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[Surge] Drunken Brawl Match: Erik Mateo vs. Kerry Kuroyama

Stalker

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Before starting the match, both men will be forced to drink 5 shots of whiskey, followed by an additional 2 shots of whiskey every three minutes. Winner is decided by a Last man standing count of 10. No pinfalls or submission.

IWF security will surround the ring to separate the two competitors for every three minute interval of drinking. Terry 'The Idol' Anderson will be at ringside as the special drink coordinator.
 
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RStrawsma

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The Storm Surge is Coming

(The scene opens outside of the Dojo, late into the night at closing time. Trainers Frank Ares and Stephen Waltz step out onto the sidewalk followed by two taller students of the wrestling school, and bringing up the rear is the Seattle native KERRY KUROYAMA. The group lingers for a moment as Frank locks the door. He looks right at the younger Kuroyama when he turns around.)

Frank Ares
So me and the guys are stopping by Valentine’s to throw back a few. You in, kiddo?

Stephen Waltz
Might be good practice for Surge.

(The others chuckle, and Kerry smiles in good humor.)

Kerry Kuroyama
Yeah, yeah... hardy-friggin’-har. You guys have a good one; I’ll see you gentlemen tomorrow.

Frank Ares
G’night, Kerry...

(The others bid their parting formalities and set down the sidewalk on foot. Kerry pulls up the hood on his dated Seattle Sonics sweater-jacket to protect his head from the rain and begins walking the other way, the camera following his progress.)

Kerry Kuroyama
My return to IWF was marked with victory... but the Mission to win the Emerald City Title has only begun. Chain Reaction was more than just a comeback... it was the first step. At Surge, I must muster up every last shred of fortitude, training, and natural talent to take the next step in my journey.

Admittedly, I wasn’t half expecting to be thrown into a Drunken Brawl Match with an alcoholic-savant like Erik Mateo so soon into my resurgence... and yes, there is always reason to be concerned when going into a contest of inebriation against an opponent who gets exponentially BETTER as he gets further inebriated...

Could Erik Mateo drink me under the table? Probably. But can he put me on the mat for ten counts? I guess we’ll find out... but I intend to prove to any doubters that he cannot and WILL not when we meet in the Key Arena.

I realize that my opponent has a significant advantage, given that as this brawl goes on, he’ll only be getting harder and harder to keep him on his back. But you know something? I welcome the challenge. I eagerly look forward to the opportunity to overcome greater odds... to prove that I’m more than just an average professional wrestler. More than a GOOD professional wrestler.

The BEST professional wrestler. A legend of the ring in the making. The undisputed EVOLUTION of the sport.

(He stops walking when he comes to a bus stop, and waits there for his ride to arrive. His gaze, showing stern determination and courage, never leaves the camera.)

Kerry Kuroyama
But legends in this sport aren’t born overnight. To get there, I need to take things one step at a time... and the next step is getting through Erik Mateo in a battle of Last Man Standing, with a shot added in every few minutes until the both of us are having trouble just managing to stay on our feet, much less getting up off the ground.

Interestingly enough, the founder of our Dojo earned the name “the Undying” by succeeding through many Last Man Standing matches. He was undoubtedly a great wrestler... but few would ever call him the best... and he never once fought in any of those matches drunk off his ass. Not to my knowledge, anyway. But though I respect the teachings of my Iemoto, I will not deny that I have every intention of surpassing his legacy.

And legacies are forged through bold and remarkable actions. Legends are defined by the moments in their careers when they overcame doubt and defied expectations. Surge will be one such moment in my own career. Up until now, I may have turned a head or two. But should I succeed in this undertaking in the Key Arena, EVERYBODY will know that “the Pacific Blitzkrieg” Kerry Kuroyama is this federation’s next top star.

(He glances up the street as the sound of a diesel engine approaches, and a moment later, a bus pulls up to the curb. The driver opens the door, but before he boards, Kuroyama turns his attention to the camera for a final moment to deliver some parting words.)

