OH MY GOD IT'S HUGE
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Scene opens to an automobile scrapyard; a junkyard for gas-guzzling clunkers for as far as the eye can see. Automobiles of every brand are piled on high in messy decrepit piles as the camera pans leftwise until it reaches the topic of our interview: the American Freebear. The immense 338 pound flying ursine that made such an impactful debut last time at "Overdrawn at the Memory Bank" is walking past the mountainous peaks of scrap metal, seemingly making his point amidst the various piles of defunct cars surrounding him.]
"Ford, Ford, Ford! Just look at you and your lasting legacy across this great land! You're junk, you're scrap metal, you can rust in peace!! Here we are, American icons the both of us, but where mechanics may fail the forces of nature do not! At Death of a Ladies Man, I promise you will witness the carnage that occurs where a spoiled son of an oil magnate named after an institution in terms of American worksmanship foolishly goes against the everlasting power of plummeting ursines from above!!!!"
[Alright... Seems like the American Freebear is taking his opponent as the sum totality that which his name represents. A titanic bellow rings throughout the junkyard, dislodging minor crankshafts and sundry pieces of machinery, precursor signs towards a metal avalanche!]
"Now *I* know what's at stakes, I understand that this is for the Dangerous Championship, but I gotta wonder if you're feeling this fight!! This is more then two men going at it for a vacant title, this is... This is the Flyin' Ursine vs Derrick Ford; the battle between oversized bomber airplane and mid-upper-class family automobile! Trust-fund yuppie vs aerially disposed bear!"
[He thumps one of the car piles as he makes his point, the strength of the blow causing the teetering tower of metal to wobble menacingly.]
"See Derrick, I know you've been doing *PUR-TY* fine for yourself until I came along: you're a former Dangerous title holder, you think you should get it back again- WELL, NUH UH! THE AMERICAN FREEBEAR IS HERE AND HE'S HUNGRY! HUNGRY FOR GOLD!!! I'm the American Freebear and I want to fly: fly inside the ring, fly across the world, soar throughout the skies and reach the prize above!"
[He paces across the junkyard, his voice drowning out the rumbling from the background from whence the metallic peaks seem to be losing some of their spare parts!]
"You wanna know how the American Freebear earned his wings, Derrick?? He *WORKED* for the better part of his life, locked away behind a three-sided felt cage doing what needed to be done to support his living!! There I learned that working to live didn't necessarily mean that you were alive, that the only thing keeping a man caged was his own fears and that within every one of us... Are wings just waiting to be freed!!! Derrick; you know nothing of that! You never took a chance in your life! You complained to everyone whenever there was trouble! You suck! You make me sick!"
[A rumbling sounds off in the distance as DCWL crewmen wonder if there is one less pile of broken cars than there were before. The Freebear doesn't mind this one bit and continues on.]
"I am the American Freebear, the only bear that flies! They said that bears can't fly but here I am! They said I was making a huge mistake leaving my job to tour the world but here I am! They said there's no way a guy is earning a title on his first official match... BUT HERE - I - AM!!! Derrick Ford, you've been with DCWL since it's restart, but WHERE - ARE - YOU???? I'll tell you where you are; you're still at the same place you were at the time that you joined DCWL!!!"
"An automobile that don't do nothin' more then stay in place: what a disgrace!!!"
"You see all those crushed cars around here? You're joinin' 'em Ford! You're gonna end up stacked on high on these piles, another victim of a viscious flying bear attack from above! I'm the American Freebear, I'm out there to win the Dangerous Championship; and Lord knows I can't change!"
[Resounding thunder crashes from on high as the piles of cars start crumbling down one by one in majestic metallic avalanches, destruction caused by the power of the American Freebear! He cartwheels away as we fade out.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Fade in to a lush, green forest, just on the other side of a grassy field. A soft breeze blows through, the only sound we can hear. At the edge of the forest, we can see a rabbit stick its head into the air. A hop or two later and the white creature comes into full focus. The animal nibbles on a piece of grass nearby. It is happy. It is serene...]
*BANG*
[It is running for its life.]
*BANG*
[We lose sight of the rabbit. The last hop we see from the threatened creature takes it back to the lip of the forest, just out of camera's view.]
VOICE: Damn, I forgot how much fun this was!
[Into the shot steps Derrick L. Ford, dressed in camo and brandishing a shotgun. The last ever Platinum Champion and first ever Dangerous champion surveys the glade, newly returned to tranquility.]
FORD: I never did care for hunting small game, of course. As they say, bigger is better. It's just that, well, sometimes that's all there is. A rabbit here, a squirrel there. A Wolf here, a Jive or a Speedwagon there. After a while, it just gets, well, boring. So I didn't bring my A game against one of the most worthless pieces of DCWL trash since Crazy Pylon Man. He was content to let the clock run out. Once I figured that out, I lost respect for the man and when that happens...well, let's face it, it's no fun anymore.
[In the distance, we see the white rabbit hop into the woods.]
FORD: Yes, winning meant I'd either win or keep the Dangerous Championship, further cementing my legacy as the next great DCWL legend. But, really, if I beat Mario Speedwagon, does that mean ANYTHING? I mean, really, anything at all? With all the weak-ass challengers for the Dangerous title, I needed something else to better keep my focus. I needed...big game.
[A wicked smile.]
FORD: Thompson, Marsh, the great orangutan...I needed a challenge. I needed something to keep me wanting more, to keep me interested while I was wading through those nobodies. So when the Ford hating freak's title reign went all Murphy's law, I was happy to see that I'd be right in the thick of it again...against a great, big bear.
[Ford chuckles.]
FORD: So, American Freebear, that was a hell of a debut you had there. I mean, you looked alright there against some plodding big man for about two or three minutes. I'd talk about the rest of your match but, let's face it, dominating Da Ace Killas requires little more than a pulse. The fact that they looked competent for ANY stretch of time against you and the Big Stiff makes me doubt you have what it takes to hold any belt in this fed.
[Behind him, between two trees, we see a doe peek its head out.]
FORD: Still, you have some skills. That's more than I can say for seventy five percent of the roster. You've got that flippy piledriver which the crowd likes. And I hear you can fly. Well, Freebear, as a Lynyrd Skynyrd fan you might want to think about the implications of what happens when someone flies too much. Sometimes you soar...and sometimes, you crash. When we meet in the ring, when I finally get the big game I've been looking for, you will crash, and you will burn.
[The deer takes a step out of the forest.]
FORD: You will fall victim to the Gas Pump and be just another footnote...
*BANG*
[The deer falls on the spot.]
FORD: GOT 'EM!
[He turns back to the camera.]
FORD: ...another footnote in the ERA of DERRICK! L! FORD!
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[We open to a large light blue colored board room, a large oval oak desk sits in the middle of the room. On each side of the of the desk sits DreamLine Co-Owners, the siblings Marcus and Tammy Davis. Marcus is wearing grey suit, as Tammy is wearing a white woman's business suit. Their Front Office surrounds them, currently one of them is going over quarterly reports thus far.]
[Marcus looks intently at the speaker, nodding his head from time to time. After his recent introduction of the Code Of Honor in SPW, a lot is riding on his upcoming match against Mike Anderson who has been on a winning streak since he entered DCWL. This will be his first match in the United States since the last regime of Tri-State Wrestling tanked the company.]
[His elder sister Tammy has been on his case recently, not just wanting him to own a wrestling company in America, but to start wrestling in the states again so she can watch him. She has been busy with the day to day activities of DreamLine and overseeing her personal perfume and bath and body line called, "Exotic Passion." She has been spending a lot more time with Marcus lately, as he has received her aid in setting up SOW and getting the business aspect of things running.]
[The meeting seems to commence as everyone begins leaving despite the siblings, Marcus finishes writing something in a notebook, as Tammy speaks briefly with the male that was doing the speaking at the very end. Her face is non descript as she nods her head before he decides to walk off. Marcus closes his notebook as Tammy makes her way over to her younger brother.]
Marcus: Not a bad meeting today…
[Tammy crosses her arms as she sits on the desk beside Marcus.]
Tammy: Your mind is on your match with Anderson isn't it? Ever since you showed up with Futuro on Conquest…You've seemed…
[Tammy pauses looking for the right words.]
Marcus: Focused?
Tammy: Yeah, we can go with that…How did you find Futuro anyway?
[Marcus laughs slightly.]
Marcus: That's a story for another time Tammy, but you're right I have been thinking about this match with Anderson.
Tammy: Were you expecting him to answer your challenge?
[Marcus shakes his head.]
Marcus: Not at all, I've seen him wrestle before DCWL, I didn't think he was going to be ready for the step up in competition. He somehow pulled off a victory against Max Turbo, and now he wants to make an example by defeating me. I'll be the first to tell you that he is pretty talented…
Tammy: Doesn't seem like anything you haven't seen before.
Marcus: I wouldn't say all of that, he is a good technician, probably the best in DCWL. I know for a fact that I can match him on the ground. What bothers me the most about Anderson is how stereotypical he is, the typical young guy that sees someone that has accomplished more and decides to badmouth them rather than letting his skills do the talking…It's basically the reverse Pietka syndrome, where I'm going to do something, bring it up, and pretend that I don't think it should get me everything today.
[Tammy laughs.]
Tammy: Just make sure you don't over train, you're really good at that.
Marcus: I've been getting that under control, I'm more focused on wrestling than I ever have been. From this point forward I'm measuring my success on how many world championships I collect, it's time for me to become more intense in the ring and get what I deserve.
[Tammy puts her hand on his shoulder.]
Tammy: Don't get too far ahead of yourself, you have to first beat Mike Anderson.
[Marcus grins.]
Marcus: That's exactly what I have in mind to do, anyone as cocky as Mike Anderson needs to be knocked down back into reality. He has potential, I just feel he is going to let his attitude get in his way. Just like Dante Madison, you remember him?
[A disgusting look comes over Tammy's face.]
Tammy: How could I forget? He hit on me before your World Championship match with him, he's a tool…
[Marcus shrugs.]
Marcus: What do you expect when your family is like his? The point being, he felt he was owed everything and was the best thing ever. I haven't heard anything of him in over a year, Mike Anderson is made from the same cloth. Except Anderson is without any bit of heart, he's all talk.
Tammy: I think you're right, after a couple of victories he wants to declare himself the best wrestler on the planet…
[Marcus grins again.]
Marcus: Where _HAVEN'T_ I heard that. It's an old game, if he wants to get into my head he's actually going to have to prove himself. I don't have time to get into a verbal war, my body of work will be told in the ring. There's no way I can allow a guy like Mike Anderson to get in my way.
[Tammy shakes her head as Marcus stands up, a big smile comes over his face.]
Marcus: Trust me sis…This is the beginning of something big.
[He proceeds to mess up her hair before walking away.]
Tammy: HEY!
[Fades.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[We open to the smirking face of Mike Anderson. As the camera pans back, we see the brash youngster is decked out in a black pinstriped suit with a power orange tie. Looking like a business man, Mike Anderson smooth's his coat jacket as he stares into the camera.]
MA: 'The Dream' Marcus Davis... pfft.
[ Anderson stifles a chuckle]
Let me tell you Marcus, for the past couple of weeks not only have I been coming up with the perfect game plan to eliminate you from DCWL.. [smirks] but I have been doing my homework on you as well.
The way I figured it, a man who is bold enough to put a moniker like 'Dream' in front of his name, must be pretty successful. A man who walks around like some kind of big shot and expects respect [smirks] must have earned it. The man who put 'Dream' in front of his name must have won multi titles in some of the biggest and best federations around.
[Anderson scoffs]
MA: But the truth is Marcus, you haven't done any of that. I took a look into your part Marcus. I ran through tapes. I dug up your career and after all of that analyzing I came up with one summary Marcus, You my friend-
are nothing.
You are nothing but a moniker Marcus. You have no creditability. Your claims of being 'The Dream' has are empty as your trophy cabinet. You think because you flirted with a few big itme federations that it gives you the right to walk into my federation like osme kind of legend? What did you do in those big federations Marcus? With all the big fancy pyros and millions of fans watching your every move, tell me Marcus what did you do?
[ Anderson sneers]
NOTHING.
Soon as the competition got a little to heavy you tucked tail and ran. Soon as it was apparent you couldn't live up to your own self entitled moniker, you slipped off like the coward you are. Slithering your way back to a federation where you were 'The Dream'.
Well this is DCWL. This is Mike Anderson's kingdom. Here [points at chest] I rule. True, I may not have the DCWL title. But it is important to me Marcus, to get rid of scum like you first. You wanna brag that you come from SOW?
[shrugs]
Big deal. Nobody, myself mostly, gives a damn where you came from. You come walking in here like your some kind of legend but it's all a charade Davis . It's all smoke and mirrors because whether you like it or not, you're just not as important as you think you are.
[ Anderson unbuttons his suit jacket and adjusts the diamond crusted watch on his wrist. His ranting obviously is making his temperature rise.]
