Kory Storm stands in one corner of the ring, glaring at Jamal as the “Hardcore Homo” enjoys himself with the crowd.

Jamal finally slides into the ring and blows a kiss at Kory, which nearly sends him into a rage.

JT: Whoever designed Jamal's tights should be fired. Check out that unnatural bulge in the front.

Jamal Wilson does a crotch chop towards Kory Storm just as JT says this, causing Greg Parker to burst out in laughter.

GP: Jamal certainly knows how to have fun. And it's rather weird that you'd notice the bulge in the front of his britches… extremely weird. Are you not telling me something, JT?

JT: Oh shut up. That thing is huge! How could you miss it?

GP: I think this match is about to get underway.

The two men walk to the center of the ring as referee Tom Renner explains to them that they can basically do whatever the hell they want and that falls count anywhere.

JT: Wow, look at that. Tom's revolutionary with his explanation of the rules.

GP: Jamal had that stipulation put on so he could show his “hardcore” side.

JT: Lord knows we've seen his “homo” side.

GP: Everybody has. The Homo is short for Homo sapiens… which means the human race.

JT: Whatever you say, Captain Queer.

GP: *Sigh*

The bell rings as Jamal and Kory lock up. Kory immediately uses his size to his advantage and backs Jamal Wilson into the ring corner. Renner doesn't ask for a break due to the fact that it's a no disqualification match and Kory immediately knees Jamal hard in his gut. Kory rears back and begins to hit Jamal in the face hard with some rights and lefts. As Jamal tries to block the punches, Kory begins to kick Jamal hard in the gut, each time more ferocious than the last.

GP: Kory's really motivated.

JT: Yup, and who would blame him? He's doing the public a favor by trying to rid professional wrestling of Jamal Wilson.

As Jamal lies down, slumped in the corner after being stomped, Kory backs to the opposite corner.

GP: I wonder what he's doing here.

Greg Parker's question is answered as Kory runs across the ring and knees Jamal Wilson in the face with a brutal knee lift.

JT: OUCHIE!

Jamal slumps his head in the corner, not moving as Kory begins to jaw jack with some fans in attendance.

GP: Kory really needs to focus on the match at hand. Doesn't he know that this could cost him the match?

JT: Jamal's practically dead…. THANK GOD!

Kory grabs Jamal up and helps him to his feet before backing him into the corner and giving him a hard Irish Whip into the opposite turnbuckle. On the return Jamal runs right into a vicious spear by Kory Storm. Kory gets to his feet and drops three consecutive elbows across Jamal's chest before going for the cover.

Renner: ONE! TWO!

Kickout.

JT: That was close! Kory almost took the match without even having to get involved with all that hardcore trash that Jamal likes.

Kory picks Jamal up and kicks him in the gut before dropping him with a crushing vertical suplex. Instead of going for the cover, Kory rolls to the outside of the ring and makes his way towards Chris Astro as Astro sits in his ring announcer's chair.

GP: Are you kidding me? Kory is looking to bring the plunder into the match before Jamal does. This could easily backfire on him since this isn't really his forte.

JT: Trust me, Kory knows what he's doing. This guy used to be the IOW World Champion, ya know?
Astro leaves his seat so as not to get shoved, but Kory shoves him anyway before laughing and picking up his steel chair.

JT: What a showman!

GP: That's unpartisan-like conduct.

JT: Huh?

GP: Nevermind.

Kory slides into the ring as Jamal is getting to his feet in a dazed state. With Jamal's back to him, Kory taps the steel chair on the mat so as to get Jamal's attention. When Jamal turns around, Kory goes for a homerun swing but Jamal ducks under it and kicks Kory in the stomach, causing him to drop the steel chair. Jamal then hit's a vicious DDT onto the steel chair to a huge pop from the crowd.

GP: Just when you thought he was down!

Jamal gets to his feet, running off pure adrenaline as his head aches and Kory tries to recover on the mat. Jamal picks up the steel chair that Kory had brought into the ring and waits for Kory to erect. When Kory gets up, Jamal hits him in the face with a wicked chairshot, causing Kory to fall backwards into the ring ropes. With Kory resting on the ring ropes, Jamal runs at him and takes him up and over the top rope with a chair assisted clothesline!

GP: Geez, did you hear that thud? Kory's 276 pound frame just hit the protective ring mats which really don't protect that much on the outside of the ring.

JT: This is not looking good…

GP: I told you that it wouldn't be a good idea for Kory to bring the weapons into the ring.

As Kory lies on the mat trying to recover, Jamal Wilson sets the chair up in a seating position a few feet from the ropes as he slowly moves to the other side of the ring.

JT: I wonder what the hell this uneducated nut job is going to do now…. Doesn't he know that Kory Storm is a man of wealth and respect? This is despicable.

Jamal waits for Kory to begin getting to his feet and as soon as he does, Jamal bounces off the ropes, jumps onto the seated chair, and uses it to jump onto the top rope before hitting Kory with a somersault plancha, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

GP: OH MY GOD! TRIPLE JUMP SOMERSAULT PLANCHA!

Crowd: HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

JT: HOLY SMOKES!

Wilson wastes no time in getting up after landing the move, albeit nursing what appears to be a set of broken and bruised ribs, and approaches the steel guardrail which separates the crowd from the ring.

Speaking to a decent looking woman who stands there at ringside, on the other side of the guardrail of course, Jamal's voice cracks due to the fatigue and pain he is experiencing.

Jamal: Mind…if…I…join…you?

The woman shakes her head and consequently shakes a few other areas of her body.

GP: It's amazing what being on camera does to a person.

JT: Forget that! Would you look at the rack on her?

Wilson hops over the guardrail and suddenly becomes one of many fish in a proverbial sea of people, playing to the crowd before hopping up onto the guardrail, signifying to those in the audience that he is about to execute another high risk maneuver.

Standing there, atop the thin steel bar, Wilson crouches low and sizes up the distance between Storm and himself, glancing at the woman next to him as he does so.

Jamal: Nice…blouse.

Suddenly, as Jamal turns his head away from the curvy girl and her attire, Storm shocks him out of nowhere with a superkick that sends him flying backwards off of the railing and onto the concrete floor, which people quickly scatter away from.

GP: He really shouldn't have wasted all of that time.

JT: Yeah, I mean, she wasn't even that great looking. I'd give her a seven, perhaps an eight if the lighting was right.

Storm climbs nonchalantly over the guardrail and winks at the woman who Wilson was surveying earlier before making his way through the crowd in order to get to Wilson, who lays there on the concrete being blocked by several people who wish to get their fifteen minutes of fame in by appearing on camera.

Storm begins pummeling through those ignorant enough to get in his way, but is having trouble getting to Jamal, who is slowly but surely crawling away from the spot where he was previously left following the kick from Storm.

Tom Renner, the referee of this contest, follows in accordance with the Falls Count Anywhere stipulation put onto this match by IWO bookers. Making his way through the havoc wreaked by a now crawling Wilson and an angry Kory Storm, Renner catches up with the two competitors, who are engaged in a brawl near a steel set of scaffolding.

Wilson begins climbing the support scaffolding, but has Storm trying to pull him down to contend with, which is indeed a tough obstacle to overcome. Storm stands there with his feet curled securely around one of the scaffold's many poles and claws vigorously at Jamal's tights.

Wilson seems to lose grip at first, allowing one of his hands to slip off of the steel pole that it was previously attached to, but regains his composure, and his grip, by kicking Storm ferociously in the face and making him fall once more to the concrete.

Storm refuses to give up, however, and begins climbing the scaffolding once more, trying to catch up with Wilson who has moved up about a foot more since kicking Kory down to the first rung. Standing there on the steel pole, Wilson plays to the crowd and blows kisses to his public, his small, yet cut, black body contrasting deeply with the walls of the immortal Elks Lodge all the while.

GP: Wilson looks pretty secure up there. Perhaps he's just taken the air as a second home of sorts.

JT: Yeah, but Kory is vastly approaching, so maybe he should keep his focus on 'Perfection Personified' and not on this crowd.

Storm manages to reach Jamal once more and grabs his ankle tightly, prompting Wilson to lose balance and fall down to his level, smacking his head on the pole in between as he does so. Wilson remains resilient though and keeps his grip tight on the same pole that Storm has his hands on.

Removing one of those hands, Storm grabs Jamal by the throat and moves over so that they are practically eye and eye. Stepping on Wilson's toes, Kory causes the former PIW superstar to completely lose his balance on the scaffolding them and simply hang there, Kory's grip on his neck as the only thing that separates him from his current position and the ground, which is about five feet down.

Keeping both feet and his free hand planted firmly on the scaffolding, Storm pulls Wilson closer to him and raises him slightly into the air, forcing him to enjoy the scenery before chokeslamming him to the concrete floor of the Elks Lodge.

GP: MY GOD! HE COULD BE DEAD!

JT: C'mon Greg! It was only a five foot drop!

Wilson lays there, looking slightly out cold, as Storm surveys the damage he has done from his perch above. Looking down at Jamal, his rival since a federation owned by one Jim Johnson reappeared on professional wrestling's radar, Storm abandons all reservations and lets go of the scaffolding, only to dive off of the steel pole he was standing on and land on top of Jamal Wilson with a tremendous, yet incredibly unexpected and uncharacteristic of Storm, elbow drop.

He, Kory, makes a cover simply because he has no other choice due to the fact that he's just as hurt as Wilson is following the high risk maneuver. Tom Renner kneels on the ground next to them and begins to count.

JT: One!

The announcer screams along with Tom Renner and the crowd, Renner's hand connecting viciously with the concrete that Wilson's lifeless body lays on top of.

GP: Two!

Wilson's body shifts suddenly and prompts Storm to rise, scowling at the fact that his attempt at victory had been thwarted by Jamal. Renner also rises to his feet, following Storm as he drags Wilson, who remains grounded despite that sudden surge of enemy, to the guardrail by his arm.

Storm then picks Wilson up and holds him highly over his head, Gorilla Pressing him over the steel guardrail and onto the protective mats that line the ringside area. Wilson writhes in pain and rolls around on the mats as Storm climbs over the guardrail again, this time to return to his domain, the ring.

Storm spits at Wilson's contorting body and wastes no time in raising him to his feet again in order to continue the punishment, grabbing his arm and motioning for an Irish Whip that will no doubt send 'The Hardcore Homo' into the steel turnbuckle. Wilson acts as if he's dazed at first, but as Storm tries to put the move into motion, Wilson winks and reverses the Whip, sending Storm barreling towards the unforgiving steel turnbuckle.

Storm connects brutally with the post, but doesn't fall. Instead, he bounces off of it and stumbles backwards into Jamal, who is waiting in the wings with arms wide open. Lifting Storm high into the air with what little strength he has, Wilson drops Storm to the mats with a High Angle Backdrop.

JT: I can't help but wondering how that little queer…

GP: Ahem!

JT: Excuse me. That little man could lift Storm and then drop him with such power to the ground!

GP: That's better.

Wilson at first looks as if he's going to make a cover, but instead picks Storm up by his hair, which is now slightly longer then when he stepped foot onto a PIW set almost a year ago. Rolling Kory into the ring, Wilson remains on the outside and high fives a few fans as he skips to the other side of the ring.

There, in his line of vision, sit the steel steps that allow superstars who wish to climb them entry into the ring. Once again, after walking over to the steps and locking his hands onto them, Jamal summons his seemingly nonexistent strength and picks up the steps, sliding it into the ring under the ropes after doing so.

Then, after making sure that his opponent was still woozy and that the steps were securely in place, Wilson begins to rummage under the ring and pulls out a wooden buffet table. Smiling widely, Wilson slides this into the ring as well and then jumps up onto the apron. Climbing through the ropes, Wilson makes his way over to Storm, who in turn responds by rolling the supposed homoerotic superstar up in a school boy.

Renner kneels down to count, but before he can do so, Wilson suddenly reverses with a school boy of his own. Storm struggles for a bit, which allows Renner to begin counting.

Renner: One!

However, one was all that Jamal could get at this point, for Storm wiggles out of the school boy and puts Wilson in a pinning predicament of his own. Wilson lies there, squirming, with his back against the canvas and Storm's legs over his arms, trying to prevent a struggle.

Renner's hand slams the mat once more.

Renner: One!

Yet, just as in the previous occasion, Wilson reverses the hold and pins Storm to the mat in the same manner that Storm had just tried on Jamal. Jamal smiles, perhaps because his hands are wrapped around Storm's legs, as Renner counts once more.

Renner: One!

Storm finally ends the seemingly endless amount of reversals by kicking rather powerfully out of Wilson's, sending the African American star reeling a few feet away from him.

GP: Wilson is fuming after that! He really wants to win this match!

JT: Like Kory doesn't?!

GP: I never said that! I just meant that…

JT: …It's because he's white isn't it?

GP: Don't be absurd! Of course it…

JT: …Whatever man! Tell it to Cochran!

As their argument continues, both men have risen to their feet and are struggling for control inside of the ring. Storm gains control and pushes Wilson against the ropes, but Wilson fires back with a stunningly executed dropkick that sends Storm against the ropes on his side.

Kory, of course, ends up coming back, quite dazed unfortunately for him, to Jamal who is ready and takes him to the mat with a hiptoss. Storm arches his back, an area that had been injured many times over the course of his career, as Wilson walks over to the weapons that he had put into the ring earlier.

