888888ba 88888888b 888888ba 888888ba 88 `8b 88 88 `8b 88 `8b 88 88 a88aaaa a88aaaa8P' a88aaaa8P' 88 88 88 88 `8b. 88 88 .8P 88 88 88 88 8888888P 88888888P dP dP dP ...PROUDLY PRESENTS... @@@@@@@@ @@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@ @@@@@@@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@@ @@@ @@@@ @@@ @@@@@@@@@ @@! @@! !@@ @@! @@@ @@! @@! @@!@!@@@ !@@ !@! !@! !@! !@! @!@ !@! !@! !@!!@!@! !@! @!!!:! !!@ !@! @!@!@ @!@!@!@! @!! !!@ @!@ !!@! !@! @!@!@ !!!!!: !!! !!! !!@!! !!!@!!!! !!! !!! !@! !!! !!! !!@!! !!: !!: :!! !!: !!: !!! !!: !!: !!: !!! :!! !!: :!: :!: :!: !:: :!: !:! :!: :!: :!: !:! :!: !:: :: :: ::: :::: :: ::: :: :: :: :: ::: :::: : : :: :: : : : : : : :: : :: :: : @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@ @@@@@@@ @@@@@@@ @@@@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@@@ @@@ @@! @@! @@! @@! @@@ @@! @@@ @@! @@@ !@@ @@! !@! !@! !@! !@! @!@ !@! @!@ !@! @!@ !@! !@ @!! !!@ @!@ @!@ !@! @!@!!@! @!@ !@! !!@@!! @!@ !@! !!! !@! !@! !!! !!@!@! !@! !!! !!@!!! !!! !!: !!: !!: !!: !!! !!: :!! !!: !!! !:! :!: :!: :!: :!: !:! :!: !:! :!: !:! !:! :!: :::: :: ::: ::::: :: :: ::: :::: :: :::: :: :: :: : : : : : : : : : :: : : :: : : ::: APPEARING IN THIS ISSUE: 1 - Bateman #1 2 - Josh Manning 3 - Tripp Skylark -- SCWE TELEVSION CHAMPION 4 - Bullzeye 5 - Satan's Pride -- SPW TAG TEAM SHOWCASE REPRESENTIVE 6 - Donovan O'Reily 7 - "All Action" Denny Latimer 8 - The Renegades -- PVW TAG TEAM SHOWCASE REPRESENTIVE 9 - "The Toyko Bad Boy" Ikuto Nagashima 10 - Cow and Chicken -- DERP STEEL CITY TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS 11 - "King of the Cruiserweights" Twinkletoes Twilliger 12 - Joshua Black 13 - Bateman #2 14 - "the RegiSTARed One" Frank Wilkes 15 - Nerd Power Collective "The Trashman" Tyrone Heat Marime the Mischevious Ric Beauty Scott Bailey ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 1 - BATEMAN #1 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ Bateman was sitting in a bar style stool next to the island in his kitchen, he was tying his shoe strings. Dressed in his normal black track suit with two white stripes down the sleeves and legs, Bateman had a sleeveless hoodie on under the track jacket and the hood is pulled up to help cover his face This had been a good week for Bateman. Fletcher, his butler and manager, had been on vacation, thus Bateman had a week of silence to work out and just wait. And it seemed like he didn't wait long at all to hear back from DERP. He was really happy they had offered his a contract and he was going to be making his debut soon. Years of anger and training were about to get cut loose and he was growing more and more excited. Bateman looked up threw a door on the opposite side of the room and down a hallway to see the garage door open. "All good things must come to an end" he thought to himself. In walked Fletcher, he was pulling his suit case and carrying a medium size box. Fletcher was wearing a suit like normal, but it was easy to see he had been on a beach from the dark tan he was also wearing. He walked over, put the box down on the island next to Bateman, and then opened the refrigerator. "Really boss? Not even half the food I made before I left is gone. What the hell have you been eating while I was gone?" Bateman pulled his hood up a little so he could make eye contact with Fletcher and with a sarcastic tone, "Don't worry mom, I didn't starve while you were gone. Just because I let you cook all the time doesn't mean I can't do it myself. Plus I think some of that got freezer burnt." Fletcher shook his head, "Well how was your week by yourself? Get any good news?" Pulling up his opposite shoe to tie, "We are going to Pittsburgh in a few days. I need you to make sure we have good travel arraignments." "I told you to call and let me know. This is big news boss!" Fletcher said excitedly. Then he looked back at Bateman, "Wait, I have known you for over ten years and even before the attack you never really traveled any where that wasn't a quick car ride? So what does 'good travel arraignments' include? What would you like? Limousine? Bus?" Bateman shot him a crazy look, "Bus? Who am I? Aerosmith touring the country with a band and road crew? And why the hell would I want to sit in the back of a limousine for over 20 hours? I'm going up there to kick peoples' faces in. I can't do that if I'm having back and leg cramps. Charter a small plane or maybe buy out first class on a normal airline, I want to get up there a few days early so I don't have to worry about jet lag and get in a workout before the back to back shows." Fletcher just smile, "I will make it happen." Bateman got up out of his chair and opens the box Fletcher had put on the island. He smiled as he rubbed his hands over his new ring gear, Fletcher had done a good job. Bateman calmed down and smiled before saying, "Don't forget you have money to work with for our traveling arrangements. Hell, I think I just sent you to random island most normal people have never heard of for a vacation. Right? Now come on Fletch lets get in a couple of miles." "Can I put up my bag first?" Fletcher asked. Bateman looked back at Fletcher as he walked to the back door "No!" Fletcher just shook his head as he grabs the golf cart keys and went out the door behind his boss. He lit a cigar before jumping in the golf cart and raced off to catch up to Bateman, who was running like a bat out of hell. ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 2 - JOSH MANNING ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [Somewhere in the DERP Arena, Perfectly Perfect Alliance member Josh Manning is exploding... not literally, of course. He's behind a bruised and battered Omar, pacing back and forth, stubbled face stuck in a permanent scowl. Omar's lips are pursed, his eyebrows fixed in a frown. The victory consultant doesn't look too happy... but at least he still looks like a million bucks in that black tailored suit.] O: When I was growing up in Bedford-Stuyvestant -- that's one of the toughest 'hoods in Brooklyn, in case y'all didn't know -- there were always some cats who rolled with a crew. Only thing is, that isn't gonna stop ignorant, coked-up motherfuckers from runnin' up on you... 'cause they either don't know... or they just don't give a fuck 'cause they think they ain't gonna get caught. But as with life... everything... _everything_ comes back to bite you in the fuckin' ass. There's where the phrase, "you don't know who you're fuckin' with" comes into play. Ryan Delaney...? [A pause. Omar bites his lip.] O: YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU'RE FUCKIN' WITH! [The manager's voice echoes throughout. Manning stops pacing and massages Omar's shoulders, nodding in agreement with the previous statement.] O: Hey, Delaney, lemme ask you something, man -- how long have you been in this fuckin' business? You're running a promotion... dressed like a fuckin' lonely- ass vampire fuck boy! You're a Goddamn joke, Delaney... and you wanna choose to escalate things? You wanna bring in your little midgets? Your little circus show? You wanna add fuel to this fire, you illiterate prick? Well, you got it. You'll regret the day you decided to go to war with the Perfectly Perfect Alliance... 