BRAWLAPALOOZA: HERSHEY

[jediPREZ]

RP DEADLINE: 8/6/12 11:59:59 Astral Standard Time
VENUE: Hershey Park Center
IN-STORY SHOW DATE: 7/22/12
PLEASE READ BACKGROUND RP FROM NFW FILMS: http://www.fwrestling.com/showthread.php?23548-Welcome-Back-Charter
PREZ NOTE: ALL RP SHOULD GO IN THIS THREAD! YA HEARD ME!

ESEN TV, SIRIUS/XM AND NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING PRESENTS:

BRAWLAPALOOZA WEEKEND!
THE AVERY EVERETTE MEMORIAL TRADITION TOURNAMENT
LIVE FROM HERSHEY PARK ARENA
HERSHEY, PA

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

EMT TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS AT STAKE
16 TEAMS
RANDOM DRAW
2 NIGHT TOURNAMENT

THE ORIGINAL SHOWSTOPPERS
THE DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS
THE PLAYBOYS CLUB
DEACON/CHRISTIAN CRUISE
THE DARK STORM
THE CAN-AM CONNECTION
THE MYSTERIOUS ZOLTAN & THE MIGHTY IMPALA
BANDIT & BLAINE HOLLYWOOD
PHIL ATKEN/TEDDY ALEXANDER
MALIK ANDERSON & JACK BRYANT
THE SUPERFLY EXPRESS
POINT OF VIEW
DOC CURIOSITY & EEGOR
THE POWERGODZ
THE SHADOWRUNNERS
EDDIE MAYFIELD & COJONES MERCADO

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

SUPERSUNDAY CO-MAIN EVENT
NFW WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP
CASTOR STRIFE (C) vs. PHIL ATKEN

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE FAN EXPO AT HERSHEY PARK!

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Card subject to change
aka if you have anything to add - HOLLA!​

 

[GreggG]

Re: BRAWL: HERSHEY

(CUT TO: A black banner that reads THE CLAN in Texan-flag colors. Sitting on a high-backed leather Office Max Deluxe chair is JJ DeVille -- hair slicked back in a pony tail, diamond earrings sparkling, go-tee trimmed wearing a WWJJD T-Shirt. His legs are crossed as the camera closes in. JJ pops the shirt.)

JJ: "WWJJD. The hottest selling shirt in NFW history amongst the demographic of 'intelligent, employable people who can read past Judy Blume'. Since I debuted here in New Frontier Wrestling and TOOK power... people want to know how I would handle certain situations. What do you do if you get passed over for a promotion at work? If the cable guy doesn't arrive on time? If the kid who mows your lawn accidentally ran over a tulip? People approach me all of the time looking for me to solve their every little problem. They want to know... WWJJD. WHAT WOULD JJ DO?"

(JJ purses his lips.)

JJ: "Being a power broker and a mastermind comes easy to me... but most things do. But it's NOT easy. There are so many angles to play and so many levels to pull. Don't let the fact that I'm playing an ENDGAME when everyone else is still moving the first piece on the chessboard fool you. There are a lot of options that a man of my intellectual capabilities has to consider. But here's what JJ would do. Give yourself more than one option. Don't be a moron tied into one job who gets passed over at work by a person like me who FIRES YOU on the spot. It may seem degrading, but go ahead, get that job replacing the pork rib tray at Old Country Buffet because that minimum wage job might come in handy someday. Don't be like Impulse, a man who has bragged and boasted about being able to beat everyone in the Windham Clan but had to take that long walk of shame up the aisle after I, YOURS TRULY, JJ DeVille... long a target of his libelous attacks... DEFEATED HIM NO IFS ANDS OR BUTS! He painted himself into a corner and now has ruined his career."

(JJ purses his lips and adjusts his posture.)

JJ: "That's why I always have MANY options. And in the EMT Tournament... once again, I am calling the shots. The NFW has long considered its tag team belts just as important as all of its other titles. My ever-unfolding plot is to ruin this league once and for all. If and when those tag titles come into MY... I mean OUR... grasp... then the power I hold over the lives of the entire locker room becomes just that much more difficult. Want us to defend the titles? Oh, we most certainly will... BUT NONE OF YOU ARE ALLOWED TO PARK IN THE PARKING LOT. Want a shot at the EMT's? Clean the toilets at the arena, and then we'll talk. And The Clan... we have SO MANY OPTIONS to procure these belts for our illustrious stable."

(JJ puts up three fingers.)

JJ: "There are THREE options for us to win. Our first entrant into this tournament are the quirky tag team of Deacon and Cameron 'Never Over Once' Cruise. Cruise, I'll address your individual remarks to me at the time of MY choosing, even though you're barely worth a second of my life. But you STILL belong to us. You're still OUR PERSONAL PROPERTY. And I've allowed you the honor of tagging with Deacon. And it's simple. If you somehow win your share of the title, Cruise... you have two choices. You can SURRENDER the title to us in front of the entire world and be granted your freedom, with that mute freak Deacon forced to watch as he loses his title. Or you can say no and be immediately and permanently BANNED FOR LIFE from New Frontier Wrestling. And, lord knows, that will break your heart since it's your mission on earth to wrestle in every single professional league at one time. Of course... in true fashion... you'll no doubt just lose and no one will notice, the trademark of your career, Cameron Cruise... IF THAT IS INDEED YOUR REAL NAME!"

(JJ fixes his hair. He then snaps his fingers.)

JJ: "And that brings us to option number two--"

(From off-screen walk THE MIGHTY IMPALA -- clad in African robes -- and Z.!, wearing a brown Talbot's shawl like he's an older woman buying art in New Mexico.)

IMPALA: "Meeestah JJ... I, along with my subjects, the citizenry of the great nation of EQUATORIAL GUINEA... we wish to thank you for theees opportunity to compete for these titles. For, Meeestah JJ, you are a man we all hail as one of our own. IT IS AS IF YOU WERE BORN OF THE SEED OF MY UNCLE, THE GREAT LEADER, Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo, HIMSELF! Because of your natural leadership capabilities, we have already gifted you those earrings, fished from a quarry by the hands of a child. And now... now, with god's many blessings, we shall provide you with two more geeefts... THIS TIME GIFTS OF GOLD!"

(Impala cackles as JJ sits smugly.)

Z.!: "Yes it's now me Z.! The mystery man Zoltan here to help JJ Mr. DeVille become the clothes man so all the women give him the sex in the mouth. Best color in the world number one color for the mouth wet is the gold, JJ. You might know that because you number one smart guy but I will tell you since I am number one Austrian fashion man. And you know what else haha I am number one at? I HAVE THE NUMBER ONE CALF MUSCLES IN THE WORLD! CHECK OUT THESE CALVES! AHHHHH!"

(Z.! starts flexing his calf muscles. JJ looks on and nods.)

JJ: "Thank you.... uhm.... so very much for that." (Z.! waves as Impala salutes as they walk off.) "But of course, that leaves us with one final option. The Playboy Club. Your truly alongside the greatest wrestler who has ever lived... Mr. Troy Windham." (JJ fidgets in his chair.) "Now... it's clear that Troy and I don't see eye-to-eye 100% of the time. But that's going to happen when two men of our caliber associate with each other. And many of you are no doubt asking yourself as to why exactly Troy would enter this tournament. After all, his CAREER is on the line in a few weeks against Mike Randalls. Well, if you haven't noticed... Mike Randalls is in this thing, too, alongside that goof Akita... who sprayed BLACK MIST in my eyes months ago -- Not green BUT BLACK. This match at Reloaded is the most important in Troy's career. Being his protege, this makes it the most important match in MY career as well. We talked this through. We want EVERY PSYCHOLOGICAL ADVANTAGE on Mike Randalls we can get. And what better way to make Mike Randalls quake in fear more than he already is than by winning The EMTs? He'll realize his career has only HOURS left while the reign of Troy Windham... The Playboy Club... THE CLAN... is JUST BEGINNING! And just as the song said... a poor man wants to be rich. A rich man wants to be king. And the king ain't satisfied until he rules everything. Well I AM FAR FROM SATISFIED!"

(JJ leans back in the chair. FTB)

 

[Colin]

Re: BRAWL: HERSHEY

(CUT TO: A private office of a bustling enterprise known only as The Roop Media Ltd. We find THE ROOP and his close associate COOL ANDY having a private backroom gab session as those in the industry are known to have.)

ROOP: Andy, we can't have any more of these phone hacking shenanigans, they're watching us like hawks. LIKE HAWKS! I'm the bloody hawk around here. So what workarounds have you found?

ANDY: Have you heard about person tapping?

ROOP: Why just the other day me and Mrs. Roop...

(ANDY puts up his hand up, hoping to stop the story of THE ROOP's erotic adventures in its tracks. THE ROOP looks offended for a brief moment, it is almost unfathomable that someone wouldn't want to hear about his sexual exploits. ROOP is ready to almost slap the taste right out of COOL ANDY's mouth but he allows his anger to calm as ANDY whops out a olde time reel to reel tape on the desk)

ANDY: Well, we at the newsroom, we knew they'd be very wary of phone activity, people were upset that we were listening to the voicemails of a murdered school girl but as you know Roop, it was in the name of justice. Still, my intern, he came up with a way we can still hear one end of a call - by bugging our celebrity class. They deserve it to! The minute they started acting or posing nude was the minute they became ROOP MEDIA property.

ROOP: That's all very well and good but what does this new way to earn the salicious gossip that makes me a media mogul have to do with this decrepit piece of ****?

(ROOP gestures towards the said olde tyme equipment)

ANDY: Helps with the low profile.

ROOP: Yeah, I'm sure having a tape deck from the ****ing first World War really makes you real low key.

ANDY: Look, Roop, it's all well in hand. Listen. We've already worked on a test case.

(ANDY hits play as the tape begins to play)

/HERE IS THE HOT PERSON HAX FROM THE COOLEST OF ANDY: http://www.sendspace.com/file/vpjlhn /

(THE ROOP slowly listens to the tape becoming more and more irate as the recording continues. By the end of it THE ROOP is a shade of beet red)

ROOP: So, your grand example to me, your master, is to use this big grand secret person hacking technique on THE PRIME MINISTER'S IDIOT SON. No, that would be bad enough but it's his IDIOT SON DISCUSSING HIS WRESTLEMAN BUSINESS AND ELLEN.

ANDY: Well the other person in the room...

ROOP: Andy, if you want to keep this office you best find me some better audio than Phil god damn Atken's one ended phone calls and you better find it fast. Daughter Not-Had is eyeing this office. She's very promising Andy.

ANDY: BUT PHIL IS WITH...

ROOP: Get me good audio Andy. Get it now. Get it fast. I'd hate to see that little perjury thing crop its head again... would be such a shame to cut your promising career so short.

(THE ROOP storms out of COOL ANDY's office, flipping over every piece of paperwork that he can get his large mitt on on his ways out. All ANDY can do is stare at his reel to reel tape in complete bewilderment, almost sulking to himself)

ANDY: Your son.