Wilson whistles happily to himself while Storm sells the hiptoss in the corner, setting up the wooden buffet table while the chorus of “Put It In Your Mouth” by Akinyele emits loudly out of his mouth through whistles. After he finishes with this task, Wilson pushes the steel steps closer to the table and then walks over to Kory Storm, no doubt looking to put this match away.

Wilson lifts Storm up and leads a stumbling shell of 'Perfection Personified' towards the steps. Walking up them backwards so that his back faces the table, Storm faces Wilson and reacts accordingly with a right hook to Jamal's head.

Jamal, not one to ignore a brawl, shocks him back with a right hook of his own, but locks arms with Storm rather then letting Kory fall backward from the impact of the punch. Wilson then, in a tremendous showing of his agility, hops up onto Storm's shoulders and looks to take him down with his trademark Hurricanrana, which, despite a lot of fighting from Storm, he does.

Storm's body connects with the table, causing the cheap piece of wood to split in half and the fans to go crazy. Wilson crawls over to Storm as all of this goes on and drapes his body over Kory's.

Renner looks over the wreckage with wide eyes before getting down on all fours and starting the count, a count that would end this feud for good, eject Kory Storm from the Internet Wrestling Organization, and immortalize Jamal Wilson as a true hardcore competitor who paid his dues in the legendary Elks Lodge.

…Or so everyone thought.

GP: Wait a minute! Christopher Kingsley is running down to the ring!

JT: What a dedicated agent!

As Renner goes to slap his hand against the mat for a third time, Christopher Kingsley, agent and friend of Kory Storm, grabs Tom's foot and pulls him outside of the ring.

GP: What a cheater!

Wilson remains where he is for a moment, Storm barely stirring under him, before getting up and approaching the ropes, leaning over them to scream at the referee.
Meanwhile, somehow, Kory Storm manages to get to his feet and shuffle over to where Jamal Wilson stands. Tapping Wilson on the back, Kory stands in waiting as Jamal turns around and meets Kory's foot, driven swiftly and stiffly directly into his crotch.

Wilson gasps for air and crouches over slightly, right into the muscular arms of Storm, who hoists Jamal Wilson over his shoulders and screams loudly into the air, letting the crowd know just what is coming. Then, after a few moments of anticipation, Kory briskly walks a few feet over to where the steel steps are and dives downward with a Death Valley Driver, also known as…

GP: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM! ONTO THE STEEL STEPS! WILSON'S NECK COULD BE BROKEN!

Kory smirks conceitedly as he pulls Jamal's bleeding and broken body off of the steel steps and onto the canvas, hooking his leg directly afterward.

Kingsley laughs manically and points the referee, Tom Renner, in the direction of the ring. Having no choice, Renner rolls into the ring and begins administering the count, despite knowing that Kory had cheated to get Jamal in this position.

Renner: One!

The fans jeer loudly and begin to throw trash into the ring as the count continues.

Renner: Two!

GP: I can't believe this is ending like this.

Renner: THREE!

JT: Storm wins! Storm wins! Wilson is out of the IWO promotion for good!

GP: I'm sure that makes Kory and Kingsley happy…despicable bastards.

“Jump Da Fuck Up” kicks into the speakers once more as Kory Storm lets go of Wilson's motionless leg and rolls out of the ring into the arms of his agent, Christopher Kingsley. They make their way up the ramp, Storm's giggles prominent in their post-match conversation, despite the blood he was coughing up.

Kory Storm: The fag is gone! I, Kory Storm, have killed him. Love me!

The fans continue to boo as he speaks to them, completely ignoring the fact that they can't hear him.

Kory Storm: I SAID LOVE ME!

They continue to ignore the words that he's screaming, which prompts him to raise a single finger, shrug them off, and step victoriously through the curtain. Wilson, meanwhile, has just gotten to his feet and is stumbling up the ramp, heartbroken.

Suddenly, as if it were a personal sign from God, “It's Raining Men” begins to play and the fans begin to cheer, unfortunately for the last time.

GP: This, ladies and gentleman, is the end of an era.
Wilson stands ceremoniously at the top of the entrance stage and looks upon the fans that love him with a bloody smile, as if to say that he'll be back. His music continues to play and in a triumphant statement, Wilson raises his arm and waves goodbye to the fans before stepping through the curtain.

GP: Goodbye Jamal Wilson! We barely knew ye!

[Winner:Kory Storm]

[extreme.championship.sports.entertainment]
Written by: Leary

The scene? Outside of the Elks. There stood a man with a bottle of Miller High-Life, the Champagne of Beers. You better recognize. He is sitting on the roof of a car, his feet resting on the windshield. That man is Trey Vincent. The self-proclaimed Sports Entertainment Icon and Franchise Player of the Internet Sports Entertainment Organization.

TV: So tonight, I have to face a man claiming to be a Hardcore God, and a man I learned to quickly despise when I set foot in the halls of Action. And these three worlds will collide tonight in a venue that was visited by the great ECW federation.

TV: Great, you ask? Don't I trash hardcore, bush-league sports entertainment? You bet I do. But ECW stood up and revolutionized this business. This business that sucked ass and denied that we were living in the 20th century.

TV: Well now, kids, it's the 21st century. Things are only going to get more exciting from now on. And you are looking at the man who is going to lead the next generation of sports entertainment. You are looking at the Sports Entertainment Icon. The IWO has no idea the talent they're wasting right here.

Vincent put the bottle of beer to his lips for a swig. He wasn't trying to be hardcore, like the Sandman. No, he was just drinking beer because he likes to drink beer.

TV: Everyone wonders why I'm even in the IWO. I came here for the money. I didn't come here to put on angles. I'm getting back into shape. For the last year, I've been wasting away. All I've done is talk and shoot all over pathetic enemy federations. The fWo. Asylum. Action. IOW. OSE. I live for poking people with a stick. And I did it like nobody else for the last year or so.

TV: But it's time to move on. The ring rust is gone. You've seen the matches I've put on here. Maybe you saw the match I put on last week against the hardcore legend in the making, Sharc. I destroyed his hardcore ass and showed that Trey Vincent can not only adapt, but adapt and destroy anybody who is thrown in my path.

TV: So we have the Hardcore God. I've never even heard of you, man. You ain't no God. You have no followers. You are just another scrub who can't get a job in a real company. Me? I have a job over in Action and a future one lined up. What have you done? Been in the gutter for the other 29 days of the month?

TV: My body's a bit battered from my last match. I fought in a bats and chairs match. And it was MY idea. I didn't beg off. I don't beg off. I see a fight. I go to it and win it. Tonight, the Hardcore God will worship the Franchise Player. You will learn why TV equals ratings when I teach you the sports entertainment lesson of a lifetime.

Another swig of beer and a glance at the sky followed.

TV: And Keith Scott Zimmerman. I know you've been waiting for it. The first time you might actually get mentioned as the best match of the night, when you aren't reviewing yourself. I read your silly columns at Action. You mark out for the wrong people, man. I'm the man all the sports entertainers want to be.

TV: But hey, that's cool, that's what ugly people do. They sit at their computers and type. You want to bring sports entertainment back to the dark ages, but you gotta understand something, kid. You're not like Benoit or Angle or RVD. You're more like X-Pac. Ah, that explains your heat.

TV: You boys are looking at the stiffest competition of your lives. Three-way dance. We're gonna bring the house down. Your first five-star match will come at the hands of Trey Vincent. I am the best sports entertainer in the IWO, and tonight I will prove it yet again.

TV: Just a reminder as to who in the hell I am. I am the reason that your girlfriend has a headache. The fantasy on every woman's fingers. The reason you are watching and the reason everyone came to this show. I have an ego, no doubt. Everyone may have an ego, but mine is just...bigger. And tonight, I'll show everybody just how big my ego is. And why I have the right to have the biggest ego in this business today.

Fade out on Trey pounding the rest of his beer and then tossing it away.

[patience.of.Him]
Written by: Aaron Smith

The camera cuts backstage, to find the Hardcore God sitting on a bench, wearing his usual scowl. His long platinum-covered coat that he often wears over his ring attire when conducting promos or making an entrance lies draped over the bench next to him. The God shakes his head and glances over at his midget, who is uncomfortably standing nearby.

H-God: That mortal Ford is really trying His patience. First he has the insolence to try to direct Him, the Hardcore God, around like one of his little vermin peons! Then he attempts to screw the God by making His rightful rematch with Hardcase a “technical” rules match. But since the God was so obviously going to triumph anyway, Ford now weasels out of that match and forces Him into a contendership match with some inconsequential, worthless … hmm, He already said “vermin.” What's another word for vermin, midget?

Midget: Umm … rodents?

H-God: Yes, that will do, He supposes. The God must now face these rodents to win what He should have tonight! The injustice of it all is so great that He greatly doubts Ford's mortal mind can even comprehend it! And these humans like to complain about that stupid Holocaust thing…

Midget: Errr, well, actually, sir, I myself am, um, Jewish, kinda, and I do think that, maybe, the Holocaust was a pretty bad thing to, uh, happen-

The Hardcore God gazes at his diminutive follower with a look of utter astonishment.

H-God: Just what in His name do you think you're doing, servant? While in the God's presence you do not speak unless spoken to, and even then as briefly as possible, and you most certainly do not taint His divine ears with your idiotic opinions and gibberish about being “Jewish,” whatever that is. Do you understand Him, or must He speak slower?

The midget hesitantly nods, looking scared and furious at the same time.

H-God : Good, now do not trouble Him with your words again. Now the God is supposed to be saying some trite, meaningless garbage about the significance of this completely insignificant dump that is lucky enough to be graced by His presence tonight. But as far as He can tell, this structure is only famous for the actions of other mortals in other human feds: in other words, completely worthless. He neither knows nor cares about the past actions of wrestlers not fit to wrestle on the same card as the Hardcore God, and He shall not waste any of His time dwelling on them in some false show of respect like the fawning mortals in this fed who somehow hope that will in turn garner them more respect. The God owes no man His respect, including His opponents for tonight, whom He shall punish for their insolence in trying to take anything from the Lord of Hardcore. Now come, midget, He must further prepare for the beating these mortals shall take in His name.

The God stands up, then turns an intense glare at the camera and delivers his catchphrase before the cut to commercial.

H-God : And on the eighth day He said, “And let there be bloodshed!”


[grudge.match]
High Flyer vs. Dolby Jenkins
Written by: Ford & Doug

GP: Up next on the show is a match that was booked after the actions by one Dolby Jenkins from Gold and Glory. Dolby, angered that his stunt out here to kill time for the IWO didn't land him the precious final spot in the main event, attacked the man who gained the fourth place before he could enter the ring, High Flyer.

JT: Did one hell of a number on him too. Making him number three on my all time list of favorite wrestlers behind our current World Champion and Simon Seaman!

GP: *Sigh* Whatever the case, Dolby gets to face one of the most star studded athletes the IWO has ever seen. Flyer, the current fWo star, may be hated outside of this place, but he's got a deep loyalty tie to this promotion, and no doubt, these fans respect that.

JT tries to talk, but the music of Flyer interrupts him. “Idioteque” by Radiohead blasts over the pa system here in the Elks Lodge, as Flyer walks out from the backstage with a microphone in his hands.

High Flyer: You know folks, I've never wrestled in this building. Throughout my entire career, I have never stepped into a ring for you people. And that's a damn shame. But tonight, I right those wrongs. Tonight I make sure, before your historical building gets taken down by your government, that I get the chance to. The chance to wrestle at the site of the first WWF Raw, the site of numerous ECW television tapings. I may be from Philadelphia.

The fans boo at the mention of Philly, as Flyer climbs into the ring.

High Flyer: But my heart goes out to each and everyone of you wrestling fans out there. Philadelphia, New York, Hawaii, you people all have one thing in common. Love.

Flyer wipes away an imaginary tear.

High Flyer: Love for this sport, love for this business. Just like I do.

Red flairs streaking into the Iraqi desert sky. All stars in full view; the fumes of endless oil fields in the horizon. Helicopters chopping the sky as recon troops enter the war zone looking for missing comrades. Cut to Dolby Jenkins, emaciated, dirty and glazed with sweat, limping towards recon troops in agony. Collapsing on the front wind shield of an AH-1S helicopter, his blood trickles down the glass to the horror of the pilots. His eyes blinking, he throws down his weapon and mouths "Danny's dead. Danny's dead" to the pilots. This scene fades into a juxtaposition of a post-war Dolby, swarthy and squalid, looking into the mirror with pale lifeless eyes. He applies make up to head his facial scars from the war. Zoom into those lifeless eyes, filling the entire screen. Blink. Blink. Intertwined with Dolby voicing over...

Dolby (VO): Somewhere during the moments where I was sent out to kill time during Gold and Glory by Mr. Ford, I saw the genius handed down in the system. The chaos theory is damn correct...a newbie could come out of no where, rap some shit and do a little dance and the fans would eat up this brutality. It was this system of brutality that Jack Harmen embezzled millions from the fans in becoming their legend, their High Flyer, their divine inspiration. In killing time, I went out to kill a legend.