Kerry Kuroyama
Erik Mateo... I hope you realize that I don’t underestimate you or your abilities in the slightest. Just don’t make the mistake of underestimating ME, like you underestimated our current Emerald City Champion. Now you know that not even a belt shot to the back of the head will keep the mighty Vizier ta Seti down long enough for three counts.

Regardless of how long it takes... or how much alcohol the both of us consume... I have every intention of showing you that I can withstand more. As for you? You’ve certainly got a better handle on your liquor than anybody I’ve ever seen... but every man has his limits between those ropes. As long as I’m still physically capable of pushing myself to my feet and wrangling you back down to the canvas, you will NOT be in for an easy night at Surge.

I don’t hold anything against you personally, but then you’ve never given me reason to. That could all easily change in the coming days. But whatever is said between us, none of it will matter once the bell rings and the whiskey flowin’ into us and filling our veins with fire. Once we come to that point, we’ll have nothing but time to hash it all out with our fists.

(Kerry turns around to get on the bus, lingering only a moment when a thunderclap rings out only moments after his final word, like a sign from the wrestling gods watching down from up above. As he turns his head for a moment to acknowledge this, we can see a valiant and confident smile spread across the face of the Pacific Blitzkrieg. Then he takes another step up, the door closes, and the bus pulls back into the street. The rain comes down heavier as a storm sets in, and as we fade to black.)
 

Stalker

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Re: The Storm Surge is Coming

UPDATE: Due to concerns raised by Key Arena officials, the following changes have been made to the Drunken Brawl contest.

First the initial shot count to be downed before the match begins, has been reduced from 10 to 5.

Secondly the amount of shots to be taken at each 3 minute interval has been reduced from 5 to 2.

Carry on.
 

RStrawsma

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Re: The Storm Surge is Coming

UPDATE: Due to concerns raised by Key Arena officials, the following changes have been made to the Drunken Brawl contest.

First the initial shot count to be downed before the match begins, has been reduced from 10 to 5.

Secondly the amount of shots to be taken at each 3 minute interval has been reduced from 5 to 2.

Carry on.

I was gonna say... re-reading those original match stips, we'd be dead in under ten minutes.
 

TSiegel

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Go Erik...it's your birthday...(but not really)...

"Psalm-balldeh PENCH-MEH...et mest beh ah drem!!"

(CUTTO: "Mateo's Pub", in Las Vegas Nevada. The usual disaster area remains, as Erik Mateo is dressed in black wranglers, a red-and-black-plaid button up shirt, a black stetson cowboy hat, and a Snake bolo tie. However, instead of the usual unconscious and fetal position we find Mateo, we find him upright, his arms on the scuffed-up-and-torn, pleather couch, his eyes half-glazed over but fixated on the curvy, vivacious, red-head performing her version of the "Catdaddy", as seen recently done by Kate Upton, only...ya know...freakier. Shot glasses fill the remaining parts of the table not taken up by the...ahem..."Relaxation Therapist". The camera man nudges the LVW Heavyweight Champion as the title shines, laying in the middle of the table. Surrounded by shot glasses, the scantily-clad woman "dropped it like it's hot", her rear-end centimeters from the top of the Championship, and Mateo not averting his gaze.)

EM: Ah-hahleh sejest et beh empert'nent 'neff thayt Mass Per-lee hair...haceta stahp dan-sen' thayt thair fanseh jeg...ayn furs-meh tah-devah'd mah 'ten'chun....

(A beat passes before Mateo's "Companion", does a slight twist-and-jerk, abruptly throwing Mateo's head backward in excitement. In a lower, but gruff-voice under his breath, we hear what we really don't hope to when Mateo says...)

EM: Nile weh cooh-ken weth pee-knut oyl...