 

[LQJT86C]

When You Drink From Chocolate Rivers That You Don't Own, You Fall In and Possibly Die

(FADEIN: Camera pulls back slowly from ground level, where a statue of Eric Dane is lying on the ground of a mansion courtyard with it's head broken off. Now CASTOR STRIFE is in the frame, on his haunches, with Dane's severed stone head in his hands. He rolls it around both palms, inspecting it through the eyelets of his gas mask like a globe)

CASTOR: "One man's self-monument is another man's kickball. Or so they say..."

(Rises from his haunches, pulls off his gas mask and begins strapping it over the face of the stone head)

"The only way to establish a true giant for the ages, is to let nature take it's course - let these false idols rise and crumble, until a solitary one remains. And don't just let them come forward, but invite their armies too. Give them every advantage they think they need, and let them discover painfully that they were always at a handicap against the True Revelation. They are merely...buildings, petty structures fit for demolition. Nothing when compared to a great, worldwide WONDER...off you go!"

(Rolls Dane's head like a bowling ball out of the frame)

"Like the pyramids and Sphinx of the Giza plateau, my work will last a thousands years, and a thousand more after that. Don't let that stop you from a good sporting challenge, Phil. It didn't stop Eric Dane - I did that all myself."

"This is the season of sporting challenges, didn't you know? There's one going on right now. Hundreds of competitors from around the world, gathered under one enterprise, each representing some place different, challenging one another for the right to hoist a time honored award."

"Well, the Olympics are indeed something special. And I deeply regret that I won't have the time to fly to London and watch them in person."

"Instead, my free time away from the New Frontier is contractually bound to a competition more akin to the Special Olympics, where most of the worthwhile competitors showed up drunk and lost in the opening matches. I am one of the precious few remaining, and it's slowly chipping away at my will to live. Somehow I've drawn ACW duty, which translates literally into cleaning up bums from this gods-awful promotion that once sold it's first child to Cthulu in order to get me at the negotiating table. And Phil? That's not even the worst part."

(Shakes head, sighs in disappointment)

"That would be having to listen to ESEN analysts recap the action like they are contractually obligated to massage the self-conscious egos of the worst among us."

"For those who missed the matches last week, IT WAS SOOOOO CLOSE! A virtual tie until the final moments!"

"The fans aren't all stupid, gentlemen. They know a third degree rape act when they see one, and I've victimized this sham tournament with serial acts so numerous and hardcore, I should've been named Cap'n Crunch. This, Phil Atken, is what I call 'Life on the CS Enterprise Cotton Farm'. Three more matches and then I've won my freedom papers. I could always just tank one and get out of jail early, but that's not in my DNA. I would rather conquer Hamburger Hill than walk down, and when I do...believe me, it's going to take a lot more than a demo tape and naked pictures of Bea Arthur to get my signature on anything CSE related again. I'll work six hours on a Sunday in Winnipeg before I sign a single autograph in Greensville."

(Places foot atop broken statue, leans over on his leg)

"What's the point of this rant, Phil? Simple: There are worse things in life than getting your house stolen by Eric Dane. And when I dispatch of you in Hershey, be content knowing that I've only wrecked your body while a corporate clown car continues to wreck my soul on a weekly basis."

(Stands back, begins to pace to the camera's right. He pushes back his blonde hair with careless effort)

"Back on the New Frontier, while I break my back in a CS SWEATSHOP, you pulled off one of the great upset victories in our history when you defeated Dan Ryan and, remarkably, PUT HIM OUT OF THE BUSINESS."

"You beat the only man good enough to take me to the limit TWICE, and perhaps the only man smart enough to figure out a way of making $59.95 a pop off a Cameron Cruise headlined pay-per-view. And here I am, defending the greatest prize in wrestling on free television - night, free RADIO. Not even satellite. J. Gordon Liddie is going to interrupt my match to tell you why gold is a smart investment."

"Justice? Not in this life. For when it comes to greatness, there is no justice. You bleed. You suffer. And you do it all for a great work. That's my road - that's both my legacy and cross. I erect great stones into megaliths, at a price so few are willing to pay."

"And you can marvel at my work for the rest of your life, Phil. But you cannot reproduce it, and you sure as hell can't stop it."

"You beat a man with whom I had unfinished business. Congratulations, and thank you for knocking him down the ladder so that his failure to beat me can be seen in a truer light. If Dan Ryan was the threat to my crown everyone claimed him to be, it would be him standing across from me in Pennsylvania and not you."

"And in return, I'll honor you with a broken neck. Maybe I'll take your head clean off the body, like this statue."

"Justice..."

(Shakes head, smiles)

"Not in this life."

(FADEOUT)

 

[Legion]

Re: When You Drink From Chocolate Rivers That You Don't Own, You Fall In and Possibly

So we have a tournament to crown new tag champions and the man at the top of the throne taking on a man in Phil Atken that last time I can remember had a giant Valkyrie with him for the grandest prize and yet people wonder who will be the person having my wrath forced upon them..

Maybe it would be the OTHER man who came so close and yet so far in the self proclaimed 'Only Star' in Eric Dane but I've decided that he shall deserve it in good time..

Anyone that wants an extra challenge though throughout the doubleshot weekend, time to answer the challenge.

Room 429 is open for you to enter and gain the dark message within.

 

[Rook Black]

Re: When You Drink From Chocolate Rivers That You Don't Own, You Fall In and Possibly

ROOK: "Tag team wrestling is, itself, absolutely incredible."

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK at a press event. He's wearing the pixelated Rook-with-triforce t-shirt, and with his three belt set of the Triple Crown Championship, the National Title, and the Pure Championship.)

ROOK: "As certain as the whole is greater than the sum of it's parts, tag team wrestling, elevates the singularly dynamic element of cooperation between the partners, and through this element a tag team match transcends the way most singles matches break down. So on a basic level, it's something special on its own, which makes it a shame that to many it's been considered trivial compared to singles competition."

ROOK: "But not here. In NFW we have something absolutely amazing going. We have a sixteen team, two night tournament that's going to take place on July 22nd, in Hershey Pennsylvania, with the winning team claiming the EMT Tag Team Championships."

ROOK: "SIX. TEEN. Short of going interpromotional, and all the nightmares that brings, no other company can deliver something like this. Only in NFW is a scenario like this even conceivable, and I am personally excited for it. Both as a fan, but also for the fact that this tournament is going to be a moment of particular significance in NFW history."

ROOK: "Likewise, there will also be something very special at the fan Expo in Hershey Park. We'll be displaying our tournament's opening brackets, and participants will have the chance to predict the outcome for an chance to win some great prizes, among which I've been told will be tickets at ringside for one of our upcoming pay per view events, signed memorabilia including compilation dvds, and cupcakes ... allegedly ... should a certain individual be able to control himself."

ROOK: "Thank you, look forward to seeing everyone at Hershey Park."

(FTB.)

 

[Nova]

As Fly As Nova Get

(Pitch black. Across the bottom of the screen “TEMPE, AZ – JULY 19, 2012” flashes in white print.)

SFX: “BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEE-“

VOICE: “AHHH!! AH-GAAAH-SHABBABA!”

(Amidst the stream of gibberish, the red lights of an alarm clock dart across the room and clatter to the floor. A lamp turns on and the shot sharpens as a hotel room comes into focus. CUTTO: Ceiling-down view of the bed, blankets covering the large lump of a man underneath. An arm hangs over the nightstand, the hand having silenced the audible intrusion into sleep.)

VOICE: “HUUUMPH!”

(NOVA pushes his upper body out of the blankets, but fails to make it upright before collapsing back against the mattress.)

NOVA: “HUUUUUUMPH!!”

{He shoots upright again, arms waving to gather momentum…but again he flops backward, head bouncing off the pillow.)


NOVA: “HUUUUURRRMMMM!!”

(Third time’s the charm as the *cough* Risen Star manages to stall out in upright fashion. He immediately shoots an arm around to his lower back.)

NOVA: “Ohhhhhhh…oh, f*ck me…” (Swinging legs around the side of the bed) “…F*************CK ME!”

(NOVA’s shoulders slump and his gut hangs over the waistband of his boxer-briefs. Not a big gut. Maybe even technically a pooch. He farts and scratches his beard.)

NOVA: “Hrm.”

(Oh, the sentiment of so many a morning! The Champion of Yesteryear shoves himself up off the bed and begins shuffling towards the vanity, avoiding the wrestling gear strewn over the floor. He steps on a large folded sheet of paper and it sticks to his foot. He lifts his leg with a grunt, and begins hopping in a circle snatching at it. He goes down in a heap, and the paper flutters harmlessly into the air before landing on the bed. ZOOMIN: The paper is an advertisement, which reads in pertinent part:

PRIME – Number One By Definition
Presents

ReVolution 248
Tempe, AZ
July 18, 2012

The “Welcome Back Show” to Kick Off the “Farewell Tour”!

MAIN EVENT
“Risen Star” NOVA vs. “Friendly Neighborhood Lunatic” HIGH FLYER​

(CUTTO: The vanity mirror in the hotel room. Slowly, several shaky fingers and then two hands clasp the edge of the sink. Elbows slide over the counter and then the tip of NOVA’s bald head peeks into the shot. He pushes himself up to his feet and stands in front of his reflection.)

NOVA: (Pointing a finger) “You…”

(His nose is still broken from HARMEN’s “Hey Ho” Headbutt at BRAWL 52 in Miami, and without the facemask the full glory of the jaundice-yellow of the swelling spread over his face. He nods at himself, and his blue eyes, raccooned by deep purple swelling, gain a look of funkadocious determination.)

NOVA: “You are Superfly.”

(An unexpected back spasm causes him to collapse onto the floor in a heap, out of the show. Several awkward seconds pass before a clenched fist shoots up into view.)

NOVA (Off-screen): “SUPERFLY!!!”

----------*~*~*----------​

(CUTTO: A classic promo backdrop: single overhead light bulb, concrete wall with a steel chair occupied by EAGLEstar and newest co-Number One Contender to the EMT Tag Team Championships, NOVA. He’s clad in jeans, a sleeveless black ‘SUPERFLY EXPRESS’ Little Engine That Could logo t-shirt, and black bandanna. CLOSEUP: NOVA’s face.)

NOVA: “Don’t worry, Rook…don’t worry, everyone…I’ll be able to control myself…”

(Slowly, without his gaze leaving the camera, he lifts a cupcake from off-screen and takes a massive bite out of it. Sprinkles litter his beard. He continues to chew, still staring blankly at the camera.)

NOVA: “Not.”

(NOVA tosses the cupcake over his shoulder and it splats on the wall.)

NOVA: (Lighting a smoke) “I don’t get this, how is JJ DeVille still strutting around all proud of himself about redirecting some flights and convincing some chick to walk around backstage half-naked or something? Did I get that right? Dude…come on. Sorry, but very few people have done ANYTHING in this fed worth throwing a parade over that didn’t involve winning a wrestling contest. And you’re not one of them.” (Adopting a redneck accent) ‘Man I bet they thought you talked reeeal purty down thur at that wimmun’s indoor volleyball team you coached, Jay-Jay…’ But your grand Mgmt tactics are parlor tricks. Hear me? ENTRY-LEVEL.