MA: How pathetic you must feel when you look in the mirror at yourself and know that you're a fraud. How cit must sicken you inside to know that you will never live up to the hype you've put upon yourself. Face it Davis , you're a mid level talent with a big fancy name. A guy living off a career of deception and lies. A curtain jerkin loser who clams of fame… are has hollow as his courage.
I'm prepared to show the World this at 'Death of a Ladies Man', Marcus. I will step into that ring and put your shoulders down for the one, two, three. I will dominate you in front of millions Davis . I will show the everyone that you are not a 'Dream', but a man who puts up a front to hide the necessary skills needed to become a legend.
You wanna see a legend Marcus? You're looking at one. What I say I'm going to do, I do it. My claims are justified. I told everyone I would destroy Max Turbo, and I did it. I told everyone Mike Anderson is a threat to all, and I'm proving it. So just like all the times before Marcus Davis, I will back up another bold claim. I will send you back to SOW with your tail between your legs. Mike Anderson will show everyone that you do not have the tools defeat me in the ring.
[smirks]
But more then that Marcus, I will prove that the day your pride clouded your judgement by accepting my challenge… was the day your 'Dream' became a very…
Very
Painful nightmare.
Get ready Marcus, for the punishment of a lifetime.
[FTB]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Scene opens to an exterior shot of an old run down gym in Akron, Ohio. It's late in the evening, and not a soul can be found. A dimly lit, hand painted sign reads "Benny's Gym" and a "OPEN" neon light flickers in a dirty window.]
[The scene then cuts to the inside of the gym. Two men are wrestling in a faded, run down wrestling ring. One of the men is Logan Braddock, better know as Sledge. The other, a young man, no older than twenty years old. The young is laying on his belly, face down in the mat. Sledge has a hold of his ankle, twisting it violently.]
SLEDGE: Better tap, son! Better tap before I snap it!
[The young man says nothing, too proud and too stubborn to submit.]
SLEDGE: Tap, man!
[Sledge twists even harder and the young man screams out in pain. Just then, an old man comes hobbling out of the shadows. He walks over and slams his fist on the apron.]
OLD MAN: Let him go Logan!
[Sledge ignores the man's request.]
OLD MAN: I said LET HIM GO!
[Sledge's shoulders slump in disappointment. He finally releases the hold. The young man rolls onto his back and glares at Sledge as he gets back to his feet.]
KID: What is with you man?
[He raises his arms and shoves Sledge in the chest. Sledge takes a few steps back and smirks at the kid.]
SLEDGE: You thought that was bad. You should have seen the crap that old man used to put me through when I was your age. The old bastard broke my arm one time juts to teach me a lesson. Ain't that right Benny?
[The young man just shakes his head , drops down, and rolls out of the ring. The old man pats him on the back as he walks past him. The old man looks back up at Sledge.]
BENNY: You, outta the ring.
[Sledge squats down, grabs the bottom rope and slides out of the ring. He grabs a towel, pats down his face and drapes it over his neck. He is standing right in front of the old man, smiling.]
SLEDGE: Why so grumpy Benny? Did I wake you from your nap?
BENNY: Nap? NAP??? It's one o'clock in the Goddamn morning! I was sleeping like every other normal person is right now!
[Sledge pats Benny on the shoulder.]
SLEDGE: Sorry Benny. I just need to get as much training in as I can before next week. I didn't mean to wake you up.
[Benny looks puzzled.]
BENNY: Next week? What's the rush? You haven't wrestled in months.
SLEDGE: Didn't you hear? I just signed with a new company, the DCWL. And I have my debut match next week. I wanted to get rid of some of the old ring rust. I need to look good out there.
BENNY: So you figured torturing some young kid would help?
SLEDGE: I came here just expecting to do some cardio, maybe some bag work. He was in here messing around, so I figured might was well…
BENNY: …snap his ankle???
SLEDGE: Alright Benny, I got it. I'll take it easy on the kid next time.
BENNY: Yeah, I've heard that one before.
[Sledge puts his arm over Benny's shoulders.]
SLEDGE: Come on Benny, you need to mellow out a bit Let's go grab a beer before the bar closes.
[Benny lets out a loud sigh.]
BENNY: Alright, let me go grab my coat.
[Sledge follows Benny back to his office. He wipes his face down one more time before pitching the towel onto a folding chair. As Benny slowly makes his way down the hall to his office, he glances over his shoulder.]
BENNY: So, when you wrestling?
SLEDGE: Next Wednesday, up in Canada.
BENNY: Who you facing?
SLEDGE: Alton West.
[Benny grunts.]
BENNY: Never heard of him.
SLEDGE: I don't know much about him either. I saw a few of his matches following the DCWL these last few months. I think I stand a pretty good chance. Just one thing has me off guard…
[Benny walks into his office, grabs his coat of the back of his chair, grabs his cane sitting by the door, closes the door behind him and locks it.]
BENNY: And what might that be?
SLEDGE: Well, sometimes Alton paints his face, spits mist and goes by the name 'The Great Atma'. And I think he really believes that no one realizes it's him. I mean, come on, the guy doesn't look one bit Asian. At least that's my take on it. And when a guy has a few screws loose like that, you never know what you might have to deal with in the ring.
[Benny hands his cane to Sledge, slides on his coat, and grabs his cane back from Sledge.]
BENNY: Don't worry about it kid, you'll be just fine. Remember I trained you, there ain't nothing in the ring you can't handle. You always find a way to come out on top.
[Benny gives him a reassuring pat on the back. Sledge let's out a little chuckle.]
BENNY: Now, let's go get that beer you're buying me.
[Sledge smiles as he walks down the hall beside Benny.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Fade into Ace Killas HQ which - for the uninitiated - is the living room of Ace Stevens' house. The homeowner himself is talking on his cell phone as the large Ert Williams and definitely-not-large-even-though-he-thinks-he-is Killa 187 walk in.]
Stevens: Yeah, that's right Curt! We need a third member of our team!
[Ace winks and nods at Ert and Killa.]
Stevens: So we have a deal? Great! I'm glad you've decided to be a part of the new te...
[Ace's phone starts ringing.]
Stevens: ... uh... team. Wow, you've really got the Hockey Night in Canada theme playing on in the background really loud.
[Ace starts yanking at his collar obviously trying to cover up the fact that he's not talking to anyone on the phone.]
Stevens: Um... NHL on TSN theme? It's still the Hockey Night in Canada theme as far as I'm concerned! Just for that, you're not going to be part of the revolution! Good bye!
[Ace "hangs up." In doing so he has actually answered the phone.]
Stevens: Pah! We don't need to help of Curt Olsen anyhow! It's not like we need money or anything.
[Ace is sweating. Ert and Killa look on, puzzled. Ace decides to answer the phone.]
Stevens: What? It's THAT MUCH overdue? Look, I'll get it to you. Stop being an asshole! Talk to you later, Mom.
*click*
Stevens: Alright, so...
Ert: CURT OLSEN IS JOINING THE TEAM??!?
[Stevens stares.]
Stevens: Um... yes! I landed Curt Olsen! But he had to back out for a job with the NHL on TSN.
Ert: Is he going to call the games?
Stevens: Uh.... yes?
Ert: But I love Gord Miller! Olsen is going to PAY!
Stevens: Look, Olsen isn't really...
[Ert leans in on Ace, shaking his fist.]
Ert: Going... to... PAY!
Stevens: Yeah, have fun with a broken ankle if you try to fight him.
Ert: Sha-BAM!
Stevens: Alright, boys have a seat.
Ert: Go ahead, Killa.
Killa: WORD!
[Killa moves in to have a seat on the couch.]
Ert: I'M SITTING THERE!
*CRASH!*
[Ert has broken a lamp over Killa's head, knocking him out. He lifts Killa out of the couch and throws him to the floor. Ert sits down.]
Ert: *ahem* Continue.
Stevens: Well, I have some bad news. Blobbin and Kevin have both been fired.
Ert: You mean Kevin was cu...
Stevens: NO! He was not "cut," he was fired. Outright. The joke has run its course. Oh, by the way, meet their replacement.
[Ace gestures behind him where there's a blond-haired man wearing a suit and a headset.]
Holland: HELLO EVERYONE AND WELCOME TO DA ACE KILLAS HQ!!! I'm Chris Holland and joining me is Mr. Ace Stevens..
Stevens: I hired Chris full-time. He's going to provide play-by-play when needed and overreact to things. Well, for the next couple of weeks until I get tired of it.
Ert: Hey.
Holland: WE'VE GOT AN AMAZING SHOW FOR...
Stevens: Alright, alright... simmer down.
Ert: What about Mark?
Stevens: I wasn't even paying him any more. Doesn't need it, anyway. He's collecting royalties for the DCWL titling their official news update "DCWL NEWZ~!" So he'll still be around.
Ert: And Deadman? And Jive Pawnbroker?
Stevens: Well, they've both been misguidingly "reinventing themselves." Tell me, are they more entertaining now?
Ert: No.
Stevens: Of course not! What's with this trend of everyone getting so serious? Look, I was willing to deal with Jive Pawnbroker "ain't havin' no time to do no comedy" but Pansac? Come on! You add a shrill woman who does nothing but scream all the time and a fat guy who dry heaves and you have "Left 3 Dead!"
[Ace looks at the camera as an aside.]
Stevens: By the way, feel free to use that one DCWL. Trust me, the peak of Joe's life was getting a chance to yell "BRAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINS!!!!"
[Killa pulls himself up from the floor.]
Killa: Yo, the bartenda foo?
Stevens: James? Well, I haven't even seen him lately, but that's not important. What's important is we have to find a third person for the team in order to enter the DCWL as a trio, and since Curt won't talk to me and Sam Smith responded to my blackmail attempt by eating the evidence, we're stuck. I actually have an applicant coming in today. Sent me a text message. Should be here soon.
*KNOCK KNOCK... KNOCK*
Stevens: Oh! How about that? Come in! Door's open!
[Ace's front door flies open and in walks a monster of a man, slightly hunched wearing ragged clothes and carrying a ladder.]
Mangler: Hello... Face... it's good to see you... again.
Chris Holland: OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! IT'S THE MANGLER!!! THE MANGLER IS HERE IN ACE KILLAS HQ!!!!!
Stevens: The MANGLER? Wow! This is even better than I hoped!
[Ert nudges Ace.]
Ert: *psst...* When did Bane grow hair?
Stevens: *whispering* It's a long story.
Mangler: I was looking through… this National Enquirer… because it pays to keep up with the… news and not listen to any of those… fake stations… and I noticed you were looking for a third… person for your Trios team here… in the Rewritable… CD… WL…
Stevens: Well, if you're still in shape I'm willing to hire you on the spot!
Mangler: Sorry… Face… but it's not me…
Stevens: Then who is it? (instantly) Oh crap, it's the ladder.
Mangler: Before you pass… judgement… let me tell you that I completely… stand behind this ladder… you are looking… at some of the best stamina… and ability to withstand any type of punishment… that gets thrown at it… and while it might lack some offense… when he does hit… he hits like a… stop sign…
Stevens: Well, Ladder # 7 IS a former tag team champion...
Mangler: I'm sorry… Face… but we have another misunderstanding… my wife is retired… just like me… (whispering quite loudly into Ace's ear so that everyone can hear) This is my… deadbeat brother in law… and he's been crashing on the couch for the last… year after George kicked him out of the house… my wife wants me to help him find a job… (stops whispering and speaks very loudly, so that the ladder can hear him again) BUT I PROMISE YOU… THAT LADDER #27 WOULD… BE A GREAT ADDITION TO… YOUR TEAM… HE WORKS VERY HARD AND IS VERY STURDY IN… THE RING…
Stevens: Well.... I GUESS we could give it a shot. Ert, take a closer look.
[Ert gets up and examines the ladder. He lifts it up, looking closely.]
*SMASH!*
[... and waylays Killa in the head with it.]
Ert: Hmm... could work!
*SLAM!*
[The door flies open again. Standing there is a man with ratty hair and a messy beard, wearing overalls and no shoes]
Chris Holland: SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP!!!! IT'S THAT HARDCORE WRESTLER FROM "THE WRESTLER!!!!"
Stevens: No it isn't, you idiot. He's way too small and his facial features are.... wait a minute.
[Ace takes a closer look.]
Stevens: JAMES?
[James jumps forward, holding up his fist which is wrapped in barbed wire. Barbed wire that appears to be fake.]
James: YOU TRIED TO LOCK THE BAR! BUT NOW I'M FREE TO RAISE HELL IN THE DCWL! DA ACE KILLAS AIN'T GONNA BE THE SAME!!!
Stevens: Oh no. You're applying for the third spot, James?
James: It ain't James! It's the "Necro Bartender."
[Ace, Ert and Mangler - hell, even the ladder - raise an eyebrow.]
Stevens: Right.
James: I dish out DEATH!
Stevens: Sure you do. Well, is this it? Do we have to choose between a ladder and a psychotic bartender who's probably just on a caffeine high right now?