“Where Is my Mind” by the Pixies cuts Flyer off, and out from the back walks Dolby Jenkins. He has his rattan cane in his hand, and points toward Flyer in the ring. Flyer drops the microphone, and immediately raises his arms, trying to get Dolby to get into the ring. Dolby takes a slow pacing toward the ring, and stops at the apron. He reaches in, not to slide in, but to grab the microphone Flyer had just dropped. And Flyer is non too please.

Dolby Jenkins: HELLO NEW YORK!

Flyer looks ancy in the ring, and Dolby holds the microphone out for Flyer to grab. Flyer reluctantly paces in the ring, as Dolby motions him on. He shrugs, and talks back into the microphone.

Dolby Jenkins: Jackie, such anger in you. I figured a shot to the head with this here cane would wake you up to the reality of the days you waste away pathetically. Look at what you've become...you're a mess. I covet about being Jack Harmen, a family man that worked his way up from a blurred past and made a living out of his childhood passions. Not the washed up luchadore that is a fill-in for a drunk victim of the Dolby exorcism thrust.        

Dolby paces, and waves around his rattan cane menacingly.

Dolby Jenkins: Your commitment to one woman shows you weak and pitiful you truly are. You are on the road 90 percent of the year, think of how much more grade A cooch you could have if you left your old lady in the ditch along a soiled road.

By now, Flyer is pacing around the ring, his face blood red.

Dolby Jenkins: Polygamy is a biological need, Jack. When I go to bed, I want to be sleeping next to not one, but two pieces of ass.

Flyer reaches over the top rope to the other side of the ring, demanding a microphone.

Dolby Jenkins: I can see my words have angered you Jackie, because you're cursing out people who aren't involved in our little discussion. I can see I'm affecting you. Taking out your anger toward a poor slutty ring announcer.

High Flyer: Dolby… I only have this for rebuttle…

Flyer walks over to the edge of the ring, toward Dolby's side. He takes a long pause.

High Flyer: …

And throws the microphone toward Dolby, smacking him square in the eye socket. Flyer raises his hands, telling Dolby to get into the ring, and Dolby does so, sliding in underneath the bottom rope before being met with boots. He drops his rattan cane in the process.

*Ding, ding, ding*


GP: And here we go!

Dolby fights to his feet, and rakes Flyer's eyes in the process. Blindly, Flyer twists away to recover, which Dolby uses to lock in a rear waist lock. He pushes Flyer all the way toward the ropes, and Flyer hooks the top rope to pause himself. Dolby tugs at Flyer once again, trying to pull him off and possibly hit some sort of german, but Flyer refuses, and elbows Dolby square in the jaw. Dolby backs off, and Flyer bounces off the far side and returns with a spinning wheel kick that catches Dolby square in his busted lip.

GP: HUGE Spin wheel kick from the Lunatic!

JT: …Dolby Jenkins if the FUCKEN MAN!

GP: Took you a while to say something.

Dolby scrambles to his feet but Flyer catches him with a knife edge chop that sends him all the way to the turnbuckle. The fans, obviously on Flyer's side, cheer on the onslaught, as Flyer lays in kick after kick to Dolby's ribs and midsection, before laying in one final boot to Dolby's jaw, which Flyer uses to then rebound off in a moonsault, landing on his feet.

GP: Dear GOD! Flyer just used Dolby's face as a launch pad!

JT: He's not a helicopter.

GP: But BOY can he fly!

JT: You've been waiting to say that for what, three years now?

GP: Pretty much.

Dolby is slumped down on the turnbuckle, holding on by the position of his arms. Flyer charges, looking for a hurraconrada, but Dolby reverses, and POWERBOMBS Flyer over the top and to the ground below in a thud.

GP: Holy Christ on a STICK!

Dolby is disorientated from the weight of Flyer, realizes what he's done as the boos are soaked in. Flyer, down and out, has to be nursing the same injury Dolby caused last show in Philadelphia. Dolby slides out of the ring, grabs Flyer by his hair, and tosses him head first into the steel steps to a thud.

GP: Dear GOD Dolby is vicious!

JT: He's making a case to move up my list of favorite wrestlers!

Flyer's scalp, the entire back of his head, is now covered in blood, which doesn't seem to look fake by any means. Dolby sees this, and decides to attack like a vicious pirhana, stomping away at the back of Flyer's head, wedging him between his foot, the ground, and the broken shell of the steel steps that once laid by ringside.

He rolls in the ring to break the count, and then rolls immediately back out.

Dolby lifts Flyer by his hair, and tosses him into the guardrail, back first. He then places his forearm underneath Flyer's chin, arching his neck back and putting Flyer's bleeding head into the laps of the audience. While this is going on, Dolby taunts him.

Dolby: Even if you wanted to bang the coochie, you couldn't do it tonight Jackie. Not after what I've done to you!

Dolby relents, as Flyer falls down to the ground in a heap. Dolby backs up a small bit, and with a very small running start, hammers Flyer with a Mick Foley-esq knee to the face, forcing the back of his head into the cold steel guardrail.

GP: The thud of Flyer's head ramming that steel will forever live in my mind.

JT: And in a GOOD WAY!

GP: What?!?! How can you be so sadistic.

JT: What can I say? I hate people.

Dolby reaches into the ring and grabs his rattan cane, but the referee places his foot on top to deter him.

JT: Oh COME ON! For RATINGS BABY!

GP: Oh dear God! Reed Young has possessed your soul! Someone get an exorcist.

Dolby sighs, and grabs Flyer's bloody hair before tossing him into the ring. His white strand in the front has become a tinted red from the blood, as has the back of his neck. Dolby slides in, and with his blood soaked hands, grabs Flyer and pulls him up by his hair.

Dolby Jenkins: This is the blood of a man who refuses to live the lifestyle he should. This is the blood of a man who believes to be normal but truly isn't. This is your blood Flyer. And until you embrace your true self…

Dolby pulls Flyer completely back and slams him, back and head first into the mat.

Dolby Jenkins: You'll have to continue seeing it.

Dolby walks over to the referee, and wrenches the rattan cane away from him. The referee tries to wave him off, but Dolby ignores him, and walks over to Flyer.

Dolby sits Flyer up, and prepares for the K-O shot.

Before Flyer spits his blood into Dolby's face.

GP: Flyer has never been one to back down from anything, although with the injury he's sustained, he may want to.

JT: Flyer's an idiot.

Dolby, who's outraged, drops the rattan and lifts Flyer up off the mat. But Flyer in the process, goes low on Dolby, sending him screaming like a little boy as he falls to his knees to cheers.

JT: Or not…

Flyer begins hammering away with limp right hands, before recovering to his feet. He stumbles, the lack of blood getting to him, before Dolby returns to his feet as well. Flyer kicks, probably low, and then wraps the palms of his hands around Dolby's neck, before lifting him up.

GP: COLD SNOW! COLD SNOW IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING! Dolby Jenkins' snow was just made cold!

JT: Dolby doesn't HAVE snow Parker. And they say I'm the psychotic.

Flyer, down, can't capitalize on a cover right away. He slowly rolls Dolby over, and then draps his body overtop, the blood dripping down his neck and landing in Dolby's face.

1…

2…

Dolby gets a shoulder up, much to the chagrin of the crowd.

GP: Dolby Jenkins still has quite some fight left in him.

JT: But Flyer doesn't seem the same.

Flyer pushes himself up off the mat, forcing himself, but that's when Dolby shoves Flyer down, and straddles over top of him. Dripping both his blood and Flyer's blood, he stands overtop, and laughs maniacally. The blood drips into Flyer's eyes, and he can no longer see.

GP: Dear God. This man is sick.

JT: Dear Dolby, you are now my God!

Flyer raises his legs underneath Dolby's armpits and rolls him up in a pin.

1…

Dolby easily kicks out, rolling to his feet, before shaking the cobwebs from his head, and wiping the blood away from his mouth. He looks at the fallen Flyer, and begins to pick him up yet again by his hair. He grabs Flyer in a ¾ headlock, and then springs up, completely overtop and behind Flyer, before driving the back of his skull into the mat.

GP: GRANDPA'S WOODEN LEG! DOLBY JUST HIT HIS FINISHER, SQUARE IN THE CENTER OF THE RING!

JT: And Flyer doesn't look to be moving.

Dolby dives on top for the cover.

1…

2…

3! And boos resound.

Meygon: Your winner, via pinfall… Dolby, Jenkins!

Dolby gets to his feet, smiling as he sees the unconscious Flyer at his feet. His hand is raised, but he quickly retracks, before grabbing his rattan. He looks to leave, but that's when the fans begin to boo him even louder.

[Winner:Dolby Jenkins]

[not.finished]
Written by: Ford

Dolby, hearing the boos of the crowd, seems to interpret that as them booing him for leaving, not for what he's done. He stays, bowing, and then turns his attention back to Flyer.

Who had yet to move.

GP: No, what the hell is Dolby planning.

Dolby lifts Flyer up from the mat, and then ties him into the ropes. The official tries to get him to stop, but Dolby ignores him. He backs up a few steps, and…

*Crack*

GP: Dear GOD! Someone stop him this instant!

*Crack*

*Crack*

*Crack**Crack**Crack**Crack**Crack**Crack* *Crack**Crack**Crack**Crack**Crack**Crack*

The sound echoed out forever.

And only Tony Davis racing out from the back stopped it.

[pathetic.equals.you]
Written by: Tim

Vandal burst through locker room door, completely full of rage after being beaten in the ring by Deft. Darnell Corteia takes two steps inside the room, and looks down as he breathes in deeply. His eyes lift up and he looks at a long line of lockers that stand on the right side of the room, he tries to calm himself, he knows he needs to relax, it was only a match, but he can't he lifts his fists and…

*CRACK!*

Vandal breathes slowly looking at the dent he just created in the locker, but that's not enough, he charges forward slamming his shoulder into it, and the his knee, and then.. He stops?

Voice: I saw the match D, and let me tell you.. That was pathetic.

Vandal: How pathetic would it be if I…

Vandal turns and looks at the man who stood with his arms folded crisply across his chest as he leans against the frame of the door. Vandal holds his fists at his side, and his breathing got even slower, as he shows signs of calming down.

Vandal: What the hell are you doing here?! You've got a show tomorrow, you can't be here now.

Voice: You think I'd miss the chance to watch you fuck up again? You know with me finally rebounding my career, it'd be a great thing to watch my own flesh and blood, fuck up, little things like that does great things for my heart.

Vandal turns his attention back to the locker, and slowly he traces the dents created by him.

Vandal: Go to hell Marcus, I don't need to hear your shit.

Vandal turns putting his back on the locker, his lean forces more pressure on the already damaged locker.

Vandal: What's this your third comeback? First it was jOlt, then it was when you ended up with your leg broken by the Exxa guy, and now.. Fuck off, I don't care, no one cares about the Marauder.

Marcus Corteia's , the Marauder, eyes light up as he looks at his older cousin, thoughts rush through his head telling him to charge him and fight him right there, but he immediately recognizes that with recent reports, those thoughts wouldn't be the healthiest for his career.

Marauder: People care.. If I go out there.. People KNOW me, they'll respond. I'm having trouble getting a solid job in this business, but not because of talent, it's because of fucking politics, you hear me?! Politics. People can't deal with the fact that I'm the best wrestler, where ever I sign, and I'm not afraid to say it. What about you Darnell? Mr. NBA drop out, eh? What about you?

Vandal bit down on his lip while looking in the eyes of his cousin, his heart sinks, and for some reason his courage falters as well. He looks around the room, evading Marcus' gaze.

Marauder: You're back in the business, because you're riding a name I made acceptable. What the fuck is a Corteia, without me? And what's this Vandal, business? What did you call yourself that, because you vandalized your own life, or because you wanted to sound like a big cool black guy? You were shit out there…

Marauder's hands began to point wildly at Vandal, and then he steps forward and points his finger in Vandal's chest, Marauder looks up and into his cousins eyes.

Marauder: You want to be something in here? You want to be something anywhere? You talk to the people who run this place, get me a contract, and I'll help you. Why don't you dribble that in your mind for a little bit, I've got some place better to be right now.

Marauder slams the door behind him, leaving Vandal alone in the locker room, and right then Vandal slams his elbow against the locker he is leaning against. He knew he had no choice.


[ecw]
Written by: Joe
Donell: This place smells.

Whack.

Donell: Ouch!

Donell moans as he wanders through the halls of the dressing area. The Elks Lodge had a lot of history behind it, and Julius had respect for this building. Donell on the other hand...

Donell: What the hell was that for?

Julius: Christ, Don, show some class. We aren't here to dick around.

Donell: But it does!

The short walk from the lockers to the arena obviously wasn't short enough, and Julius couldn't help but sigh as that fact became bluntly obvious to him. Their match with the LoD was sure to cheer them up, and they wouldn't mind deliverin' an ass kickin' to the Rejects of Survivor.

Hey, at least they got in to Survivor. Frown.

Julius: Do you even know what this place is?

Donell: It smells like Blue Cheese.

Whack.

Donell: Shit, will you stop it?

Julius: This is where ECW had all their greatest sho-

Donell: Dad.

Donell interrupts, putting his hand on Julius chest and stopping him in mid- stride.

Donell: ECW blew balls.

Julius shrugs, and they kept on down the hall. Hearing “Sellout” play in the distance, they quickly walk faster towards the arena.