(Taking a drag) “Check it out. I’m a millionaire. I got that money primarily from wrestling paydays. Winning matches. No college education. Less thinking…” (Raises fist) “…more fighting, y’know? Well, maybe you don’t. Actually, come to think of it, you don’t. Well that is one way some wrestlers choose to do it, Jay. By ‘it’ I mean ‘success,’ and by ‘one way’ I mean ‘winning wrestling matches.’ That’s how I did it. And that…is why I can get excited about this Tag Team Tournament in a way that you cannot.

“I can get excited about it because I understand how it works to look at a situation like this tournament, feel like it’s a virtually impossible challenge, and then summon something f*cked up and crazy within yourself that makes you disregard that feeling and CARPE the DIEM. I look at the list of competitors in this thing, and while I’ve honestly forgotten the identities of the teams listed by group moniker, I still recognize that the field is STACKED and the winner will have to overcome a veritable Pantheon of Frontier Warriors to emerge emblazoned with the Good Name of EVERETTE and tag wrestling immortality. I look at myself and I haven’t accomplished anything significant in this business in…three years? Four? I weigh thirty more pounds than I did then. Still bench pretty much the same. I’m teaming up with a Lunatic who has a penchant for so angering his enemies that they interrupt somewhere between 70-80% of our matches to sabotage us. I could phone it in on this one…and I don’t think anyone would really blame me.”

(Another drag) “Or be that surprised.”

(NOVA stares off into space for a moment, then shrugs.)

NOVA: “But instead I get up for it, because once upon a time I stared at a crowded field, felt like it was an impossible task…and then I accomplished the impossible. I think the point I was originally trying to make was that I have money, lots of guys around here have money. We may be Neanderthals but we all understand that if we wanted to clog the joint up with lawyers and bring the machine grinding to a halt, we could do that. I have a guy on retainer somewhere who I pay more than a full-time child caretaker to just sit in a room ALL DAY angry as hell, until I sic him on someone. That kind of taps into my dark side a little, but it’s true. I’m crazy like that. And this Lawyer Apocalypse would be a lot cooler than your stupid – and mundane – modifications to standard operating procedures! ‘Oh yeah, NFW? You wanna mess with the WINDHAM CLAN? Well, feel the Fiat of JJ! If you CHOOSE to say the Pledge of Allegiance at the pre-event warm-ups and TV tests, you have to stand on ONE FOOT while doing so! Cry havoc, and let slip the Dogs of WAAAAAR!’”

(Handed a flask from off-screen, taking a shot)

NOVA: “So there. Stupid. Who else is in this f*ckin’ thing? Doc? Doc Curiosity? I’m gonna take this opportunity to get a few licks in, mein Freund. That’s Southern slang for punching you in the face. I don’t inherently dislike you…I even went out to your secret laboratory a while back searching for the answer to defeat Joe the Plumber, which I did NOT find…but you’ve just taken it a little far with the swinging of the giant hammer. WHY DO YOU KEEP ATTACKING ME? I MISSED SOMETHING.

“Randalls, you know we keep it on ice so it stays good forever, but there’s plenty of unfinished business that needs handling, and if I find you in this mess of a Royal Rumble or Round Robin or whatever the hell it is…let’s get that conversation going. By ‘conversation’ I mean fighting, not sitting down and reciting spoken-word poetry and alt-rock song lyrics, and I say that because there’s a legit 50-50% chance that’s EXACTLY what we’d do if we randomly met up in the middle of the ring. Let’s not kid ourselves or ignore past history.

“Mayfield, I’ve come a long way from the headless corpse being slowly buried under thousands of streams of toilet paper in the middle of the ring at SUPERCRASH II. I’ve moved on, Eddie, and I don’t need my thirst for revenge on you to motivate my continued existence here now that I’ve struck gold with my man J-Harms and the HAWTEST tag team this side of a Bree Olsen video. But the Scar Remains the Same, El Presidente…”

(NOVA pulls up his bandanna and gestures at the pink craggy ridgeline along the side of his scalp.)

NOVA: “…and if we cross paths in this great goulash of a melee, I just might regress a little.”

(The EAGLEstar leans into the camera, his eyes widening in mock-terror.)

NOVA: “I just might become sick again, Eddie. And I don’t know for sure what I’ll do if I’m sick…and not thinking straight…and in the mood to scrape out your eyes with an ice cream scoop and replace them WITH MY BALLS.”

(He leans back in his chair, taking another shot from the flask.)

NOVA: “Fair warning, Boss Man. Might find my nuts on your face. Just sayin’.”

(FADETOBLACK.)

 

[EastPrez]

Nut Up or Shut Up

(FADEIN: To the beautiful city skyline of Atlanta, Georgia, at dusk. The sun is setting, the sky a picturesque mix of orange and purples as the camera pans over to a high-rise roofdeck, with a in-wall waterfall and an edgeless “infinity style” pool that looks like it falls right off side of the building, but the water is intact. a figure is making large cuts through the pool, gliding around under the water’s surface. Off from the side, in a pair of large GUCCI sunglasses, a beautiful orange dress and a shoulder wrap, walks SHANIQUA CARLTON, showing off glittering jewelry and an orange slipjacketed tennis racket, that matches her orange, expensive Christian Louboutin 4” heels with the red soles. SHANIQUA looks like a million bucks as she walks over to the camera, smiling seductively, but with a little ‘around-the-way girl’ edge.)

CARLTON: “HEYYYY WOOOORLD! (laughs) HOW YOU DOIN! If you didn’t know by now, NOW YOU KNOW. I’m Shaniqua Carlton, and this is how I GETS DOWN. Welcome to my killer apartment on Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta, Gee-Ay. The new black mecca. Where only the well-off, and well refined sistahs get it cracking. Where I have afternoon tea at Canoe with NeNe Leakes and go over multi-million dollar deals and then grab a soulfood dinner at Gladys and Ray’s Chicken and Waffles with Tyler Perry as we iron out the deals for my upcoming supporting actress role in Madea In Space. But that’s just what I’m set up as. That’s just how EYE DO.

“I came into New Frontier Wrestling for one goal at the beginning - to stick it to my veritcally-challenged brat of a baby brother, Calvin, and slowly take everything that he CLAIMS was his, away. I did that. The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, inarguably the greatest tag team that ever lived, with my managerial leadership, walked in off the street and beat the Hollywood Wrecking Crew like they didn’t just come off a multi-year stranglehold on the Everette Tag belts - It takes longer to get my nails did then it took to win the titles. And now . . . well, things have changed. (looks out at the 1128 Peachtree building in the skyline) I’ve changed. Saafir and me? That chapter’s closed. Calvin, that little turd, tried to RUIN ME. His goon Blaine Hollywood put his hands on me and TRIED TO CRIPPLE ME. But if Momma Carlton told me anything, she taught me how to be a strong black woman, and stand up to trifling-assed men like Blaine. Like MY OWN HALF-BROTHER CALVIN. (In the pool, a figure pops it’s head out of the pool, and starts climbing the stairs out) And out of all of this mess? I saw something in the REAL MAN in that team. Not Dorchester Stratton, ESPECIALLY not that acquaintance-rapist fratboy pig Blaine. I saw the potential in MALIK.

(MALIK ANDERSON walks up to the camera, in a too-small black speedo, his barrel frame overriding his trunks. He’s got tiny goggles on along with a black swimcap! He dries himself down with a towel and approaches SHANIQUA, who beams like a winner)

CARLTON: “That’s right. And after the last go-around with Cal, and his big superstar moves, Blaine got bounced out of the Ultratitle - knocked out of the picture, brushed off like the speck of lint he is (ANDERSON chuckles and rakes his thumb across his throat) - and while he was off getting dropped on his head, Malik and The Bandit took back the EMT titles from the DRS, and then. . . (looks at his profile) I knew he was SPECIAL. I knew that he had bigger things in store for him (smiles) and that only I could get him those things. But rather than DEAL with it - let Malik be a man and walk away from his ball and chain agreement with Calvin, my brother has been sending lawyers papers and a rowboat of people to Malik’s house trying to SUE HIM for breach of contract. Calvin, Malik is DONE with you. And if I have to pay his fees out of my own purse, it’s WORTH IT.

“But you went and done one worse. (Looks at MALIK again and scowls) you went and STRIPPED Malik and The Bandit of something they won fair-and-square. The last visitor to Maliks house wasnt the regular paper-serving pencil-neck, THIS one was from ESEN, and two cops, with their hands out, asking for MALIK’S TITLE BELT! Calvin, HOW DARE YOU! (ANDERSON glares through his little, little goggles) You’ve gone too far. And to add insult to injury, now Malik is stuck in this Memorial tournament to win back what HE NEVER LOST.”

ANDERSON: “Calvin Carlton! You think … all the years that I’ve served under your thumb as the enforcer of your hair-brained teams, that I never had a thought of my own. That I was here to hold the tag rope for your boy Blaine, that I would come in and CLEAN UP because that spoiled jock couldn’t finish a match if his life depended on it . . . when the chips are down, you disrespect the ONLY MAN in the Dynasty? (SHANIQUA shakes her head in disgust) That I was gonna go out there and DO WHAT I DO - that’s WIN BELTS, SON, and that’s what I did. Me and Bandit, (balls his hands into fists) YOU TOOK THAT AWAY FROM US, CALVIN. And then you come out here and say that I don’t have any partners... any friends to get in that ring with me at BRAWL 53 and kick your boy’s teeth in with? Well I think Shaniqua has a surprise for you . . .”

CARLTON: “Hey Calvin, say hello to the next link in the Shaniqua Carlton stable - the next diamond in my mine. The next PRICELESS STUD in my STABLE.”

(Just then, the camera pans over as from the glass patio doors, walks ‘The Birmingham Stallion’ JACK BRYANT! He’s wearing a white dress shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, and holding a beer in his hand! He’s sporting head bandages on his forehead and is still pretty scratched up from his run-in with a car windshield - you can make out bandages through his shirt wrapping his ribs. He walks into frame and shakes hands with ANDERSON and nods at SHANIQUA, as they all turn the camera, smirking!)

BRYANT: (Looks at the camera, then takes a swig of his beer, giving an ice-cold glare) “Hey Calvin? Time fer yer boys ta’ . . . NUT UP. We’re comin’ fer ya' at BRAWL 53, son.”

(FADEOUT as SHANIQUA swings her racket in air laughing as ANDERSON rakes his thumb across his neck S-L-O-W-L-Y!)

 

[Biron]

Re: Nut Up or Shut Up

(CUT TO: A distant shot of the Black Hills in South Dakota. The range moves further and further away as the shot zooms back to reveal a fifteen-foot tall, pine ranch gate with a sign reading "THE ELKS CLUB" hanging from a horizontal crossmember/log. Standing underneath the construct is "The Birmingham Stallion" JACK BRYANT, in a gray and crimson "NUT UP" tee, a pair of seen-better-days Wranglers, and light-brown Double H cowboy boots. BRYANT, cracking a crooked grin, leans back against the split-rail fence and folds his arms across his chest. Behind him, off in the distance, a small herd of ELK are grazing on a grassy, rolling hill.)