James: NyaHAAAAAva.
[Ert raises his hand.]
Ert: I vote ladder!
Stevens: Yes, it does make an excellent weapon and it does have a championship pedigree - technically. Unfortunately, you'll just use it to knock out Killa before every match. While I can see the benefit, Killa did actually have the gall to display something along the lines of "talent" in that match which is most disconcerting. Still, once James puts down the Red Bull I'm going to have to lean in favour of the Ladder.
Mangler: Thank you Face… my wife and I really appreciate… and so does my brother in law… Ladder #27… Don't you Laddy?...
Ladder #27:………
Mangler: Well… if that is all… I will be taking off so you can… start working on… some teamwork… so bye bye…
[Suddenly a loud voice interrupts everyone seemingly coming from nowhere but filling up the room.]
Voice: By the Power of Greyskull! I have the power!! By the power of Greyskull! I have the power!! By the power of Greyskull! I have the power!!
[The two phrases keep repeating while all of the men look around at each other not really sure what's going on. Finally The Mangler speaks up.]
Mangler: Is that mine?... I'm sorry… but I always think that it… might be someone else's… phone… I don't get too many calls… Hold on please…
[With that, the Mangler whips a cell phone out of his pocket and starts talking.]
Mangler: Hello… oh yes… how are you… great thanks… what is that… really?... that's wonderful news… my wife will love it… she was worried about the dangers of her past… profession… and didn't want… her little brother to get hurt… What?... oh yeah… he can start as soon as you need him… I'll let him… know… thanks again… bye…
[The Mangler closes the phone and shoves it in his pocket. He turns back towards the other men.]
Mangler: I'm sorry… to get your hopes up but it looks… like another job came through… for Ladder #27… he's going to be working for… the NHL… on TSN… and they need him so they can try to examine… what's on top of Bob McKenzie's head… apparently they're not too sure what's up there… and my wife would prefer a safer… job… because as you know… wrestling doesn't have the… best benefits involved… they're especially difficult… when it comes to dental care… and my wife really wants to make sure that… Ladder #27… DOESN'T FEEL PAIN!!!...
[The Mangler stops talking and looks around at the other men. They just stare back at him in return.]
Mangler: Ok… Thanks again… bye bye for now…
Stevens: Well, then James it is. Ert, go order some more Red Bull.
Ert: Red Rain's cheaper!
Stevens: Great idea! Sorry you couldn't be part of the team, Mangler... and congrats to your... brother in law.
Mangler: You're... welcome.
[Mangler grabs the ladder and turns around to leave.]
Stevens: By the way, how can you tell the difference between male ladders and female ladders?
[Mangler turns his head back around.]
Mangler: Male ladders... like... pussy.
[End.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Fade into a club setting. The lights are dim. Strobe lights cut through the generated fog, occasionally shining on the streamers and plastic jack-o-lanterns strewn throughout the bar. Yes, it's a Halloween party, and everyone came in costume. A couple in a plug and socket combo dance to the quick techno beat, while a nurse, Dorothy, a sailor and Wednesday Addams are all practically humping Michael Jackson.
Seriously, I just wrote that sentence. Halloween is awesome.
Through the low lights, we see that this Michael Jackson is wearing the Jheri Curl wig and the red "Thriller" suit.]
"MICHAEL": Alright, ladies, one at a time. Yeah, that's right.
["Michael" is clearly enjoying himself to the fullest. Unfortunately for him, a decidedly feminine hand pushes through the crowd and lands on his shoulder.]
"MICHAEL": Can't wait to get some of...
*THWACK*
VOICE: YOU ASSHOLE!
DOROTHY: You prick! You were cheating on your girlfriend?!
WEDNESDAY: Ugh, maybe that surgeon is still around somewhere. I can't believe I wasted my time on a loser like you.
[The circle disburses. We close in on the scene, to find that "Michael" is, of course, "Something Better" Wolf Masterson. He turns to face his assailant, who wears a long white robe and golden sandals.]
WOLF: Look what you did! Those honeys were all up on...
*THWACK*
[The second slap leaves no doubt who the other woman is, despite the obviously different makeup and the brown wig.]
EYRE: You were supposed to be getting us drinks, damnit! Can you not think with your dick for FIVE SECONDS? God, I TOLD Joe this was a bad idea.
WOLF: Hey, relax. It's not like we're taking the Samoans lightly or anything. The three of us have been busting our asses. I'm just glad we were able to get out of the ring for a little.
[The sailor passes again, shooting Wolf a disdainful look that doesn't go unnoticed.]
WOLF: And would you stop crowding me so much? I can't get any tail if everyone thinks we're together.
[He braces himself for yet another impact, but The Vamp settles for a cold stare and dripping sarcasm.]
EYRE: And just how do you plan on wrestling once you've contracted syphilis? Face it, I'm doing you a favor. And I'd hope anyone here realizes I wouldn't be caught dead with you.
VOICE: Aww, lighten up Mina.
[In through the crowd steps the immediately recognizable Joe Pansac. He's come to the costume party in his old zombie gear, complete with flour and a toy brain.]
PANSAC: Don't insult dead guys like me by comparing it to you and Wolfie there.
WOLF: Dude, seriously, stop calling me Wolfie.
[Pansac only smiles.]
WOLF: It's like you two exist solely for the purpose of keeping me from getting laid.
[Over the din of the crowd we hear the music stop as the DJ takes the mic.]
DJ: IS EVERYONE HAVING A GOOD TIME?
[Crowd screams in general agreement. Joe joins them with a full throated bellow, though the other two remain silent.]
DJ: HERE'S AN OLD SCHOOL HALLOWEEN TREAT!
[With that, "Monster Mash" kicks up over the speakers.]
PANSAC: I LOVE this song!
[The Deadman immediately breaks out into the stiffest, jerkiest, nerdiest version of the twist ever attempted. Arms bent at the elbows with fists in the air, biting his lower lip, just the most awkward dance in the history of awkward dances. Naturally, it's so dorky that a mermaid and a policewoman immediately flock to him and begin imitating the dance. Mina's whooping and applauding, but Wolf Masterson looks as though he's a heartbeat away from the fetal position.]
WOLF: This is awful.
[The song plays on, as Mina tries to get Wolf to join in the dorky dance. He rebuffs her efforts as we fade out.]
*****************************************************************************************************
[Fade into the outside of the nightclub. Horrorshow comes out onto the street together, though Wolf appears a step behind. Mina and Joe are singing at the top of their lungs.
EYRE: THEY PLAYED THE MASH!
PANSAC: THEY PLAYED THE MONSTER MASH!
[Finishing out their chorus, they breakout laughing. Wolf is trying to catch them a cab, but the road appears empty.]
PANSAC: What's the matter, Wolfie? I thought you liked the nightlife.
WOLF: Yeah, well, I like going out to bars where I don't need to cower in a corner out of embarrassment, but that's just the way things go sometimes.
[Joe puts an arm around the smaller Masterson.]
PANSAC: So you're saying that you don't like it when people goof off with something you take seriously?
[Wolf realizes a second too late where this whole conversation was going.]
WOLF: Aww, come on man, I've been giving you everything I've got.
PANSAC: Have you really? I think we're only seeing the start of how good you can be, but until you can focus on just the wrestling bit you'll never be that good.
WOLF: What do you want me to do?! You want me to decaptitate that big lug Offramp? You want me to do to Ozzie what Unique Element did to Moses? What?! The Samoans might be the best trio in the DCWL, even with Gabrielle Rio Paah. I wouldn't bring anything less than my A-game for them.
PANSAC: That's just what I wanted to hear. C'mon we'll get a cab.
[With this, we fade out.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[The scene opens with the final moments of Corella vs. Thompson at "Overdrawn at the Memory Bank". The two men were battered, dripping with sweat. Corella had a bleeding split on his forehead, and Maurice sported a split lip and a bloodied nose. The Native had just been power bombed, and Corella was crouched low in the corner, stamping his foot as if willing his opponent to rise, and rise he did. In seconds, Corella crossed the length of the ring with a mighty roar, scooping Maurice up and slamming him with a brutal Lion Slam. On impact, he hooked the leg and three seconds later, he stood up in victory, intensity burning in his eyes as he stared into the camera, the ref holding his hand in the air. Corella's voice sounded out over the mixed reaction of the crowd...]
Voice- ....Here's your Winner... Leon Corella....
[...The scene then erodes to nothingness. From the black, we find Corella now decked out in a charcoal suit, with a yellow silk shirt, black italian loafers, that diamond studded platinum Rolex, the family signet ring, a college championship ring, and a platinum wedding band on his right hand. He is seated upon a simple brown leather chair, a back lit DCWL Green and Black Banner behind him. His expression, however, was rather solemn.]
Corella- ...Maurice... I took everything you had to offer, and in the end, I proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that you could not beat me.
[He leans back in that chair, propping his elbows on the arms and interlocking his fingers together.]
...I took the Vision Quest not once... but TWICE... and got right back up on my feet. The Natives Unite did not pacify Leon Corella. The Tomahawk Chop only succeeded in parting my hair, and not the seams of my skull. It was quite a gamble I was taking, letting you run rough shod on me, and despite all that, nothing you did could keep me down.
[...That expression seemed to show no sign of pleasure or delight. In fact, he actually seemed a little bored...]
...Yet every impact I made on you, Every blow, drop, and slam... You felt. In fact, watching the replay has me even less impressed with you, for you kept hitting me... and hitting me... and hitting me... and despite that, I put you down with only a fraction of my arsenal. You weren't even defeated by my strongest move, Native.
[...He sighed softly, shaking his head in disappointment...]
....and now you will watch as I march on to the Grand Championship, and I hope you shed a tear as you watch me achieve that which you could not....
[...Corella's gaze then narrowed, anger spreading across his face...]
...I want to express something that really bothered me with your last War of the Words outing. You said a little something about me making excuses. Let me tell you something about the name, Corella, Kid....
[...He leans forward slightly, relaxing his hands slightly...]
...My great grandfather was a wrestling legend back in the 1930's through the early 50's. "The Praetorian" Leone' Corella. Even in his 80's, he was able to make men younger and stronger than you or I scream in agony with almost no effort...
[...A brief pause...]
...Then there was my Grandfather, another legendary figure who wrestled from the late 50's all the way until the early 70's, "Il Soldat" Lucius Corella. People feared "Il Soldat" and like his father before him, he was good at twisting people into human pretzels and making them scream, putting them through a hellish nightmare unlike anything you have ever imagined. He trained both myself and my father, and is still alive and kicking to this day. Grandpa' Lucius runs his own school at the basement of my home in Providence, called "The Lion's Den" and believe me, Maurice, if you walked into his Den, right now, you would not last long against him.
[...His jaw sets...]
....Then came my father, who was the biggest name in the 80's, Larson "The Lion" Corella. He held so many championships across countless promotions, and was easily one of the more heroic and storied figures of his time. The only thing that could stop him, was an 18 wheeler plowing into his car...
[...Leon's head lowers slightly in solemn reverence, before lifting back up to the camera...]
....I come from championship stock, and I make absolutely no excuses for my failings, Maurice. My word is my bond, and my skills and abilities are without question. What happened at Overdrawn, was my choice. The first thing out of my mouth was "Hit me with your Best Shot, Kid." and you did just that. The only problem you had was that your best wasn't good enough and now you'll be the one making excuses. It'll be YOU, blaming everyone but yourself for your failure.
[...Corella scoffed at the camera...]
....Call it a fluke. Call it dumb luck. It doesn't matter for In the end, I proved my point, my way, and you're at the back of the line now for the championship. I handed you opportunity after opportunity to put me away, and you failed each and every time.
[...the briefest of pauses...]
Now onto my next step ....Julian Beckson.... You and I have business to discuss. The DCWL Grand Championship. You have it. I want it.
[...Corella rose from his chair, the camera rising with him and moving in for a bit of a close up...]
...Mr. Beckson, I have even less respect for you, than I have for the man I just addressed in this promo. You, who preach hate for the sake of hate. You think you are part of the Master Race? An Aryan God perhaps?
[...A wicked, wolf-like grin spread itself across his face...]
...Let me tell you something about who is God in wrestling, Beckson. God is the man standing in front of this camera. I am the lord of my domain when I step into that ring. I know all the holds. I know all the escapes. I have countless ways to beat any opponent standing before me. In wrestling, he who is God, is the man who is better than you, and I am most certainly better than you, Julian "Bane" Beckson.
[...Corella rubbed his palms together in circular motions, that smile fading into a scowl...]
You are not worthy of the prestige now resting around your waist, and It will be proven, Either by me at the Tri-pokalypse, or by one of the winners of the fatal fourway coming up at Death of a Ladies Man.
[...Slowly his hands lower, and Leon hunkers down, his demeanor imposing, even threatening...]
...and I promise you, that if you do face me, you will leave the arena in disgrace on a stretcher, and that championship belt will be left where it rightly belongs...