[tag.team.match]
Arcade & Son vs. the Legion of Dairy
Written by Matt and Nick Crawford

GP: Can you believe it, JT? We're about to be treated to what could be an awesome tag team match! I mean “like... whoa”. It's like The Dudley Boyz taking on Public Enemy or The Eliminators verses The Gangstas. This is truly a tag team match worthy of the Elks Lodge!

JT: Honestly, Parker, you think everything is special. What makes this tag team match so wonderful?

GP: Oh, I don't know, how about the fact that it's between two of the, arguably, greatest teams in the business today?

JT: World Peace Organization is here? How'd Ford manage that?! Oh, I feel so giddy!

GP: I swear, I'm getting a new color man at the end of this show. Mark my words.

JT: You liar, you'll never get rid of me! HAHAHA! I'm irreplaceable! One in a million!

GP: Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, we're just about ready for the competitors to come to the ring, let's send it down to Meygon.

JT: Hey, you think Frenchie will give me an autograph? I swear, I must be his biggest fan.

The shot cuts down a waiting Meygon, standing in the middle of the ring. She lifts her microphone to her lips as he begins.

Meygon: The following tag team match is scheduled for one fall and has a thirty minute time limit!

Biohazard's “Sellout” begins playing.

Meygon: Introducing first, at a combined weight of four hundred and thirty-nine pounds, hailing from Dairytown, West Virginia... they are former IWO World Tag Team Champions... cHEESE and egg NOG, THE LEGION OF DAIRY!

cHEESE and egg NOG appear on the IWO stage to moderate cheers from the fans in attendance. Both look rather upbeat tonight as YoGuRt appears behind them. They start their quest to the ring, slapping a few hands of ringside fans as they walk. cHEESE holds the lead position as he circles to the side of the ring, NOG rolls into the ring as he bounces to his feet. Meanwhile, cHEESE places a knee on the apron and pushes himself up, glancing out over the fans before slipping into the ring. As “Sellout” fades from play, the Legion await their competition.

“WHA CH'YALL THOU CH'YALL WASN GONN SEE ME?!”

“Triumph” by Wu-Tang Clan.


Meygon: And introducing their challengers: At a combined weight of four hundred and sixty-four pounds, they are the current Action! Wrestling Dyad Champions... Donell and Julius... ARCADE AND SON!

Julius is the first to part the curtains and be greeted by excited fans. Donell stays close behind Papa as the two march to the ring, passing on pleasantries with fans as they eye the challenge of the LoD standing before them. The tandem stop well short of the ring, looking up to a waiting egg NOG, who now leans over the ropes with a confident smirk on his face. Donell unstraps his silver-plated Dyad title from his waist as lets it drop to the floor.

GP: Donell's ready to charge the ring and wipe that smirk off egg NOG's face!

JT: So why doesn't he? I mean, what's holding him back?

GP: Gee, maybe it's just me, but I see that the elder Arcade is holding his son in check. That might be why.

JT: Whatever, it's one of those “Pretend to hold me back so I scare the guy.”

GP: Sure it is, JT. Just keep telling yourself that.

Egg NOG and Donell continue to exchange verbal shots, the crowd begins to egg them on.

GP: The fans begin calling for blood, and it looks like Julius will meet their demand! He's let Donell go!

The young Arcade hits the ring with unforeseen speed, almost catching NOG off guard. Egg NOG quickly rebounds as he plants several well placed boots in the head and spine of Donell.

GP: egg NOG not allowing Arcade to gain any footing thus far and, quite frankly, I don't blame him.

JT: You may not, but I sure do. Egg NOG is a chicken and it shows. And where the hell is Frenchie?! Why don't I see WPO?

Parker sighs as Donell rolls out of the ring, egg NOG leans over the top rope once again, but Donell quickly grabs NOG's ankle and pulls him to the outside. NOGgers lands on his feet, but a hard right from Donell has him counting lights.

GP: OH MY! That had to hurt!

Egg NOG attempts to shake the cobwebs free, but Arcade is relentless, planting his boot in the side of NOG's shaking head. He reaches down and pulls egg NOG to his feet, rolling him into the ring. Donell follows in and makes a lazy cover.

GP: Donell makes the first pinfall attempt of the match, only mustering a one count.

JT: Duh, it was too early. He should have known better.

Arcade looks slightly insulted by the count, but keeps focus, quickly reaching back and tagging in Julius. Julius steps in the ring to see Donell has hooked NOG's arm back, leaving ribs exposed for a kick from Papa Arcade. Egg NOG is left doubled over as Donell is escorted from the ring, leaving NOG to the mercy of the technically sound Julius. Arcade instinctively locks in a headlock on egg NOG, wrenching down with extra force in hopes of quickly wearing NOG down. However, egg NOG is quick to muscle out, shoving Julius to the ropes. Egg NOG catches Arcade on the rebound and levels him with a clothesline, but drops to a tired knee next to Julius thanks to the impact. Egg NOG looks back to cHEESE, who seems to be eager to get the tag and get in on the match. He regains his footing and walks over to the “God of Wrestling.”

GP: egg NOG makes the tag to cHEESE. cHEESE flies in the ring, racing over to Arcade and drills him in the side of his head with his knee.

JT: Foley's gonna sue. That's a trademark of fat, lazy, piddly ass moves Inc.

GP: Shut up. Please, just shut up.

JT: Yo mamma.

GP: On another note: Julius flounders around on the canvas, holding his head in a great deal of discomfort. cHEESE stands over his victim, plotting his next course of action.

JT: Action, eh? Like the promotion that Arcade & Son are on loan from?

GP: ... sure.

cHEESE pulls Julius to his feet, holding Arcade's arm tight and thrusting his shoulder into Arcade's. Julius drops to a knee, but cHEESE pulls him right back up and repeats. He does it for a third and forth time. On the fifth time, however, Julius is able to grab a handful of cHEESE's spiked locks and uses them to slam cHEESE into the mat. But the damage of the moves shows as Julius clutches his now-sore shoulder. He makes a hasty retreat from the ring, tagging in Donell, and giving himself time to shake the effects of the move off. cHEESE spins counter-clock wise until he's standing halfway up. Donell, sensing this is the perfect time to strike, rushes at cHEESE and buries his foot in cHEESE's jaw. cHEESE falls back into a heap on the mat, and Donell leaps on him, punching him. Egg NOG stands fast in the corner, trying to get the crowd behind cHEESE. Donell finally stops punching cHEESE and pulls him to his feet.

GP: I wonder why egg NOG didn't help pull Donell off of cHEESE? Is this part of their overall strategy?

JT: Strategy in a wrestling match? What is wrong with you? All you have to do is hit the guy more times than he hits you!

GP: Unbelievable. Do you actually think that way?

JT: Why not? It's true!

Donell whips cHEESE across the ring. He hits the ropes directly behind him and meets cHEESE halfway with a devastating lariat. Egg NOG, apparently unworried, continues to try and get the crowd behind his brother. Donell pulls the limp body of cHEESE to his feet, where he surprises everyone by nailing a Fireman's Carry. As soon as Donell slams on the mat, cHEESE applies an armbar. Julius sees the pain on his sons face as the God of Wrestling wrenches back on the hold. He steps under the top rope and rushes over to help. He kicks cHEESE in the gut, forcing him to release the hold. At the same time, egg NOG is racing across the ring and hits Julius with a flying clothesline.

GP: Oh, the big man getting a little hang time!

JT: Yeah, very little.

Egg NOG raises his arms over his head, obviously playing to the crowd. cHEESE taps him on the shoulder and points to Donell, who's just now starting to get up. Egg NOG grabs him by the head and holds him still. cHEESE runs to the opposite ropes and charges towards Donell, who egg NOG now has set up for a powerbomb. cHEESE jumps into the air, arcing over Donell's back. In the middle of his jump, he turns over, hitting a sort of flipping senton splash. Donell takes one knee as egg NOG hauls him up for a powerbomb. Julius finally starts to get up, and cHEESE leg sweeps him. Julius sees it coming and jumps over it, landing on top of cHEESE.

JT: Some strategy, huh? Lookit him get beat like he stole cable!

GP: Cable? What are you talking about?

JT: Obviously you've never stolen cable.

Egg NOG finishes off his powerbomb by dumping Donell over the top rope onto the floor at ringside. Enraged, Julius charges towards egg NOG and clotheslines him over the top rope. Both men tumble to the floor, and Julius jumps on top of NOG. Julius reaches around egg NOG's head, grabs both of his arms and starts to wrench backwards. Egg NOG screams out in pain as Donell just moans on the floor. cHEESE groggily stands up, shaking the cobwebs out of his head. He hears egg NOG yelling and immediately slides out under the bottom rope. Unfortunately for him, Donell is finally to his feet and was ready for him. cHEESE swings haphazardly at Donell, which he easily catches and turns into an Irish whip. cHEESE smacks against the barricade hard, and is feeling even worse after Donell chases after him and dropkicks him over.

GP: Oh, and a perfect dropkick by Donell!

JT: Ooooohhhh, a perfect dropkick. That'll move merchandise.

Not wanting to get disqualified, Julius lets egg NOG go and rolls under the bottom rope, leaving NOG to nurse his wounds. Donell tosses cHEESE over the barricade and rolls him into the ring, just before he'd have been disqualified. Julius whips cHEESE hard into a corner and simply takes his place in his corner. Donell rolls into the ring just after cHEESE, and charges at the prone wrestler. He drops a knee into the small of cHEESE's back, sending tremors of pain through his body. Donell pulls cHEESE up and gives him an armdrag, putting him square in the Arcade's corner. Julius tags in and starts to stomp on cHEESE. He pulls cHEESE to his feet and whips him into the ropes. As cHEESE comes running back, Julius points to him, and then points to the ground. He then grabs cHEESE, pulls him into the air, holds him there, and suddenly power slams him hard onto the mat.

GP: Oh my God! What a power slam! Look at Julius gloat!

JT: I have to give credit where it's due... cHEESE is a moron. He should have stopped way back on the other side of the ring.

Julius pulls cHEESE up once more. He grabs him for a scoop slam, but holds him parallel to the mat. He walks around for a few moments before he deadlifts cHEESE over his head. He walks slowly back towards the ropes, where he drops cHEESE neck-first across them. cHEESE shoots back in pain. Egg NOG finally returns to his corner and notices cHEESE writhing in pain. He starts to enter the ring, but the referee forces him out. As they argue, Donell and Julius Arcade start double teaming cHEESE. Julius pulls cHEESE to his feet, and Donell lands some solid kicks into cHEESE's stomach. Julius tags himself out by clapping his hands over his head. Donell grabs cHEESE and does an arm-wringer of his own. He starts to pull on cHEESE's arm, and finishes it off by poking him in the eyes. cHEESE's head shoots back, where it meets Julius' fist. cHEESE crumples to the ground again, and Donell grabs him by the hair and drags him over to show egg NOG what they've done. Egg NOG starts to come in again, and as the referee deals with him, Donell grinds cHEESE's face into the mat. Donell pulls cHEESE to his feet and picks him up for a suplex. To his surprise, cHEESE slips behind his back and delivers a back breaker. cHEESE slowly starts to crawl to tag in egg NOG, but Julius runs out of his corner and stomps on cHEESE.

GP: This is smart wrestling on the Arcades' part! Keep the LoD separated and they'll crumble!

JT: Gee, do you think so? I never would have guessed that beating up one guy would help you out.

Egg NOG, sick of being kept out of the match, charges in and knees Julius in the stomach. Julius falls over as Donell gets up. Egg NOG grabs him and whips him into the ropes. When he comes back, egg NOG tosses him into the air and catches him on the way for a flapjack DDT. Egg NOG jumps up and pulls cHEESE into their corner. He tags himself in and storms the ring. Julius starts to get back up, and egg NOG gets him with a leg drop. He runs over to Donell and knee drops the back of his neck. He keeps his knee there and grabs his head, pulling it backwards. Donell starts to scream, and egg NOG lets him go. Donell gets up rubbing his neck, and egg NOG kicks him in the stomach.

GP: egg NOG grabs Arcade! He slips Donell's arm between his legs... Pumphandle Slam! Pumphandle Slam on Arcade! Egg NOG falls to the mat, ready for the cover!

JT: ONE!

GP: TWO!!

JT: THREE!!! IT'S OVER!!

GP: NO!! NO!! Donell kicks out! Donell kicks out at two and nine-tenths!

JT: Hey, broken record, one time is enough.

Egg NOG looks absolutely disgusted. He rests on his knees with his hands on his hips, gnawing on his lower lip in frustration.

GP: egg NOG pulling Arcade to his feet. Whip to the ropes, egg NOG wants a back body drop. Donell has the move scouted and connects with a hard kick to the face.

JT: THE KICK IS GOOD, TITANS WIN!! Heh, get it? Playoff game with the Steelers? Overacting?

GP: That's nice, really. Egg NOG flops to the mat, his hands covering his face as Donell gloats toward the God of Wrestling.