'cause we'll eat you the fuck alive along with your little buddies, Cow and Chicken. [Omar steps aside so Manning can do his thing.] JM: Just when you think fucked up gimmicks went the way of polio... here comes El Pollo Loco and Moo... "Da Cow God." [The Sacramento native cringes.] JM: Yeah, okay, you've got my attention, boys! I'm giving it to you! And you know what? I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I'm sorry that nobody ever cared about you before the moment Ryan Delaney took his tongue and diddled it all over your balls! I'm sorry for the fact that your only fans are the pimply-faced, hairy, fat fucks who beat off to old BSCW tapes! I'm sorry... that people... DON'T FUCKING HAVE TASTE ANYMORE! [Manning quickly regains his composure.] JM: That's the problem with this business. People don't care anymore... they'll just hop on the closest bandwagon they can find. These days, there's no difference between a guy who actually shows a decent amount of work rate and some out-of-shape, smelly wife beater who throws himself through tables for beer money... and that's a Goddamn shame. Cow and Chicken? The both of you are a joke, just like your little friend Ryan Delaney. The people can't see it -- they think you're unique, talented, colorful -- but I can see it. I can see right through it. One guy is a delusional muscle bear with bad tattoos... and the other? Well, let's just say that there's some cerveza-smelling, taco-serving, cocaine-back dealing Titty Twister, slash, From Dusk Till Dawn-like shit hole that you couldn't mush the guacamole in. [He runs a hand through his light brown hair, taking a deep breath.] JM: You wanna wrestle? Well, you go ahead and try to do that. Prove that you weren't just given those tag team titles. Unfortunately, you won't be able to do that while Joshua Black and I are tying you in knots. O: Bitches. [Out.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 3 - TRIPP SKYLARK ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [CLLLLLLLLIIIIIICK!] [The camera fades in, revealing the main important focus of the whole thing to be... the one and only Tripp Skylark! Tripp is sitting ona simple steel chair, in front of a flaming DERP logo banner, the SCWE television title hung over his shoulder. Pie eyed and with a grin, Tripp begins.] SKYLARK: Hello DERP! Hello Pixburgh! It's your hometown hero, you're prodigal son, bringing greetings from the Ess See Dubbya Eee! The land where I currently reside as the _SCWE TV CHAMPION_! [Gives the camera a enthusaistic thumbs up, Buddy Christ style. SKYLARK: And as I sit here, DERPers, I just want to make sure you know that Trip Skylark? He's a friend to DERP! A good friend. One of those friends you can _ALWAYS_ call in the time of need. Delaney might be ten years my senior, but don't mean our paths never crossed! How'd you think I got this good at rasslin'? No one ever trained me? HA! I had one of the best trainers in the _WORLD_! [Nods.] SYKLARK: And that'd be why, ona night where he wants to give his boys some rest, he called me to help round out the show. A nd lucky for him... I already had a plan in mind. See, I figured... I'd bring this here television title with me. And I'll also drag that bozo Scott Bailey into tahn, and then put on a wrestling classic for you fans! [Nods.] SKYLARK: Cause, you see.... I know DERP is about the chair swinging, the table breaking, and all other sorts of insane violence. BUT... I also know you are wreslting fans. You don't wanna that male soap opera shit, sure. Who the fuck DOES!?!? But real wrelsting... back and forth, fast paced, high impact wreslting? Yins will eat dat shit up. Don't lie to me. [Big ole smile.] SKYLARK: So here we are... Tripp Skylark returnign to his homeland, defending hsi prized possession against the mad man Scott Bailey, who's been chasing my coattails for MONTHS! It will be one for the ages! One that will be talked about at the water coolers for weeks to come! The night the Skylark came to town.... ...and tore the whole building town!! [Big laugh.] SKYLARK: And you knwo why, Bailey, I am going to do such a thing? Do you know why, DERP faithul, I'll still be walking out of the DERP Arena, title in hand? _THREE THINGS_ I do that give me the necessary advantage. [The smile grows even larger if that's possible.] SMOKE POT... EAT TWAT... ...AND SMILE A LOT! [Fade out.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 4 - BULLZEYE ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [ Fade into an old, beat up classroom. It seems to be around dawn, and fog fills the room. Rays of light shoot in through the open windows set high up on the walls, and faint laughter is heard. There is an old teachers desk, along with rows of old desks and an old chalkboard in the classroom, which is concrete and painted a light shade of blue. Suddenly, the classroom door opens and a figure steps in. ] [ This man stands at a bit over six foot and has a medium built. He has on a pair of blue jeans, black boots, a black tee-shirt with a red bulls-eye on it. We now recognize this man as DERP Superstar, Bullzeye. His moppy black hair is damp, and hanging down barely touching his shoulders. ] [ He closes the door behind him, and goes and sits down at the teachers desk. He buries his head in his hands. Suddenly, he slams both of his hands down on the desk very violently and screams: "AHH", seemingly in frustration. He than regains his composure and looks up into the camera which is set in the back of the classroom. He begins to speak in his usual, mono-toned voice. ] Our entire youth sits in a room just like this. Childhood suppose to be a time of bliss. A world of knowledge opened up before you. Unless of course you are different ... a MISFIT... an OUTCAST ... And then what should of been a glorious memory becomes a hideous scar that refuses to fade. For five long years I sat in this room, hoping, and praying that I would soon be released from this hell, more commonly referred to as a place of education, or a school. I remember it well. I was a mere ten years old and Mrs. Blueballs taught American Literature. No, she didn't like me, she hated me. And her hatred for me plague me for five long years. No, she wouldn't pass me; she wouldn't let me move on; she had to keep me here, tormenting and torturing me. No, not physical torture, but the mental pain was almost unbearable. She would sit, and let the other kids pick at me, not saying anything. She kept me here for five long years, for her own personal entertainment. I was brought back four times, to serve as her jester. And I have resented her, and everyone else, every day since. [ Bullzeye pauses, and pushes the chair back. He stands up, and walks over to the chalkboard. He grabs a piece of chalk, and draws a bulls-eye on the blackboard. He than goes back over, and sits down in the desk. ] You see, I was not always like this. I used to be just a normal kid, playing baseball, and eating apple pie. It was Mrs. Blueballs who pushed me over the line, and turned me into the dark man who you see sitting before you today. And for that, I thank her. If it were not for those years of torment, I don't think I would've been able to live on the streets without going mad. I still believe, to this day, that it was that torture which has made me strong enough to survive