[...His hands raise up to his hips, running back and forth over his abdomen, as if stroking an invisible championship belt...]
...Around my waist. The DCWL Grand Championship will be mine, Beckson. Oh yes, it will be mine....
[...Corella slips a thumb in his waistline, visibly relaxing his posture a bit as he moves on to the next bit of business...]
...Until then, I have some steaks to cut, riddled with a disease called Mad Cow.
Cow, I am coming for you at Death of a Ladies Man. It doesn't matter if you wear a cow suit, or if you're wearing regulation ring gear...
[...He tilts his head to one side ever so slightly...]
...I take any and all challenges that come my way, and I see through your facade. I see a serious mind beneath that stupid outfit and limited vocabulary. You don't fool Leon Corella.
[...A smirk spreads across his face...]
...Just as the Great Atma didn't fool me as to his true identity. I won't name names, but I will give you this one hint. I have already beaten him, twice.
[...The smirk vanishes with a brief pause in his speech...]
It's an act, designed to throw your opponent off center, and to take you with the least amount of seriousness as possible. That is your only weapon...
[...Corella holds a finger up in front of the camera, as if a form of punctuation, then lets it drop...]
...A weapon that is clever, but only against the naive and inexperienced wrestler. I will show you, November 4th, in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada, that you need more than gimmicks and a deranged mind to be championship material...
[...He then steps right up to the camera, getting almost face to face with it...]
...You need heart, determination, and the will to be greater than yourself. I have that heart, I have that determination, and I have the will. Do you, Mad Cow?
[...Corella remains there, staring intently forward as the camera zooms in on those intense, pale blue eyes. One could almost imagine fire dancing within the darkened recesses of his retina, but it could have been just glare from an off camera light source...]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
(Darkness.)
(Scene opens up to a hallway of similar stature of the one we have seen Julian Beckson in, in previous episodes of War of the Words. However, while the doors are still run down, this hallway is much better lit and the walls seem to freshly painted with a sky blue color.)
(It appears for the better lighting of this hallway is the presence of the front doors to the apartment building that allows in a generous amount of sunlight. This allows us to see the small brass mailboxes and single payphone that align the wall in a black and white tiled front entranceway. In this entranceway we also see the cracked and broken steps that lead up to the apartments on the higher floors. One must wonder how safe these steps are and if they truly can support Julian Beckson's weight. Someone's weight they can support is Bane's young fan Jerome whom is sitting on the steps wearing a dirty white t-shirt and blue jeans. We can only wonder what Jerome thinks of Bane now after what Bane did to Jerome's mother.)
(Jerome is looking down at the floor minding his own business when we hear the whoosh of the glass front door opening to the apartment building. Jerome looks up and gets wide eyed as he quickly gets to his feet and backs up the steps a few paces. We can already assume it is Julian Beckson before the camera pans to look at him.)
(The large man has entered the building wearing a grey sweat suit that is greatly stained with Julian's perspiration and stench. The hood of the sweatshirt is down so we can see the sweat roll down Beckson's bald head and onto his reddened face. It is apparent that Julian is back from another workout of some sorts in the city of Cincinnati. Despite Julian's size and the condition of the tile floor, he is almost silent as he walks across the entranceway, bypassing the mailboxes and going straight to the payphone. He doesn't give young Jerome a first glace as he passes the steps but this could be because Jerome has backed up enough to be hiding around the corner at the second level just peaking out enough so that he can see what's going on.)
(Julian reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a quarter. He deposits it into the coin slot on the payphone while he picks up the phone in his other large hand. Julian then quickly dials a number, too fast for us to make out what it is and places the phone against his ear. We hear the other line ring a couple of times before it clicks to life and a muffled female voice speaks on the other end. While we can't hear her clearly, we can assume that she answers the phone like most normal human beings with a simple "Hello?")
Bane:
Hi Angel.
(Silence on the other end.)
Bane:
Angel, are you there? I know you told me to never call you again but I have some great news.
(The female voice on the other end says something that we can't make out but whatever it was, it didn't sound very happy.)
Bane:
No, baby, this is really good. I don't know if you've been keeping up with wrestling at all like you used to?...
(There is quick answer from the other end that causes the excitement in Julian's voice to increase a little.)
Bane:
You have? That's wonderful! So did you know I got a job finally with the DCWL?
(Another quick response.)
Bane:
Great! Well at Plunderland, their first megashow about a month ago, I finally did it baby. I won the Grand Championship! It's the top title in the league. I finally showed everyone that I am everything I claim to be. And I showed those fucking Jew owners of all of the other leagues I've been in that they let a great man get away from them.
(An angry response from the other side which causes Julian's mood to drop slightly.)
Bane:
I'm sorry Angel. I know you hate it when I talk like that. But I figured you would finally see that there's truth in what I say. Those bastards WERE keeping me down and the fact that I won the title here is very much proof of that. At some point, you're going to have to start acknowledging that I'm right about those people and what they did to me. And you!
(Again, an angry response from the other side and we can hear the rage start to build in Julian's voice.)
Bane:
What do you mean they didn't do anything to you? They cast you off like a cheap whore after I left the promotion. They could have let you keep your job so our money problems wouldn't have gotten so bad. That's the reason why you left me, right? Because I couldn't take you out anymore and I couldn't afford the things that you deserve.
(There is an answer from the other end.)
Bane:
It wasn't about the money? Then what was it?
(The voice on the other end increases in volume, yelling at Julian Beckson. But it is still a short answer. And it causes Julian to lose any composure that he still had.)
Bane:
You left me because I'm a racist, huh? Well at least I'm not lying to myself and to others and I can see with my two eyes what's going on in this world. All of these niggers and spics invading the cities, starting gangs, and killing random people all while the Jews run the media and make money off of their law breaking ways. If we sent everyone back to where they originally were from, this country's crime rate and poverty would drastically decline and I wouldn't have had to work at Burger King for two years just trying to make enough money to survive. It's because of them that I was ever even in that predicament but I finally reapplied myself and am doing something about it. I'm not going to let them keep their foot on my face anymore while I climb up the ladder! I'll grab them by the ankles and fling them back down to Hell where they belong!
(There is a click on the other end of the phone.)
Bane:
Angel? Angel! FUCK!!
(Julian slams the phone back in its cradle and puts his hand against the wall, leaning against it as he takes some deep breaths. Jerome has ventured down the stairs a little so he can see Bane, but he still remains hidden on the steps around the corner. Once Beckson has mostly regained his composure, he once again lifts the phone from its cradle and places it against his ear. This time, we catch the number he dials, mostly because it is a single digit. Julian has pressed zero for the operator. After a few seconds, we hear the voice on the other end.)
Bane:
I'd like to place a collect call.
(There is some more talking on the other end and once it stops, Julian quickly dials another number. After a few rings, we hear a man on the other end speak into the phone. The operator responds with a few words and then its Julian's turn.)
Bane:
Bane… I mean Julian.
(Again the operator chirps to like and the man on the other end respond's in return. After a few seconds, the operator drops off the phone and Julian speaks once more.)
Bane:
Hi Dad, how are you doing?
(A longer response from the other end than Julian received from his previous conversation with Angel. Obviously, Julian's father is a lot more patient with his son than most other people.)
Bane:
That's good to hear.
(Julian's Dad continues to talk a little while longer until finally Julian catches a break and is able to speak again.)
Bane:
Yeah, Dad, I did finally do it. I'm glad I could make you proud for what I accomplished. I've been working a long time for that and I finally got what I deserved. Finally people are starting to realize that I AM as good as I've always said I was.
(Julian's father speaks again, but this time not in the length as he did last time.)
Bane:
My first title defense is going to be at the next show. It's called Death of a Ladies Man. It's kind of like they're giving me a mystery opponent again, which you know how I feel about already, but it's not as bad as usual. There's a 4 way match earlier in the night to see who gets to face me so I'll be facing a worn down, lesser opponent. Now that's the way you treat a champion.
(Julian's Dad asks another quick question.)
Bane:
Yes, I do know who those four competitors are. It's going to be Brian Irwin, Max Turbo, Porno Anderson, and B.A. Jive.
(Julian's Dad says something else into the phone.)
Bane:
Good competition? You think that's good competition? Let's look at this good competition that you think is in the ring fighting for a chance to compete against me. First we have B.A. Jive. The only reason why he even has a win here in the DCWL is because of a referee's fast count to screw Derrick Ford out of the Affirmative Action Championship. That jungle bunny has no place in the ring with Derrick Ford, let alone me, but once again he skates into a match not based on his talents in the ring but by the color of his skin. It reminds me of the firestation that was sued by some niggers because those fucks couldn't pass the firefighter exam. And they won! Tell me, do you want some nigger who isn't qualified for the job trying to pull your ass out of a burning building and dropping you three stories down to your death or do you want a qualified white man saving your life? This is the exact same thing. Jive gets a chance to fight me for my belt when he hasn't proven anything while someone like Derrick Ford gets regulated to vomit clean up. I know the world would much rather watch a competitive Bane/Ford match than a slaughter of someone like Jive because once I destroy someone like Jive, the fear of me being right takes center stage in their head. As long as that match never happens, then they don't have to worry.
Then there's Max Turbo. What the fuck is he about? It's like the Japanese can't see clearly through their squinty, slanted eyes so they just create really fucked up things. Is Max Turbo the next step after Pokémon and the Dragon Balls? And again, even though he has proven nothing in this fed, he also got a shot at the Affirmative Action belt. In his very first match over here, none the less! Perhaps we should've dropped a few more atomic bombs on them over the years. It's not like they would have been able to see them coming. That way, we could have wiped them out and not ever had to deal with their strange ass shit that they send throughout the world. I swear that they're trying to mind fuck our kids so that they can brainwash them easier. And Max Turbo is over here to do just that. Well, if he happens to win the 4 way, I can't wait to destroy him in the ring so we won't ever have to see him again. I won't let him seduce our kids and then he can get an appropriate job for him, like working in a Chinese restaurant or doing women's nails.
And speaking of seduction, we can move onto Porno Anderson. That fag who's probably slept with both BA Jive and Max Turbo, among others. I'm actually really concerned that he might win the match. There is no doubt in my mind that he has that fag disease, AIDS. You know there's a good chance that I will bust him wide open during the match and if I have a cut anywhere on my body, I could contract it. I shouldn't have to put myself in that kind of danger because he chooses to live an immoral and dirty life. They don't allow fags into the army, why would they allow them into our business? Porno probably has some cameras set up in the showers to take video's of the rest of us while we clean up after our matches. I swear to God if there's ever a nude video of me put online, I will sue that fucking fag for all he's worth. He probably keeps the videos all for himself though so he can whack off to our images. God, it's making me want to puke just thinking about it. The rest of the locker room would probably thank me if I ended Porno's career.
And finally, there's Brian Irwin. I actually feel sorry for that old man. He's been trying to prove himself against me since I've joined the DCWL. And what does he have to show for it? A protégé whose career has probably ended even before it began. At my hands even. I'm sure the sense of guilt is overwhelming Brian Irwin now and he feels like he must make it up to Kid Way Cool. I really hope that he opens his eyes soon and realizes what he is doing. Brian Irwin has had a great career, one to be proud of. There's no need for him to think he has to prove himself against me or to get revenge. He should step away and stick to fighting for the Affirmative Action belt. That way, he could restore glory to that belt instead of it continuing to be the joke it has become. And he will also be able to keep whatever dignity he has left, instead of continuously being humiliated by me.
Now I bet you that all four of those wrestlers combined don't have as many wins as me since the DCWL has opened back up. Why any of them deserve a shot at my belt is beyond me but…
(The voice on the other end is tired of being silent and speaks up.)
Bane:
What?
(Again, Julian's father says something.)
Bane:
Why are you quoting Spiderman to me, Dad? With great power comes great responsibility. What are you getting at?
(Julian's father answers him.)
Bane:
A role model? You think kids will start looking up to me while I hold this belt? You think I should be someone that they should strive to be?
(Julian's dad responds with a quick 'yes', that much we can make out.)
Bane:
Well, Dad, I must say that I agree with you. Good thing I am already someone that they can look up to. If kids listen to me and follow my words, then they will know exactly what's wrong with this country and how they can change it. They won't have to deal with the same people that we have to deal with. They'll be able to live their lives proud of who they are and know that they are the greatest people in the world…
(Julian's Dad says something else across the phone lines.)
Bane:
No, Dad, my mind has never been clearer. My purpose has never been so complete. I need to hold onto this belt so that our race's children has someone to look up to as a leader. Someone that they can admire. Some to be their hero.
But you know what, Dad? It isn't easy to be a hero. We heroes also need to train to remain on top. And I was wondering if I could…
(Julian's father interrupts him before he can finish.)
Bane:
Yeah, Dad, I figured that would be your answer. Those niggers there have gotten to you and have made you ashamed of your own son…
(Julian's father interrupts him again. But this time, we can hear him loud and clear from the other side of the phone.)
