Patty O'Green

FUCK YO COPYWRIGHT LAWS, FOOL The Mardi Gras Homewrecking Crew-Easy Lover Los Conqueistadors-Goldust Woman(Hole version not Fleetwood Mac) Rescue 911-Urgent Love Doctors-Bad Case of Loving You Stacy Robertson-Maneater Stacy Robertson-Maneater(remix ft.Lil Wayne)shit is hot fuiud and I ain't even fuck wit lil wayne like that Los Vatos Locos-Smooth Criminal Christian Wright-Tear Away The Enterprise-Money Talks The Beverly Hills Blonds-Call Me James Riggs-Dani California Los Diablos De Fuego-It's raining men(Geri Haliwell not the Weather Girls) Dance Dance Dragon-Hung Up Alix Maria Spezia-Glamorous Krista Isadora Duncan-Nightime Chicks Over Dicks-Los Angeles

So long it may need two posts. Sorry! If it could go on after The Rockers/Mardi Gras match that'd be bitchin'. Thank ya. Oh, and Tony, where ever you are, I'll answer your last PM in about an hour or two, so, like, hold tight and stuff. The tricky, pop-savvy rhythms of [i]Dani California[/i] bounce into the sold out venue, provoking a flood of boos to come pouring from the stands. The target of the crowd's abhorrence, twenty six year old James Riggs, outfitted in an unbuttoned white trench coat and shiny sliver and black tights, steps onto the entrance stage. Flashing lights bounce across his chiseled physique as he shoots a cocky smirk into the nearest camera. He's soon flanked by his breathtaking lady love, Staci Roberts, who's attired in a a black dress shirt tied up to show a bit of midrift and a Navy skirt cut about halfway between her knee and thigh. [i]Cal-aye-forn-ya rest in peace Simultaneeeoussss release Cal-aye-forn-ya show yo teeth She's maaaaah priestess; I'm your priest Yeaaaah, yeaaaaah[/i] COACH I won't have you speak any ill words of this fine young man. COLE I wasn't... COACH You were. Not only am I a card carrying member of his fan club, the JR Nation, but I've appointed myself the Nation's minister of defense. It is my job to halt the onslaught of criticism against this fantastic athlete and his beautiful girlfriend from jealous peons such as yourself. Cole, you war with my man JR, you war with me. BUFFER The following contest is a ten person tag team match scheduled for a time limit of sixty minutes. Introducing first, being accompanied by Staci Robert, he hails from Torrence California and weighs in at two hundred and thirty two pounds. He is JAMES RIGGGGSSSSSS! Riggs' name is met with a chilly reception, but he brushes aside the hatred while he and Staci confidently stroll down the entrance ramp. Upon reaching the ring, Staci eloquently ascends the steel steps, giving her beau a view that many men would pay millions of dollars to see up close. She kisses her hands then lovingly places them on Riggs' smirking lips, before she seductively sits on the middle rope. In one smooth as silk motion, she brings her lovely legs up and crosses them, balancing her entire body on the middle rope while pushing up the top rope, allowing Riggs to step through. When Riggs is in the ring she, in another gracefully smooth motion, uncrosses them and ducks under the top rope herself. COACH What a hot body on that one! COLE Yeah, and she doesn't look all that bad herself. JR bounds towards the corner and ascends to the second turnbuckle. With testosterone coursing through his veins, he slaps his chest twice with crossed arms before arrogantly foisting them into the sky, angering the already hateful fanbase. Beautiful pryo erupts across both sides of the ring, before they mingle in the center of the apron, where wondrous golden pyro sparkles decorate the darkened arena. COLE James Riggs first victory in the OAOAST came in seventeen seconds, but the competition is a little fiercer tonight, and for that matter so are his partners. Speaking of partners, the smoke machine delves the entrance way into a troubling abyss, while the alt rock stylings of [i]Quiet[/i] replace the peppy musings of RHCP's pop hit. Through the hazy wall of grey steps wrestling's premier tag team, Black T. Their appearance is hotly contested by the rabid fans, some cheering, but many booing. The fans' opinions doesn't make much of a difference to Black T, who simply exchange a firm handshake with one another then head out to the squared circle. BUFFER The partners: First, hailing from London, England, the man who has held more titles than any other man in OAOAST history, he is the "ICE HEART" DAAAAAN BLAAAAACK! His partner, residing in Hollywood U.S.A by way of San Antonio, Texas., he weighs in at two hundred sixty-wo pounds...the former heavyweight champion of the world...TONYYYYY BRRRRAAAANNIGANNNNN! Together they are known as the Trans-Atlantic Wrecking Crew, BLACK TEEEEEEEE! More boos assault the living legends, who strut to the ring with heads held high and confidence held even higher. They slide into the ring simultaneously, seizing up their