through all the hardships of my life. And for that, I must appreciate her. I am usually a forgiving man, but some acts just don't deserve forgiveness. [ Bullzeye pauses for a second. ] Hate. Hate is a strong word. Many people use it as it is merely another word in our language, but I know. I know what it means to hate. And that is why you will not hear me say that I hate another human being for no reason, such as many others do. I know the pain that the word hate can cause, and I feel that very few people should be chosen to suffer, by being truly hated. [ Bullzeye now gets up again. He walks around the desk and is now sitting on what would be one of the students desk. Bullzeye pulls out a dart from his jeans pocket as he continues to speak. ] Fate is a curious beast. No matter how fast you run. No matter how far you go. You CAN NOT escape it. And as my grand design comes together. Unity has become separation. Separation has lead to squabbling ... has lead to fighting ... has lead to brawling ... has lead to blood ... has lead to broken bones ... has lead to deception ... has lead to chaos ... And I wouldn't have it any other way ... [ Bullzeye throws the dart towards the board and it strikes the middle of the bulls-eye. The camera goes back to Bullzeye who has a huge smirk on his face as the camera fades to black... ] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 5 - SATAN'S PRIDE ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [Darkness...] "For months, wars have been raged... Bodies laid battered and broken..." [Drum beat.] "The path of destruction carved a mile wide. The internet marks enthusiatically blogging each and every moment..." [Beat.] "But yet, here we stand... Not respected... Not charished or appreciated..." [beat.] "We are brought in as lap dogs, as a mere ticket draw, a money making scheme and nothing more..." [Beat.] "We are supposed to be puppets, _props_ to have the good ole hometown boys look good... A means to show the world that their precious football Gods are not failures, that their one trick pony show in Arizona's the real deal..." [Beat.] "Problem is though..." [Beat.] "I just cut all my strings." [Beat.] [Beat.] [Beat.] [Beat.] "You will bleed, Houlihans... You will bleed, and I will show the world exactly _WHY_.... ...2011 is the Year of the Wolf!" [Cut.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 6 - DONOVAN O'REILY ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [Alone in a booth in some Pittsburgh dive, pitcher of beer and trio of shots in front of him, sits a sneering Donovan O'Reily. He glares into the camera and mockingly claps.] Praise be to you, Denny Latimer. I thought you'd simply tuck tail and run away. I really did. Most people break damn near every bone in their hand and you don't hear from them for months, let alone a mere week or two later. I mean, you could have kicked your feet up, let that worker's comp roll in and just gotten stoned out of your gourd on prescription opium for a couple of months, but that 'lil slice of heaven didn't appeal to you none. Nope. Not to Denny Latimer. Not to "All Action". "All Action" spent a week brooding in various medical facilities and lost his damn mind. "All Action" lived up to his moniker and wrapped a strand of barbed wire around that bulbous cast and proceeded to knock the shit out of me and a few others en route to victory. You got that big win you were clamoring for, Denny, and earned a hell of a lot of respect in the process. So... congrats, homeboy. I mean that. [Donovan raises a shot glass toward the camera, kind of nods at it and then knocks it back with quickness before slamming it back down to the table with a thud.] You've a bigger pair than I imagined. But if you think this is over between the two of us... [Donovan's eyes narrow and he just kind of looks to the side, trailing off.] Well there'll be time for that later. Right now, though, I'm gearing up to go to war with the "Trashbag" Tyrone Heat. [There's a pause as Donovan lifts another shot glass and just kind of eyes it up.] You think I'm trash, Heat? You fancy yourself the "Trashman"? You gonna put me "out to the curb" or "burn me up in the backyard"? Or better yet, perhaps you'd like to put me in the "Trash Compactor"? Well here's your big chance, tough guy. A golden opportunity to live out your most grandiose garbage dump fantasies. All you gotta do is slam my ruined carcass through a couple of tables and all your farthest-reaching childhood dreams will be a reality. What could be easier, right? [Finally, he knocks back the shot. *CLANG!* And shouts.] Wrong, motherfucker! [And now he whispers.] _Dead_ wrong. [Beat.] See, all the intensity in the world won't make a lick of fucking difference when you're staring into the bloodshot eyes of a man who just don't give a fuck. Belt me in the face with all your might and I'll beg you for one more shot. Bury me in a pile of rubble and I'll keep clawing my way out like the living dead. I'll take everything you can dish out and I'll deal it back ten-fold. 'Cos I don't care how tough you think you are, Tyrone. There's no harm you can visit upon me that I haven't visited upon myself. I've seen everything and more and I've survived it all. I'm the fucking cockroach - try as you might you'll never snuff me out. And, hell, maybe you'll beat me. [Shrug.] Maybe the stars will align just proper and it will be Tyrone Heat's lucky day. Stranger things have happened. After all, I _am_ fallible... But you will _never_ run me out of here. You can take all your goofy "takin' out the trash" analogies and jam up your ass, fruitcake. 'Cos when I decide to hang up the boots it sure as shit isn't going to be on Tyrone Heat's terms. I'm not checking out of here for a long time, motherfucker. So until then, we're going to do things _my_ way... [Dramatic pause.] On the nails. [fade.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 7 - DENNY LATIMER ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ (The vaguely shaky camerawork and slightly dodgy audio quality one has come to expect from outside promos for lower-tier wrestling promotions rest upon "All Action" Denny Latimer. He’s sitting on a park bench somewhere, t-shirt of a wrestling company he left three years ago on combined with jorts in case anyone forgot he was a wrestler. His hand is still in a cast, his hair is still receding, his stubble is still in its third day of growth, and he still talks in a gruff Bradford accent. And this is what he says.) DL: I might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’m not stupid. I read. I know my history. I know something, right: back in the jazz era, the 1920s or whatever, a lot of English people travelled. Not the commoners like me, but the posh lads, the gentry. They’d plonk their top hat on, grab their manservant, hop on a steamboat and roll out to America, Cuba, Italy, France, Germany, the Congo, wherever. The world was opening up for them and they wanted to experience all these new climes, new horizons, whatever. The idea was that they’d take in all these new experience, learn about the world, and not be so bigoted and narrow- minded when they got him. Obviously that ain’t work otherwise my country wouldn’t be in the state it’s in, but that’s not the point here. What I’m trying