A Happy Medium

This reminds me of that Conan O'Brien skit "Secrets".

Promo: "Poaching PETA" --Norfolk, Virginia. 13:00 hours. Inside of PETA headquarters.-- The scene is a boardroom deep in the heart of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals’ headquarters. Various heads of departments sit, drinking green tea and chatting about KFC’s unfair treatment of their chickens. Suddenly, the tea ceases to pour, and the badmouthing of “The Colonel” goes mum. The founder of PETA, Ingrid Newkirk enters the room. She is a slim, athletic woman in her late forties. She stands at the head of the table, with a manila folder in hand. Inside the folder are many sheets of red paper. She throws the folder on the large wooden table. “We have a new cause to fight for, ladies and gentlemen!” she yells. “But what about the poisoning of Ted Nugent?!” a member of the board screams. “We will deal with Mr. Nugent. But first, we must deal with a much worse heathen,” she says. “Lights!” The light comes down in the room, and a projector screen drops from the ceiling behind her. A film starts to play on the screen. It is a home movie featuring a young Johnny “Barracuda” Dangerous. The entire room gasps as they see him spin kicking goats and giving cows neck chops. “Lights!” The lights come back on. “This is Johnny Dangerous. I believe we should send him a visit, don’t you agree?” asks Ingrid. The room agrees vehemently. “Our friend Mr. Dangerous is going to be paid a visit by our friend, Bubbles!” she says with menace in her voice. “But … Bubbles?” asks one of the men, afraid of this name without a soul. “Yes. Bubbles!” Ingrid screams. The woman slowly starts to chuckle. Soon, the whole room breaks out in evil laughter. <fade out> Suddenly, the sound of a strong, baritone voice fills the viewer’s ears. “First, he took on his farm animals! Then, he took on the SWF! Somewhere in between he took on eight year old children at a dojo! Now, Johnny ‘Barracuda’ Dangerous stars in … ‘Poaching PETA!’ Featuring Dominic LeCroix!” <cut to an apartment in downtown Cleveland, Ohio> Redman’s “Lets Get Dirty” plays across the apartment. Dominic LeCroix, better known as the SWF’s Wildchild stands in the kitchen. He works at the stove, making some breakfast for himself. After he finishes making his breakfast, he takes off his apron, which is oddly enough, his Tag Team Championship belt, and hangs out over a pantry doorknob. He shuffles his way to the kitchen table, and sits down with his food. He is no more than a sip of orange juice into breakfast when…. *CRASH!* The apartment door is broken open. A tall Swedish man with an evil pony tail stands. Beside him is a large hippopotamus. Wildchild looks at the man with scorn in his eyes. “What the hell did you do that for? Also, who the hell are you?” Wildchild yells. “Why, my name is Sven, and this is my friend, Bubbles. Is Johnny Dangerous in?” “No, he’s at a dojo, practicing his mad martial arts skills! I would appreciate it if you and your friend there left,” says Wildchild. “Sorry, but I just can’t do that. Is that bacon you are eating?” the Swede asks. “Yeah.” “You American Pig!” screams the bigger man. Sven charges Dominic. Wildchild is quick to get to his feet. He grabs his glass of orange juice, and throws it into the face of Sven. The big Swedish man halts, and clutches his eyes. “Ah! Citric acid!” With a grin, Wildchild grabs his foe and Irish whips him into the stove. Sven collides with a thud. Meanwhile, Bubbles just stands at the doorway, flapping his/her ears, and just being a happy hippo. Sven grabs the door to the oven to steady himself. Quickly, Wildchild opens up the oven door and closes it, smashing Sven’s fingers! “Ah! My fingers!” Sven now stands in the kitchen, clutching his fingers with his … hands. Wildchild grabs the jug of orange juice that is still on the counter. He opens it up, and dumps the rest into Sven’s eyes. “Ah, god! More Citric Acid!” screams Sven. Wildchild finally has enough of this, and picks up a frying pan from the stove. He nails Sven on the top of the head with it! The big man hits the floor. Wildchild throws the pan into the sink, and looks down at the fallen European. Dominic then hears a jingling sound. The floor shakes as well. Dominic turns around just in time to see a now angry Bubbles charging at him. Bubbles, bell around its neck jingly brilliantly, approaches Dominic. Wildchild can’t get out of the way of the hippo’s girth. Bubble’s massive frame smashes into Wildchild’s ribcage, and down goes Dominic. Wildchild clutches his ribs, and quickly passes out from the pain. *GROAN!