(Another beat or two passes, and the camera man slaps a copy of the upcoming IWF Supershow "Surge", pointing at the company letters.)

EM: Ah-fegger...youse goat ah-bit fahv men-oo-does, beh-fur ahs loose mah pay-chens....

(Mateo looks down at the card lineup, reads the rules, and his eyes immediately lit up like a child in a candy store. Looking up at the camera man, he smiled wide, his eyes with-holding a twinkle in his eye only seen at "Oktoberfest" and "Pay-Per-View Street Fighting" Think Van Damme fighting in a circle of cars, and you'd get the drift. He looks up at the sky and to no one in particular...)

EM: Ah-zah hade meh ahs bet-uv-ah were-weh laced wake...bet eben wayne ahs ain't gaht tha Em'rald Siddeh Cham'shep 'rown mah fase...ahs nosed thayt yoused gahtta spay'shall pert enya hert fur-meh...ahs jest nose et....

Sames ta meh...ahs gate tah faht...witch-tah-meh, es ALLSWAYS ah gud-thang...bet ta micket bater...ahs gate tah faht psalm lail ponk namd "Curlee-Yucca-toe-meh"...ol' Sloppeh-Rackoons' nimber wan hanchman.

Bet wets eben bater....ets en ah cone-taste thayts tha' clothest tah ah Ber faht ahs cane gate ayn dah buoys en bloo canet tick meh tah ol' Silber Siddeh....ahs sade et bee-fur, ah-za sadet ah-gin...

Psalm-balldeh pench meh.

Ahms' ah stert oaf dranken fahv shoats o' wiss-geh...ayn ebereh tray men-oo-toes....ahs gate tah hab meh anudder tow, ayn tha laced mane stain'n WENS??

Ayn wets eben bater...mah gud bodeh, Terr' An'rson cane led meh tha why tah veck-ree!!

Wet Cur-lee ain' neber gon' un'erstain...es thes ain' ah-boat hep-toeses...soup-lexus...had-locs...thes maych...ets naht ah-boat nada thayt.

Thes hair?? Thes es a BAHR FAHT. Wet wah hab hair...es a TUDEH-NAHT, ayt ol' "Mahteh-yo's Peb!!"

(Mateo sighs.)

Psalm-bodeh PENCH MEH!!

Curlee...thes ain' boat nada thayt "Natch'ral Tawlant"...ets naht ah-boat ferdie-dude...ain' nada thayt mahddes roit nile.

Wayne youse stape en tha rang wed meh...ets ah-boat stapen ahp ayn buyin' ah beg-buoy...ets ah-boat buyin' ah MAYNE!!!

(Mateo takes a moment and downs a couple of shots, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.)

Meh dranken youse un'er tha tilble...et ain' ah-boat ah prob-iltee..ets ah SERT'N-TEE!!

Youse prolleh cane racel youse why alta papper-bahg....bet thes ain' ah-boat RACELEN, Curlee...ets ah-boat youse groawen ahp an' nosen youse lemets en ah REEL LAHF SECHOO-AY-CHUN!!

Ahs nose thayt ahs cane faht.

Ahs nose thayt ahs cane drank.

Bet ayt tha indadadie...ets ah-boat prooben ta tha gud peepil en SEEYATTIL...thayt youse naht ownleh cane doe NEEDER....bet cane proob tah dame woachen oh-rownda-word...cane proob et ah-boat MEH.

Ayn se-fer...ain' no-beddeh's beet meh ayt et yut.

(Mateo sighs, downs two more shots, and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.)

Psalm-bodeh PENCH MEH!!

Youse nose wet habbens wayne ah drank.

Youse nose wet habbens wayne ah faht.

Nosebiddeh cars 'bout Sloppeh Raccoon, roit nile.

Ah-Dubya-Eff ain' ah-boat HEM.