BRYANT: "Ah gotta' say, Calvin ... (looks around) you might'a outdone yerself this time. Outta' all tha' gifts you've sent me - from tha' camshaft ta' tha' bottomless supply a' Pabst Blue Ribbon ta' tha' '69 SuperBee - this has ta' take tha' cake. Ah'm not sure how you managed ta' pull permits fer an exotic Elk Ranch. Much less, how you managed ta' buy part a' tha' Custer State Park, but you damn sure did. Ah 'spose most folks take one look at you an' figure yer just a trust-fund brat that throws his Momma's checkbook 'round. That 'bout hits tha' nail on tha' head, but yer also a persistent, lil' bastard. Ya' built yerself from a nobody commentator ta' a member a' tha' Frontier's Board a' Directors. Not ta' mention, tha' stranglehold you had on tha' EMT Tag Championships 'til (grins) yer sister showed up. All them things get a fella ta' thinkin' 'bout how much he could accomplish with you wheelin' an' dealin' n' tha' background. 'course, fer tha' good qualities you got, there's twice as many reasons ta' not get hooked up with you, Calvin. Fargo an' tha' Stud are still sore from tha' backstabbin' that took place all them years 'go. Ah don't go 'round handin' out mah trust ta' anybody who asks fer it. Ah started ta' trust that snake-n'-tha' grass Dane an' then he tried ta' crook mah Television strap from me. That only served as a hard reminder that at tha' end a' tha' day, Ah'm tha' only sonuva(bleep!) Ah can trust. But, tha' fact that yer a weasel ain't tha' biggest reason Ah keep swat you away like a irritatin' horse fly. It's tha' fact that you've always surrounded yerself with tha' worst kinda' scum. (spits on the gravel drive) Tha' only MAN n' yer whole posse drug up an' joined up with yer sister Shaniqua! Now yer left with check collectin' Bandit, a ZERO-talent Blaine Hollywood, an' tha' yella' Dorchester Stratton. (sneers) Tha' Country Club Coward. Long as yer n' cahoots with that piece a' (BLEEP!), you can expect ol' Jack Bryant ta' be gunnin' fer you an' yer pals."

"That's why when Shaniqua an' Malik showed up on mah front porch n' Birmingham an' asked me ta' team up with 'em fer tha' EMTs, Ah agreed. Ah might not have much common ground with them two, but there's one thing an' it's more than enough ta' trump any an' all differences we mighta' had. See, tha' three a' us have issues with either you 'er yer so-called Dynasty. Shaniqua wants nothin' more than ta' see her baby brother squirm an', hell, Ah get it. Ah had siblin's. We beat tha' hell outta' each other, mah brothers an' me. That's just tha' way it is. Now, Ah'd say Malik has a helluva bone ta' pick with you an' Blaine. Fer years, Malik did tha' leg work fer tha' Hollywood Wreckin' Crew. 'cept, all you ever could ever do was pat Blaine on tha' back. He rode tha' Black Sheep's coattails. You know it, Ah know it, an' you can be real sure Malik knows it. That leaves me an' everybody an' their Momma knows why I dislike tha' Dynasty. It's not about you, Blaine, 'er Bandit - Ah don't care one way 'er tha' other fer ya'all. It's Dorchester Stratton. Tha' same sum(BLEEP!) that tried ta' cut mah career short at Reloaded. A career that's got more prestige n' two years than he could do n' ten. He didn't do it n' tha' ring though. Oh no, not Dorchester, not MAN ta' MAN. He tried runnin' me down with his Jag n' a parkin' lot full a innocent women an' children, fans a' tha' sport. He's bragged 'bout what he did ta' Joe tha' Plumber over an' over an' over, but, this, this was too far. Tha' gloves are off, Calvin. Ah'm gonna' tear down Stratton's paradise an' God help anybody who is 'round him when Ah do. Ah don't care if it's Rumsfeld, 'er you, 'er anybody else fer that matter. We're gonna' get settled up that's a damn promise!"

(An elk bugles in the distance as JACK pushes off the fence and takes several steps forward onto the drive.)

BRYANT: "Far as tha' EMT Championship Tourney goes, me an' Malik are comin' fer them straps. Ah'd like nothin' more than ta' strap a second belt 'round mah waist. We've never teamed b'fore, but Ah figure two like-minded, blue-collar brawlers can figure it out. Ah got Malik ta' school me on some a' tha' finer points a' tag wrasslin' an' he knows that he's got one a' tha' toughest boys n' tha' back on his side. You, Bandit, an' whoever else, hopefully Dorchester, best get used ta' tha' empty feelin' yer all so accustomed ta'. Tha' feelin' that tha' only weight yer carryin' is tha' gold on yer fingers, tha' lead n' yer ass, an' yer (BLEEP!) fer brains. Failure is harder than a whore's heart, boys, but somebody has ta' lose. (shrugs, grimacing slightly) As fer me, Malik, an' Shaniqua, we're comin' n' hot, gonna' put a whuppin' on some folks, an' see, when tha' dust settles, if there's two better men out there. We'll be seein' ya'all real soon."

(FTB)

 

[Colin]

How We Got There

(CUTTO: THE ROOP's underground layer. Well I say overground, it could easily be overground. It is in a vague, unspecific location. It's entirely possible it's in the middle of the volcano or at the very top of a corporate tower. THE ROOP is a very secretive man with a great passion for the wonderful sport of dressage but this is as much as we know about the man himself.

THE ROOP sits at the head of a massively long table, perhaps stretching to the ends of the Earth. Sitting square in the middle of said massively long table sits a loudspeaker. We join THE ROOP in the middle of some kind of conversation with the loudspeaker which contains within it A VOICE OF A MAN)

ROOP: So, I trust our little project is advancing as planned.

VOICE: Well to be honest sir I think we may have been a little bit too far reaching considering your charge of choice.

ROOP: And just what do you mean by that?

VOICE: Well really sir... it's Phil Atken. How can he possibly survive a 16 man tournament AND a Castor Strife match, never mind winning them. He's not exactly the most powerful man in the company nor indeed is he a high quality talent.

ROOP: I have my reasons and they are not to be questioned. We got Mr. Atken some appropriate protection did we not?

VOICE: Our hired gun as it were sir... he's a little... how do you say... unreliable?

ROOP: Then go find someone who will make him reliable and do it damn quickly. Our little project needs protection and protection he will bloody well get.

VOICE: I think it may be time for us to call in a favour with your favourite gentleman of shorter stature.

(THE ROOP signals for his personal aide to disconnect the call, something the aide is delighted to do as for the first time in a week he has been directly acknowledged by THE ROOP.)

ROOP: Honestly, it's the wrestling business. It's not that hard.

(CUTTO: A reasonably small apartment that by New York City standards indicates a man with more means than sense. The owner of this apartment is none other than budding NFW wrestleman extrodinaire PHILIP MARTIN ATKEN. PHIL appears to be looking out of his window for reasons that were later reported to be “postman stalking”. As soon as he spots THE POSTMAN popping into his building, PHIL is off like a shot to collect his mail.)

(CUTTO: The apartment lobby as PHIL almost tackles the arriving POSTMAN down to the floor in an attempt to get his mail a split second quicker. THE POSTMAN is quick to submit to PHIL's manic ways and hands over his mail.)

ATKEN: Let me see here... bill... bill... bill... alimony request despite the fact that I've never had... bill... NFW! Oh boy! They must have got my request. You wonder why they wouldn't just call but that's red tape and bureaucracy for you. Still, better late than never replying and thinking that my original letter disappeared into a void created by some kind of mad scientist with a great love of sledgehammers and the Peter Gabriel classic Sledgehammer.

(PHIL rips open his letter and begins mouthing the contents out loud)
ATKEN: Dear Mr. Atken... yadda yadda yadda pursuant to your request about a recent booking by the NFW Board of Directors... blorky blorky blork... we can't at this time revise the booking as it would serve as a disservice to all the fine NFWites who have already bought tickets for the advertised card. We would like to thank you for taking the time to contact us...

(PHIL looks completely in shock as he lets the letter drop to the floor PHIL stops in his tracks for a brief moment as he lets the contents of the letter actually sink into his thought process.)

ATKEN: That can't be right. Must've mis-read it. We can't revise? OF COURSE YOU CAN BLOODY REVISE! Why can't you revise? It's not like Eric god damn Dane had to fight a horde of hungry tag teams before he got close to murderised. It's not like Dan Ryan, I don't know, had to have other matches or something! This is ridiculous. This is an injustice!

(ATKEN grabs the letter, balls it up and tosses it less further than you would expect from an athlete to be quite honest. THE PORTER standing nearby the door turns around the witness the a Scotsman rambling to himself at the top of his voice while still pinning THE POSTMAN to the ground. He contemplates getting involved but instead simply laughs, shrugs it off and turns his attention back to the street)

(CUTTO: THE ROOP's long table of judgement. This time he is joined by a guest, that being a man who is said to be Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, although facts say differently, that man is, was and shall ever be DIRK DICKWOOD. DICKWOOD takes a seat uncomfortably close to THE ROOP and begins to chomp down on a cigar)

ROOP: I trust all is going well Dirk.

DICKWOOD: What the hell do you need with me? Don't you know I've got...

ROOP: Yes, yes, you've got an economy. You've mentioned it. No, I want to talk to you about Phil.

DICKWOOD: That idiot, no good, non-achiever of a son of mine? What the **** do you want to ****ing talk about that **** for?

ROOP: Well Dirk, surely it can only help you in the long run if we turn your son into a stunning success story.

DICKWOOD: That's easy to say but he's been a noted failure in the industry for eight years now.

ROOP: Well time to make him a comeback story then. People love those. They see those headlines and they gobble it up like the cock...

DICKWOOD: Really?

ROOP: -a-leekie soup mother used to make. So here's how we're going to do it.

(THE ROOP hands over a folded up piece of paper to DICKWOOD. DICKWOOD unfurls said paper and looks a little bit desolate.)

DICKWOOD: You want me to call him? How the hell do you think I'm going to ****ing reason with him?

ROOP: He's your boy's insurance so you best find a way and fast. Brawlapalooza isn't far away Dirk.

(CUTTO: PHIL's apartment as PHIL is on his house phone and looks to be in quite the frantic state)

ATKEN: Yes, it's A-T-K-E-N... no not like the diet. Did you even listen? I just spelt it out for you! He's in a meeting? Yeah I bet he is. I bet he's meeting a woman's vagina, I bet that's who he's meeting... No, I couldn't think of a wittier way to put that. Just ask him to call me back.

(PHIL hangs up the phone and flops down on his couch like you sometimes see distraught people from Victorian dramas do after the servants brought the wrong kind of carrot cake to the meeting with the Duchess. PHIL begins to wax poetic (whine) about the situation he has found himself in.)