JT: Why's he call himself the “God of Wrestling”? What's so godly about him anyway?

cHEESE's face contorts to one of anger as he tries to climb into the ring, playing right into the Arcade's hands. He's cut off from the ring, leaving egg NOG open to a double team attack from the Arcades. Donell has egg NOG back to his when as Julius joins the two. Each Arcade grabs an arm and leg, setting NOG up for what looks like a double Fisherman Suplex. Instead in mid-move, the two twist to turn it into a variation of a simple hip toss, much to the amazement of the fans. Julius sneaks back into his corner, playing dumb as to what happened to egg NOG as Donell walks over and tags in Papa. Julius slips into the ring and rolls egg NOG over, mounting his back and locking in a rear-naked choke. Egg NOG struggles to free himself, as well as breathe, as Arcade keeps the move locked in tight. The referee, having removed cHEESE from the ring, slides over next to the two and inspects egg NOG's condition, constantly asking if he would like to submit. Egg NOG shakes off each request, fighting with every fiber of his being to get free of the hold.

JT: NOG's going to submit, you can see it in his eyes. I mean, he's turning purple.

GP: There's too much fight left in him, he won't submit. Not now, not ever!

JT: Dude, get up off his nuts.

cHEESE brings the fans into the match, a chant of “L-O-D! L-O-D!” springs up all over the famous Elks Lodge. Julius shakes his head in anger, wanting the fans to chant his name and not root for the LoD.

GP: Listen to these fans get behind the LoD! They love them here!

Julius rolls egg NOG onto his stomach, unwrapping his legs from around his waist but keeping the sleeper locked in. In an instant, Julius spins around egg NOG's back, his sleeper now an amatur wrestling-esque headlock. Julius moves to a knee, as does egg NOG thanks to the headlock. The two on back on their feet in no time when Julius slips from the headlock and plants egg NOG against the mat with a over-the-shoulder hiptoss. Egg NOG slams against the canvas, popping up on impact and reaching for the small of his back. Papa Arcade shoves him back against the mat as Julius makes a cover.

GP: 1!

GP: 2!

JT: Stupid cHEESE makes a stupid save! AW, YOU SUCK, CHEESE!

GP: The Legion of Dairy are still in this thing, thanks to cHEESE making a last second save!

Julius rolls off egg NOG as Donell charges the ring and clubs cHEESE to the mat. Quickly pulling him to his feet and tossing him over the top rope and out of the ring. Donell turns and pulls egg NOG his feet, wanting to end the match and do so quickly. He lifts egg NOG onto his shoulder and drives him into the center of the ring with a powerslam. As Papa Arcade pulls himself together, Donell mounts a turnbuckle, awaiting his father to do the same. As Julius climbs the far turnbuckle, everyone knows what's coming.

GP: HERE COMES LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON! THIS COULD BE THE END!

JT: THIS WILL BE THE END!! NO ONE SURVIVES LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON!!

The Arcade's point to each other and measure up egg NOG before leaping off and letting fate guide them.

GP: They get nothing! Egg NOG moved!

JT: NO!! YOGURT MOVED HIM!! OF ALL THE TIMES TO ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING!!

Julius and Donell clutch sore arms, Julius sore shoulder still causing problems. cHEEESE climbs back to his feet and rolls into the ring, ready to get back into the mixed, but caught off guard by the Arcade's broken bodies laying before him. He sees Donell getting to his feet and connects his boot to Donell's face. Donell rolls across the ring, hiding his face with his hands. Julius is quick to get back to his feet, sneaking up on cHEESE. Antsy fans try to warn cHEESE of his potential attacker, but it's too late. Arcade connects with a clubbing blow to the God of Wrestling's back that causes cHEESE to stagger, but remain vertical. cHEESE spins around, just in time to meet a European uppercut. Julius keeps with his offensive plan as he chops a reeling cHEESE across the chest. The fans scream out “WOO!!” as Arcade does it again. He goes for another, but cHEESE avoids it, causing Julius to spin wildly. cHEESE stops Arcade when he has he back to cHEESE, wrapping his arm around Papa's neck and driving him into the mat with Listeria.

GP: FALLING REVERSE DDT!! LISTERA!!

cHEESE rolls Julius over, grabbing both arms and wrapping his legs around Arcade's waist.

JT: Nooo... it can't be....

GP: IT IS!! GOVERNMENT CHEESE!! OH MY GOD, WE HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVE IN AGES!! AND, YET, THERE IT IS!!

JT: DON'T GIVE UP JULIUS! YOU THE MAN!!

cHEESE wrenches back, the Government cHEESE locked in tight and all the pain going straight to Julius' shoulder. Julius roars out in pain, not wanting to submit to the move. He knows that he won't be able to hold out much longer, the pain slowly becoming unbareable. Donell tries to interject himself in the match, but egg NOG cuts him off. Driving him into the corner and following with several charging shoulders to the ribs.

JT: Let him go, dammit! He must save the match!! This wouldn't even be a problem if Wombat and Santos hadn't injured J's shoulder at that stupid Action! Pay-Per-View!!

GP: “'Til Death Do Us Part”?

JT: Uh, sure.

But it proves to be too late, Julius can't take the pain anymore, his shoulder feeling as if it's about to go, he gives in. cHEESE is quick to release the Government cHEESE, rolling Arcade off him and running off to celebrate with egg NOG. Meygon stood from her chair and announced the winners.

Meygon: The winners of this match by submission, cHEESE and egg NOG... THE LEGION OF DAIRY!!

JT: I swear, the last time I was this sad was the over the ending of Old Yeller.

GP: Really?

JT: Yeah, I wanted to be the one that shot the stupid mut.

[winner:the Legion of Dairy]

[da.dime.drops]
Written by: Dante

Backstage. The vibrant lights and old voices still haunt the Elks Lodge to this day. Vignittes of Sabu leaping off the RAW Tron which was the small little insignia you see today about seven years ago marking the beginning of the ECW Invasion. Seven years ago, he was only fourteen, not even old enough to make the trip here to New York. But tonight, he figures this is his big break.

Man: Okay dokay. I've heard all the stories about Elks Lodge and the various new points in which this place became a legend or what not. That's fine, it's all good as my peeps in Oregon tell. But chu don't know who'll be making their FIRST and FINAL trip to the Elks Lodge. They might be talking about the Sabu's, the Monday Night RAW's, ECW, and all that. But what the people WILL remember is that this night...

The man steps forward, revealling golden locks, with a black Wrestling 101 T-shirt borrowed from the Action! show a few weeks ago and a pair of tights, mimmicking the ones worn by Chris Beniot back when he was wrestling in Japan under the name Wild Pegasus.

Donovan Emerson: The DIME dropped.

A smirk fills his face.

Emerson: I've worked A! house shows, I've even donned the tights for the WWE for a few months, but nothing - NOTHING is like making your mark on a fledging company, just like this piece of garbage where nothing but freaks and SUPER freaks work here. Nothing but garbage wrestling, but you know what? I'm going to change all that. Maybe not one step at a time, but maybe ONE FOOT DOWN YA THROAT!

He chuckles.

Emerson: I figure, the next IWO show, you'll see da DIME in action, busting a few heads. But until then, keep your fond memories Elks Lodge. They're about to turn to dust.

Fade.

[feel.the.burn]
Written by: Ford

Man: I could feel the sweet embers of my cigarette slowly burning as I shaved yet another day off of my worthless life. But more importantly, I could feel the history around me.

The man with a hooded shirt, shrouded in darkess, stands in the seats of the empty Elks Lodge. A segment taped beforehand to kill some time.

Man: Not only has the world witnessed events of professional wrestling here, but they have also lived their lives here. The Elks Lodge, people have sung and drank beers no doubt in this very room. And no doubt, that a life was conceived here.

He takes a drag from his cigarette.

Man: Hell, if I was conceived in the back of a Volkswagon by my horny parents, I'm sure someone was conceived here.

He pauses, taking in the setting around him.

Man: You're probably wondering why I'm here.

Or you just don't care.

Either way, you'll find out soon enough.

He exits in a cloud of his own smoke.

[no.1.contendership]
Hardcore God vs. Trey Vincent vs. Keith Scott Zimmerman
Written by: Leary

"Sugar." System Of a Down. It is time for the Hardcore God to do battle with Trey Vincent and Keith Scott Zimmerman in a three-way dance to become Number One Contender. And the God came out first, for all to bow down before. None did, though. The 6-3, 255 pound man, who calls Heaven home walks to the ring, surprisingly without any "holy shit" chants.

GP: This match should be quite interesting. There is a huge prize for the winner.

JT: Besides sex and drugs, there's nothing finer than gold. And money too. Money is better than gold.

GP: Way to build up the match.

JT: Anything to help out.

GP: And how could we not mention his little midget there.

JT: Yep. There is his midget. That little midget may be the big different in this match. Which could be rather, ironic.

Up next, "Injected With A Poison," by Pragha Khan hits the speakers. The Sports Entertainment Icon steps out to the pounding beat, puts his arms out wide, into a T-shape, and lifts them up into a V-position, spelling out his initials. Vincent, at 6-4 and a slim, trim, buff, rough, tough, jacked, ripped and chiseled 265 pounds, walks down the aisle, his trademark cocky grin plastered across his face. Vincent slides under the bottom rope and stares at the God.

GP: Trey Vincent has been on a losing steak since his first victory on the night IWO returned earlier this year. No doubt he's looking to get a big win here.

JT: By the way, I was talking to Trey before the show started. And he made fun of the Hardcore God's name, saying that there is only one hardcore god, and that is Trey Vincent. And he has a long list of chicks to prove it!

GP: That's nice. That is one kind of hardcore that doesn't matter in a wrestling ring.

JT: Hopefully one day. And with two chicks.

GP: Vincent and Hardcore God talking a little smack, but, oddly, the two aren't starting the brawl before the final participant comes out.

Then the music for Keith Scott Zimmerman hits. "Main Offender" by the Hives. Zimmerman walks out, still in tribute to Mr. Perfect Curt Hennig, with a white towel and decked out in an orange and black singlet, chewing on a piece of gum.

PERFECT BEHIND THE BACK TOWEL TOSS~!

Let the markdom begin.

Vincent and the God watch as the 5-8, 163 pounder walks the aisle, looking ahead to his opponents. Zimmerman climbs up on the apron on one knee, then stands up, soaking in the attention of the crowd. And it was hard to get a committed reaction out of the crowd. It was one for the fans who were hardcore marks for their favorite wrestler (or sports entertainer, in TV's case).

Zimmerman waits. He tosses the towel away and calls for Vincent to ask him something.

PERFECT GUM SPIT AND HIT INTO FACE~!

GP: We got ourselves a sounded bell. This one will decide who wants it the most. Who wants to be at the top of the IWO.

JT: Hardcore God strikes first.

Indeed. He blindsides Vincent from behind with a forearm shot to the back of his head. Hardcore God gets Vincent in the corner and stomps at his midsection, knocking Vincent down on his ass. The stomps keep coming before the Heavenly being picks up the Franchise Player and whips him toward the opposite corner.

JT: And KSZ gets in the ring! Yes!

GP: He's not here to observe. Is he going to get involved?

JT: You know he will.

Vincent hits the corner. As H-God runs in, he gets introduced to Vincent's size 14 boots. Vincent charges forward and dropkicks H-God in the ankle, knocking down to one knee. Vincent is up quickly and charges off the ropes and hits a diving clothesline.

Trey stands up and looks at Zimmerman.

Shrugs.

Leg drops H-God.

Covers him too.

One.

Kick out.

H-God catches TV by the throat and headbutts him, knocking him for a loop. H-God looks over to KSZ and charges.

Superkick.

KSZ goes down and gets right back up. Mr. Workrate rakes H-God's eyes and tosses him out of the ring.

And is spun around to come face to face with Vincent. Well, as close as KSZ could get to a face-to-face. Vincent with a brutally stiff clothesline sends KSZ inside out. TV gets down on his knees and lands several punches to KSZ's jaw.

H-God is back in the ring. And he had a weapon. And a midget. Same different for him. He holds the little midget by the feet and winds up for a swing to KSZ's back. Connected.

Vincent topples over in laughter. H-God watches as Vincent laughed uncontrollably. H-God only let Vincent keep laughing until TV sits up.

Swing.

MISS!

Vincent leg sweeps H-God and both men climb to their feet.

Shocking Conclusion by Vincent. Yes, it looks like a Stone Cold Stunner for a reason. It is.

JT: Vincent is chasing after the midget.

GP: Dear God, what will he do to that midget?

JT: He dives! Oh yes, he caught the midget by the ankles. And there sure as hell isn't a lot to grab there.

GP: Vincent has him up. NO! He walks the midget crotch first into the steel post!

JT: I think I just heard a grape pop somewhere.

GP: Oh NO! Why does he have a chair?

JT: He wouldn't! Hey, I think that was your line. But still. He won't use that chair on the midget will he?

GP: I hope not.

Vincent walks up to the midget and waits for him to get up.

*CRACKALACKA*

GP: Look at Vincent, that is one of the lowest things I've seen. That midget is already bleeding like a stuck pig.

JT: And H-God just saw what happened. He's coming after Vincent.

*CRACK*

GP: And H-God is down now. Did we mention the rules are relaxed for this match?

JT: Just a typical Hardcore God match. But Vincent is the King of Kings when it comes to hardcore gods. He told me so. If you don't believe him, just ask him.

GP: And meanwhile, as a midget and Hardcore God lay on the ground, KSZ waits in the ring. He lays on the top corner turnbuckle while the fight continues on the floor.