* Bubbles then goes to work. He bites down on the neck of Sven’s shirt, and slowly starts to drag the man out of the apartment. With each tug, Bubbles lets out a grunt. <cut to a hospital> Johnny Dangerous sits by the bed of his hospitalized partner Wildchild. Dominic is passed out from the painkillers the hospital has given him. Dangerous just sits in a chair beside the bed, a look of shame on his face. “It wasn’t your fault, son,” says a mysterious voice. A police officer enters the room. “Who are you?” asks Johnny. “I am officer Dave Kovic. I was the first man on the scene,” explains the man in blue. “Who did this to my best friend,” asks Johnny. “The most vile, disgusting force on the planet … PETA,” the officer says with zealous anger. “Those bastards!” Johnny screams. “And they left this for you at the scene,” continues the officer. Kovic offers the note to Dangerous, who accepts, and quickly reads it. “Your days are numbered, Ram beater!” “Those bastards are in fifth grade,” says Johnny. “I’ll show them. Where are they based from?” “Norfolk, Virginia,” says the well informed man. “Thank, you,” says Johnny, as he bursts passed the officer. “Where are you going?” asks the officer as Johnny gets to the door. “I’m going … to poach PETA!” says Johnny as he walks out the door. Even though saying you are going to hunt down humans to a police officer is not a bright move, Dangerous confidently climbs into his 72’ Barracuda, and peels out of the hospital parking, nearly taking out an arriving ambulance on the way out. <driving montage, where Dangerous shifts gears 72 times, and hard rock plays> -Inside of the PETA boardroom. Ingrid stands in front of a window overlooking downtown Norfolk, her arms behind her back. “Sending Bubbles was successful, fellow members of the board. However, Johnny Dangerous has not met his justice yet. He could be out there right now, waiting for the right time to strike,” she says ominously. “Yeah, right. Like he would come all the way from Cleveland to get revenge for us nearly killing his tag team partner, I’d like to see that!” yells a muffled voice. “Who said that?!” “I did!” Bursting down through the ceiling is Johnny Dangerous. He lands on top of boardroom table, and starts to the throw kicks at the seated members. Johnny strikes so fast, papers go flying everywhere from the force of his legs. Before long, all the people at the table are unconscious, their faces down on the table like they were playing fucking “Heads Up 7Up.” Dangerous stands defiantly on the table, and stares a hole through Ingrid. “So you’re the one who ordered a hit on me?” Johnny says in a monotone voice. “Yes, and now I finish the job,” she says as she leaps up on to the table like a cat. The two get into their fighting stances. Ingrid is the first to attack. She sends palm thrusts Johnny’s way. Dangerous is able to block all of them. Ingrid leans forward a bit too much on one of her thrusts, and Johnny spins around and sends Ingrid back pedaling with a spinning back fist. Ingrid clutches her cheeks, and then kicks a high heel at Johnny. The heel of the shoe slides by Johnny, and slices open his arm a touch. Johnny scowls, and comes forward. Ingrid kicks another shoe at Johnny, but The Barracuda dodges this one easily. Ingrid’s eyes get as big as saucers as Johnny does a running back flip, and hits Ingrid in the chin with both feet. Ingrid, already standing at the end of the table, flies off of the table and floats towards the window. *CRASH!* “AHHHHHHH! OOF!” Dangerous sends her through the window, and to the street below. Ingrid’s fall is broken by an open chicken truck, full of ready to die chickens. “Hey, I’m alive,” she exclaims. But then, Ingrid looks around her, and sees where she is. She feels something wet underneath her, and draws up her hand. White feathers splattered with blood greet her eyes. She starts to cry hysterically as the truck pulls away from the headquarters. Meanwhile, Johnny stands on top of the table. He looks down at Ingrid. A smile plastered across his face. <Fade Out> In the background, a song plays. The song is “You’re the Best Around” from the Karate Kid soundtrack. Scant filming credits roll down the screen. Johnny Dangerous … Himself Dominic LeCroix … Himself Ingrid Newkirk … Herself Sven … Mats Sundin Officer Kovic … Kevin Kline Bubbles … Mercury