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
e-mail: dcwlwrestling@yahoo.com
http://dangerouswrestling.blogspot.com
http://dangerouswrestling.proboards.com
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Scene opens to an automobile scrapyard; a junkyard for gas-guzzling clunkers for as far as the eye can see. Automobiles of every brand are piled on high in messy decrepit piles as the camera pans leftwise until it reaches the topic of our interview: the American Freebear. The immense 338 pound flying ursine that made such an impactful debut last time at "Overdrawn at the Memory Bank" is walking past the mountainous peaks of scrap metal, seemingly making his point amidst the various piles of defunct cars surrounding him.]
"Ford, Ford, Ford! Just look at you and your lasting legacy across this great land! You're junk, you're scrap metal, you can rust in peace!! Here we are, American icons the both of us, but where mechanics may fail the forces of nature do not! At Death of a Ladies Man, I promise you will witness the carnage that occurs where a spoiled son of an oil magnate named after an institution in terms of American worksmanship foolishly goes against the everlasting power of plummeting ursines from above!!!!"
[Alright... Seems like the American Freebear is taking his opponent as the sum totality that which his name represents. A titanic bellow rings throughout the junkyard, dislodging minor crankshafts and sundry pieces of machinery, precursor signs towards a metal avalanche!]
"Now *I* know what's at stakes, I understand that this is for the Dangerous Championship, but I gotta wonder if you're feeling this fight!! This is more then two men going at it for a vacant title, this is... This is the Flyin' Ursine vs Derrick Ford; the battle between oversized bomber airplane and mid-upper-class family automobile! Trust-fund yuppie vs aerially disposed bear!"
[He thumps one of the car piles as he makes his point, the strength of the blow causing the teetering tower of metal to wobble menacingly.]
"See Derrick, I know you've been doing *PUR-TY* fine for yourself until I came along: you're a former Dangerous title holder, you think you should get it back again- WELL, NUH UH! THE AMERICAN FREEBEAR IS HERE AND HE'S HUNGRY! HUNGRY FOR GOLD!!! I'm the American Freebear and I want to fly: fly inside the ring, fly across the world, soar throughout the skies and reach the prize above!"
[He paces across the junkyard, his voice drowning out the rumbling from the background from whence the metallic peaks seem to be losing some of their spare parts!]
"You wanna know how the American Freebear earned his wings, Derrick?? He *WORKED* for the better part of his life, locked away behind a three-sided felt cage doing what needed to be done to support his living!! There I learned that working to live didn't necessarily mean that you were alive, that the only thing keeping a man caged was his own fears and that within every one of us... Are wings just waiting to be freed!!! Derrick; you know nothing of that! You never took a chance in your life! You complained to everyone whenever there was trouble! You suck! You make me sick!"
[A rumbling sounds off in the distance as DCWL crewmen wonder if there is one less pile of broken cars than there were before. The Freebear doesn't mind this one bit and continues on.]
"I am the American Freebear, the only bear that flies! They said that bears can't fly but here I am! They said I was making a huge mistake leaving my job to tour the world but here I am! They said there's no way a guy is earning a title on his first official match... BUT HERE - I - AM!!! Derrick Ford, you've been with DCWL since it's restart, but WHERE - ARE - YOU???? I'll tell you where you are; you're still at the same place you were at the time that you joined DCWL!!!"
"An automobile that don't do nothin' more then stay in place: what a disgrace!!!"
"You see all those crushed cars around here? You're joinin' 'em Ford! You're gonna end up stacked on high on these piles, another victim of a viscious flying bear attack from above! I'm the American Freebear, I'm out there to win the Dangerous Championship; and Lord knows I can't change!"
[Resounding thunder crashes from on high as the piles of cars start crumbling down one by one in majestic metallic avalanches, destruction caused by the power of the American Freebear! He cartwheels away as we fade out.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Fade in to a lush, green forest, just on the other side of a grassy field. A soft breeze blows through, the only sound we can hear. At the edge of the forest, we can see a rabbit stick its head into the air. A hop or two later and the white creature comes into full focus. The animal nibbles on a piece of grass nearby. It is happy. It is serene...]
*BANG*
[It is running for its life.]
*BANG*
[We lose sight of the rabbit. The last hop we see from the threatened creature takes it back to the lip of the forest, just out of camera's view.]
VOICE: Damn, I forgot how much fun this was!
[Into the shot steps Derrick L. Ford, dressed in camo and brandishing a shotgun. The last ever Platinum Champion and first ever Dangerous champion surveys the glade, newly returned to tranquility.]
FORD: I never did care for hunting small game, of course. As they say, bigger is better. It's just that, well, sometimes that's all there is. A rabbit here, a squirrel there. A Wolf here, a Jive or a Speedwagon there. After a while, it just gets, well, boring. So I didn't bring my A game against one of the most worthless pieces of DCWL trash since Crazy Pylon Man. He was content to let the clock run out. Once I figured that out, I lost respect for the man and when that happens...well, let's face it, it's no fun anymore.
[In the distance, we see the white rabbit hop into the woods.]
FORD: Yes, winning meant I'd either win or keep the Dangerous Championship, further cementing my legacy as the next great DCWL legend. But, really, if I beat Mario Speedwagon, does that mean ANYTHING? I mean, really, anything at all? With all the weak-ass challengers for the Dangerous title, I needed something else to better keep my focus. I needed...big game.
[A wicked smile.]
FORD: Thompson, Marsh, the great orangutan...I needed a challenge. I needed something to keep me wanting more, to keep me interested while I was wading through those nobodies. So when the Ford hating freak's title reign went all Murphy's law, I was happy to see that I'd be right in the thick of it again...against a great, big bear.
[Ford chuckles.]
FORD: So, American Freebear, that was a hell of a debut you had there. I mean, you looked alright there against some plodding big man for about two or three minutes. I'd talk about the rest of your match but, let's face it, dominating Da Ace Killas requires little more than a pulse. The fact that they looked competent for ANY stretch of time against you and the Big Stiff makes me doubt you have what it takes to hold any belt in this fed.
[Behind him, between two trees, we see a doe peek its head out.]
FORD: Still, you have some skills. That's more than I can say for seventy five percent of the roster. You've got that flippy piledriver which the crowd likes. And I hear you can fly. Well, Freebear, as a Lynyrd Skynyrd fan you might want to think about the implications of what happens when someone flies too much. Sometimes you soar...and sometimes, you crash. When we meet in the ring, when I finally get the big game I've been looking for, you will crash, and you will burn.
[The deer takes a step out of the forest.]
FORD: You will fall victim to the Gas Pump and be just another footnote...
*BANG*
[The deer falls on the spot.]
FORD: GOT 'EM!
[He turns back to the camera.]
FORD: ...another footnote in the ERA of DERRICK! L! FORD!
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[We open to a large light blue colored board room, a large oval oak desk sits in the middle of the room. On each side of the of the desk sits DreamLine Co-Owners, the siblings Marcus and Tammy Davis. Marcus is wearing grey suit, as Tammy is wearing a white woman's business suit. Their Front Office surrounds them, currently one of them is going over quarterly reports thus far.]
[Marcus looks intently at the speaker, nodding his head from time to time. After his recent introduction of the Code Of Honor in SPW, a lot is riding on his upcoming match against Mike Anderson who has been on a winning streak since he entered DCWL. This will be his first match in the United States since the last regime of Tri-State Wrestling tanked the company.]
[His elder sister Tammy has been on his case recently, not just wanting him to own a wrestling company in America, but to start wrestling in the states again so she can watch him. She has been busy with the day to day activities of DreamLine and overseeing her personal perfume and bath and body line called, "Exotic Passion." She has been spending a lot more time with Marcus lately, as he has received her aid in setting up SOW and getting the business aspect of things running.]
[The meeting seems to commence as everyone begins leaving despite the siblings, Marcus finishes writing something in a notebook, as Tammy speaks briefly with the male that was doing the speaking at the very end. Her face is non descript as she nods her head before he decides to walk off. Marcus closes his notebook as Tammy makes her way over to her younger brother.]
Marcus: Not a bad meeting today…
[Tammy crosses her arms as she sits on the desk beside Marcus.]
Tammy: Your mind is on your match with Anderson isn't it? Ever since you showed up with Futuro on Conquest…You've seemed…
[Tammy pauses looking for the right words.]
Marcus: Focused?
Tammy: Yeah, we can go with that…How did you find Futuro anyway?
[Marcus laughs slightly.]
Marcus: That's a story for another time Tammy, but you're right I have been thinking about this match with Anderson.
Tammy: Were you expecting him to answer your challenge?
[Marcus shakes his head.]
Marcus: Not at all, I've seen him wrestle before DCWL, I didn't think he was going to be ready for the step up in competition. He somehow pulled off a victory against Max Turbo, and now he wants to make an example by defeating me. I'll be the first to tell you that he is pretty talented…
Tammy: Doesn't seem like anything you haven't seen before.
Marcus: I wouldn't say all of that, he is a good technician, probably the best in DCWL. I know for a fact that I can match him on the ground. What bothers me the most about Anderson is how stereotypical he is, the typical young guy that sees someone that has accomplished more and decides to badmouth them rather than letting his skills do the talking…It's basically the reverse Pietka syndrome, where I'm going to do something, bring it up, and pretend that I don't think it should get me everything today.
[Tammy laughs.]
Tammy: Just make sure you don't over train, you're really good at that.
Marcus: I've been getting that under control, I'm more focused on wrestling than I ever have been. From this point forward I'm measuring my success on how many world championships I collect, it's time for me to become more intense in the ring and get what I deserve.
[Tammy puts her hand on his shoulder.]
Tammy: Don't get too far ahead of yourself, you have to first beat Mike Anderson.
[Marcus grins.]
Marcus: That's exactly what I have in mind to do, anyone as cocky as Mike Anderson needs to be knocked down back into reality. He has potential, I just feel he is going to let his attitude get in his way. Just like Dante Madison, you remember him?
[A disgusting look comes over Tammy's face.]
Tammy: How could I forget? He hit on me before your World Championship match with him, he's a tool…
[Marcus shrugs.]
Marcus: What do you expect when your family is like his? The point being, he felt he was owed everything and was the best thing ever. I haven't heard anything of him in over a year, Mike Anderson is made from the same cloth. Except Anderson is without any bit of heart, he's all talk.
Tammy: I think you're right, after a couple of victories he wants to declare himself the best wrestler on the planet…
[Marcus grins again.]
Marcus: Where _HAVEN'T_ I heard that. It's an old game, if he wants to get into my head he's actually going to have to prove himself. I don't have time to get into a verbal war, my body of work will be told in the ring. There's no way I can allow a guy like Mike Anderson to get in my way.
[Tammy shakes her head as Marcus stands up, a big smile comes over his face.]
Marcus: Trust me sis…This is the beginning of something big.
[He proceeds to mess up her hair before walking away.]
Tammy: HEY!
[Fades.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[We open to the smirking face of Mike Anderson. As the camera pans back, we see the brash youngster is decked out in a black pinstriped suit with a power orange tie. Looking like a business man, Mike Anderson smooth's his coat jacket as he stares into the camera.]
MA: 'The Dream' Marcus Davis... pfft.
[ Anderson stifles a chuckle]
Let me tell you Marcus, for the past couple of weeks not only have I been coming up with the perfect game plan to eliminate you from DCWL.. [smirks] but I have been doing my homework on you as well.
The way I figured it, a man who is bold enough to put a moniker like 'Dream' in front of his name, must be pretty successful. A man who walks around like some kind of big shot and expects respect [smirks] must have earned it. The man who put 'Dream' in front of his name must have won multi titles in some of the biggest and best federations around.
[Anderson scoffs]
MA: But the truth is Marcus, you haven't done any of that. I took a look into your part Marcus. I ran through tapes. I dug up your career and after all of that analyzing I came up with one summary Marcus, You my friend-
are nothing.
You are nothing but a moniker Marcus. You have no creditability. Your claims of being 'The Dream' has are empty as your trophy cabinet. You think because you flirted with a few big itme federations that it gives you the right to walk into my federation like osme kind of legend? What did you do in those big federations Marcus? With all the big fancy pyros and millions of fans watching your every move, tell me Marcus what did you do?
[ Anderson sneers]
NOTHING.
Soon as the competition got a little to heavy you tucked tail and ran. Soon as it was apparent you couldn't live up to your own self entitled moniker, you slipped off like the coward you are. Slithering your way back to a federation where you were 'The Dream'.
Well this is DCWL. This is Mike Anderson's kingdom. Here [points at chest] I rule. True, I may not have the DCWL title. But it is important to me Marcus, to get rid of scum like you first. You wanna brag that you come from SOW?
[shrugs]
Big deal. Nobody, myself mostly, gives a damn where you came from. You come walking in here like your some kind of legend but it's all a charade Davis . It's all smoke and mirrors because whether you like it or not, you're just not as important as you think you are.
[ Anderson unbuttons his suit jacket and adjusts the diamond crusted watch on his wrist. His ranting obviously is making his temperature rise.]