Et ain' ah-boat nada does gahs thayt er mickin' mill-yohns ober dare en does udder cahmp-knees....ets ah-boat gahs lahk youse ayn meh, ayn owl dem udder sockers dat tank day cane faht....THAYTS wet tha fowks car' boat.

Mick NOOOOSE mess-tick-ah-boat et....ahs d'ain' LOWS ta Seddi. Ahs whizz SCROWD....ayn erebedeh nose et.

Bet bahleeb meh...ah plain own wreck-ta-feyin' thayt reel sown.

Ace-fer nile....ahs plain own bayen reddeh fer wets gown habben ayt "SERJ".

Youse cane eben sai thayt Ahb goat meh ah-heed stert-own thangs....bet Ah-ma sai thes...eff youse ayt ENNEH TAHM...trah-tah PENCH MEH??

(Mateo downs three more shots, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.)

Youse gon' ned-tah wereh 'boat MOAR thane jest ah "FILED SEBRAH-DEH TASTE"....bet entail thane....

(Mateo chucks the empty shot glasses one by one, each one shattering, grabbing two more shots, and motioning for his "Doctor"...to resume her "Duties". Mateo then looks back up at her, his eyes starting to glaze back over from before, watching her perform her "routine" and ignoring the camera.)

EM: Chairs....

END
 

RStrawsma

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Rising Above the Expectations

(Our shot opens up on a straight bar and a pair of hands clenched around it. The sweat-drenched face of KERRY KUROYAMA rises up from the bottom of the frame for a brief moment, and he exhales sharply as he descends again. He utters a few words every time his head is on the level of the camera.)

Kerry Kuroyama
Rest assured, Erik...

I have no intention of pinching you...

Because once that bell rings at Surge...

Your dream is going to become a NIGHTMARE...

(The camera pulls back to reveal that he’s in the middle of doing pull-ups on a bar situated in the work-out corner of The Dojo. In the background, we can see Frank Ares in the ring, demonstrating to the other students how to correctly apply a side headlock using Stephen Waltz as a demonstration. Kuroyama drops down from the bar and does all those usual things wrestlers do right before they start talking in your standard work-out promo: he catches his breath, wipes off the sweat with a towel, grabs a gush of water, and takes a seat.)

Kerry Kuroyama
I’m not surprised to see you acting laid back and feeling confident. For you, Erik, Surge will be just another Tuesday night... and so you’ll treat it as such. But this match isn’t any regular day of the week to me. This is the next step in the Path.

You stand in my way to the Emerald City Champion, Mateo. That means, regardless of what I have to go through... whatever I have to succumb... I will do whatever it takes to put you flat on your back and move on up the ladder. Even if that means beating you in a drunken brawl.

Believe me, I WANT the challenge. There’s no point in declaring myself the BEST in the federation when I only win the matches people expect me to win.

Yeah, we all know you can drink... we all know you can fight... and we all know what happens when you put the two together. I wish I could say the same, but I have to come clean and admit it... I’ve never actually been in a bar fight. I’ve never even been in a BAR. Nobody is disputing the fact that you hold that advantage in experience with brawling and binge-drinking. But the way I see it, I have a unique advantage of my own...

Because nobody -- not even YOU, Erik -- can know for certain what will happen once “the Pacific Blitzkrieg” has had a few shots in him. For all you know, I could be one of those unstoppable, raging drunks that ignores pain and gains the strength of ten men. I’m already fiercely determined to WIN this match at any cost... and given your knowledge of whiskey, wouldn’t you think that alcohol would only fuel that fiery motivation?

(Kuroyama checks his pulse and glances at his watch, taking note that his body’s cardiovascular system is winding down. Eager to keep himself working, he rises off the bench and approaches a punching bag positioned nearby. He pauses a moment to stretch out his wrists and his neck and gets into position, laying into the bag with a quick flurry of powerful strikes. His speed is surprising, showing much more than just a flair for wrestling. He demonstrates a few more combos, throwing in a few back elbows and knee strikes, showing the form and discipline of martial arts. He speaks the camera in the moments of silence between the sounds of his fists and feet landing hard into the bag, booming through the gym like thunder.)