Vincent picks up H-God. Hot Shot on the guardrail! And here come the medics to tend to the midget Vincent destroyed with the chair shot. TV looks at them, chuckling. Vincent puts the chair on H-God's head and drops a leg.

JT: Zimmerman is playing this smart. He's not getting involved with the action on the floor.

GP: Maybe he's afraid to go out there.

JT: Whatever it is, it's still smart.

Vincent heads back into the ring and Zimmerman hops off the top rope. Mid-ring confrontation. Collar and elbow tie up. Zimmerman pushes Vincent to the corner.

Knee lift.

Knife-hand chop.

"WHOOOO!" goes the crowd.

Chop.

"WHOOOOO!"

Copy and paste twice more. Snap mare by Zimmerman. Perfect rolling neck snap. Pin.

One.

Two.

Kickout by Vincent.

As Vincent gets up, Zimmerman hits him with a roaring elbow, knocking Vincent a couple zip codes backward. Whip to the ropes. Reverse.

Reverse handspring elbow by Zimmerman.

Cover.

One.

Two.

Kickout.

Chairshot from the Heavens. Zimmerman goes down. And rolls out of the ring.

GP: Just a reminder, in this match, chair shots are legal. The thinking being, can you really disqualify somebody in a three-way dance? How lame would that be?

H-God was just aching for Vincent to get up now. He did.

Swing. Vincent drops to his back and double kicks H-God in his exposed ribs. Exposed because of the wild chair shot. Vincent quickly spins around to get on his ass and delivers an elbow shot to those same ribs.

Now Vincent has the chair. He opens the chair and picks up H-God. Only to drop him ribs first on the chair. As H-God recoils in pain, Vincent can only smile. Until Zimmerman runs in and low-blows him with an uppercut to his crotch. Then, he too, is on the canvas.

Zimmerman grabbed H-God's ankles and spread him wide open.

Knee.

KSZ targets TV. There is a whip to the ropes. And a wait for a drop toe hold, which lands Vincent throat first on the middle rope. Then KSZ goes for H-God. Same deal, except to the opposite side of the ring.

Add up 619 and 619. No, you don't get 2036, you get two opponents laid out for a double pin via Zimmerman.

One.

Two.

Two shoulders went up, halting both counts.

Zimmerman heads to the apron. Both of his opponents are still laid out beside each other. Springboard senton splash. Then The Whole Work Rate Show drags them both so they were closer to a corner, which he mounts.

Double fist drop from the middle rope.

Double cover.

Double shoulders up.

JT: Zimmerman taking it to both Vincent and God. I told you he was smart.

GP: He may be smart, but we'll see if he's the last man standing here.

JT: Hold on a second, fans. I understand that Jesus Christ just entered the building with a barbed-wire board. And he looks pissed! Stay tuned!

GP: WhatwhatWHAT?

JT: Hardcore God, you better run!

KSZ has both Vincent and H-God up. Double Irish whip to the rope. Double duck. Vincent and H-God both plant a boot in KSZ's midsection and get him up into suplex position.

They drop him gut-first on the top rope. TV calls for something, and both men back up to the opposite side of the ring. Double dropkick.

KSZ crashes the floor.

Vincent and H-God look at each other. And chat over the possibilities.

JT: These two are going to team up against KSZ? But why?

GP: They want to eliminate KSZ. In Action! he has a great winning percentage. They must know that.

JT: Vincent and Hardcore God aren't slouches, by any means. Your theory makes no sense. You're out of order! You're FIRED!

GP: You can't fire me.

JT: Somebody get me a birthday cake full of candles. STAT.

Vincent tosses Zimmerman back into the ring. Vincent tosses KSZ to H-God and heads to the top rope. H-God lifts up KSZ for a powerbomb and walks backward a tad closer to the Sports Entertainment Icon.

Dropkick into a powerbomb and pin attempt.

One.

Two.

Th-Kickout.

H-God heads to the floor and under the ring while Vincent whips KSZ into the ropes and hits a Lou Thesz Press with a choke and Repeated Ramming Of Head Into The Mat™.

JT: The I in the IWO obviously stands for innovation.

GP: Whatever. H-God has himself a pair of kendo sticks.

JT: He tosses one to Vincent?

*SNAPSNAP*

Double kendo stick shot. Zimmerman scrambles for the floor, but finds he wasn't going to make it. Vincent and H-God pulls him up to his feet.

*SNAP* Shot by H-God.

*SNAP* Shot by Vincent.

*SNAP* Shot by H-God.

*SNAP* Shot by Vincent.

*SNAP* Shot by H-God.

*SNAP* Shot by Vincent.

*SNIZZAP* Another double shot splinters H-God's stick.

But that doesn't stop him from digging the splintered wood into a shiny new wound on KSZ's head. Yes, he is officially busted wide open. And it appears hardway over his right eye, courtesy of Trey Vincent. But H-God is improving on the wound.

TV watches as H-God began pounding stiffly on KSZ's move. He was no doubt unhappy about that superkick earlier. H-God gets up and goes for the chair.

As H-God wedges the chair in between the top and middle rope, Vincent picks up KSZ and puts him over his shoulder. Perhaps for a snake eyes. But no. He was only waiting for H-God to get out of the way and charge.

*THUNK*

Vincent literally dives into the corner with KSZ. Vincent shoves his foe away and H-God picks him up next. By the legs at least.

Catapult time. KSZ flies head first into the steel post in the corner. Flair-flop.

Double cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-FOOT ON THE ROPE!

H-God gets up and went for the chair, while TV shakes his fist at the official with his "Why-I-Oughta" motion he learned from "The Simpsons."

KSZ is, literally and figuratively, on the ropes now. H-God positions the chair and stomps it a bit flatter before recovering KSZ's soon to be unconscious body.

JT: It's The Smiting!

GP: This should finish KSZ.

JT: Vincent is letting H-God get the glory here, it looks like.

H-God's brainbuster onto the chair.

Did not connect.

KSZ lands on his feet behind H-God. Instead, H-God ends up becoming a victim of the Leaping Swinging DDT. Yes, onto the chair. And then a cover, but Vincent pulls KSZ up. Only to be caught in a tornado DDT. KSZ is back and flying all around the ring.

Throat-slash with a thumb. KSZ was heading up top.

It is time for the swan dive headbutt. The move that got the marks out of their seats and on their feet. He stands up top.

Dive!

*PLUNK*

He was met with a flying chair, which sends KSZ of course and flat on his face. The chair was thrown by H-God. And he picks KSZ up quickly.

The Smiting.

He hit all of it this time.

Cover.

No?

Vincent spins H-God around and lifted him up over his shoulder! Scrub-buster to the floor! H-God could not protect himself from that deadly fall from Vincent's overhead spinebreaker, landing on the apron with his shoulders and then the rest of him crashing to the floor.

"Holy shit." Oh yeah, there were some chants from the fans.

Vincent drags KSZ to the center of the ring and looks around.

JT: Are you ready?

GP: For what? Why isn't he pinning him.

JT: Because, stupid, it's time for the most outrageous move in sports entertainment today! The Big Time Fist Drop!

Indeed it is. Vincent bounces off Side A of the ring. Then Side B. Then Side D. And finally Side C. Thunderous punch to Zimmerman's head.

Cover!

One!

Two!

Three!

Vincent rolls off Zimmerman.

GP: He stole that pinfall, pure robbery

JT: Oh, please. The name of the game is winning. And now, Vincent is on his way to doing just that.

GP: With the rules of a three-way dance, two men must be pinned. So now, Hardcore God and Trey Vincent must dance this one out to decide who will go on to become the number one contender. But there is no rest in between falls. So Vincent is going after Hardcore God.

JT: Isn't hardcore out of style yet?

GP: I don't--

JT: I know Hardcore is out of style. But that's not what I asked. But, Vincent is making hardcore cool again, at least.

GP: Yeah. (Sarcastically) He's hardcore, he's hardcore.

Meanwhile, on the floor, Vincent slides out slowly under the bottom rope. H-God is stirring, and he sees Vincent charging out of the corner of his eye. Overhead belly to belly suplex on the floor. The crowd gasps as Vincent lands with a thud.

H-God goes under the ring and fins himself, yet another, kendo stick. He tosses that inside, as well as a brand new chair. He grabs a fire extinguisher next. But he wasn't going to be spraying Vincent. No, he charges at him and hits Vincent in the skull, knocking Vincent down, and possibly out.

As the referee checks on Vincent, Hardcore God goes under the ring. And pulls out...

GP: Can we show this on television?

JT: I don't know. Let the censors figure that out.

GP: Hardcore God has a metal cross. The bottom of that looks like a knife blade!

JT: Don't exaggerate. That's not...well, maybe it's not.

GP: That goes into the ring as well. There better not be anymore weapons under there.

JT: Nope. Besides that Sony Playstation 2, I doubt there is anything else.

GP: For Trey Vincent, this match must be his own "Silent Hill."

JT: Crap man, are they sponsoring us? I know the game just came out, but sheesh. Quit lobbying for a free game. And speaking of which, I sure as heck can't wait for Grand Theft Auto V!

With Vincent back in the ring, H-God follows. Irish whip to the corner. Vincent doesn't fall, but is woozy. H-God picks up the metal cross and calmly walks toward his opponent. And begins drilling the sharp bottom of the cross into Vincent's forehead!

GP: The IWO apologizes to any religious people who might be offended by the use of the cross as a weapon.

JT: Oh please. You think a crucifix was ever used for anything good?

Vincent's only escape was a poke to the eye. Vincent ripped the cross from H-God's grasp and hits him over the head with one of the horizontal sides of the cross. And again. And again.

Blood trickles down the sweaty face of the Sports Entertainment Icon as he battered Hardcore God with his own weapon. As he tries for one last shot, H-God evades it. H-God locks TV in and walks toward a chair.

DDT.

JT: EXTREEEEEEME!

GP: This should be it!

Cover on Vincent.

One.

Two.

Thre-shoulder up.

GP: Both these men have taken an amazing amount of punishment. It's obvious both men want to be at the top of the IWO.

H-God grabs his kendo stick and walks back toward Vincent. But TV gets a jolt of energy, well, at least enough to pick up a chair and toss it at H-God. He shrugs it off, but then suffered a superkick to his jaw.

JT: The Hardcore God has fallen. Welcome to the world of sports entertaiment!

GP: Vincent with the cover!

One!

Two!

Thre-No!

Vincent, on his knees, grabs hold of both of H-God's arms, then stands up and drags him into the corner. After a couple punches and stomps to H-God, Vincent positions one chair so it sits on his chest and the chair rests over H-God's face.

Vincent picked up the other chair in the ring and runs to the opposite corner. He charges at H-God!

Dropkick made of steel!

"Holy shit" piped in the crowd.

GP: Good, GOD! He's trying to destroy Hardcore God!

JT: I can't wait to see how much it will take if the action keeps up like this.

H-God is stunned and hurting, so, Vincent grabs him by both legs and lifts him up. Short powerbomb. Cover.

One.

Two.

Thre-H-God grabs a rope to break the count. Vincent shoves the now bloodied H-God heels over head and looks for a new weapon. He decides on the kendo stick this time. He walks to the corner, lifts up his left boot and taps it. Then he picks up his right boot, taps the side of that as well. He steps into position, ready to swing a kendo stick as if it were a bat.

JT: Now batting for the IWO, from Minneapolis, Minnesota, Trey, Trey, Trey, Vincent, Vincent, Vincent.

GP: Stop it.

H-God was the ball. He was up. Vincent charges. Big swing. Hit the mat. H-God off the ropes. Vincent turned round. SPEAR. SPEAR. SPEAR! And a cover to boot.

One!

Two!

Three-NO! Somehow, at the last "e" Vincent manages to lift his shoulder up off the mat.

Hardcore God drags Vincent up by the hair and leans him against the rope. Knee lift. And another. And another. And another.

JT: Man, is H-God looking for some puke.

GP: If he is, he hasn't gotten it yet.

H-God doesn't get any, not even after 10 of the shots to The Franchise Player's gut. One last kick for good luck.

Piledriver.

No cover. Instead, H-God looks to end this match. He yet again pulls up Vincent and puts him up on the top rope. It was time to bring The Wrath down on Trey Vincent. H-God hooked Vincent's arms up and pulled.

Blocked.

And Vincent bites Hardcore God on the nose!

JT: The Mike Tyson of sports entertainment lives up to his name. Eww, did he just spit a chunk of his nose out? That's gotta taste like crap.

GP: This one may not be pretty. Well, it isn't. But this is a war. And neither man is playing the part of Iraq tonight. This is power versus power. Who will prevail?

The biting was enough to get the hold dropped. Vincent stood up top and dove, grabbing hold of H-God's neck and head. Reverse bulldog from the top rope! And a cover!

One!

Two!

Thre-no. Vincent didn't have a good enough cover. Just his right arm. Not gonna do in H-God. Since he was there, and apparently needed a breather, Vincent grabs hold of H-God's right arm and roars back on it, locking in a brutal Fujiwara armbar.

Convenience doesn't mean bad though. Vincent has H-God roaring in pain. H-God isn't the type to tap out, and Vincent knew that, so getting him to submit would be just groovy.