Yes we could find out. Heheh. Thanks for liking the promo. It makes it worth it and then some.

*CRACK! SNAP!* The sound of a wooden chair splintering echoes throughout an empty SWF locker room. Why wooden chairs? Because they give a nice feel to any locker room. “Ah, fuck..,” calmly says Arch Griffon as he peels himself off of the floor. He picks up the seat of the chair, and flips it around. He reads the label on the bottom of the chair. “Midjit’s Marvelous Cruiserweight Chairs! Cleveland, Ohio. Maximum Weight: 269 ¾ lbs.” A look of anger comes to Griffon’s face. He drops to his knees, and stretches his arms out, seat still in hand. “MMMIIDDJJIITT!!” After screaming, Griffon looks around the room, to make sure no one heard or saw him. He throws the seat of his chair down, and grabs his suitcase. He slowly wheels it out of the room. “I have to do something about this,” Griffon says to himself. “I’m going to Cleveland. SWF Headquarters.” <cue up shot of commercial jet flying above some clouds> Archie arrives at the SWF Headquarters. He wears a suit and tie, trying to make a good impression on only his second time to the office. He approaches the front desk, where an attractive woman in her mid forties sits. “How may I help you, young man?” she asks politely. “I need to see Mr. Jeffrey Horatio, please,” he answers. “Do you have an appointment?” the secretary answers back. “Yes I do. My name is Archibald Griffon, and I have a two ‘clock appointment.” The woman types a bunch of random keys into her computer, and then makes a phone call. “Mr. Griffon is here to see you, Mr. Horatio. Uhuh. OK. I will send him right up then.” Griffon shuffles his feet, looking for comfort. “He is ready for you. Just take the elevators behind us to the tenth floor. Then take the third door on your left,” says the nameless woman. “Thank you,” says Arch. Griffon then shuffles his way past the front desk, and calls for an elevator. It arrives shortly thereafter. Griffon steps in, and presses a button for the tenth floor. As the elevator climbs up the building, Archie listens to the music playing for him. An instrument version of “Ice Ice Baby” or “Under Pressure” spreads from the small speakers. Finally, the elevator stops, and Griffon steps out. He makes a quick turn, and heads to that third door. On the way he notices framed pictures on the wall of Rane, Cyclone Comet, Stubby McWeed, El Luchadore Magnifico, and Tom Flesher. He knocks, and is invited in by a deep voice. “Welcome, Mr. Griffon. How may I help you?” says Jeffrey. Mr. Horatio is a graying man in his early fifties. He has a medium build, and a slight pot belly. He wears a shirt and tie, and he may have the best mustache east of the Mississippi. “I break chairs in the locker room, and I have a solution. I need a better chair,” says Arch. “Ah yes. You and Lil’ Buck have destroyed thirty-five chairs between you in the last month. Please take a seat, big guy,” says Horatio. Griffon slowly sits down into the plush office chair. He exhales as it doesn’t break on him. “How did you know that Buck and I broke all of those chairs?” asks Griffon. “Simple. You two just leave the mess where it is. People know where you two change at.” “Oh.” Griffon pauses. “Can I have this chair?” “No. It is my chair, and I will probably not get another chair. There is a shortage of chairs throughout the company for some odd reason,” says Horatio. “I see. Now I have to ask another question. Why are the chairs in the locker room designed for Cruiserweights and Junior Heavyweights?” asks Griffon. “Take a look around the locker room sometime, Archie. You have nearly one hundred pounds on the entire roster. We made the decision of purchasing chairs for the good of the roster. Now the decision proves to be a mistake,” says Horatio. “That is a valid point. However, why did you pick wooden chairs for the guys?” Arch asks. “They bring a nice outdoor feel to the locker room, we think,” says Horatio as he leans back in his chair, tenting his fingers against his chest. “Yeah, I have gotten splinters from the chairs. Just like the outdoors,” Griffon jokes. The two men share a good laugh. “So what was your solution, Mr. Griffon?” Horatio asks Arch. “The company buys me a new chair. It would save money in the long run,” says Arch. “We can’t. Our whole budget has been eaten up by the need for the lowest of lower midcarders having expansive pyrotechnics displays on their entrances,” says Horatio, a smile on his face. “You know, I could sue the company for less,” Griffon says with a smile. Jeffrey smirks, and spins around in his office chair a few times. Archie sits patiently in his chair. Finally, Mr. Horatio stops his chair. “I have a good compromise for us. Follow me,” says Horatio. Jeffrey gets up, and leads Griffon out of the office. They walk down the hall. At the end of the hall is a big double door. “Where are we going?” asks Griffon. “The fabled SWF supply closet, young sir,” answers back Horatio. Jeffrey leads the way. As they reach the doors, Jeffrey puts forward both hands, and swings both doors open. The two men enter the dark room. Mr. Horatio hits the light switch. “Welcome to history.” Says Jeffrey. The room is packed with old props and even championship belts. Included in the props are the cross Mayor McCheese was crucified on, the gun used by Apostle to hold Shadow at gunpoint, a crate of unsold Ted Flink autobiographies, and the groin padded underwear worn by Munich in his epic rematch for the IGNJL World Championship. “So that’s how they did it,” exclaims Archie. “Yes. That one piece of clothing cost the company ten thousand dollars to make,” says Horatio. “What?” “Yeah. Anyways, over in the back corner are the chairs we designed for certain Superstars. Shall we take a look?” asks Horatio. The duo walks to the back of the room, next to the chairs. Jeffrey invites Griffon to sit in a gigantic reclining. Archie has to climb into the chair. The chair is obviously too big for him. “This was the Hville Thugg’s chair. What do you think?” asks Jeff. “No way. This is way to big,” Griffon answers back. “Ok, we should try the chair next to you.” Archie slowly climbs out the chair, and sits into the next chair. This one is considerable smaller, yet durable and comfortable. “I like it. What is the story with this chair?” he asks yet another question to Horatio. “This was Rane’s chair. It reclines, and there’s also a special lever that adjusts how far the leg rest extends. He had a huge growth spurt back when he started out. You just need to remember to put the leg extension back so the chair will close up,” Jeff explains. “I’ll take it!” Griffon looks past Horatio and sees a chair behind him. It is a nicely sized chair, covered in purple velvet. There is a huge cup holder extension on the right arm. It is more than large enough to fit a pimp cup. “Whose chair was that over there?” asks Griffon. “Oh, that one? That was Pimp Daddy Sarp’s,” says the old man. Griffon changes his face to a serious expression. “I’m going to need two chairs for the road, sir.” <back to a random arena> Lil’ Buck walks into the locker room. He is clad in his usual attire. He wears a Pete Maravich throwback jersey, and extremely baggy jeans. Buck stops dead in his tracks as he sees the chair of his dreams. It’s big and purple. Is has a place for his pimp cup. The chair is certainly fit for a gangsta’. “Now ‘dat shits crackin’!” says Buck. A tag on an arm of the chair reads “For Buck”. Of course, Buck approaches. He flips the tag around, and reads a message left for him. “Compliments of Mr. Jeffrey Horatio. Enjoy!” Buck smiles widely. His gold teeth shine brilliantly under the locker room spotlights. “Damn! It’s good to be a gangsta’!” Lil’ Buck pulls his pimp cup out his suitcase, and places it inside of the cup holder. It fits perfectly. Buck leaps into the chair, throws his arms behind his head, and relaxes. <fade out>