MA: How pathetic you must feel when you look in the mirror at yourself and know that you're a fraud. How cit must sicken you inside to know that you will never live up to the hype you've put upon yourself. Face it Davis , you're a mid level talent with a big fancy name. A guy living off a career of deception and lies. A curtain jerkin loser who clams of fame… are has hollow as his courage.
I'm prepared to show the World this at 'Death of a Ladies Man', Marcus. I will step into that ring and put your shoulders down for the one, two, three. I will dominate you in front of millions Davis . I will show the everyone that you are not a 'Dream', but a man who puts up a front to hide the necessary skills needed to become a legend.
You wanna see a legend Marcus? You're looking at one. What I say I'm going to do, I do it. My claims are justified. I told everyone I would destroy Max Turbo, and I did it. I told everyone Mike Anderson is a threat to all, and I'm proving it. So just like all the times before Marcus Davis, I will back up another bold claim. I will send you back to SOW with your tail between your legs. Mike Anderson will show everyone that you do not have the tools defeat me in the ring.
[smirks]
But more then that Marcus, I will prove that the day your pride clouded your judgement by accepting my challenge… was the day your 'Dream' became a very…
Very
Painful nightmare.
Get ready Marcus, for the punishment of a lifetime.
[FTB]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Scene opens to an exterior shot of an old run down gym in Akron, Ohio. It's late in the evening, and not a soul can be found. A dimly lit, hand painted sign reads "Benny's Gym" and a "OPEN" neon light flickers in a dirty window.]
[The scene then cuts to the inside of the gym. Two men are wrestling in a faded, run down wrestling ring. One of the men is Logan Braddock, better know as Sledge. The other, a young man, no older than twenty years old. The young is laying on his belly, face down in the mat. Sledge has a hold of his ankle, twisting it violently.]
SLEDGE: Better tap, son! Better tap before I snap it!
[The young man says nothing, too proud and too stubborn to submit.]
SLEDGE: Tap, man!
[Sledge twists even harder and the young man screams out in pain. Just then, an old man comes hobbling out of the shadows. He walks over and slams his fist on the apron.]
OLD MAN: Let him go Logan!
[Sledge ignores the man's request.]
OLD MAN: I said LET HIM GO!
[Sledge's shoulders slump in disappointment. He finally releases the hold. The young man rolls onto his back and glares at Sledge as he gets back to his feet.]
KID: What is with you man?
[He raises his arms and shoves Sledge in the chest. Sledge takes a few steps back and smirks at the kid.]
SLEDGE: You thought that was bad. You should have seen the crap that old man used to put me through when I was your age. The old bastard broke my arm one time juts to teach me a lesson. Ain't that right Benny?
[The young man just shakes his head , drops down, and rolls out of the ring. The old man pats him on the back as he walks past him. The old man looks back up at Sledge.]
BENNY: You, outta the ring.
[Sledge squats down, grabs the bottom rope and slides out of the ring. He grabs a towel, pats down his face and drapes it over his neck. He is standing right in front of the old man, smiling.]
SLEDGE: Why so grumpy Benny? Did I wake you from your nap?
BENNY: Nap? NAP??? It's one o'clock in the Goddamn morning! I was sleeping like every other normal person is right now!
[Sledge pats Benny on the shoulder.]
SLEDGE: Sorry Benny. I just need to get as much training in as I can before next week. I didn't mean to wake you up.
[Benny looks puzzled.]
BENNY: Next week? What's the rush? You haven't wrestled in months.
SLEDGE: Didn't you hear? I just signed with a new company, the DCWL. And I have my debut match next week. I wanted to get rid of some of the old ring rust. I need to look good out there.
BENNY: So you figured torturing some young kid would help?
SLEDGE: I came here just expecting to do some cardio, maybe some bag work. He was in here messing around, so I figured might was well…
BENNY: …snap his ankle???
SLEDGE: Alright Benny, I got it. I'll take it easy on the kid next time.
BENNY: Yeah, I've heard that one before.
[Sledge puts his arm over Benny's shoulders.]
SLEDGE: Come on Benny, you need to mellow out a bit Let's go grab a beer before the bar closes.
[Benny lets out a loud sigh.]
BENNY: Alright, let me go grab my coat.
[Sledge follows Benny back to his office. He wipes his face down one more time before pitching the towel onto a folding chair. As Benny slowly makes his way down the hall to his office, he glances over his shoulder.]
BENNY: So, when you wrestling?
SLEDGE: Next Wednesday, up in Canada.
BENNY: Who you facing?
SLEDGE: Alton West.
[Benny grunts.]
BENNY: Never heard of him.
SLEDGE: I don't know much about him either. I saw a few of his matches following the DCWL these last few months. I think I stand a pretty good chance. Just one thing has me off guard…
[Benny walks into his office, grabs his coat of the back of his chair, grabs his cane sitting by the door, closes the door behind him and locks it.]
BENNY: And what might that be?
SLEDGE: Well, sometimes Alton paints his face, spits mist and goes by the name 'The Great Atma'. And I think he really believes that no one realizes it's him. I mean, come on, the guy doesn't look one bit Asian. At least that's my take on it. And when a guy has a few screws loose like that, you never know what you might have to deal with in the ring.
[Benny hands his cane to Sledge, slides on his coat, and grabs his cane back from Sledge.]
BENNY: Don't worry about it kid, you'll be just fine. Remember I trained you, there ain't nothing in the ring you can't handle. You always find a way to come out on top.
[Benny gives him a reassuring pat on the back. Sledge let's out a little chuckle.]
BENNY: Now, let's go get that beer you're buying me.
[Sledge smiles as he walks down the hall beside Benny.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Fade into Ace Killas HQ which - for the uninitiated - is the living room of Ace Stevens' house. The homeowner himself is talking on his cell phone as the large Ert Williams and definitely-not-large-even-though-he-thinks-he-is Killa 187 walk in.]
Stevens: Yeah, that's right Curt! We need a third member of our team!
[Ace winks and nods at Ert and Killa.]
Stevens: So we have a deal? Great! I'm glad you've decided to be a part of the new te...
[Ace's phone starts ringing.]
Stevens: ... uh... team. Wow, you've really got the Hockey Night in Canada theme playing on in the background really loud.
[Ace starts yanking at his collar obviously trying to cover up the fact that he's not talking to anyone on the phone.]
Stevens: Um... NHL on TSN theme? It's still the Hockey Night in Canada theme as far as I'm concerned! Just for that, you're not going to be part of the revolution! Good bye!
[Ace "hangs up." In doing so he has actually answered the phone.]
Stevens: Pah! We don't need to help of Curt Olsen anyhow! It's not like we need money or anything.
[Ace is sweating. Ert and Killa look on, puzzled. Ace decides to answer the phone.]
Stevens: What? It's THAT MUCH overdue? Look, I'll get it to you. Stop being an asshole! Talk to you later, Mom.
*click*
Stevens: Alright, so...
Ert: CURT OLSEN IS JOINING THE TEAM??!?
[Stevens stares.]
Stevens: Um... yes! I landed Curt Olsen! But he had to back out for a job with the NHL on TSN.
Ert: Is he going to call the games?
Stevens: Uh.... yes?
Ert: But I love Gord Miller! Olsen is going to PAY!
Stevens: Look, Olsen isn't really...
[Ert leans in on Ace, shaking his fist.]
Ert: Going... to... PAY!
Stevens: Yeah, have fun with a broken ankle if you try to fight him.
Ert: Sha-BAM!
Stevens: Alright, boys have a seat.
Ert: Go ahead, Killa.
Killa: WORD!
[Killa moves in to have a seat on the couch.]
Ert: I'M SITTING THERE!
*CRASH!*
[Ert has broken a lamp over Killa's head, knocking him out. He lifts Killa out of the couch and throws him to the floor. Ert sits down.]
Ert: *ahem* Continue.
Stevens: Well, I have some bad news. Blobbin and Kevin have both been fired.
Ert: You mean Kevin was cu...
Stevens: NO! He was not "cut," he was fired. Outright. The joke has run its course. Oh, by the way, meet their replacement.
[Ace gestures behind him where there's a blond-haired man wearing a suit and a headset.]
Holland: HELLO EVERYONE AND WELCOME TO DA ACE KILLAS HQ!!! I'm Chris Holland and joining me is Mr. Ace Stevens..
Stevens: I hired Chris full-time. He's going to provide play-by-play when needed and overreact to things. Well, for the next couple of weeks until I get tired of it.
Ert: Hey.
Holland: WE'VE GOT AN AMAZING SHOW FOR...
Stevens: Alright, alright... simmer down.
Ert: What about Mark?
Stevens: I wasn't even paying him any more. Doesn't need it, anyway. He's collecting royalties for the DCWL titling their official news update "DCWL NEWZ~!" So he'll still be around.
Ert: And Deadman? And Jive Pawnbroker?
Stevens: Well, they've both been misguidingly "reinventing themselves." Tell me, are they more entertaining now?
Ert: No.
Stevens: Of course not! What's with this trend of everyone getting so serious? Look, I was willing to deal with Jive Pawnbroker "ain't havin' no time to do no comedy" but Pansac? Come on! You add a shrill woman who does nothing but scream all the time and a fat guy who dry heaves and you have "Left 3 Dead!"
[Ace looks at the camera as an aside.]
Stevens: By the way, feel free to use that one DCWL. Trust me, the peak of Joe's life was getting a chance to yell "BRAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINS!!!!"
[Killa pulls himself up from the floor.]
Killa: Yo, the bartenda foo?
Stevens: James? Well, I haven't even seen him lately, but that's not important. What's important is we have to find a third person for the team in order to enter the DCWL as a trio, and since Curt won't talk to me and Sam Smith responded to my blackmail attempt by eating the evidence, we're stuck. I actually have an applicant coming in today. Sent me a text message. Should be here soon.
*KNOCK KNOCK... KNOCK*
Stevens: Oh! How about that? Come in! Door's open!
[Ace's front door flies open and in walks a monster of a man, slightly hunched wearing ragged clothes and carrying a ladder.]
Mangler: Hello... Face... it's good to see you... again.
Chris Holland: OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! IT'S THE MANGLER!!! THE MANGLER IS HERE IN ACE KILLAS HQ!!!!!
Stevens: The MANGLER? Wow! This is even better than I hoped!
[Ert nudges Ace.]
Ert: *psst...* When did Bane grow hair?
Stevens: *whispering* It's a long story.
Mangler: I was looking through… this National Enquirer… because it pays to keep up with the… news and not listen to any of those… fake stations… and I noticed you were looking for a third… person for your Trios team here… in the Rewritable… CD… WL…
Stevens: Well, if you're still in shape I'm willing to hire you on the spot!
Mangler: Sorry… Face… but it's not me…
Stevens: Then who is it? (instantly) Oh crap, it's the ladder.
Mangler: Before you pass… judgement… let me tell you that I completely… stand behind this ladder… you are looking… at some of the best stamina… and ability to withstand any type of punishment… that gets thrown at it… and while it might lack some offense… when he does hit… he hits like a… stop sign…
Stevens: Well, Ladder # 7 IS a former tag team champion...
Mangler: I'm sorry… Face… but we have another misunderstanding… my wife is retired… just like me… (whispering quite loudly into Ace's ear so that everyone can hear) This is my… deadbeat brother in law… and he's been crashing on the couch for the last… year after George kicked him out of the house… my wife wants me to help him find a job… (stops whispering and speaks very loudly, so that the ladder can hear him again) BUT I PROMISE YOU… THAT LADDER #27 WOULD… BE A GREAT ADDITION TO… YOUR TEAM… HE WORKS VERY HARD AND IS VERY STURDY IN… THE RING…
Stevens: Well.... I GUESS we could give it a shot. Ert, take a closer look.
[Ert gets up and examines the ladder. He lifts it up, looking closely.]
*SMASH!*
[... and waylays Killa in the head with it.]
Ert: Hmm... could work!
*SLAM!*
[The door flies open again. Standing there is a man with ratty hair and a messy beard, wearing overalls and no shoes]
Chris Holland: SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP!!!! IT'S THAT HARDCORE WRESTLER FROM "THE WRESTLER!!!!"
Stevens: No it isn't, you idiot. He's way too small and his facial features are.... wait a minute.
[Ace takes a closer look.]
Stevens: JAMES?
[James jumps forward, holding up his fist which is wrapped in barbed wire. Barbed wire that appears to be fake.]
James: YOU TRIED TO LOCK THE BAR! BUT NOW I'M FREE TO RAISE HELL IN THE DCWL! DA ACE KILLAS AIN'T GONNA BE THE SAME!!!
Stevens: Oh no. You're applying for the third spot, James?
James: It ain't James! It's the "Necro Bartender."
[Ace, Ert and Mangler - hell, even the ladder - raise an eyebrow.]
Stevens: Right.
James: I dish out DEATH!
Stevens: Sure you do. Well, is this it? Do we have to choose between a ladder and a psychotic bartender who's probably just on a caffeine high right now?