ATKEN: I earned this god damn shot. I earned my damn shot at Castor Vincent Strife. I didn't just trot in on my fancy dressage horse and steal someone's house in a questionable legal document and get a NFW Heavyweight Title shot due to the pixie dust that is the American legal system. I beat Dan Ryan. In two big time fancy dandy yeehaw rootin'-tootin' Brawl to end it All title matches, Castor Strife didn't do that. I did. I did it. Me, NFW's laughing stock. A man who wasn't even good enough to take down a god damn Koopa Troopa managed to pin Dan Ryan. You would think that would earn me a little moment in the sun. NFW's Board of Directors though, in their infinite wisdom seemed to disagree with that line of thinking. No, I have to compete in a tournament in an opportunity I would've lapped up weeks ago. I'd have been first in line to try and grab some gold in NFW and what better opportunity than at Brawlapalooza. What better time to strike than when the tag division is in chaos. Of course... THEN I BEAT DAN ****ING RYAN.

(ATKEN slams his fist into the couch and quickly nurses his hand as it would seem he may have hit the couch a little too hard)

ATKEN: So do I give up a chance at the EMT's and piss off a noted crippler? Do I want a man like Teddy Alexander gunning for me in the middle of my match with Castor of Strife because I let him down and now he has the greatest of desires to put me in a ****ing neck brace. Or do I go for option b, give it my all and try to become one half of the oddest tag team combination since that guy with the horse head mask teamed with a literal horses head and see if we can't get us them EMT's. Then go on to fight Castor Strife who has the greatest desire to put me in a ****ing neck brace. This is god damn ridiculous. This is a step further. This is redonkulous. This is redinkulous. I gotta fix this. I would really like for my night in the spotlight to end without a neck brace. I'm not even sure I can cover the medical costs of that.

(ATKEN picks up his phone and begins to dial away frantically)

(CUTTO: DIRK DICKWOOD standing in a corner, mobile telephonular device in hand having a seemingly secretive conversation.)

DICKWOOD: Teddy! Ah Teddy, you're just the chap I wanted to speak to. As you no doubt know, you are teaming with my boy at Brawlapalooza. I just was wondering if I could speak to you about that for a brief moment...

(FTB)

 

[TSiegel]

Secrets

(A mocking and sarcastic voice suddenly breaks the silence of a pitch-black screen.)

"HAIL...ZOLTAN!! ALL HAIL...ZOLTAN!!!"

(Fadein, Cameron Cruise, dressed in black jeans, a white T-shirt and matching Anarchy-style shades, in front of an NFW backdrop, giving the bird.)

CRUISE: You'll have to forgive me, every time I hear that name, all I wonder about is 'Why would ANYONE name themselves such an INCREDIBLY stupid name??' My most INSINCERE apologies, but I'm sure I'm not the first one to tell you that I nor anyone else in NFW has the "Continuum Transfunctioner", so you're shit outta luck.

The fact is, Jay-Jay, people come up to you and ask you a load of questions on what to do for common problems, because for those that DO remember you from back in the day, they know that you had to DO all those things for Troy Windham.

"How to properly wax a car".

"How to fix a leaky faucet".

"I think I saw Troy banging Peter Windham's Mother in a position he told me later affectionately called "The Jack-Hammer"...should I really be concerned??"

People ask you those questions and more because quite frankly, you've had the personal experience to deal with them yourself.

(Cruise turns and starts to pace a bit, as he continues.)

But that's what you grew accustomed to, Jay-Jay, and to that end...no one can fault you, you had barely any intent to do anything without Troy present than I did to do anything to risk being terminated and lose a paycheck.

So I'm up for another shot at the EMT Tag Team Championships, for a second time in as many months only this time, instead of Bobby-Jack yelling sour sermons next to my ear, I've got the one man that LITERALLY stands taller than most of the people in that locker room, as the man standing in my corner, Deacon.

Now, I might be under contract of the Windham Clan, but the fact is that I have the luxury of looking you right in the face while I slam my fist in two of the your boys....any there's not a lot you can do about it.

Not to mention, I won't have to worry about Deacon trying to convert me to a religion I no longer wish to get into arguments over; I make my own decisions how I see fit to accomplish victory. That's not to say that Deacon and I have any issues to discuss, he knows what he can expect from me in the squared circle...this is part of how I've made my career.

I told you before, Jay-Jay...I might be "under contract" to the Windham Clan, but that doesn't by any means make me your PERSONAL PROPERTY.

I'll NEVER concede that to you, Jay-Jay, and you won't ban me from New Frontier Wrestling.

Because should you even CONSIDER that option, you lose out on the one opportunity to flex your flabby, weak political muscles for your WISHFUL amusement. Ban me Jay-Jay, and what else is there for you to do, besides be ridiculed by Impulse, Deacon and everyone else that you DON'T have under contract to the Windham Clan??

(Cruise places thumb-to-index finger, and brings it up, eye level.)

Nothing.

In the meantime, yeah...it's not exactly a walk-in-the-park for Deacon and I to pull off what's probably the biggest upset of the entire tournament here in NFW.

But that's the normal routine for a man like me, isn't it, Jay-Jay.

The question you have to ask yourself, is NOT..."Do I feel lucky?"

Because let's face it...that's the story of your your OWN career, Deacon and I have EARNED everything that we accomplished.

It certainly isn't "What are we going to do about, Akita and Randalls?"

You've got more than just them to worry about in this tournament, so rather than those types of questions, the one you SHOULD ASK, is "What should we do after Cruise and Deacon play the spoiler to EVERYONE, and we STILL have to worry about Randalls kicking Troy's Ass??"

THAT Jay-Jay, is a REALITY CHECK that you just...won't like.

FADEOUT

 

[GreggG]

Re: Secrets

(CUT TO: A black banner that reads BRAWLAPALOOZA in a grey/black/white Megadeath-style font. Underneath it, in a bold gold with fire red trim it reads POWERGODZ. In the middle, holding a skull staff, stands NEIL RIDDICK -- THE KEEPER OF SOULS. Riddick has on a Saudi-style tunic with red/yellow trim and a necklace of skulls. To his right stands RYAN ORACLE -- red/gold style headband with a jewel in the middle, blonde mullet flowing, his body tanned as he flexes his oiled muscles, wearing pleather red/gold pants with red/gold boots. To Riddick's left is POWERMASTER -- his back turned as his wild perm bounces up and down, red/gold streamers tied around his arms, red/gold pleather pants with a lightning bold on the rear, red/gold boots adorned with fur. He is reaching towards the heavens, grunting and beating his chest.)

RIDDICK: "They call Hershey, Pennsylvania THE LAND OF CHOCOLATE. But I, Neil Riddick... (Riddick clangs the skull staff off the ground) I REFER TO IT AS THE LAND OF TREASURE! For I am the KEEPER OF SOULS. I am THE HUNTER OF PREY. And the EMT Tag Titles are up for grabs. I have a treasure chest in the Riddick Castle, which sits on a secluded cliff overlooking the Adriatic Sea, filled with booty TAKEN from others. Human skulls of my ancestors defeated foes. Teeth belonging to Dracula. The skeletal remains of Geronomo, which I stole from Yale's SKULL AND BONES secret society. But the ultimate trophy in my illustrious case would be those two gold belts... the two gold belts MY CHARGES WHICH STAND BEFORE YOU... shall proclaim as this own! Many teams stand in our path. BUT ONE IN PARTICULAR MUST BE CONQUERED. I speak of DOUG MAYFIELD and his henchman, The Shadowrunners. Doug, you attempted to engineer a coup with your warriors from beyond. You seek to destrow POWERGODZ and you seek to destroy FOKRUCITY ITSELF! You seek to dominate the future... BUT WE SHALL SAVE TOMORROW!"

(Riddick cackles as he bangs the skull staff.)

ORACLE: "We stand as one. WE STAND AS POWERGODZ. My father, ZEUS, THE KING OF THE GODZ, he has ordered me to present to him a gift. He has ordered me to present to him A PIECE OF GOLD to show his might and power! And as my father personally dipped me in a vat of LAMB'S BLOOD in order to craft this body, a body which is a temple of physical perfection worshiped by all mortals... I SHALL PRESENT THIS TO HIM! But Zeus... he has informed me that HE WILL ACCEPT A SACRIFICE AS WELL! While Zeus may rule over ancient Greece... HIS LEGACY SHALL BE KNOWN IN THE FUTURE! Chad Fortune, Tod Destiny... you hail from the year 2075. You attempted destroy POWERGODZ in order to conquer the beyond for your master Doug Mayfield. WE SHALL CONQUER YOU AND FREE THOSE ENSLAVED TOMORROW! Fokrucity (Oracle makes fists and stares at them) SHALL NEVER PERISH! The Sentinels of Fokrucity shall be LIBERATED!"

(PowerMaster starts raising his hands up and down furiously, running in place, before turning around, beating his chest letting out a primal scream.)

POWERMASTER: "SHADOWRUNNERS YOU LEFT A SCAR ON ME... you left a scar on my flesh... BUT YOU FAILED TO RECOGNIZE THAT I POWERMASTER AND WE POWERGODZ STAND BEFORE YOU NOT AS MORTALZ BUT AS THOSE THAT SHALL LAST FOR TIME INFINITY! You hail from the future, where you and your benefactor Doug Mayfield own the thoughts of many. BUT YOU DO NOT OWN THE THOUGHTS OF ALL! For the SENTINELS OF FOKRUCITY KEEP THE FIGHT OF FREEDOM ALIVE! You ShadowRunners came back in time to DESTROY us. But you forgot that WE AND WE ALONE HAVE THE AGGRO-INTENZITY TO CHANGE THE PATH OF TOMORROW. And along as the changes we shall make... we shall also procure a gift FOR THE SPIRIT LORDZ WHO STAND ABOVE! The Spirit Lordz WHO BELLOW FORTH THE YAK'S HORN... the ones that channel their fokrucity through my veins, the ones that channel THEIR AGGRO-INTENZITY that makes us stand aboveeeeeeeee!!!! Hershey, Pennsylvania -- July 22, 2012 -- you shall witness in person THE DESTRUCTION OF THOSE WHO WISH TO ENSLAVE YOU... and the ascent of POWERGODZ TO BECOMING THE TAG TEAM CHAMPIONZ OF THE WOOORRRRLLLLLDDDDDD!!!!!"

(FTB)

 

[GreggG]

(CUT TO: A black banner which reads BRAWLAPALOOZA in a Megadeth-style font. Underneath it, in an Oakland-Raiders style silver, is an ominous UPC symbol. But instead of numbers underneath, it spells out SHADOWRUNNERS. In the middle of the screen, cackling, is DOUG MAYFIELD -- black hair with several lines shaved into his sideburns, his mustache looking less like facial hair and more like he has coffee beans glued on. He's wearing a JOE THE CAMEL T-Shirt, one sleeve rolled up holding a pack of smokes, acid wash jeans and black, fingerless leather gloves. CHAD FORTUNE stands to his left, wearing an open black floor-length jacket adorned with microchips and pleather trunks. To his right is TOD DESTINY -- a UPC symbol tattooed on the side of his face, wearing a matching coat.)