to say is: them lads came to America with the luxury of freedom, the luxury of being able to learn. I have no luxuries, no freedom. If I don’t turn up for my DERP matches, I make no money. If I don’t get the bonus for winning a match, then it’s the rough motel for me rather than a week in an apartment. If I don’t get a title around my waist, then I’m not making enough cash to bag solid 7s at the bar after the show. (Latimer makes a raise eyebrow "This guy knows what I’m talking about" facial expression.) DL: And anyway, the idea behind me coming to America wasn’t to learn. I came because I’d made so many mistakes back in England that I could have kept Tippex in business for another 50 years. And most of my mistakes are visible in the facial scars and dental bills of British wrestling promoters. So I came to Pittsburgh as a last chance. If this don’t work out for me? If I get bounced out of DERP? Then I take that return flight home, get a job on a production line and you are never gonna hear from me again. I’m not too proud to work. Look, I’m getting ahead of myself here. I said I didn’t come here to learn, but I have. I’ve learned three things. One: there’s a dictionary in my motel room. I checked, "yins: isn’t a word. Two: you cannot get a chip butty in this city for love or money. That’s when I feel homesick, when every single sandwich is 95% coleslaw and I can’t get fried potatoes, butter and ketchup between plastic bread in a single shop for love nor money. And three: when fingers break, they make a popping noise. (Holds cast up to the camera.) DL: They make a breaking noise when Donovan O’Reilly locks an armbar on them, or when Nagashima stomps on them. But the actual moment of fracture is like a balloon jabbed with a needle, only 20 times deeper. It’s an unpleasant sound. It’s an unpleasant feeling. But then again, nothing we do in these rings is present. Hey, look, let’s be honest here: on one level I’m not in a fit state to wrestle. My hand, under this cast, looks like roadkill. I’ve got too much weight around my gut and not enough hair on top of my head. I’ve never been a hardcore wrestler. That was the first time I’ve ever used barbed wire in my life. I’ve got no alliances in that dressing room, no political favors to call in and I don’t know the style over here. I should be screwed. But... like I said earlier, I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer. And there’s this little missing part of my brain that won’t tell me to stop. It won’t tell me to stop when my hand has been destroyed. It won’t tell me to stop when people start smashing chairs, baseball bats, iron bars over my head in that battle royal. It won’t tell me to stop when I’m being kicked in by myriad clowns, clowns, video game nerds, whoever else is in that battle royal. And it won’t tell me to stop just because I’ve got that 24/7 title. (Shake of the head, in case you didn’t realize he just mentioned a negative) DL: No, on Friday, there’s no off button for me. I ever leave that ring with a belt around my waist or tied to a stretcher. And if a man beats me out of it, fair play to him, he’ll have earned it. This isn’t soap opera, you know. Lot of these wrestlers, lot of guys in the back, they’re like 15-year-old girls who’ve just got their first, what do you call ‘em, got their first Facebooks. Every time someone stands against them, they’re a "hater" and they become their mortal enemy. Not me. You punch me, I punch you back, we’re even. This isn’t reality TV, this isn’t "America’s Next Top Idiot Who’s Somersaulting Through A Table." It’s a sport. It’s a competition. And it’s something that I don’t have any choice but to win. See you there, guys. See you there! (Cut to black.) ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 8 - THE RENEGADES ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ "Gawd, _DAMN_... Did I miss this shit..." [Yea, that's Devin Houlihan chomping down on none other than a... Primanti's brother's sandwich. Colesaw, french fries and heaven... Ah, Devin just looks like he can't gobble his meal down fast enough. Surprisingly... Devin seems to be eating alone....?!?!] "JD wonders why I agreed to this little showcase match... Who wouldn't hop at an opportunity to come back home, visit old friends and relive old memories? Who wouldn't go running to get out of the world of leather skin, Botox injections, and health food nuts back to the good ole city of Champions! Where I can eat my greasy food without stares... And where I can drink more than beer without glares..." [He takes few more bites, eyes never leaving the sammich.] "JD doesn't seem to agree to such things. Neither does Uncle Sid. They whine, cry and complain... We're too busy out in Arizona to come back east for this... That we got too many thigns on our plate as is to come back here for some meaningless showcase match... And I just feel that way of thinking? It's like a slap in the face to where we come from." [Nods.] "It's like telling each and everyone of these Pittsburghers that still support us to this very day that we're too good for them... That we're too busy to come here and show support for our local community... More importantly the man that gave us all the wreslting knowledge that have made me and JD such a sucess in thsi business!" [Takes another bite.] "Don't worry, though. They won't miss this gig, I assure you. They're just takign their time making their way back east. I ahve a feeling they're enjoyin life without the Devmiester around..." [Chuckles.] "Doesn't chaneg a thing though. We're still gunan do exactl the same thing we do out west. We are oging to go out there, put on a show for the fans.. We are going to make sure they get their moneys worht and they know without a shadow of doubt that we put it all out there on the line. It doesn't matter to me Satan's Pride hails from SPW. It doesn't matter to me Lark Fenriz is one scary motherfucker. it doesn't _MATTER_!" [Finally finsihes off the sandwich, and begins wiping down his hands with napkins.] "The only thign that matters is that we are the _BEST_ up and coming tag team in the world of wrestling today. We are _RAPIDLY_ approaching our one year annviersay of our professional debut, and I assur you... when that year mark comes? we're gunna be standing on top fo the _WORLD_!" [Big smile from Devin.] "As the summer months wane, and the new fall season begins... A new era of tag team wrestling will be introduced... The era... ...of the... ..._RENEGADE_!!! [Fade Out.