Kerry Kuroyama
You can call it a bar fight, Erik...

But the fact of the matter is... we won’t be fighting in any bar...

No barstools... no tables... no broken beer bottles... no pool cues...

No jukebox in the corner playing “Roadhouse Blues” for the millionth time...

All we’ll have is a mat... four steel posts... and three sets of ropes buckled to them...

It wouldn’t matter if they got us drunk, or made us wear blindfolds, or set us on fire...

As long as we’re in a ring, Erik... my Mission is to WIN...

(He finishes with a spinning mule kick directly into the middle of the bag, sending a large shot ringing through the gym. Kerry catches the bag to stop it from swinging and looks to the camera again.)

Kerry Kuroyama
And to win this match... I don’t have to out-drink you to do that. All I have to do is out-wrestle you, and find the soonest opportunity to knock your drunk ass out cold. Maybe I’ll lift you off the mat and drop you on your head... or maybe I’ll do things the old fashioned way and knee lift you right in the face. There are plenty of ways for me to finish you off, and I know I can do any of them sober OR drunk.

Like I said, Mateo... just because this is your type of fight doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be a fool for underestimating me. You can pass me off as an insignificant obstacle in your own quest for the Emerald City Title... but my determination will make you pay for it. If you knock me down, I will use all of me strength to get back up... and should I fall for good in this match, it won’t be without giving you the fight of your life.

(Kerry returns to the bench to retrieve the towel and the drink, both of which he makes use of. Then he looks to the camera once again, a familiar look of confidence and fierce passion in his eyes.)

Kerry Kuroyama
Like I said... I’ve never been in a drunken brawl. But I’m not afraid to go into one without fear or doubt. Some of the guys here at The Dojo have been in more fights than they’d care to remember, and they all tell me the same thing. In a drunken brawl, you might take something away from the other guy... but you better be ready to give away whatever he might take from you.

I’m ready to make the sacrifice, Erik Mateo.

Are you?

(Kerry takes another drink as he turns back to the ring to watch the class in training, and the camera soon after fades to black.)
 

TSiegel

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You thought fighting Erik was gonna hurt?? Just wait until the HANGOVER...

(CUTTO: The inside of "Mateo's Pub". The usual scene hasn't changed much, if anything...it's gotten a little worse. Turned-over chairs, tables, broken glass. Light bulbs flicker and dim, and the ones that don't have covers slowly sway. A few billiard balls lay on scuffed up or torn green felt of pool tables. The camera pans about, finally locating Erik Mateo at the end of the bar, dressed much like he was before, in blue wrangler jeans, a plaid-button up shirt and a black-stetson cowboy hat. Holding the LVW World Heavyweight Championship over his left shoulder, a drink in his hand, he takes a three-minute swig of it, and shakes his head.)

EM: Youse habben-da slahdes' ah-dear whut ah "Naht-mar'" es, Curlee. Youse sate thar' ayn tail meh thayt ahs doan' nose whut ah naht-mar' es...bet beh-leeb meh, ef ENNEH-WAN NOSE...youse loohken ayt hem.

Planteh ah-naht, ahs spaind dranken ayn beh-LEEB...thayt ahms tyken holm ah browd thayts GER-JUS, jest ahb-sah-loot-leh STINNENG...

(Mateo takes a quick swig and clears his throat.)

Ayn deh neckst mernin', mah vishun oba GOADESS...terns entah ah three-herndred pown' HEFFER.

Ah-GERILLEH-MOANKEH eff youse wail....

Ayn youse thank youse cain preech tah meh ah-boat NAHT-MARS'??

(Mateo spits off to the side into an unseen spittoon and it hits the target.)