GP: He wants to rip his arm right from his socket. And maybe break the arm too.

JT: That would be fun. Then he could beat H-God with his own arm. That'd be extreme and hardcore and stuff.

Slowly but surely, H-God's screams and roars of pain became quieter and quieter. He was going away. And not coming back. Vincent smiled at the silence. The referee raises H-God's arm.

Drops.

H-God's arm goes up a second time.

And comes back down.

There was only one last drop to go. And it'd be the longest. The hand goes up.

Goes down.

Almost hits the mat. Doesn't.

Vincent roars in anger, as H-God grabs Vincent's hair and pulls him into a sort-of cradle pin.

One.

Two.

No.

Both men were up. They stared at each other. This was about blood, sweat and gold. They charge and throw punches wildly. Vincent varies the offense with a kick to the gut.

He was going for the Glass Ceiling, his version of the pedigree. But H-God backdrops Vincent. Vincent was slow to get up. H-God steps through the ropes and waits on Vincent.

TV charges after H-God. He is met with a shoulder block to his gut.

H-God flips over the rope with a sunset-flip, but quickly frees his legs and put them on the middle rope and got a lot of his weight on top of Vincent, pinning him in a modified something-or-other position.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ring-a-ding-ding. This one is all over.

JT: Hahaha. He cheated to win. Way to go, esse!

GP: You hate to see such an entertaining match end in this way. But, as you said, it's about winning. And tonight, Vincent became the victim, and Hardcore God the victor.

Hardcore God gets the low-down dirty win over Vincent, who can't believe he was done in by a silly sunset flip. He bangs the mat in frustration and rolls out of the ring as "Sugar" hit the system. This time, as his victory song.

He was glory-bound. Number one contender. You bet your ass.

[Winner:Hardcore God]

[setting.things.up.2]
Written by: Errol

HardCase is again waiting in his locker room.

Abruptly Harold Hash burst into the room.


HardCase: Sup? Hash. Glad you got my message.

Harold Hash looks on a bit confused, almost as if he didn't expect HardCase to be here.

Harold Hash: Uh...yea...message...that's why I'm here.

Hash discreetly tosses the duffle bag he planned to stuff with HardCase's belongings behind his back, where HardCase wouldn't see.

HC: I got a favor to ask of you.

Hash: G'head.

HC: Well I got that fucktard Breaker to sign papers allowing for a special guest ref for our main event match up later tonight. I'd like you to be guest ref.

Hash: And why would I do that?

HC: *mokingly*and why would I do that you such a fucking girl just do it!

Hash: Fuck you asshole.

Hash flips him over, and turns to leave.

HC: Alright, alright. Look if-wait who am I kidding--when I win tonight, I'll be the IWO champion. That's a pretty prestigious position right right?

Hash: Yea, you wanna tell me something I don't know?

HC: Well you do me this favor, and when I'm champion I'll be in a position to do you an even greater favor. Think about it.

Hash didn't need to.

Hash: Ight. So wear's my ref uniform?

[paying.homage]
Written by: Colin
The Elks Lodge Tribute was backstage for some reason. Well that reason is obvious, someone wants to say something, or hit someone with a frying pan, or dance, or be fired. I don't know, what am I the freaking psychic narrator.

“So this is historic is it?”

The voice didn't sound like it was impressed, and as the figure appeared on camera it's hardly a surprise why. The voice Ladies and Gentlemen belonged to Phil Atken: Asshole and Egotistic Moron, not to mention one of the few men to get caught up in his own hype.

Phil: This is what we're paying tribute to is it? This fecking New York shit hole, made famous by a promotion who couldn't draw fans due to talent, but had to draw them through violence and general garbage wrestling, and even then who gives a shit about it, ECW is dead and it's going to stay there for good. To be honest ECW has inspired me a little, it's really pushed me that little bit harder to try and not end up in a crappy promotion like that, but I obvious didn't push myself hard enough or I wouldn't be stuck in this low budget as fuck promotion. Ah well, it's not like I have to spend all my time here, oh no, that's saved for another piece of pish.

A thought suddenly occurred to Phil.

Phil: A thought has suddenly occurred to me. I don't have to be here, but I choose to be here and I don't have a damn idea why. Maybe it's due to the fact that the fans are my kind of fans, who are not a complete dumbassed morons who believe in any old hype, but fans who know some facts but you can still easily have them in the palm of your hands. Of course my problem is that I have nowt to do tonight, and I only showed up in the brief hope of getting a bloody paycheque off of that Ford guy. Well that and the fact I was bored and there was nothing on the TV apart from crappy game shows that give away hairdriers as their top prize, and the fact that I was already in New York and the fact I signed some sort of IWO contract. Ah fuck, now I'm just rambling, glad this camera crew is here or I'd look like some sort of mad rambling madman.

Generic Camera Guy #1243B: You are a rambling madman.

Phil: Shut up before I slap you in the face and then kick you in the head because goddamnit I'll do it if you piss me off. So what the hell was I talking about again?

Generic Camera Guy #1243B: You're meant to be talking about ECW and Elks Lodge, but…

Phil: No buts, apart from that ugly, stupid, one on your face, butt face.

GCG: Hey I was born this way, not need to mock me for being different, you butt face fascist!

Phil: What the HELL are you talking about?

GCG: Whatever it is it's more interesting than anything you've said so far.

Phil: But you don't even have a butt face.

GCG: RUN AWAY!

This of course meant the camera guy was running away at a very fast speed, although I don't know how with him carrying a camera and such, but whatever. Back to something that makes sense, hopefully.

[heavyweight.title.match]
Written by: Errol

“Cyclops Rock” by They Might be Giants blares over the PA promptly after coming back from the break. Jack Breaker steps through the entry curtains inciting an explosion of cheers from the fans in attendance at Elks Lodge. He welcomes their response with waves and smiles as he makes his way into the ring.

GP: Well it looks like we're getting right into the main event. No fluff or BS necessary.

JT: BS? This is the IWO. Say bullshit you fucking pussy.

GP: I'm gonna ignore that completely unnecessary string of expletives. Breaker looks prepared for this match up. This isn't his first Heavyweight Title shot in his IWO career, so he kind of knows what to expect. Though when HardCase is involved...I'll admit that's hard to say.

JT: Damn skippy. HC keeps em guessin. You never know what to expect.

GP: HC?

JT: Yea you got a problem?

GP: ...Never mind.

“Bad News” by 50 cent begins to play, and the crowd reaction shifts abruptly from cheers to boos. HardCase strolls down the ramp soaking in the heat like a form of ambrosia.

GP: Well HardCase as arrogant as ever, takes his sweet time coming down to the ring. How can you root for this guy JT?

JT: Easy. I just kinda kiss is ass during the commentary, cheer every time he does something good, and look upset when he's losing.

GP: No you idiot, I know how, but i mean <i>how</i>.

JT: Greg...are you listening to yourself right now?

GP: Well yea I...never mind.

HardCase finally rises to the ring apron, and test the ropes while flashing Breaker a taunting smirk. Jack stays back, and performs a few perfunctory stretches before one of the biggest matches of his life officially begins.

JT: Grr! Enough of this already lets get this match started? Where's the ref?

GP: That's a good question. It's kinda odd for there to be no official in the ring, especially for a match of this magnitude. Something tells me HardCase is involved in this somehow. I mean look at his face, I don't like that grin one bit.

HardCase steps through the ropes and Breaker immediately charges HC but slows down once HardCase raises a hand gesturing him to do so.


JT: What gives?

GP: I don't know but it looks like we're about to find out. HardCase is asking for a mic.

HardCase: Whoa there buddy, slow your roll for a second there Jack my boy. I'm glad that you seem so eager to get your shit beat, but look around you see anything missing? Look hard.

Breaker stops and scans the ring and arena inceptively. After several seconds of what seems like deep contemplation he answers...

Breaker: No cherry Kool-Aid fountains?

HardCase: ...Actually you gotta point, I could go for some cherry Kool-Aid, but that's not what I'm referring too. There isn't a referee. Now we can't very well have a main event heavyweight title match without a referee. Well, I could just beat you till your IQ is in the negatives, but without a ref to make it official what's the point?

JT: Wiser words have never been spoken Greg.

GP: Like hell. This is obviously a set up. HardCase can't be trusted.

HardCase: So, without further ado...

After several suspense filled seconds of silence “Hacksaw Decapitation” by Cannibal Corpse blares through out the arena and the fans who've been with the IWO instantly understand what's going on and share their feelings on the subject in boos, jeers, and the occasional beer can hurled at the ring.


GP: I knew it!! I just <i>knew</i> HardCase would pull something as low as this. Somewhere he's gotten it so Harold Hash is the special guest ref. How I'm not actually sure, but this is low none the less.

JT: Haha!! You act as if you'd expect nothing less from the Innovator of Wrongness?

GP: For those of you who haven't caught on just yet, Hash and HardCase have a history here in the IWO. HardCase was Nuke then, but they were once even a tag-team known as “Bad Behavior”. It can't be said that they are exactly friends, but these mind are two of a kind. If anyone is an arguably worse human being then HardCase it would have to be Hash.

JT: Haha! It's beautiful isn't it?

Hash comes down the ring, his trademark green wifebeater replaced by zebra stripes. He slides into the ring and stares down Breaker who is apparently oblivious to the world of pain he's about to step into.


GP: This is low, oh so <i>low</i>!

JT: For christsakes Greg. You're starting to sound like a broken record.

Breaker looks on blankly for a moment. Turning to Hash. Then to HardCase. Then asks for the mic.


Breaker: Well I'm real happy that your here, and I'm sure you'd make an awesome ref and all that but...you can't be the ref. I'm sorry.

HardCase: The fuck you mean he can't? You signed the papers remember? You declared you had no problem with a guest ref. So quit your yakkin and lets get this down.

Breaker: Wait a second. I remember signing those silly papers. And I didn't read them completely but I did know it was something about a guest ref. And well...it never said anything about <b>you</b> and you alone choosing the ref now did it?

GP: Whoa...what's going on here?

HardCase is also a little confused, but like always he hides his concern behind a grin and shroud of cockiness.

HardCase: Ok now. Do share with us if you will...just what the fuck you're talking about?

Breaker: Well after I signed them I though. Heck? Why not find a ref and save you the trouble. And well, there's one person who I thought would do a super job.

As if on cue “Sugar” by System of the Down hits and Hardcore God dressed in an officials uniform and storms toward the ring to cheers from the crowd. Not so much in favor of H-God. But very in favor of HardCase for once getting what he deserved.

JT: NO!!!

GP: YES!! Breaker used HardCase's own method of deception to pull one over on him.

JT: This is so not fair! How the hell could HardCase have known Jack Breaker could be so shrewd?

GP: Hey, he gravely underestimated Breaker, and he's gonna pay dearly.

H-God is approaching the ring at charging speed. HardCase and Harold Hash exchanges anxious looks.


Harold Hash: Fuck this. This is <b>your</b> problem.

Hash turns and slides out of the ring, and harms way. HardCase grabs for him, but before he reaches he's taken to the ground by a running bulldog courtesy Jack Breaker. H-God makes into the ring with just enough time to give HardCase a stiff boot to the ribs.

JT : Oh come on, would you look at this?! H-God is blatantly going after HardCase! He's on him like a wrestler on someone he hates!

GP : …That is the worst analogy I've ever heard.

JT : Oh, I think I've done worse.

GP : Probably, actually. Well, I'm sure the Hardcore God never promised to be an impartial referee.

The God drops to his knees and begins delivering blow after blow to HardCase's face. After standing back for a few moments, Breaker approaches somewhat hesitantly.

Breaker : Uh, Mister Hardcore God person, I really appreciate all your help with the beating him in the face and all, but this is kinda my match, and I'd rather you just stand back and be the ref, if that's all the same to you.

H-God pauses in between blows to stare at Breaker for several seconds, before returning his attention to Hardcase and choking him with both hands as the former World champion's feet kick and flail about.

GP : Looks like the Hardcore God's still REALLY pissed about what happened at Gold and Glory between himself and HardCase.

Breaker pauses for several moments before stepping in and pulling H-God off of his opponent. The guest referee jumps to his feet and gets in Breaker's face. The two begin exchanging heated words – because really, what other kind of words are ever exchanged in a wrestling ring? Pleasantries? I don't think so. Finally, the Hardcore God backs off and raises his hands in the air in a peace gesture, and motions for Breaker to proceed with beating on HardCase.

JT : Well, it looks like finally that bastard is going to relent and do his job as ref.

Breaker lifts HardCase up and shoves him back-first into the turnbuckle, then begins ramming him with shoulders to the midsection. Meanwhile, the Hardcore God turns and motions to someone. It appears that one of his trusty midgets (but not the one from earlier tonight that probably suffered permanent brain damage from Trey Vincent's chairshot) has run out from the back with one of the God's even trustier kendo sticks. He slides the stick into the oh-so-neutral ref, who picks up the stick and turns his attention back to the action.

GP : OK, now this really isn't right. The referee should not be wielding a kendo stick!

JT : Actually, that part's kinda cool…

Breaker finishes up with his shoulder shots, and then grabs HardCase as he begins to collapse out of the turnbuckle. He whips HardCase towards the opposite turnbuckle, but HardCase reverses the whip at the last moment and instead sends Breaker hurtling in the direction of the other corner. Unfortunately, on the way he's laid out with a crackening (yeah, I'll make up my own words if I damn well please) kendo stick shot to the head.