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 9 - IKUTO NAGASHIMA ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [Fade in.] [The scene opens to a quite pissed Ikuto Nagashima, standing in front of the familiar DERP banner. He’s clad in an Indian headdress and brown boy-cut shorts. He completes the look with brown, suede chaps, adorned with fringe and diamonds, and boots, black smudges of "war paint" under each eye. There’s a sneer on his handsome face as the chiseled youngster glares hatefully into the camera, eyes narrowed.] Ikuto: I hope you know this means you’re dead, Beauty. ["The Tokyo Bad Boy" utters the sentence with complete contempt.] Ikuto: To be honest with you, I expected someone with your many, many _many_ years of experience to be a little bit smarter, when it comes to choosing his battles. I thought you’d know better than to fuck with me again, after I left you humiliated because of your last transgressions. But instead of taking that lesson and rolling over like a good, little doggy, you decided to stick your nose in my business once again and cost me another match! That was twice. _Twice_ now that you’ve made me look like a fool and interfered where you had no place! [He folds his arms across his chest, shaking his head.] Ikuto: That was a _really_ stupid move, old man. Because you were just a minor annoyance before, a brat in need of a quick but firm spanking. But now, after this latest stunt, it’s not about just evening the score or proving a point. Now, I’m going to fucking destroy you! See, you let these dummies out there, these so-called fans, boost your little ego up. You heard their cheers and somehow let them make you believe you actually stood a chance against me. [He snorts in disgust.] Ikuto: But you were both wrong. And you will see that for yourself very soon. Because, when I get my hands on you again, it’s over. And there will be nowhere to run or hide. Or any fans to help you. [He places his hands on his hips, his expression grave.] Ikuto: I’m just hoping that this time Delaney’s actually done his home work and given me a partner that is actually worth a damn and worth my time. I can’t take another backstabbing bum like O’Reilly! All I really need for this Bullzeye to do is show up, hold up his end of this team, and take care of the demented clown. I’ll handle the rest. [He smirks, practically exuding arrogance.] Ikuto: And then, after it’s over, I will have gladly put you out of your misery, Beauty, and will have ended what’s left of this sham of a career of yours. In the process, notice will be served to the rest of these fools in DERP. The consequences for fucking with me are lasting and severe. So, get yourself ready. Because in just a few days, you finally get put in your place. [Fade.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 10 - COW AND CHICKEN ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [Scene opens to the mask-covered face of El Pollo Loco. A face that's crying. Not tears of pain or anguish, for the Chicken knows not of those things. No, these are tears of joy.] EPL: It's so... pretty... [We fade back from the masked luchador, and see him sitting cross-legged, holding one of the DERP Steel City Tag Team Championship belts less than a foot from his face.] EPL: Isn't it, Moo? [The camera pans to the left, as "Da Cow God"...] DCGM: Moo. [... stands over his partner's shoulder, looking down upon him. No zany theatrics today for DERP's resident lovable lunatics. Moo merely nods his head, smiling at the Chicken's joy.] DCGM: Yes, it is little one. Did I not promise that we would have an opportunity to attain our first championships here in DERP? EPL: But... I didn't know... so pretty... [Moo smiles, reaching up to his right shoulder and patting the matching title belt that sits on his shoulder, resting right next to his machine-gun-wielding, military-fatigue-wearing grinning cow tattoo on his right bicep.] DCGM: It is truly a good time to be in our position, young chicken. But the fight does not end for us. My young friend, this is only the beginning of our battle. [Loco looks up at his partner.] EPL: It is? [Da C... Moo nods.] DCGM: Yes, little one. These are indeed wonderful accomplishments for us. But these are also huge targets that we wear around our waists. Many men here in Dee-Ee-Are-Pee are going to try to take these from us... [Loco literally jumps from a seated position straight to his feet and clutches his title to his chest.] EPL: NO! THEY CAN'T HAVE IT! IT'S _MY_ PRETTY! [The tears resume flowing down the masked cheek of the Chicken.] DCGM: Fear not, young chicken. These titles will not be taken from us as easily as many men here hope. This is not a chance for loss, little one... this is our chance to thrive, to excel. Our mission here is to vanquish evil. And now, instead of having to look for evil... that evil will come find us. EPL: AND I'LL KICK IT IN THE HEAD! [Moo smiles.] DCGM: You must prepare yourself to do just that. I can assure you that the Studd brothers will not let us rest easily while we wear these titles. Other teams will also step up and attempt to challenge our reign as champions. And what will you do, young chicken, when they try to take what we have earned? EPL: I'LL KICK THEM IN THE HEAD! [Loco fires a kick that nearly catches Moo in the jaw, but Da Cow God...] DCGM: Moo. [... catches the enthusiastic kick as if he was expecting it.] DCGM: You must maintain that attitude, little one. You must be willing to step up our fight against the evil here. To continue our battle to vanquish this place of evil forces like the Studd brothers. To be willing to take on new challenges, such as our match this week. EPL: We fight again this week? [Moo nods.] DCGM: Our battle with the Perfect Alliance continues this week, little one. We will take on Josh Manning, the friend in evil of the Studd brothers. EPL: And who? DCGM: Joshua Black, another man who is evil. And another man who craves titles like the ones we wear. The man who just took Frank Wilkes' title from Gee-En- Ay-Dubya. [Loco's jaw drops.] EPL: He took the candy man's pretty? DCGM: Yes, and he did not even earn it in a match as we did. He just took it, as if it belonged to him. And if we're not careful, young chicken, he and Manning will try to take our titles as well. [Loco shakes his head "no" furiously.] EPL: HE CAN'T HAVE MY PRETTY! DCGM: Then we must begin now, little one, to plan the next step in our quest against the evil here in Dee-Ee-Are-Pee. We must take on Josh and Josh, and we must prepare for the Studd brothers to make their presence felt as well. As I said, these... [He again pats the Steel City Tag Team Title on his shoulder.] DCGM: ... are shiny gold targets. And if we want to keep these targets, young chicken, we must vanquish the evil that attempts to strip them from our grasps. [Suddenly... it all clicks. The Chicken looks as if he's had a fucking epiphany. It all makes sense. The look on Loco's face is unlike any look he's worn at any time during his DERP reign... not of joy, or childish glee, but of complete and total understanding.] EPL: Moo... [Loco looks down at the Steel City Tag Team Title belt in his hands.] EPL: ... we need to beat the evil, Moo. DCGM: And that we shall, little one. And that we shall. [Loco continues to stare at his shiny gold accomplishment, his look a mix of pride and contemplation. Moo puts his hand on the Chicken's shoulder, patting it twice as the camera fades to black.