Main Event – TRIOS LOCOS~! Ejiro Fasaki, Arch Griffon and Manson vs. Revolution Zero (“The Critic” Scott Pretzler and JJ Johnson) and “The Dean of Professional Wrestling” Jay Hawke © ??? Sub-Main Event – Battleground Rematch! “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins vs. ??? ??? Brotherly Love? Lil’ Buck vs. “The Franchise” Mak Francis Buck, as Andrea has been dying for a non cruiser to write against. Cruiserweight Rules Non-Title Match Wildchild © vs. Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix Wildchild, as Maddix is hurt? Opening Spot-O-Rama “Maniac” Bryan Rodgers vs. Martin “Big Country” Hunt For some reason, I wish these guys were a tag team. However, the new guy picks up the win.

That match was so good I just creamed by shorts.

All in good time you shall come back, Muz. I just hope I'm around when you do.

2003 NFL regular season, the Saints made that crazy kickoff return touchdown to climb to within one. No time was left on the clock. I then predicted them to miss the extra point. They missed it. I was rolling around on the floor laughing my ass off.

Awesome card. Also, how the hell did I get into the main event?

bump

Later on, man. Hope to write against you some time.

If you're drinking and smoking pot when you're 12 years old, that means that something isn't right with your life to being with. This isn't about pot to me. It's about what makes a kid want to do stupid things before their balls drop. Maybe they are rebeling against their family at a young age because they don't feel loved. I don't know about that. But saying that marijuana may cause a mental illness that is potentially violent towards oneself and the public is just ridiculous. As for the rest of the report. It's a bad and good thing that heavy drugs are not being dealt with. You know, the drugs that actually kill people. It's good because maybe the use in the country is going down. The bad news is that it is maybe swept under the rug while the Government targets weed.

Everyone knows that Mask is at the South Pole drinking vodka with penguins. Jeeze, when will Andrea understand this?

I used to watch Bozo back when I was young on Sunday mornings. I always thought the ball buckets were the hardest tasks for the kids. At the end, kids were tossing balls ten feet. At least their news team is pretty good. Tom Skilling and Dan Roan kick ass.

Johnny, the site hasn't been updated in nearly three weeks. Is something wrong?

Everyone here may want this.... http://www.worldstadiums.com/stadium_pictu...lo_carvalho.jpg http://www.worldstadiums.com/stadium_pictu..._carvalho.shtml It took me a while to get information on this stadium. But hey, it does seat 37000. The need a Gund Arena in Santiago, Chile if you ask me.

come to chat

You two should have a soy milk together.

Nice going, Jay. That put the icing on the cake that was the PPV.

In all honesty, I was in a fake bar. Also, I can't make the whole match a Val Kilmer impression...anymore would cause Griffon to suffer from that terrible illness.

Hawke and IL pick up the wins...

The water makes you shit the same water out. You need to take opium to stop your bowels....but you still will be in bed for a day or two.

Secretary of State?

What was the point of The Union? They were around for about two weeks, and all carried 2x4's to the ring. As well, why did Shawn Michaels have the right to steal Benoit's Wrestlemania contract, sign it, and get a match? His punishment was actually getting a shot at the title.

Emo kids aren't taking over the world..just MySpace.