JT : Whooo! H-God's the best referee ever!

GP : Just a couple minutes ago you were complaining about how he shouldn't have ever been allowed to be a ref!

JT : Well, yeah, but then he was attacking HardCase.

H-God now charges his rival and swings for the fences, but HardCase, not being a moron, ducks out of the way and low blows the God from behind. He then snatches the kendo stick, rears back, and delivers three even more crackatastic shots, the third one of which snaps the stick over the number one contender's head. Naturally, H-God collapses as if his muscles turned to jelly.

GP : Whoa, HardCase just completely laid out the special guest referee!

JT : Yes! Go HardCase! That referee was corrupt as hell and unfit to wear that uniform!

GP : But you were just-

JT : He attacked HardCase again. Really, Greg, stay on the ball.

HardCase turns back around and walks over to Breaker. He plants one foot on Jack's throat and grabs the ring ropes with his hands, then lifts his other foot off the mat and forces as much pressure as he can down onto Breaker's trachea. He lets up after a few moments, then repeats this technique several times.

GP : Looks like HardCase is focusing his offense on the neck area of Breaker.

JT : Hey, since when did you take Captain Obvious' job, Greg?

GP : …Shut up, JT.

HardCase finally stops stepping on Breaker's throat, only to drop a leg across it and then pound Breaker's face a few times from his position. He rolls off of Breaker and lifts him up, holding Breaker by the head and forcing it down to be in front of his midsection.

JT : Ha! HardCase is gonna end this right now!

HardCase begins hammering Breaker's face with knee after knee, a little move he calls the Retro Active Abortion.

GP : This really isn't right. The only reason Breaker's vulnerable to a move like this is because of that kendo stick shot he suffered from the Hardcore God!

JT : Yeah, I know, ain't it great? … Besides, you were fine with him being ref as long as he was going after HardCase. “Ooooh, he's all bad, just because he kills and molests people, often in that order!” You're so judgmental, Parker.

After about five knees, HardCase glances up only to have his eyes widen, right before being kicked in the teeth courtesy of the Hardcore God. Breaker collapses to the floor, as does HardCase, leaving only the referee standing.

JT: What the hell!! A ref's not supposed to do that!

GP: Well HardCase really shouldn't have attempted to undermine Breaker and bring in a guest ref. Had this been a straight match, there's no way Jack would have recovered from a Retro Active Abortion, and HardCase would be IWO Champion right now. You gotta love the irony in that.

JT: No. No I don't.

HardCase writhes on canvas from H-God's vicious superkick. Jack Breaker however is much more worst for wear, and doesn't look as if he'll be getting up anytime soon.

HardCase rises to a knee holding—what he hopes isn't a broken jaw—gingerly between his fingers. Hardcore God isn't about to allow him recovery time, and rushes in for what looks like a spear.

Thinking quickly HardCase drops back, grabbing H-God's left leg as he vaults over head, locks in and wrenches back violently.

JT: A rolling single legged Boston crab! What a counter!

It's H-God's turn to writhe in pain as HardCase rips back on H-God's leg, through gritting furious teeth.

GP: It doesn't look like HardCase is gonna let go anytime soon.

JT: And just why the hell should he?

HardCase would agree with JT on that point. If he had his way, he'll be walking out of this match with the IWO Title and H-God's bloody left stump. Hardcore God bites down in pain and struggles to free himself.

H-God claws his way to the ropes and clutches for dear life. A move of desperation, but unfortunately for H-God there will be no rope breaks anytime soon.

JT: Hahahaha!! Look at him. Did he really think HardCase was gonna let up on him because he grabbed the ropes?

GP: How bout you let a psychopath try to tear your leg off, and see how clearly you start thinking JT.

JT: How bout I don't.

H-God had no delusions of getting a rope break from HardCase. But he did hope he could use the ropes as leverage to escape HardCase's hold. HC was wise to his intentions, and turned the tables on him giving him an elevated Boston crab through the ropes à la Chris Jericho.

GP: A valiant attempt by Hardcore God to escape HardCase's hold, but ever-vigilant, HardCase thwarted his attempts and was able to lock on an even more painful move.

HardCase shows no intension of breaking the hold, and H-God is left only to sweat and grit in pain.

GP: Geez, HardCase is being relentless here.

JT: Damn right. But I gotta give Hardcore God some credit. Most wrestlers would be wailing like a bitch at this point. He's taking his ass kick like a man.

The fans grew increasingly restless, as no action has transpired in this match for quite sometime. They begin chanting for HardCase to let go and fight, but clearly HardCase has no intension of doing that anytime soon.

That's when Jack Breaker comes to their rescue

GP: Breakers finally up! He lands a hard dropkick to the face of HardCase, and HardCase goes tumbling to the outside.

JT: That's impossible. No one gets up after a Retro Active Abortion. You can't take that sorta trauma to the head and just get up all willy nilly.

GP: I'd normally agree with you on that, but Jack's driven tonight. It doesn't look like he's letting anything get in the way of him winning the Title here tonight.

JT: Yea I guess. Plus I you probably need a brain in order for it to be damaged. I wonder why Breaker was hurt by that move at all?

GP: ...Very funny JT.

JT: Well I try :)

Jack uses the ropes to sling himself to the outside in a collision course with HardCase. HardCase is flattened by the unexpected suicide plancha and Breaker digs into him with punches to the face disregarding the steams of blood flowing from the lacerations HC's knees open up on his face, and busted nose which seems to be broken.

Jack lifts HardCase and slams his head into the crowd barrier. He lifts him up once more and whips him toward the ring steps. The collision with the steel steps would have been painful enough, but H-God thought he'd punctuate it by driving HardCase's head into the steps as he came rushing by.

HardCase's skull ricochets of the metal and HC lands in a heap bleeding from freshly opened facial wounds.

GP: H-God and Breaker are really putting it to HardCase right now. Did you hear the sound of bone on metal when HardCase's cranium slammed into the steps? Ouch.

JT: Yea, whatever. This is nothing HardCase can't handle.

Breaker reaches over the crowd barrier and retrieves a metal folding chair. He tosses it H-God's way, and grabs on of his own. Hardcore God limps toward HardCase's body showing the effects of the two agonizing submissions he received at HC's hands.

GP: Say JT.

JT: Yea?

GP: You want to retract that last statement?

JT: What last statement. HardCase is about to have his ass handed to him; I've said that since the beginning.

GP: ...

JT: What?

GP: You're despicable.

H-God uses his free hand to pull HardCase to a vertical and slumps him onto the crowd barrier. H-God then grins and slams the steel chair on the ground tauntingly. He raises the chair, but Breaker stops him.

He wants the honor of the inaugural chair shot to HC's face all for himself. H-God doesn't seem to mind at all.

*SMACK*

JT: Christ!

GP: Now Hardcore God is rearing back...

*SMACK!*

JT: Goddamn.

GP: Its far from over. Looks like these two are gonna collaborate now.

JT: I can't watch this *JT puts a hand over his eyes, but makes no attempt to hide the fact that he's peering threw his fingers.* I didn't miss anything did I?

GP: You an idiot

Jack Breaker and Hardcore God step back and begin their brutal steel chair duet

*SMACK*

*SMACK*

*SMACK*

*SMACK*

*SMACK*

*SMACK*

After pounding out a percussion beat on HardCase's face, they go for the finale...

*SMMMMAAAACKKK!!*

A double chair “conchairto”. HardCase crumbles to the ground, as the rivers of blood streaming down his face become an ocean whose tide soaks his once silver shirt a grim shade of crimson.

GP: My God! That was an inhumane display by Breaker and H-God right there. I hate to say it, but even anyone deserved that it was HardCase.

JT: Damn. They beat him retarded.

Breaker scoops up HardCase and rolls him into the ring. Breaker hooks a leg, and waits to be rewarded the IWO Title belt.

GP: Even HardCase can't recover quickly from that sadistic display. Breaker pretty much has this wrapped up.

JT: And what a fine IWO Champion he'll make. I've always loved Jack Breaker.

GP: You disgust me JT.

H-God slides into the ring, and the fans cheer wildly as Breaker is mere moments away from winning the IWO Title. H-God isn't nearly satisfied however, and he pulls Breaker off of HardCase and begins laying in on him with punches to the face.

GP: What is he doing!! Jack had this match wrapped up! All H-God had to do was pin! Hell, even if he wanted to punish HardCase some more couldn't it have waited till after he counted him out?!?!

JT: Damn. He can't even wait 3 seconds to start tearing into HC's ass. Now that's some fucking hate for ya right there.

H-God seems to be thoroughly enjoying his newly found punching bag a.k.a. HardCase's blood caked face. Breaker doesn't seem to agree with his actions though.

Breaker: WHAT THE FUCK!!

Breaker then pounces on H-God and begins to pound away.

GP: Wow this is a side of Jack Breaker we've never seen before. He's absolutely livid!

Breaker furiously goes to work and H-God, cursing and spitting at him while he's doing so. Meanwhile, HardCase begins to move.

JT: HardCase is crawling to the ropes!!!

GP: Jesus Christ. How is he even still alive?

JT: Who dare you doubt HardCase Greg, the future IWO Champion deserves nothing but the utmost respect from you. SHAME ON YOU!!

GP: You son of a bitch, you were just now rooting for Breaker, now that HardCase looks like he's beginning to recover you change your mind?

JT: ...Yea that pretty much sums it up.

Breaker, blinded with rage, is completely unaware of HardCase, bloody, beaten and grinning a scarlet grin, lurching up from behind him.

JT: CROSS FACE CHICKEN WING!!

GP: Well folks, we all deeply loath this disgrace to the human race, but you gotta give him credit. The bastard just doesn't let up.

Breaker finds his world slowly fading to black as HardCase wrenches the life out of him. H-God on the other hand rolls out of the ring to catch a breather from Breakers rage filled onslaught. Then something rather curious begins to happen in the crowd...

JT: HardCase gots this one on lockdown baby!

GP: I think you're forgetting one very important thing. Without a ref to give the three count or register the submission HardCase doesn't win a thing.

H-God slides back into the ring, and sees Breakers predicament. H-God bends down, and instead of breaking the hold or helping Jack in anyway, he begins screaming in his face. He also has no intention of letting Jack tap out.

GP: Well I guess this is understandable. H-God can't be to happy about Breaker messing up his fun, a little earlier. And since he's the ref and he basically decides the winner I guess he can afford letting HardCase choke the life out of Jack Breaker.

JT: Damn. So HardCase is pretty much fucked regardless of what he does...wait a minute...what's going on in the crowd?

While Jack Breaker remains in HardCase's unloving arms, and Hardcore God continues to tease and taunt him like a cornered animal, someone seems to be making their way through the crowd toward the ring.

JT: Who the hell is that?

GP: I don't know, but its a face I've personally never seen here in IWO or any other major wresting promotion for that matter.

The unidentified man hops over the barricade and rolls into the ring, its only now that the concealed object in his hand can be seen.

GP: What the hell does he plan on doing with that aluminum bat?

H-God is completely unaware of the mans presence, and is sent to the land of unconsciousness via a brutal swing of the bat from a man he's never seen before in his life.

JT: WHOO WOO!!

GP: This is a disturbing turn of events here ladies and gentlemen. An unknown man in a leather jacket has just bashed H-God's head in with an aluminum bat.

HardCase finally lets go of a now unconscious Jack Breaker and flips him over for a pin.

GP: Why's he pinning? The ref's knocked out and lying in a pool of blood. Who's gonna count?

The unknown man takes off his leather jacket, revealing an official's uniform underneath, and volunteers his services.

One!

Two!

THREE!!!!

Meygon: Your winner, and NEW, IWO Heavyweight Champion… HARDCASE!

GP: That CAN'T be a legit official!?! Who in their right mind would hire someone with a grudge against Hardcore God?

JT: Who says it's a grudge! I say it's just quality violence. And have you MET our Front office?

HardCase holds the title high, standing overtop his fallen adversaries…

Victorious.

[Winner: HardCase]

[is.that.okay?]
Written by: Ford

President and CEO Thomas Ford walks into a large office room. It seems to be as if he left the show earlier in the evening, and is now here for whatever reason. A black chair and a simple desk decorate the office, the chair turned away, facing the window and overlooking a city of unknown origin.

Ford: I'm guessing you've seen tonight's show.

The figure in the chair leans forward, causing the chair to bob up and down.

Ford: Well, I just hope the direction we're heading is fine with you. I don't want something to happen that might threaten us as a promotion.

The figure reaches behind the chair, and slides a piece of paper eloquently toward Ford. He grabs it almost immediately, and reads it.

Ford: So, you're displeased with the Dolby Jenkins segment? But you're interested in where we're heading with the Heavyweight Championship… Hmmm… I'll take these into consideration, and talk to the Agents.

Ford turns around, and begins to head out the office.

Ford: I hope you were done with me.

Ford's eyes twitch a bit. For whatever reason, he's not exactly thrilled to be here. He walks completely out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Ford: Why didn't she like the Dolby segment?

Ford shrugs, and walks down the long corridor toward his destination. The elevator.

Which would take him home.

Where he longed to be.