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 11 - TWINKLETOES ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ (Scene: What looks to be a very run down apartment, the carpet has holes and stains, the wall paper is falling off the walls, and the furniture looks ready to fall apart. In the middle of this stands Twinkletoes Tiwilliger. Twinkletoes is standing in the middle of the room, wearing a brown suit with matching tie and white shirt that looks to be 3 sizes too small, as his girth is sticking out underneath his jacket and over the sides of his trousers. The focus is kind of shaky and the picture is a little grainy. Twinkletoes begins to speak.) Twinkletoes Tiwilliger (TT): Hello Twinkies its me again, "The King of the Cruiserweights", the flag bearer of the Twinkletoes Nation, the shoulders on which you hoisted all your hopes and dreams upon and of course, your hero, Twinkletoes Tiwilliger. Twinkies, I am fresh off a momentous victory against that fake cruiser-weight Mikey Ripdeck. Ripdeck was nothing more than a big fat thug who tried to use his size to dominate and push around your hero in both sport and life. I'll tell you right now Twinkies, I didnt like my chances going into that match. The size and girth of this man was unbelievable, I dont know how he managed to walk let alone wrestle. And with Ripdeck i use the term wrestling loosely, as he was nothing more a bar room brawler who didn’t know a wrist-lock from a wristwatch. But thanks to the support of you, my Twinkies, I found the courage and the strength to put on a display of aerial base awesomeness and pure wrestling that overwhelmed that tub of lard. Ripdeck tried mightily but was ultimately no match for pound for pound, the greatest wrestler in the world today. In the end Ripdeck was left on the canvas looking up at the lights, and my Twinkies were left awestruck and entertained beyond their wildest dreams. It was a good day for Twinkies everywhere, for your hero and for the upstart promotion that we all know as D-E-R-P. While the rest of the roster is comprised of fat slobs, misfits and garbage wrestlers who couldn’t find work anywhere else. A glimmer, nay a beacon of hope was lit in this promotion. Despite a locker room of no talent slobs who should be in the soup kitchen line or in jail, the promotion has one thing going for it, me! Some might tell you that in the last card, a star was born. Nothing could be further from the truth. The star, being me, has always been around. I just chose that time to shine down upon D-E-R-P and its long suffering legion of Twinkies in the city of Pittsburgh. Bask in my shine Twinkies and revel in it,for you will be shined down upon in both DERP and Pittsburgh for a long time to come, this is a fact. (Twinkletoes then shrugs and lowers his head. Twinkletoes sighs and frowns before looking back into the camera.) TT: What is also a fact my Twinkies, is that there are those in DERP who wish to dim or destroy the beacon of hope to all that is Twinkletoes Tiwilliger. Pure hatred and jealousy fuels those who would snuff the one true star and the golden opportunity that would lift DERP into national and even global prominence. Even though its against the better interests there are those who wish to see your hero fail. That is why these forces have decided that i will face a sick and depraved monster, by the name of The ni- n- -nih. (Twinkie squints his eyes as if he is reading something, in fact he is.) TT: Elbitz what does that say I can't read your writing on this cue card. Elbitz: (From behind the camera): Tit shale nile lifts whore mudroll King Konga TT: Oh, you mean Nihilist War Mongrel Kian Konga! You should really work on your penmanship Elbitz. Nihilist War Mongrel? That’s a mouthful. I'm not going to call you that Konga. You look and sound like a mean guy, sure your big and scary and you outweigh me by at least 300 pounds but i'm not scared of you. You might think your big size and scary name intimidates me, but your wrong. You call yourself a mongrel but a mongrel is nothing more than a dirty smelly dog. But deep down inside i know your not a dog, your just a frightened little puppy, a Nilly Willy War Puppy! But the Nilly Willy War Puppy is a bad puppy who cocks his leg at the fans of DERP, and will try to make a mess of DERP's legacy in that ring with his unskilled display of garbage wrestling and the open fisted thuggery a fat slob like him is only capable of. Well War Puppy, if you think you're gonna take me out and taint the great potential that i will bring out of this promotion, you are very wrong. IF you act like a bad puppy and you will be treated like a bad puppy. IF you make a mess in DERP, I, Twinkletoes Twilliger, hero to all wrestling fans Twinkie and non Twinkie alike, will take you to task for that mess. How you take a puppy to task is that you rub that puppy's nose in it. So be careful Nilly Willy War Puppy, whatever your mess, "The King of the Cruiserwieghts", "The Ultimate Underdog", and the "Greatest Show Above the Earth", will see to it that puppy's nose gets rubbed in it. TWINKIE POWER!!!! (Twinkie flexes his flabby arms for the camera as he shouts out his war cry. The armpits of the suit tear open as he does this. Elbitz can be heard laughing from behind the camera, as the scene fades to black) ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 12 - JOSHUA BLACK ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [Scene fades in on a big black backdrop, with the letters DERP boldly printed in yellow lettering. The camera pans slowly starts to pan out and we see Joshua Black standing in front of the backdrop.. his shoulder-length bright blonde hair isn't tied back like usual, but hanging down. A bright yellow long-sleeved shirt is being worn.. and his usual arrogant grin seems to be missing today.] JB: So, I went out there, and did exactly what I said I was going to do.. didn't I? [Joshua runs his hand over his head to remove the strands of hair from in front of his face.] JB: Four men.. three of them your "Hardcore stars" and then myself.. the greatest thing this business has ever seen. The man that came here to put a stop to this garbage and prove that, at the end of the day, WRESTLING will always prevail. And, I did just that! But... I have this little problem that needs to be dealt with, immediately.. [Joshua's expression becomes even more angry.] JB: I survived everything you three threw at me. Whether it was Wilkes, the clown, or BullzEye.. I took it.. I kept coming back.. I beat all fucking three of you. But, BullzEye.... you went and created a giant mess for yourself, kid. [The camera pulls in a little closer to Joshua's face, his eyes piercingly staring into the camera.] JB: How does it feel when a plan doesn't come together, huh? I mean, that was your plan all along, wasn't it? Go into the match, attack someone that wasn't in the match, my WIFE, and I'd become so full of rage that I'd lose it and you'd be able to take advantage and beat me... right? Well, you fucking FAILED at your plan. But... but you did accomplish something. What you accomplished was giving me every god damn reason to break every fucking bone, and shred every fucking muscle or tendon you have... You KNEW you couldn't beat me.. no matter what weapons you used or how many of you were trying to do so.. so you decided to act like a bitch, and attack Heather. Well, I've got some fucking news for you, pal.. [The camera pans back out, as we see Heather Black walk into the scene. Her blonde hair is tied back, and her tight yellow tank-top reveals quite the amazing figure. She looks at Joshua and smiles, as Joshua's arrogant grin comes back.] JB: We're not gonna let this one go.. no, sir. We had a fuckin battle in that four way dance.. but you started a fucking WAR when you laid a finger on her! So, consider yourself right near the fucking top of my agenda, man. First thing I'm gonna do is beat the rest of this fucking roster in ONE NIGHT to become the FIRST Steel City Champion, showing all of you how it's done.. and then... the target's on your ass now, bitch... [Fade out.