James: NyaHAAAAAva.
[Ert raises his hand.]
Ert: I vote ladder!
Stevens: Yes, it does make an excellent weapon and it does have a championship pedigree - technically. Unfortunately, you'll just use it to knock out Killa before every match. While I can see the benefit, Killa did actually have the gall to display something along the lines of "talent" in that match which is most disconcerting. Still, once James puts down the Red Bull I'm going to have to lean in favour of the Ladder.
Mangler: Thank you Face… my wife and I really appreciate… and so does my brother in law… Ladder #27… Don't you Laddy?...
Ladder #27:………
Mangler: Well… if that is all… I will be taking off so you can… start working on… some teamwork… so bye bye…
[Suddenly a loud voice interrupts everyone seemingly coming from nowhere but filling up the room.]
Voice: By the Power of Greyskull! I have the power!! By the power of Greyskull! I have the power!! By the power of Greyskull! I have the power!!
[The two phrases keep repeating while all of the men look around at each other not really sure what's going on. Finally The Mangler speaks up.]
Mangler: Is that mine?... I'm sorry… but I always think that it… might be someone else's… phone… I don't get too many calls… Hold on please…
[With that, the Mangler whips a cell phone out of his pocket and starts talking.]
Mangler: Hello… oh yes… how are you… great thanks… what is that… really?... that's wonderful news… my wife will love it… she was worried about the dangers of her past… profession… and didn't want… her little brother to get hurt… What?... oh yeah… he can start as soon as you need him… I'll let him… know… thanks again… bye…
[The Mangler closes the phone and shoves it in his pocket. He turns back towards the other men.]
Mangler: I'm sorry… to get your hopes up but it looks… like another job came through… for Ladder #27… he's going to be working for… the NHL… on TSN… and they need him so they can try to examine… what's on top of Bob McKenzie's head… apparently they're not too sure what's up there… and my wife would prefer a safer… job… because as you know… wrestling doesn't have the… best benefits involved… they're especially difficult… when it comes to dental care… and my wife really wants to make sure that… Ladder #27… DOESN'T FEEL PAIN!!!...
[The Mangler stops talking and looks around at the other men. They just stare back at him in return.]
Mangler: Ok… Thanks again… bye bye for now…
Stevens: Well, then James it is. Ert, go order some more Red Bull.
Ert: Red Rain's cheaper!
Stevens: Great idea! Sorry you couldn't be part of the team, Mangler... and congrats to your... brother in law.
Mangler: You're... welcome.
[Mangler grabs the ladder and turns around to leave.]
Stevens: By the way, how can you tell the difference between male ladders and female ladders?
[Mangler turns his head back around.]
Mangler: Male ladders... like... pussy.
[End.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Fade into a club setting. The lights are dim. Strobe lights cut through the generated fog, occasionally shining on the streamers and plastic jack-o-lanterns strewn throughout the bar. Yes, it's a Halloween party, and everyone came in costume. A couple in a plug and socket combo dance to the quick techno beat, while a nurse, Dorothy, a sailor and Wednesday Addams are all practically humping Michael Jackson.
Seriously, I just wrote that sentence. Halloween is awesome.
Through the low lights, we see that this Michael Jackson is wearing the Jheri Curl wig and the red "Thriller" suit.]
"MICHAEL": Alright, ladies, one at a time. Yeah, that's right.
["Michael" is clearly enjoying himself to the fullest. Unfortunately for him, a decidedly feminine hand pushes through the crowd and lands on his shoulder.]
"MICHAEL": Can't wait to get some of...
*THWACK*
VOICE: YOU ASSHOLE!
DOROTHY: You prick! You were cheating on your girlfriend?!
WEDNESDAY: Ugh, maybe that surgeon is still around somewhere. I can't believe I wasted my time on a loser like you.
[The circle disburses. We close in on the scene, to find that "Michael" is, of course, "Something Better" Wolf Masterson. He turns to face his assailant, who wears a long white robe and golden sandals.]
WOLF: Look what you did! Those honeys were all up on...
*THWACK*
[The second slap leaves no doubt who the other woman is, despite the obviously different makeup and the brown wig.]
EYRE: You were supposed to be getting us drinks, damnit! Can you not think with your dick for FIVE SECONDS? God, I TOLD Joe this was a bad idea.
WOLF: Hey, relax. It's not like we're taking the Samoans lightly or anything. The three of us have been busting our asses. I'm just glad we were able to get out of the ring for a little.
[The sailor passes again, shooting Wolf a disdainful look that doesn't go unnoticed.]
WOLF: And would you stop crowding me so much? I can't get any tail if everyone thinks we're together.
[He braces himself for yet another impact, but The Vamp settles for a cold stare and dripping sarcasm.]
EYRE: And just how do you plan on wrestling once you've contracted syphilis? Face it, I'm doing you a favor. And I'd hope anyone here realizes I wouldn't be caught dead with you.
VOICE: Aww, lighten up Mina.
[In through the crowd steps the immediately recognizable Joe Pansac. He's come to the costume party in his old zombie gear, complete with flour and a toy brain.]
PANSAC: Don't insult dead guys like me by comparing it to you and Wolfie there.
WOLF: Dude, seriously, stop calling me Wolfie.
[Pansac only smiles.]
WOLF: It's like you two exist solely for the purpose of keeping me from getting laid.
[Over the din of the crowd we hear the music stop as the DJ takes the mic.]
DJ: IS EVERYONE HAVING A GOOD TIME?
[Crowd screams in general agreement. Joe joins them with a full throated bellow, though the other two remain silent.]
DJ: HERE'S AN OLD SCHOOL HALLOWEEN TREAT!
[With that, "Monster Mash" kicks up over the speakers.]
PANSAC: I LOVE this song!
[The Deadman immediately breaks out into the stiffest, jerkiest, nerdiest version of the twist ever attempted. Arms bent at the elbows with fists in the air, biting his lower lip, just the most awkward dance in the history of awkward dances. Naturally, it's so dorky that a mermaid and a policewoman immediately flock to him and begin imitating the dance. Mina's whooping and applauding, but Wolf Masterson looks as though he's a heartbeat away from the fetal position.]
WOLF: This is awful.
[The song plays on, as Mina tries to get Wolf to join in the dorky dance. He rebuffs her efforts as we fade out.]
*****************************************************************************************************
[Fade into the outside of the nightclub. Horrorshow comes out onto the street together, though Wolf appears a step behind. Mina and Joe are singing at the top of their lungs.
EYRE: THEY PLAYED THE MASH!
PANSAC: THEY PLAYED THE MONSTER MASH!
[Finishing out their chorus, they breakout laughing. Wolf is trying to catch them a cab, but the road appears empty.]
PANSAC: What's the matter, Wolfie? I thought you liked the nightlife.
WOLF: Yeah, well, I like going out to bars where I don't need to cower in a corner out of embarrassment, but that's just the way things go sometimes.
[Joe puts an arm around the smaller Masterson.]
PANSAC: So you're saying that you don't like it when people goof off with something you take seriously?
[Wolf realizes a second too late where this whole conversation was going.]
WOLF: Aww, come on man, I've been giving you everything I've got.
PANSAC: Have you really? I think we're only seeing the start of how good you can be, but until you can focus on just the wrestling bit you'll never be that good.
WOLF: What do you want me to do?! You want me to decaptitate that big lug Offramp? You want me to do to Ozzie what Unique Element did to Moses? What?! The Samoans might be the best trio in the DCWL, even with Gabrielle Rio Paah. I wouldn't bring anything less than my A-game for them.
PANSAC: That's just what I wanted to hear. C'mon we'll get a cab.
[With this, we fade out.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[The scene opens with the final moments of Corella vs. Thompson at "Overdrawn at the Memory Bank". The two men were battered, dripping with sweat. Corella had a bleeding split on his forehead, and Maurice sported a split lip and a bloodied nose. The Native had just been power bombed, and Corella was crouched low in the corner, stamping his foot as if willing his opponent to rise, and rise he did. In seconds, Corella crossed the length of the ring with a mighty roar, scooping Maurice up and slamming him with a brutal Lion Slam. On impact, he hooked the leg and three seconds later, he stood up in victory, intensity burning in his eyes as he stared into the camera, the ref holding his hand in the air. Corella's voice sounded out over the mixed reaction of the crowd...]
Voice- ....Here's your Winner... Leon Corella....
[...The scene then erodes to nothingness. From the black, we find Corella now decked out in a charcoal suit, with a yellow silk shirt, black italian loafers, that diamond studded platinum Rolex, the family signet ring, a college championship ring, and a platinum wedding band on his right hand. He is seated upon a simple brown leather chair, a back lit DCWL Green and Black Banner behind him. His expression, however, was rather solemn.]
Corella- ...Maurice... I took everything you had to offer, and in the end, I proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that you could not beat me.
[He leans back in that chair, propping his elbows on the arms and interlocking his fingers together.]
...I took the Vision Quest not once... but TWICE... and got right back up on my feet. The Natives Unite did not pacify Leon Corella. The Tomahawk Chop only succeeded in parting my hair, and not the seams of my skull. It was quite a gamble I was taking, letting you run rough shod on me, and despite all that, nothing you did could keep me down.
[...That expression seemed to show no sign of pleasure or delight. In fact, he actually seemed a little bored...]
...Yet every impact I made on you, Every blow, drop, and slam... You felt. In fact, watching the replay has me even less impressed with you, for you kept hitting me... and hitting me... and hitting me... and despite that, I put you down with only a fraction of my arsenal. You weren't even defeated by my strongest move, Native.
[...He sighed softly, shaking his head in disappointment...]
....and now you will watch as I march on to the Grand Championship, and I hope you shed a tear as you watch me achieve that which you could not....
[...Corella's gaze then narrowed, anger spreading across his face...]
...I want to express something that really bothered me with your last War of the Words outing. You said a little something about me making excuses. Let me tell you something about the name, Corella, Kid....
[...He leans forward slightly, relaxing his hands slightly...]
...My great grandfather was a wrestling legend back in the 1930's through the early 50's. "The Praetorian" Leone' Corella. Even in his 80's, he was able to make men younger and stronger than you or I scream in agony with almost no effort...
[...A brief pause...]
...Then there was my Grandfather, another legendary figure who wrestled from the late 50's all the way until the early 70's, "Il Soldat" Lucius Corella. People feared "Il Soldat" and like his father before him, he was good at twisting people into human pretzels and making them scream, putting them through a hellish nightmare unlike anything you have ever imagined. He trained both myself and my father, and is still alive and kicking to this day. Grandpa' Lucius runs his own school at the basement of my home in Providence, called "The Lion's Den" and believe me, Maurice, if you walked into his Den, right now, you would not last long against him.
[...His jaw sets...]
....Then came my father, who was the biggest name in the 80's, Larson "The Lion" Corella. He held so many championships across countless promotions, and was easily one of the more heroic and storied figures of his time. The only thing that could stop him, was an 18 wheeler plowing into his car...
[...Leon's head lowers slightly in solemn reverence, before lifting back up to the camera...]
....I come from championship stock, and I make absolutely no excuses for my failings, Maurice. My word is my bond, and my skills and abilities are without question. What happened at Overdrawn, was my choice. The first thing out of my mouth was "Hit me with your Best Shot, Kid." and you did just that. The only problem you had was that your best wasn't good enough and now you'll be the one making excuses. It'll be YOU, blaming everyone but yourself for your failure.
[...Corella scoffed at the camera...]
....Call it a fluke. Call it dumb luck. It doesn't matter for In the end, I proved my point, my way, and you're at the back of the line now for the championship. I handed you opportunity after opportunity to put me away, and you failed each and every time.
[...the briefest of pauses...]
Now onto my next step ....Julian Beckson.... You and I have business to discuss. The DCWL Grand Championship. You have it. I want it.
[...Corella rose from his chair, the camera rising with him and moving in for a bit of a close up...]
...Mr. Beckson, I have even less respect for you, than I have for the man I just addressed in this promo. You, who preach hate for the sake of hate. You think you are part of the Master Race? An Aryan God perhaps?
[...A wicked, wolf-like grin spread itself across his face...]
...Let me tell you something about who is God in wrestling, Beckson. God is the man standing in front of this camera. I am the lord of my domain when I step into that ring. I know all the holds. I know all the escapes. I have countless ways to beat any opponent standing before me. In wrestling, he who is God, is the man who is better than you, and I am most certainly better than you, Julian "Bane" Beckson.
[...Corella rubbed his palms together in circular motions, that smile fading into a scowl...]
You are not worthy of the prestige now resting around your waist, and It will be proven, Either by me at the Tri-pokalypse, or by one of the winners of the fatal fourway coming up at Death of a Ladies Man.
[...Slowly his hands lower, and Leon hunkers down, his demeanor imposing, even threatening...]
...and I promise you, that if you do face me, you will leave the arena in disgrace on a stretcher, and that championship belt will be left where it rightly belongs...