DOUG: "The future is tomorrow. The future is NOW. I am DOUG Mayfield, younger half-brother to our beloved president Eddie Mayfield -- yo, Eddie, come on man, give me a call back! The Mayfield Family, allegedly, run more than just a wrestling empire in the future. WE RUN THE WORLD! All of you 'people' at home have become nothing more than COMMODITIES! You work for us and if anyone dare things thoughts that do not align with ours... well... you have to deal with ME -- the leader of THE THOUGHT POLICE -- personally! I didn't think anything like that would ever happen to me! Just a few months ago, I was watchin' NFW in a trailer on the outskirts of Johnson City, Tennessee. And now? (Doug cackles.) Now I'm a DICTATOR!"

FORTUNE: "As our master DOUG MAYFIELD has so righteously stated, WE ARE THE ENFORCERS OF THE MAYFIELD EMPIRE! SENT BACK IN TIME TO RIGHT THE WRONGS OF THE PAST! We hail from the year 2075, a year in which YOU ARE ASSIGNED A NUMBER! Your thoughts BELONG TO US! Your emotions have been STRIPPED! You do not know love! INSTEAD WE BRING YOU TO THE BREEDING PITS AND MILK YOU OF YOUR SEED! PowerGodz, you and your Sentinels of Fokrucity are the only ones who prevent us FROM TOTAL DOMINATION! We shall destroy you... (Mayfield cackles again.) And along the way we shall also BEGIN OUR CONQUEST OF THE WORLD! 10 GOTO DESTINY!"

DESTINY: "This tournament shall be the first time the Mayfield's will have DOMINANCE OVER ALL. The EMT Tag Titles shall be used to power the GENERATION CHIP. The CHIP FROM WHICH WE SHALL HARVEST THE ENERGY SOURCE! THE ENERGY SOURCE WHICH POWERS THE SALT MINES... the salt mines where YOU work and YOU are ENSLAVED in! Taken from your family, a chain around your neck, carrying large blocks of stone all day, ERECTING A TEMPLE TO THE MAYFIELD DYNASTY! Your work shall NEVER be done and you shall DIE IN CAPTIVITY LIKE THE SPACE CHATTLE YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AND WILL CONTINUE TO BE! WE ARE YOUR FORTUNE! WE ARE YOUR DESTINY! WE ARE THE SHADDOOWWWWWRUNNNNNNERRRRRSSS!"

(Mayfield laughs as both the ShadowRunners kneel and makes X's with their fists. FTB.)

 

[Ford]

(FADEIN: NFW LOGO.)

(CUTTO: MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC. CUTTO: DUTCH TITLE ANGLE ON JACK HARMEN, one half of Superfly Express. He stands in front of a LARGE projection screen. His IMAGE is being concurrently broadcast on the projection screen, creating an "Infinity shot." He wears his Superfly Express t-shirt and black cargo pants. He smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: 16 Teams. 2 Night. One Championship opportunity.

(Harmen strokes his recently shaven skull.)

JACK HARMEN: It’s the night Nova and myself have spent months preparing for. Hours in the conditioning room, days in the ring working on our cohesive double team maneuvers. WEEKS spent choosing theme music. It all comes down to us, versus 30 of our peers.

(Harmen cracks his neck.)

JACK HARMEN: A lot of people might be intimidated by the sheer volume of participants in this shindig, but not the Neighborhood Lunatic. I’ve had history in matches like this. Just a few weeks ago at Jolt’s Divide and Conquor, I was the last man eliminated in a cluster-fubar-rumble. Going back decades, I’ve been able to outlast thirty other competitors in a multitude of environments, from IWO’s 40 man May Mayhem Scaffold match to FWO’s tag team style battle royal Meltdown. And even as we SPEAK, I’m in the Elite 8 of the Ultratitle tournament, preparing to square off with the Kochi Cannibal Freddy Sagawa.

(Harmen stretches his arms wide.)

JACK HARMEN: I LIVE and BREATH for these CHAOTIC events.

(Harmen rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles.)

JACK HARMEN: Let’s play a little WORD ASSOCIATION!

(The projection screen behind Harmen cuts to a black video matte.)

(GFX: “The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.”)

JACK HARMEN: NFW’s requisite racist angry black tag team stereotype. Think they have a chance without Shanique by their side? THINK AGAIN.

(GFX: “Phil Atken & Teddy Alexander.”)

JACK HARMEN: Impressive young rookies, thrown together to be a “force” in this thing. We’ll see how THAT goes. Considering two perennial ALL-STARS like myself and Nova have taken MONTHS to get on the same page. We’ll see if Atken, who’s busy with his world title shot that night, can even THINK to work cohesively with Teddy Alexander.

(GFX: “Malik Anderson & …”)

JACK HARMEN: Malik, managed now by Shaniqua, has found himself one of the better partners out there for this tournament, current NFW TV champ Jack Bryant. I, like most fans of NFW, have really grown to like Bryant over the past year. Anyone who punches JJ Deville as much as he does gets a free pass. While both men are talented individuals, I ask the same question. Do they have enough time to get together and work cohesively as a unit?

(GFX: “Point of View.”)

JACK HARMEN: Young rookie upstarts. One of ‘em beat Sean Stevens in Ultratitle. Don’t overlook them just because they’re former backyard wrestlers. They know what they’re doing. Still. Butterflies will be something I doubt Point of View can overcome when they’re matched up opposite a tandem like…

(GFX: “The Playboys Club.”)

JACK HARMEN: Troy Windham and his petulant man servant J.J. Deville. Talented individuals who have a history of working together, no doubt. I mean. Even I ask myself, what WOULD JJ do? Just y’know, so I know what NOT to do.

Plus, I beat Windham. NYAH!

(Harmen sticks his tongue out, specifically to Troy Windham.)

(GFX: “The Can-Am Connection.”)

JACK HARMEN: Who?

(GFX: “The Mysterious Zoltan & The Mighty Impala.”)

JACK HARMEN: Double Who?

(GFX: “Deacon & Cameron Cruise.”)

JACK HARMEN: Big Deac, good luck to you. I’m disappointed I don’t get to kick your head off in the Elite 8 of the Ultratitle. I guess, this is your way of giving me a consolation prize. Kicking your head off in this tag tournament. You chose a good partner though. Cruise has been stronger than he’s ever been, and since getting out of the shadow of the Religious sect of the Windham Clan, I see big things ahead for him here in NFW.

Just not in this tag tournament.

(GFX: “ The Dark Storm.”)

JACK HARMEN: Gayest name ever. Also kind of racist. “The Wolf” and Tsunami, two NFW mainstays. Long time tag partners. One of the favorites, if I have to count favorites who AREN’T superfly.

(GFX: “Bandit & ???”)

JACK HARMEN: Former Windham jobber Bandit teams up with… I dunno. Axel Rose from Guns & Roses? That would be interesting.

(GFX: “The Original Showstoppers.”)

JACK HARMEN: My pick for most likely team to win this tournament without being inherently SUPERFLY. These two have been on fire since returning, even managing to best us in that Super Tag Scramble at my hometown of cheesesteaks and brotherly love. Just know OSS, we aren’t the same beast you squared off with at Brawl 50. We’ve spent weeks training to make ourselves more cohesive than ever. It may not be to your level, but we’ve got more experience working together now than we did then. So WATCH THE FRAK OUT.

(GFX: “The POWERGODZ.”)

JACK HARMEN: Urgh. Why did we hire Dusty Rhodes to book NFW? Next!

(GFX: “The Shadowrunners.”)

JACK HARMEN: NEXT!”

(GFX: “Doctor Curiosity & Eegor.”)

(Jack Harmen pauses, lowering his head. He shakes it from side to side before raising his chin.)

JACK HARMEN: Doc. Everything that could be said to rectify the wrong’s I’ve done to you has been said and done. I don’t think even DEACON baptizing me would forgive my sins in YOUR eyes. So Doc, good luck to you and your assistant. If we meet in this tournament, perhaps we can END this, once and for all.

(GFX: “Eddie Mayfield & …”)

(Jack Harmen licks his lips.)

JACK HARMEN: Oh God. Please let it be Craig Miles. Please let it be Craig Miles. Please. I wanna eat his SPLEEN.

Either way, it’s always fun to smack the boss around. I think the one and only time I met Eddie, I was doing back up vocals and air guitar while the Illustrious Face Eater pitched a highlight reel for Supercrash II… But know that my allegiance lies with Nova now. And if Nova wants to tear your head off Mayfield? Consider TROUBLE DOUBLED.

(GFX: “Superfly Express.”)

JACK HARMEN: And of course, the Super, ultra flyest tag team in the world today, your FUTURE, Everett Memorial Tag Team Champions. Nova. Jack Harmen. The Superfly Express.

(Harmen frowns, raising his palm for a moment. The video screen cuts back to the infinity shot from before. Jack begins stroking his chin in deep thought.)

JACK HARMEN: By the way. Who the **** is Everett anyway? I almost don’t want to hold the memorial belts for a man who I don’t remember. There could be some bad ju-ju there.

NAH! I’ll fight through the supernatural, fight through the ghost apperiation of Everett WHATHISFACE, to lay claim to the brightest and shiniest tag titles available. Sixteen teams. Two nights. One Winner.

And the winner can ONLY be SUPERFLY!!!

(Harmen walks off stage right. CUTTO: STATIC.
GFX: NFW LOGO.
Fade to black.)

 

[LQJT86C]

Chased By The Tax Man, Up The Hershey Highway

(FADEIN: DAY TIME – a chubby man in a black suit, white shirt, and blue striped tie walks up a fleet of stone steps. His mouth breathing is audible, and though we cannot see the sweat stained perimeter of his underarms beneath his suit jacket, we know it’s there. Struggling with each step, he takes a pause to wipe sweat from his black hair and wipe it on his pants. The camera turns slightly and now we can watch him from the back, climbing toward a locked gate. Now we pan out, and see the premises of an old mansion high up in Hollywood Hills, CA)

(CUTTO: The man stops at the gate, shuffles a leather-bound carry-case to his right hand, and rings the buzzer with the left. A voice comes in over the intercom)

VOICE: “Yes?”

MAN: “James McKay, Internal Revenue Service. Mr. Castor V. Strife is expecting me.”

(A pause – McKay wipes his mouth with his forearm and sniffs hard, re-shuffling his carry case to the left hand. Now the gate buzzes and unlocks, and McKay pushes through)

(CUTTO: Inside the house, we follow McKay as he follows the estate’s hired help – a young man with a shaved head – down a narrow hallway with red walls and dim lighting. They pass by black doors on the left and right, framed water paintings and original movie posters on either side – “Peter Sellers in THE BOBO”; “Emil Jannings, THE BLUE ANGEL, with Marlene Dietrich”. Now they come to the hallway’s end, which leads through an open door into a marble-floor main room where company awaits)

(Sitting on a tall red and gold throne chair with his right leg draped over the arm is CASTOR STRIFE. He’s in black suit pants, a white shirt unbuttoned at the top with no tie, and suspenders. Above him over top of the chair is the NFW World Heavyweight Championship, and around the room stands a handful of GUILD members, including LANA DREMIRE, a brutish looking man, the girl whose hair is blonde on one side, black on the other, and a young talent whose name may or may not be Shane Victor. McKay continues forth to meet his host)

CASTOR: “There’s one for you, nineteen for me! And other such quotable references for a proper time like this. (Puts up his hand) No, no, stop right there, friend, we’re close enough. I’m Castor Strife, and before we conduct business I’d like to ask you something: does this have anything, anything at all, to do with JJ Deville?”