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 13 - BATEMAN #2 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [Scene opens to a hotel room, a big bed that looks like someone spent the night tossing and turning. Across from it is a dresser with a big flat screen TV that is turned on to the news and in the corner Bateman is sitting at a little table starring out a window, overlooking part of Pittsburgh. He is talking to himself.] Bateman: The Steel City, the City of Bridges, or what ever you might call it, is my playground! I am one match it. My feet are wet. I'm still going and I am heading right to that big Battle Royal! [Bateman pusses for a second and looks back out the window.] Bateman: Maybe I will pick up the 24/7 title or hell maybe I will come out of this thing with the Steel City Championship. But any way this thing goes down, I will be making sure I fight to the best of my abilities! I am looking forward to any and all competition! Like Fletcher said at the house show I didn't pick DERP for nothing! I'm not trying to be famous. I here to rage all over DERP! [There's a knock out the door and in walks Fletcher.] Fletcher: Ready boss? Bateman: No. Fletcher: Well the limousine is down stairs waiting to take us to the DERP warehouse. Soooo, what do you need before you are ready? Bateman: I need to get in my ring gear. I don't care to share a locker room with my competition. [Bateman points to his bag hanging on the bathroom door and then waves Fletcher to bring it to him.] Bateman: Make sure you are watching carefully tonight. This battle royal will be cluster-fuck of violence and mayhem! My brain is racing, I have no way of knowing what will happen but I can't help but be excited. If my strategy works, I'm going to leave that ring of mayhem as the Champion! Fletcher: Well boss, that is all fine and dandy, but remember to take care of yourself. If you are injured you can't hold any championships. It is sometimes better to retreat and live to fight another day. Than to... [Bateman stands up and points straight at Fletcher!] Bateman: I didn't come here for anything less than to bet the best and clam the title of the most dangerous man in DERP! I will break anyone, including myself to make sure I am nothing less than the best DERP has to offer! And that is for me, not those people who cram themselves into that warehouse, but so I can tell the world how great I truly am! This world tried to forget about me years ago and now I'm going to slap the world in the face. Starting with the DERP locker room, then the DERP fans, and anyone else who tries to tell me I'm not the best! [Fletcher, a little taken aback, grabs Bateman's bag and walks it across the room to him.] Fletcher: Alright boss, well how about you go ahead and get ready. While you are doing that I will call the driver to tell him it will be a few more minutes and make sure the service elevator is all clear. [Bateman takes his time getting dressed. He looks threw the peephole, then pulls his hood up, grabs his bag, and walks out. Moving quickly threw the empty hallway and as he approaches the service elevator, Bateman is suppressed by a door that swings open. Out runs a small boy, who stops dead in his track. The boys eyes widen as he looks up at the face of Bateman. He quickly turns and runs back into the run screaming! Bateman reaches into his bag, and grabs his mask. Moving faster to the elevator he pulls the mask over his face, without re-moving the hood. Once in the elevator, he quickly taps the "close door" button over and over hoping to move the doors faster!] Bateman: Stupid punk. [He kicks the wall and waits to get to the ground floor. As the doors open, Bateman sees Fletcher standing at the back door of the hotel. He quickly grabs Fletcher and throws him into the limousine. He jumps in and yells to the driver as the scene fades to black.] Bateman: To the DERP warehouse, now! ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 14 - FRANK WILKES ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [The creaking sound of a door is soon joined by squeaking of wheels, as a small child in a wheel chair pushes himself into the hallway of a busy hospital. Panning down we find "Get Well Soon -- Love Frank" scrawled across the cast of the little boy's broken leg. How disturbing. Stepping around the kid, our videographer catches the closing door, entering the recent abode of everyone's favourite registered sex offender. How bad must it have been the first night that Frank arrived? Not a drop of blood in him, but still going door to door, informing every other patient of his depraved past. He has to. It’s the law. Covered from head to toe in heavy gauze, a weak Frank Wilkes sits at the edge of his hospital bed, while a doctor lectures down at him.] Doctor: You were lucky they pulled you out of there when they did. Now my understanding is this involved two other... Frank Wilkes: Three--- Doctor : Three, three other men. At this time we're clearing you to go home, but if you're asking me in my medical opinion if you can safely wrestle again, if you don't wait for those deeper cuts to heal up, you're just going to reopen the stitches and risk coming right back here. That would be a problem if you were... doing what you do normally. Now you tell me that you want to wrestle against... ten men? Frank Wilkes: Probably over twenty. Doctor: I don't understand your business, Mister Wilkes... but given your current state, that sounds HIGHLY questionable. Against three, the officials had the presence of mind to pull you out of harm’s way. What happens when you have two dozen men flying all over the place, and no one notices you haemorrhaging in the centre of it all? ...Is there a history of mental illness in your family? Do you have some sort of death wish? I can't stress enough how incredibly STUPID it would be to go back to work at this point in your recovery. Frank Wilkes: ...This is something I have to do. Are there any other precautions? Is there anything else I can do? Doctor: Sure. Find another emergency room next time. [Disgusted, the doctor holds the medical chart close to his chest, gruffly pushing past the camera operator. The image shakes as the videographer moves further into the hospital room, to greet our downed protagonist. Lying back in his hospital bed, "Registered Sex Offender" Frank Wilkes runs a thumb across some scar tissue that peaks out of his tapestry of medical gauze. A gentle touch almost reopens the skin. We are looking at an injured animal with his back against the wall. Looking up at the camera, RSO tries to muster a smile for his legions of "Registered" fans.] Frank Wilkes: Hi there Registered Nation. Cameraman: How are you holding up, Frank? Frank Wilkes: I feel a little worse than I look... Cameraman: We were just hoping to get a few comments from you for DERP, but we can do this another--- Frank Wilkes : No time like the present. [Grunting in pain, Frank slowly rises off the bed, holding his body awkwardly to the left in an effort to avoid breaking any of his new stitches. Thank goodness for codeine. Resting