[...His hands raise up to his hips, running back and forth over his abdomen, as if stroking an invisible championship belt...]
...Around my waist. The DCWL Grand Championship will be mine, Beckson. Oh yes, it will be mine....
[...Corella slips a thumb in his waistline, visibly relaxing his posture a bit as he moves on to the next bit of business...]
...Until then, I have some steaks to cut, riddled with a disease called Mad Cow.
Cow, I am coming for you at Death of a Ladies Man. It doesn't matter if you wear a cow suit, or if you're wearing regulation ring gear...
[...He tilts his head to one side ever so slightly...]
...I take any and all challenges that come my way, and I see through your facade. I see a serious mind beneath that stupid outfit and limited vocabulary. You don't fool Leon Corella.
[...A smirk spreads across his face...]
...Just as the Great Atma didn't fool me as to his true identity. I won't name names, but I will give you this one hint. I have already beaten him, twice.
[...The smirk vanishes with a brief pause in his speech...]
It's an act, designed to throw your opponent off center, and to take you with the least amount of seriousness as possible. That is your only weapon...
[...Corella holds a finger up in front of the camera, as if a form of punctuation, then lets it drop...]
...A weapon that is clever, but only against the naive and inexperienced wrestler. I will show you, November 4th, in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada, that you need more than gimmicks and a deranged mind to be championship material...
[...He then steps right up to the camera, getting almost face to face with it...]
...You need heart, determination, and the will to be greater than yourself. I have that heart, I have that determination, and I have the will. Do you, Mad Cow?
[...Corella remains there, staring intently forward as the camera zooms in on those intense, pale blue eyes. One could almost imagine fire dancing within the darkened recesses of his retina, but it could have been just glare from an off camera light source...]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
(Darkness.)
(Scene opens up to a hallway of similar stature of the one we have seen Julian Beckson in, in previous episodes of War of the Words. However, while the doors are still run down, this hallway is much better lit and the walls seem to freshly painted with a sky blue color.)
(It appears for the better lighting of this hallway is the presence of the front doors to the apartment building that allows in a generous amount of sunlight. This allows us to see the small brass mailboxes and single payphone that align the wall in a black and white tiled front entranceway. In this entranceway we also see the cracked and broken steps that lead up to the apartments on the higher floors. One must wonder how safe these steps are and if they truly can support Julian Beckson's weight. Someone's weight they can support is Bane's young fan Jerome whom is sitting on the steps wearing a dirty white t-shirt and blue jeans. We can only wonder what Jerome thinks of Bane now after what Bane did to Jerome's mother.)
(Jerome is looking down at the floor minding his own business when we hear the whoosh of the glass front door opening to the apartment building. Jerome looks up and gets wide eyed as he quickly gets to his feet and backs up the steps a few paces. We can already assume it is Julian Beckson before the camera pans to look at him.)
(The large man has entered the building wearing a grey sweat suit that is greatly stained with Julian's perspiration and stench. The hood of the sweatshirt is down so we can see the sweat roll down Beckson's bald head and onto his reddened face. It is apparent that Julian is back from another workout of some sorts in the city of Cincinnati. Despite Julian's size and the condition of the tile floor, he is almost silent as he walks across the entranceway, bypassing the mailboxes and going straight to the payphone. He doesn't give young Jerome a first glace as he passes the steps but this could be because Jerome has backed up enough to be hiding around the corner at the second level just peaking out enough so that he can see what's going on.)
(Julian reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a quarter. He deposits it into the coin slot on the payphone while he picks up the phone in his other large hand. Julian then quickly dials a number, too fast for us to make out what it is and places the phone against his ear. We hear the other line ring a couple of times before it clicks to life and a muffled female voice speaks on the other end. While we can't hear her clearly, we can assume that she answers the phone like most normal human beings with a simple "Hello?")
Bane:
Hi Angel.
(Silence on the other end.)
Bane:
Angel, are you there? I know you told me to never call you again but I have some great news.
(The female voice on the other end says something that we can't make out but whatever it was, it didn't sound very happy.)
Bane:
No, baby, this is really good. I don't know if you've been keeping up with wrestling at all like you used to?...
(There is quick answer from the other end that causes the excitement in Julian's voice to increase a little.)
Bane:
You have? That's wonderful! So did you know I got a job finally with the DCWL?
(Another quick response.)
Bane:
Great! Well at Plunderland, their first megashow about a month ago, I finally did it baby. I won the Grand Championship! It's the top title in the league. I finally showed everyone that I am everything I claim to be. And I showed those fucking Jew owners of all of the other leagues I've been in that they let a great man get away from them.
(An angry response from the other side which causes Julian's mood to drop slightly.)
Bane:
I'm sorry Angel. I know you hate it when I talk like that. But I figured you would finally see that there's truth in what I say. Those bastards WERE keeping me down and the fact that I won the title here is very much proof of that. At some point, you're going to have to start acknowledging that I'm right about those people and what they did to me. And you!
(Again, an angry response from the other side and we can hear the rage start to build in Julian's voice.)
Bane:
What do you mean they didn't do anything to you? They cast you off like a cheap whore after I left the promotion. They could have let you keep your job so our money problems wouldn't have gotten so bad. That's the reason why you left me, right? Because I couldn't take you out anymore and I couldn't afford the things that you deserve.
(There is an answer from the other end.)
Bane:
It wasn't about the money? Then what was it?
(The voice on the other end increases in volume, yelling at Julian Beckson. But it is still a short answer. And it causes Julian to lose any composure that he still had.)
Bane:
You left me because I'm a racist, huh? Well at least I'm not lying to myself and to others and I can see with my two eyes what's going on in this world. All of these niggers and spics invading the cities, starting gangs, and killing random people all while the Jews run the media and make money off of their law breaking ways. If we sent everyone back to where they originally were from, this country's crime rate and poverty would drastically decline and I wouldn't have had to work at Burger King for two years just trying to make enough money to survive. It's because of them that I was ever even in that predicament but I finally reapplied myself and am doing something about it. I'm not going to let them keep their foot on my face anymore while I climb up the ladder! I'll grab them by the ankles and fling them back down to Hell where they belong!
(There is a click on the other end of the phone.)
Bane:
Angel? Angel! FUCK!!
(Julian slams the phone back in its cradle and puts his hand against the wall, leaning against it as he takes some deep breaths. Jerome has ventured down the stairs a little so he can see Bane, but he still remains hidden on the steps around the corner. Once Beckson has mostly regained his composure, he once again lifts the phone from its cradle and places it against his ear. This time, we catch the number he dials, mostly because it is a single digit. Julian has pressed zero for the operator. After a few seconds, we hear the voice on the other end.)
Bane:
I'd like to place a collect call.
(There is some more talking on the other end and once it stops, Julian quickly dials another number. After a few rings, we hear a man on the other end speak into the phone. The operator responds with a few words and then its Julian's turn.)
Bane:
Bane… I mean Julian.
(Again the operator chirps to like and the man on the other end respond's in return. After a few seconds, the operator drops off the phone and Julian speaks once more.)
Bane:
Hi Dad, how are you doing?
(A longer response from the other end than Julian received from his previous conversation with Angel. Obviously, Julian's father is a lot more patient with his son than most other people.)
Bane:
That's good to hear.
(Julian's Dad continues to talk a little while longer until finally Julian catches a break and is able to speak again.)
Bane:
Yeah, Dad, I did finally do it. I'm glad I could make you proud for what I accomplished. I've been working a long time for that and I finally got what I deserved. Finally people are starting to realize that I AM as good as I've always said I was.
(Julian's father speaks again, but this time not in the length as he did last time.)
Bane:
My first title defense is going to be at the next show. It's called Death of a Ladies Man. It's kind of like they're giving me a mystery opponent again, which you know how I feel about already, but it's not as bad as usual. There's a 4 way match earlier in the night to see who gets to face me so I'll be facing a worn down, lesser opponent. Now that's the way you treat a champion.
(Julian's Dad asks another quick question.)
Bane:
Yes, I do know who those four competitors are. It's going to be Brian Irwin, Max Turbo, Porno Anderson, and B.A. Jive.
(Julian's Dad says something else into the phone.)
Bane:
Good competition? You think that's good competition? Let's look at this good competition that you think is in the ring fighting for a chance to compete against me. First we have B.A. Jive. The only reason why he even has a win here in the DCWL is because of a referee's fast count to screw Derrick Ford out of the Affirmative Action Championship. That jungle bunny has no place in the ring with Derrick Ford, let alone me, but once again he skates into a match not based on his talents in the ring but by the color of his skin. It reminds me of the firestation that was sued by some niggers because those fucks couldn't pass the firefighter exam. And they won! Tell me, do you want some nigger who isn't qualified for the job trying to pull your ass out of a burning building and dropping you three stories down to your death or do you want a qualified white man saving your life? This is the exact same thing. Jive gets a chance to fight me for my belt when he hasn't proven anything while someone like Derrick Ford gets regulated to vomit clean up. I know the world would much rather watch a competitive Bane/Ford match than a slaughter of someone like Jive because once I destroy someone like Jive, the fear of me being right takes center stage in their head. As long as that match never happens, then they don't have to worry.
Then there's Max Turbo. What the fuck is he about? It's like the Japanese can't see clearly through their squinty, slanted eyes so they just create really fucked up things. Is Max Turbo the next step after Pokémon and the Dragon Balls? And again, even though he has proven nothing in this fed, he also got a shot at the Affirmative Action belt. In his very first match over here, none the less! Perhaps we should've dropped a few more atomic bombs on them over the years. It's not like they would have been able to see them coming. That way, we could have wiped them out and not ever had to deal with their strange ass shit that they send throughout the world. I swear that they're trying to mind fuck our kids so that they can brainwash them easier. And Max Turbo is over here to do just that. Well, if he happens to win the 4 way, I can't wait to destroy him in the ring so we won't ever have to see him again. I won't let him seduce our kids and then he can get an appropriate job for him, like working in a Chinese restaurant or doing women's nails.
And speaking of seduction, we can move onto Porno Anderson. That fag who's probably slept with both BA Jive and Max Turbo, among others. I'm actually really concerned that he might win the match. There is no doubt in my mind that he has that fag disease, AIDS. You know there's a good chance that I will bust him wide open during the match and if I have a cut anywhere on my body, I could contract it. I shouldn't have to put myself in that kind of danger because he chooses to live an immoral and dirty life. They don't allow fags into the army, why would they allow them into our business? Porno probably has some cameras set up in the showers to take video's of the rest of us while we clean up after our matches. I swear to God if there's ever a nude video of me put online, I will sue that fucking fag for all he's worth. He probably keeps the videos all for himself though so he can whack off to our images. God, it's making me want to puke just thinking about it. The rest of the locker room would probably thank me if I ended Porno's career.
And finally, there's Brian Irwin. I actually feel sorry for that old man. He's been trying to prove himself against me since I've joined the DCWL. And what does he have to show for it? A protégé whose career has probably ended even before it began. At my hands even. I'm sure the sense of guilt is overwhelming Brian Irwin now and he feels like he must make it up to Kid Way Cool. I really hope that he opens his eyes soon and realizes what he is doing. Brian Irwin has had a great career, one to be proud of. There's no need for him to think he has to prove himself against me or to get revenge. He should step away and stick to fighting for the Affirmative Action belt. That way, he could restore glory to that belt instead of it continuing to be the joke it has become. And he will also be able to keep whatever dignity he has left, instead of continuously being humiliated by me.
Now I bet you that all four of those wrestlers combined don't have as many wins as me since the DCWL has opened back up. Why any of them deserve a shot at my belt is beyond me but…
(The voice on the other end is tired of being silent and speaks up.)
Bane:
What?
(Again, Julian's father says something.)
Bane:
Why are you quoting Spiderman to me, Dad? With great power comes great responsibility. What are you getting at?
(Julian's father answers him.)
Bane:
A role model? You think kids will start looking up to me while I hold this belt? You think I should be someone that they should strive to be?
(Julian's dad responds with a quick 'yes', that much we can make out.)
Bane:
Well, Dad, I must say that I agree with you. Good thing I am already someone that they can look up to. If kids listen to me and follow my words, then they will know exactly what's wrong with this country and how they can change it. They won't have to deal with the same people that we have to deal with. They'll be able to live their lives proud of who they are and know that they are the greatest people in the world…
(Julian's Dad says something else across the phone lines.)
Bane:
No, Dad, my mind has never been clearer. My purpose has never been so complete. I need to hold onto this belt so that our race's children has someone to look up to as a leader. Someone that they can admire. Some to be their hero.
But you know what, Dad? It isn't easy to be a hero. We heroes also need to train to remain on top. And I was wondering if I could…
(Julian's father interrupts him before he can finish.)
Bane:
Yeah, Dad, I figured that would be your answer. Those niggers there have gotten to you and have made you ashamed of your own son…
(Julian's father interrupts him again. But this time, we can hear him loud and clear from the other side of the phone.)
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
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