Whut youse sane beefer?? Mah lil' liddeh' frain?? Youse call thayt ayn tha dranken ahs dead, youse coaled et "ackten lied beck ayn failin' coanfedent"....ayn youse nose whit, Curlee??

Youse roit.

Ets nahthen' noo tah meh, sow et ES..."jest lahk anudder Toosdeh naht."

Beh-cuz youse doan' reel-ahz, thayt thes es tha condah libben ahs hade BEEFER ahs sterted mah noo ker-rear, beefer ahs sahnd ah coan-track weth EL-BEH-DUBYA.

Ahfter ayn beefer ahs sahnd a coan-track weth AH-DUBYA-EF.

Ayn youse maht naht beh youse tah et, bet youse nose whut...thayt ain' mah fowt.

Sai...ahs SHOODA bane pised oaf tha' udder naht.

Ahs SHOODA bane BETTER, BETTER thayt thayt lail' RUNT...Meester NAHT-SOW-PERFECK...rowand mah chains ayt beh-coamen tha noo Em'rald Siddeh Champ'shep.

Bet youse sai Curlee...ahm nile jean-yus...bet thars' a sai-ying thayt goose sempten lahk, "Wethain eberreh clowd, thars' ah silber lahnen'".

Ayn tham fowks rennen thangs ayt Ah-Dubya-Eff AYTCH-CUE....them fowks pre-vahdead thayt silber lahnen fer meh.

Cuz youse sai...ahmsa gate anudder shoat ayt thayt tahtil....ahs nose thays...youse nose thays, theh enter' WORD nose thays....bet eff ahs goatah jemp throw anudder hooper tow tah dowet...thayts ownleh anudder tow jemps beefer ahs' proob thayt thayt tahtil cane meck sem darteh LUBB tah THAYS wan thayts satin own mah showder.

Ayn ahms goanah habba BOWL weth des fierce wan.

Youse nebber bane en ah bare-faht er' ebben ah BARE...bet youse thank youse cane cape ahp weth MEH enneh DRENKEN BROWL??

Youse doan' thank were fahten enneh bare...bet tha ownleh prowb'm weth thayt es thayt weth youse ayn meh dranken shoats beefer thah maytch ayn eberreh copal men-oo-toes....thayms fowks woachen en tha crood...

Thayt thar' rang....thayt ES ah bare.

Thayt thar' rang....thayt es MAH bare.

En et ain' goan' madder eff youse dos ah-boat twandeh beck-fleps...hemmer-locs...heed-locs...et ain' ah-boat awl thayt....becuz youse sai, Curlee...

Ets plane ayn sem-pull: Thays AIN' ah race-len maytch, ets a BROWL.

RACE-LEN...doan' mech madder en des eck-way-shun.

Sow youse BATER nose ha tah does awl thaym fanseh moobs....ayn ahs hoap youse cane doe thaym DRAHNK...becuz ahs LUBBA goad faht.

Wan thayt cane laced mer-den fahb men-oo-toes, becuz eff naht...thane ahmsa cone-sedder thayt ayn EN-SOLT, Curlee.

Ayn mech lahk eberreh-wan ails, ahs height tah beh EN-SOLTED.

Youse doe thayt...en-solt meh...en ENNEH WHY....

Ayn ahmsa sinnd youse ownah fierce-clahs tecket OWDAH mah rang tha HERD WHY.

(Mateo takes another long swig of his mystery drink, finally wiping his mouth with his sleeve.)

Jest lahk eberreh-bahdeh AILS.

Youse thankah gahdda geb semp-then ah-why??

Hail...owl youse hadda doe wahs AX.

Owl gebs youse deh BEETEN ob youwas' LAHF, ayn owls dollset fer FRAY.

Owl dem shoats youse dranken??

Beleeb meh wayne ah's tails ya...THAYT es whutta coast ya. Bet doan' wereh Curlee...

Yousell pie ferret en tha mernin'.

Ah PROWMESS.

FADEOUT
 

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