MCKAY: (Looking confused) “N-No, I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

CASTOR: “OK that’s great news. SO – what’s our business then?”

MCKAY: “Well…(opens up his carry-case to retrieve paperwork) we spoke on the phone a week ago…I’m James McKay from Internal Revenue, and this matter is regarding unpaid taxes going back a number of years. (Holds out several clipped papers; Castor nods, and Lana takes it from his hands) You agreed to help settle the matter today.”

(The papers are handed to Castor, and he takes a moment to look through them)

MCKAY: (Nervously) “With a down payment we could establish a schedule for future collections…”

(Silently flipping through the papers, the look on Castor’s face turns sour. He looks up at McKay in disbelief)

CASTOR: “You sucker of goat cock…how DARE YOU come here and try to shake me down!”

MCKAY: “Sir, I don’t-“

CASTOR: “There is no POSSIBLE WAY I owe this much. None! And didn’t I just make a payment to you people three months ago?”

(Lana whispers, “That was MasterCard!”)

MCKAY: “Mr. Strife, our records indicate that you haven’t paid taxes on your income for nearly three years.”

CASTOR: (eyes widen, mouth opens) “I’m busy! Do you think I have time to open every letter, answer every phone call or settle for trinkets of dispute at the behest of Tom, Dick, Harry, and their three sons when I’m living on the road three-hundred and twenty days per year? I’m in demand; I compete all over the world, then I attend expos, conventions, autograph signings, public events, and when that’s over I’m ON SET directing motion pictures. And then, when I have time, yes of course I attend to payments – what do you take me for, a deadbeat?”

MCKAY: “Well I’m sorry sir, but that’s not how payment of tax works in this country. You don’t just settle when it’s convenient for you.”

(Big sigh from Castor)

CASTOR: “Alright then. I apologize for my outburst. Lana, pay the man!”

(Lana walks across the room and picks up a big black top hat with a load of paper inside. She hands it to Castor)

LANA: “You do the honors. Last time I picked, you exploded at me.”

CASTOR: “Fine, give it here.”

(Castor shuffles through the hat, which is loaded to the brim with numerous checks!)

CASTOR: “Let me see…twelve thousand from Dick’s Sporting Goods – no, that’s not going to do it. Hmm…ComicCon 2011, wow, that’s old. New Frontier Wrestling payroll check from April – hey, is this still valid?”

LANA: “I uh…I would call Fiona Love about that that one. They might need to cut you a reissue.”

CASTOR: “I told you to deposit these, doesn’t anything get done around here? Ahh, here’s a payroll check from three weeks ago. Three-hundred and fourteen-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-one dollars and eighty-nine cents. Will this settle it?”

MCKAY: “That’s a little over half of what you owe, we can certainly accept that.”

CASTOR: “Excellent. The bank is closed but there’s check cashing all over North Hollywood, just take Lana with you and they’ll green light it.”

(McKay reluctantly takes the check from Castor)

MCKAY: “We’ll be in touch.”

CASTOR: “Wonderful. Now if you will excuse me, (looks around at his people) we have to a catch a flight to Greensboro, that hub of excitement and activity, because I’m adopting an Orphan. And then what, two days later we have to be in Hershey, Pennsylvania?”

LANA: “Actually, while the camera is on, you should probably address your opponent.”

CASTOR: “Great, what’s his name?”

LANA: “Phil Atken! You knew that!”

CASTOR: “Phil Atken! Of course, of course…”

(Motions for Lana and McKay to leave; turns to the camera as the door is heard closing in the background)

CASTOR: “You’ve heard the Allegory of the Cave, right Phil? Well try this one on...I call it the Allegory of the Piñata. Last year, there was a birthday party, and I was invited. And at this party, there was a GREAT BIG PINATA, filled with candy and other treats. They handed me a yellow wiffle ball bat, and I beat the ever living sh*t out of this thing. But the piñata, it swung back! It beat me too! Gave me black eyes and everything. There we were, the piñata and I, back and forth, beating the sh*t out of each other, but you could say that I had the advantage of knowing that unlike the piñata, I don’t break. For our candy-filled friend, it was only a matter of time. That’s when the whistle blew, and the party ended.”

“Not long after, I was invited to another birthday party, where again I met the same piñata. And I beat this thing again, and it beat me, and I cracked it’s leg off, and I cracked it’s ear off, and it split my lip and nearly broke my back. This piñata, it was ready to BLOW. Fault line up it’s belly, plastic wrapped sweets just bursting at the seems, ready to rain down with sugary goodness on the kid with the bat. I wound up, and just before I could deliver the fatal blow, the party ended!”

“As you could imagine, I was none too pleased. I wanted that candy. I wanted to be the one to break this f*cking horse, but it wasn’t to be. However, there was another birthday party, and the same piñata was there. I couldn’t make it because someone stole my car, but somebody went in my place.”

CASTOR: “They gave him the bat, and he found himself staring at an old warhorse, beaten, cracked, ready to spill it’s guts out. The kid with the bat – he didn’t wind up two-handed for the grand slam. With one hand he raised the bat slightly, gave the paper-mache horse a moderate whack, like a boxing jab, and my oh my did the piñata break.”

“And as the kid lay there in a mountain of Sweet Tarts and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, stuffing his face with chocolate, lips smeared with sugary scat, broken piñata lying on the grass like a slain monster, he looked up at his mother, and said…”

“Mommy, I broke the horse.”

“Phil, that little boy is you. And just because you ate the candy, doesn’t mean you broke the horse. No…”

“I broke the horse. All you did was put him out of his misery.”

“That’s alright. Enjoy your reward. Don’t sulk about, worrying on what I’m going to do to you in Hershey. You can’t change the inevitable – and we both know the consequences of challenging me. But right now, this is your time to enjoy a triumph over the legendary Dan Ryan. Nobody can ever take that away from you. Job…well done.”

CASTOR: “But don’t think for a second that you’re a better man than I am. All it did was give you an opportunity to prove it – and that’s what I’m going to take from you. No amount of begging the front office for a schedule change is going to stop me. Your fate was sealed when your name was given to me. If Eddie even thinks about re-scheduling, I will find where you live, break your neck, f*ck your wife, steal your dog, and light your house on fire.”

“You came this far, now take your beating like a man. Don’t cry, don’t beg, don’t tell me how hard your schedule is. I’m under contract to CS Enterprises and ESEN for indentured servitude, how do you think I feel?”

“Like everybody else, you were given the option to embrace me as a friend months ago. You could have helped me, been an ally to a grateful artist and visionary, but you chose to remain silent. You wanted to work your way up to a title shot, and now…here we are.”

“So come, bring your bat, and I’ll bring mine. And we’ll see who’s made of iron, and who’s made of chocolate.”

(FADEOUT)

 

[jediPREZ]

Ritualapalooza

(MUSICUP: A mix of droning dilated delta pedal steel with a spacey sitar… slowly accompanied by a timidly wailing harmonica with softly vibratoed fiddle strings…)

“There are 32 men existing in New Frontier Wrestling that will walk their paths into BRAWLAPALOOZA with their own individual intentions…”

(Tambas, bongos, snares join the sitar on a chugging rhythm, each instrument gaining steam…)

“Some will be there to entertain an audience or find some aesthetic quality of athleticism that they wish to compete against…”

(FADEIN: An overhead shot of a blood-covered taped fist and forearm crushing some mixture of dirty sludge in a large, wooden bucket.)

“Some won’t know what day it is or what they’re supposed to represent anymore. And yes, even a few of you twosomes care about the GOLD.”

(CUTTO: THE DARK STORM – MIKE RANDALLS and AKITA HOSHI kneeling side by side on a ceremonial blanket somewhere on the grounds of RANDALLS’ Sonoran Desert dojo abode. The sun is setting behind them, shattered wood and rusted wires strewn about the area from their own nightmarish day’s work. The background music rollicks towards a cacophouno-tastic direction of utter, chaotic bliss – the camera closing in on both men who are shirtless and breathing heavily. Freshly lacerated from the looks of the blood dripping from their foreheads, a steady stream of blood trickling from the various slashes on their torsos. RANDALLS mashes his fist into the bucket – some weird mixture of ochre, tree bark, clay mounded up next to him…)

RANDALLS: “Should we opine how many have allowed themselves to be led to water? That most have become wayward attractions that are no more threatening than relevant considering their dedication when past glories, traditions and trophies present themselves in a flash of mirages.”

(HOSHI closes his eyes and starts whispering something in his native Japanese tongue.)

RANDALLS: “…or simply accept that casting any stone is a boring tradition that bears no resemblance to the truth and obviousness in questioning Deacon’s fortitude, Knox’s code or our own World Champion’s misguided and angered id?”

(RANDALLS smiles as blood drips into the bucket in front of him, HOSHI’s eyes opening with a sense of focused clarity as he continues whispering. RANDALLS grabs a handful off the mound and pounds it into the bucket…)

RANDALLS: “Words can be thrown away or taken into whatever context a competitor may find motivating – that much we know. Whether someone uses Nova or Harmen’s barren and shallow itinerarical rundowns…”

(HOSHI yells “DON’T CALL ME TSUNAMI! YOU HAVE SHOWN ME YOUR DISHONOR!” and then returns to whispering…)

RANDALLS: “…and tries to compare it’s conjecture and soullessness to the ongoing Carlton Family Feud… or whether the modicum of respect beheld for Malik Anderson and Jack Bryant can all but wash away as they forego everything they stand for and play in the life-sized Carlton dollhouse fantasies…”

(RANDALLS pounds his fist into the bucket again, HOSHI’s whispers continuing…)

RANDALLS: “WE – WE are NOT different because of some era we come from or something you believe we represent. My accomplishments and relationships mean NOTHING, much as Akita’s storied legacies within this type of competition and the titles themselves. (HOSHI bows his head…) We are different because we embrace our ONE purpose.”

(The music cuts out as RANDALLS grabs a nearby jug and pours a white powdery, clay-like paste into the bucket until it starts overflowing…)

RANDALLS: “For the hunt...”

(RANDALLS hands over the bucket to AKITA HOSHI, who stops whispering and ducks his head into the bucket… whiplashing out with his face covered in thick, white paste that drips over his body…he starts licking his lips, trying to eat the paste…)

RANDALLS: “For the kill…”

(HOSHI hands the bucket back to RANDALLS who drowns his head in it – peeling out with a splatter, the white paste dripping from his face and beard…his face seems serene underneath the plastered, white mask.)