against a chair, Frank leans over, trying to throw his personal items in a duffle bag to check out.] Cameraman: Did they tell you what happened to your GNAW world title after the four way? Frank Wilkes : After I came too, I was shown some footage. Now before Joshua Black gives himself a pat on the back for thoroughly fucking me up, HE didn’t. My sorry state was due to a poor judgement call on my part – not my first one – Black just highlighted the damage done by Simon Bach. That’ll be the last time I mention Bach, because he isn’t here to defend himself. Unfortunately for Josh, Bach also isn’t here for me to take out my frustrations, so Joshua just nominated himself to be my next victim. Opening up my wounds was on me... but stealing the GNAW heavyweight title after the match? What were you thinking, Josh? Now... I believe that POSSESSION is nine tenths of the law. You’ve got it. You’re holding it. It’s yours. Congratulations. Wish I could say I was happy for you, Josh. ...But with that belt, you’ve gained much more than prestige... you’ve got my attention. My _undivided_ attention... AND at the bring your own weapon battle royal... there might be over twenty other superstars in that squared circle, but I’m COMING for you, Josh. Before the night is done, the GNAW heavyweight title WILL be back around my waist! [Zipping up his duffle bag, Frank lets out another pained sigh before lifting the sack. With a noticeable limp, Frank shuffles across the room. Always the gentleman, Frank holds the door open for our videographer to leave first, and then follows him out into the hallway.] Cameraman: So rather than go after the DERP heavyweight title, your goal is Joshua Black. Frank Wilkes : No, I'm in it to win it... as I said before, the GNAW heavyweight title WILL make me Steel City's finest. Yeah, I'm going to paint the canvas red with Josh's blood, and I am going to recapture my title, but at the end of that match... I will be the last man standing. Now I could run through the entire DERP roster, bad mouthing each and everyone one of them... but I don't need to tell you that Twinkletoes has an eating disorder or Cow gives sour milk. [The children's ward seems a little out of the way to get to the exit, but damned if Frank doesn't make that extra effort to cheer the little tots up. Their little faces light up with more joy than fear as the wrestling superstar moves past them.] Frank Wilkes : Just know that as long as there is blood flowing through my veins, I'll be taking it to each and every one of them. No one is safe. This is MY neighbourhood now. Even if I didn't leave the best first impression, when the smoke is cleared, I _will_ be the last body in that ring. See... there's a reason I'm... [...wait for it...] REGISTERED in Pennsylvania!!! [The little kids lose their shit for the greatest catchphrase in the history of world! It's nice to see them so happy, but also makes you sick to your stomach. Frank returns their toothy smiles, patting one of the children on the head before taking his leave.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 15 - NERD POWER COLLECTIVE ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ [Camera cuts to the tiny living room of an apartment. In fact, this is the same apartment the NPC used for their last flash! Don't they ever leave this place? What a couple of geeks... *AHEM* ANYWAY...The large figure of Player 1 is sitting on the couch facing what would have been a television, had Player 2 not destroyed it previously. As he sits, his fat frame is hunched over a Nintendo DS. He frantically slides the stylus around the screen in a seemingly random fashion. In the background, we see a closed door in the hall leading to the bedroom and kitchen areas. Underneath the door, we see light trickling from it, suggesting that somebody is in there. But enough from me. Let's see what the Players are up to!] PLAYER 1: ...DAMN! NINTENDO DS: OBJECTION! PLAYER 1: *mutters* come on...how do I do a Dragon Punch!? It can't be THAT hard.... NINTENDO DS: HOLD IT! P1: Come on...PUNCH! NDS: *Knock knock knock* P1: ...What? Game over? GAME OVER!? This game sucks! Damn you, Capcom! [P1 turns off the DS and tosses it to the other side of the couch. And then...] SFX: *Knock knock knock* [P1 LEAPS off the couch, attention totally focused on the DS] P1: But...I...I TURNED YOU OFF! SFX: *Knock knock knock* P1: Okay! I'm sorry I said you suck! You don't suck! You're the greatest game ever! Please don't swallow my soul... SFX: *KNOCK KNOCK!* [And then, a voice can be heard from behind the closed door] VOICE: (sounding like Player 2) ...can you get the door? i'm busy. [P1 looks at the front door now. Then he looks back at the DS. Then back at the door.] SFX: *KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!* P1: Oh! It's the door! Thank goodness for that... [Player 1 makes his way to the door and opens it, revealing a man in a brown UPS uniform, carrying a HUGE box on a dolly.] UPS GUY: So...are you Alvaro De Los Santos? P1: Oh, I'm sorry...there's nobody by that name here, chum. UPS GUY: But...this is the address I have here. SFX: *Toilet flush* [Suddenly the closed door flies open, as Player 2 practically flies out of the bathroom] P2: i'm here. that's me. [P2 runs to the door.] UPS: (to P2) You're Alvaro De Los Santos? P2: yes. UPS: Great. I just need you to sign for this package here. P2: sure thing. [P2 signs the clipboard the UPS guy is holding and hands it back to the courier, who exchanges the clipboard for the massive (about five feet long) box.] UPS: Um...yeah. That's it. Thanks. P2: no problem. have a nice day. UPS: Riiiiiiight. You too. [P2 closes the door, and the Players head back to the couch, with P2 dragging the box along.] P1: Little Pal! How could you! P2: what? P1: We're not supposed to give our real names! It's against the rules! P2: ...what rules? P1: The rules from the wrestling strategy guide! [P1 produces a beat up copy of "Wrestling, Grappling, And Rolling Around With Men On A Mat For Dummies] P1: See? It says right in here! "Masked Wrestlers do not traditionally reveal their real names, in order to maintain an air of mystery." P2: what's that mean? P1: [slapping his forehead] It means that you killed our heat, Little Pal! P2: ...heat? We have that? P1: *sigh* Nevermind. So...what's in the package? P2: ah! well, remember last match? and how we lost? P1: Yeah...the Hadoken didn't work, did it? P2: no. it didn't. and why did we lose? P1: That's easy! They hit us with weapons! P2: right. so if we can't beat them with pure fighting spirit... P1: Um...we beat them with weapons? P2: exactly. and so... P1: AH-HA! YOU GOT A WEAPON! P2: [Nodding vigorously] yes. but not just any weapon... P1: Oooooooooh! Can we play with it? Please? Pretty please? [P2 scratches his chin.] P2: Hmm...why not? [Scene fades out as the NPC begin to open the box.] ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 16 - ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 17 - ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 18 - ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ 19 - ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ ______________________________________________________ THOUGHTS? REACTIONS? 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