RANDALLS: “Troy…”

(RANDALLS smiles, the paint dripping everywhere… AKITA shakes like a wet dog and screams “DANGERMAN!”)

RANDALLS: “…I have requested something from our President. I hope your partner STANDS with you – instead of taking what you have taught them and RUN from the pain. You can’t survive another desertion…and I would certainly hope you won’t risk any important future endeavors.”

(FADETOBLACK)

 

[TSiegel]

"Just not in this Tag Team tournament?? I think you need to re-check your crystal ball there, Jack."

(CUTTO: Cameron Cruise in front of a New Frontier Wrestling backdrop, dressed in black jeans and a solid blue t-shirt, and his trademark "Anarchy"-style shades.)

CRUISE: I mean, it's nice that you and Nova spent some time getting on the same page, even choosing theme music to suit the occasion is actually a little surprising, but nevertheless...it's refreshing to see two competitors making progress to prepare for something that they may or may not do well together in. It's even better to see that it's against teams that may or may not be more suited to claim victory to a pair of titles that are IMPORTANT to the company they compete in.

My metaphorical hat is off to you, Jack Harman. I mean, for a man who was informally fired by yours truly in another company awhile back, I'm impressed that you're so upbeat lately.

(Cruise holds up a finger.)

Don't get me wrong, much like myself, you've got every reason for it. Advancing to the Elite Eight of the Ultratitle tournament is no easy task.

As I've said...I would know, one of the last of eight men remaining, I'm probably the one remaining that would pick up the biggest upset, especially against my next opponent, Joey Melton.

But this isn't the Ultratitle Tournament, Jack, it's the Everette Memorial Tradition TAG TEAM Tournament, which as my grandfather used to say..."is a completely different critter."

I mean...after all, you do realize that the other half of my career, I made on Tag Team Wrestling, right??

I mean, hell Jack, I once competed in an obscure company that begged for my appearance, and within the first three-to-four matches, I won the Tag Team titles. My partner back then??

The current man I'm set to face off against for the World Heavyweight Championship in that same company I was responsible for booting you out of.

So, Tag Team wrestling, Jack, no matter who my partner is...it's WHAT I DO.

(Cruise starts to pace a bit.)

But if you don't mind...I'd like to add-in...my own ideal thoughts to some of these teams, Deacon might add-in his take later today, after all, it IS Sunday today...

This "Faith" thing, isn't exactly a joke.

But since everyone's opening it up...I figured I would add my two cents of fair assessment on a few:

Phil Atken and Teddy Alexander.

You called them rookies, and while you're half-right, I've never heard a whole lot about Alexander, hell, I don't even think I can count the amount of competitors in this business that call themselves "Teddy".

But I don't think I'd be able to call Phil a "Rookie", I mean...he's been in New Frontier before so I'm sure he knows what to expect around here, especially since he's got an opportunity to compete against Castor Strife in the same event as anyone else.

Taking on "double-duty" is no easy task, I don't care who it is, but he deserves just as much good will in this competition as you and I do.

I'm just going to let him run with it on his own, like everyone else.

Point of View....I mean, is there really a different one, other than the fact that no one has ever heard of them?? Sure, One of 'em pulled an upset over Triple X in the Ultratitle, but at this level of the game, that's something that no longer matters.

What's their point of view again??

(Cruise gestures)

Can-Am Connection.

Sounds like a phone company if you ask me, a lame one at that.

The Dark Storm.

Randalls and Akita, I know Randalls is one of the most successful wrestlers PERIOD...let alone in the tournament, Harmen thinks that his team name is one of the...and I quote..."gayest names ever, also kinda racist".

Saying that is kinda redundant, don't you think?? I mean, if you wanna take that avenue, that's fine...I think something like "The Superfly Express" is just as bad, especially since the graphics are imprinted in RAINBOW COLORS....it's like the Seventies returned and if people didn't know better...you two were nothing short of "Bee Gee Hippies".

But then the two men involved kinda dispel that.

Or do they??

See, it's been years since I've faced Mike Randalls, back in the days of the CSWA, but I KNOW just what he's capable of, albeit it was a one-time match and it was taken to a time-limit draw.

He and Akita will DEFINITELY be a force to reckon with.

The "PowerGodz".

Anyone got Lady Freedoms' phone number?? Just saying...

Eddie Mayfield and a partner of his choosing.

Now see Jack...on THIS subject, I couldn't agree with you MORE.

Eddie Mayfield...Craig Miles, either one of them isn't exactly high on my Christmas card list, right now, and for the most part at least, HALF the roster already knows why; spending time every week, working my tail off in matches that was irrelevant on the outcome at this point.

Putting me up on a team against The Windham Clan with the prerequisite penalty that if I don't show up or at least show proof up to par that I BELONG here...that I'm TERMINATED??

First of all...what the ****?? Is it not common DECENCY, that I at least get presented with a one-on-one warning of some sort?? Plenty of other pieces of garbage deserve such a penalty as that than a man such as myself. Secondly...

(throwing his arms out, palms up)

WHAT THE FUCK??!?!?!!

As many years as I've put into, the matches I've competed in...I mean, it's one thing if it's a dog-collar match or a boiler room match...most men of my caliber might feel a little demeaned at such a task.

But then I think...it's NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING!!

It couldn't possibly be anything worse, right??

Try participating-and-WINNING a "Frontier Stampede Koopa On A Pole" match.

Hell, I don't even know what that was supposed to be, but yet...I DID IT.

All the physical, verbal, mental abuse I took over the years, all in efforts to prove my worth as a just a regular member of the common roster...and I'm rewarded with THAT?!?!?!!

Believe me, I agree with you Jack...though I'm alittle different than eating his SPLEEN...I'm more satisfied with punching them square in the face, for what I've had happened to me.

But then now defeating them in a tournament victory??

That's even BETTER, because that's the icing on the cake made for most likely the only man deserving of that honor, and you're looking at him.

Now...if EYE were you...I'd take some time to think about what we're about to get into here. Relax, take a load off...maybe watch some television to help your cause, and you can even let me know when you get to the "Shower Scene" in "Dressed To Kill".

Because whether or not you realize it...you're going to be a while in this tournament.

ESPECIALLY because Deacon and I are in it, and that right there is a REALITY CHECK, that you just...won't like.

FADEOUT

 

[Ford]

Dear Mr. Akita Hoshi,

Jack Harmen Enterprises wishes to express it's deepest consolidation to the reference of your former alias in an interview package done on Saturday, August 4th.

Who knew there were two people in NFW who hated being called by generic words for wind storms or wrestling styles?

As such, please accept this fruit basket and an open invitation to try to kick the head off of Jack Harmen in the Tag Team Tournament. No repercussion will be reprimanded should Akita successfully kick Jack Harmen in his head. Should Akita fail to successfully redeem his one time free shot during this tag team tournament, whether due to his own failure or the brackets simply not enabling him to do so, Akita Hoshi forfeits this offer of restitution.

Please contact the legal offices of Jack Harmen Enterprises at 323-555-**** at you earliest convenience to discuss options. Thank you.

-Signed
Mary-Lynn Mayweather
Legal Department, Jack Harmen Enterprises

 

[Ford]

(FADEIN: JACK HARMEN stands in front of a WIND MACHINE. He wears an open suede jacket that hangs in the breeze. As always in NFW, he’s adorned in his “Superfly Express” t-shirt, which you yourself can purchase for $24.95 off of the official NFW web site!

Behind him, a large projection screen visualizes yet another infinity shot.

Harmen strokes his chin.)

JACK HARMEN: I paid for this air time, so I could address a few points one Cameron Cruise made in my general direction.

(Harmen picks his head up and clears his throat.)

JACK HARMEN: First, I never meant that Atken and Alexander were rookies. I merely meant that they were new to New Frontier Wrestling, and being new to NFW is like being a rookie anywhere else. The learning curve is off the charts. Our roster is one of the strongest in professional wrestling today. So while Phil Atken was cutting his teeth in 2003 in the IWO wrestling for peanuts while my home company was bottoming-up, I saw Atken and thought him quite a talented young athlete.

Fast forward to today, and Phil Atken beats Dan Ryan in his first or second match in NFW.

To take Atken lightly would be a mistake that could be anyone’s undoing.

(Harmen cracks his neck from side to side.)

JACK HARMEN: As to Cameron’s point about this tag team Everett Tournament NOT being the Ultratitle, I completely agree and completely understand. Which, I never got to say to you Cameron, congrats on making it so far. I had you losing to Douglas in the third round. Just figured that guy would do what you’re desperately trying to do against Melton, overcome the odds and beat a man who’s always beaten him. But his failure? It wasn’t expected like yours is with Melton.

And you make a big stink about being a tag team wrestler, your bread and butter, blah blah blah. And sure, Cameron, you kicked me out of EPW by pinning MY tag partner, Tony Davis in the middle of the ring. You know, Team VIAGRA? The tandem that’s held over ten tag team championships across four promotions? Who’s been around for over a decade? Y’know… where I CUT MY TEETH wrestling in tag teams? Yeah. I’d say we have equal rights to claiming expertise when it comes to tag team wrestling.

And while you’ve had years of experience with Melton and Wells, you haven’t had much time to do, WHAT YOU DO, with Deacon.

Nova and I? We’ve got a few months head start on you.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Oh, and you’re welcome for stealing my word association idea. I’ll be sending you a bill in the mail for the theft of my intellectual property. Please contact my lawyer Mary-Lynn Mayweather at Jack Harmen Enterprises when you’re ready to pay in full. THANKS!

(Harmen winces.)

JACK HARMEN: But please, folks, If you’re at home and Cameron Cruise’s interview comes on. Turn it off after he says it’s “WHAT I DO.” Everything else is just meandering nonsense that barely resembles the English Language. You’ll be stopping a few of your brain cells from collapsing in on themselves.

While I agreed with Cameron on all of his points, I wasn’t sure if I properly understood the majority of his “english.” So I just assumed that we had a lot of similar views. I mean, we both hate Craig Miles and wouldn’t mind kicking Eddie Mayfield in his face. Point of View are a bunch of no names who will probably miss their flight to the arena. It was RETARDED you were put in a match that if you didn’t show or have a GOOD showing, you’d be fired. Cause y’know, you probably should have JUST been fired. But hey, you’re still here, competing in Koopa Trooper Kart Races and having sermons with the Mute Freak. And yes, our Superfly logo is like something outta Boogie Nights, cause we’re hippies at heart. Peace, love, and well, chaos is my drug of choice personally.

I say I love you with violence.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: And I love ALL my NFW brethren.

(Harmen begins walking off frame.)

JACK HARMEN: Remember that when you wake up in your hospital bed.

(Harmen departs, as we FADE OUT.)

 

[LQJT86C]

CASTOR: "Flyer's sentence was hypocrisy, not redundancy, Cameron."

"Next time you decide to be the grammar police, make sure you have a badge and a gun."

"Also, re: Ultratitle, when did you beat me?"

("THE MORE YOU KNOW" RAINBOW FADEOUT)