young partner. Brannigan deems him worthy of tagging with The Trans-Atlantic Wrecking Crew and offers him a handshake. Black follows up with a similar gesture and just like that JR has earned the confidence and trust of the former tag team champions. [i]Frankenstein[/i] rips into the arena, signaling the arrival of two men who most definitely do not have the trust of Black T, The Sooner Bruisers. Heel heat builds from every section of the venue drowning out the genre bending sounds of Edgar Winter. The entrance doors tear apart, revealing the despised gladiators to the caustic world. Uber outfitted in simple black trunks doesn't bother with any flashy poses or plays to the camera. The Psycho Gremlin simply walks to the ring, ignoring every fan he passes, even the few who offer him words of encouragement. Big Frank, in red shorts with 69 written on the front and a Superman style S on the back, takes a second to show off his freakish physique before he joins his brother in their solemn journey to the squared circle. COLE Black T and The Sooner Bruisers are scheduled to hook up in the second round of the Anderson Cup. These two teams have their history together, but they have to find some way to coexist tonight. And we saw The Bruisers earlier tonight len an assist to The Mardi Gras Homewrecking crew in their upset victory over The Heavenly Rockers. BUFFER And their partners from Oklahoma, weighing in at a combined weight of five hundred and thirty five pounds, they are former OAOAST tag team champions, and NCAA all Americans, combined between them they have won six NCAA wrestling championships, two world championships, eight high school championships, and seven USA wrestling championships, they are The Pyscho Gremlin, Uber Bruiser, The Man of Tomorrow Uber Bruiser.....THE SOOOONER BRUISEEEEERSSS! The second The Bruisers enter the squared circle a spat erupts between themselves and Black T. Neither team seems to have forgotten the bad blood that exists between them, and neither is willing to forget. While they argue, and trade profane threats , James Riggs stands in the corner, throughly entertained by the whole show. However his girlfriend urges him to create some semblance of unity with his team, which Riggs is not exactly thrilled to do. After a brief debate, JR gives into his girls' demands, and interjects himself into the doonybrook. He informs the former tag team champions they can tear each other apart in the Anderson Cup, but for they now they must focus on the task at hand. Somehow he manages to convince the temperamental foursome of his rightness, and they agree on an uneasy truce. COACH Athlete, showman, and a peace keeper! [i]Tick, tock, tick, tock[/i] [i]Time goes by so slowly Time goes by....so slowly Time goes by....so slowly Time goes by....so slowly Time goes by...so slowly Time goes by....so slowly[/i] The sweaty, head-spinningly good dance track [i]Hung Up/[/i] from queen of pop Madonna sends the audience into state of dance induced euphoria. As Madonna's airy vocals groove throughout the venue, a bevy of scantly clad male and female dancers in costumed army fatigues come onto the stage. While they move to the pulsating music, fabulous multi colored strobe lights splash along the arena, turning Boston into the sight of the world's largest rave. Joining the dancers on stage is The Strong Style Party Animal, The Bemani Bruiser, The Masked Dance Assassin, Triple D, DDD, MOTHER FUCKING Dance, Dance Dragon! The twenty two year old dance phenom writhes his body along side his army of sexy dancers, while Buffer readies his introduction. BUFFER And the opponents...first from Osaka, Japan, he is a world champion Dance Dance Revolution player, he weighs in at one hundred ninety nine pounds, he is The Masked Dance Assassin, DANCE. DANCE, DRAGOOOONN! Dragon grooves his way down the aisle, pulling Ipod Nanos out of his pocket and chucking them to the cheering Bostonians. Upon spotting the fearsome rouges gallery that comprises the opposing team, he wisely waits on the other side of the ring for his compatriots to arrive. COLE James Riggs and Dance Dance Dragon certainly have had their fair share of issues in the past. At the New Years Knock Out contest, James Riggs eliminated himself just to attack the Dragon! COACH James Riggs didn't eliminate himself. An OAOAST official, a pure idiot, probably related to you judging by how stupid he was, chose to eliminate the man, who no doubt would've won the contest had he been allowed to continue. The stirring sounds of Ennio Morricone's [i]The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly[/i] enter the attentive ears of the viewing audience. As the imaginative instrumentation beats it's steady war cry, red and blue lights splash across the landscape. A glorious orange pyro missle descends from the peak of the overhead scoreboard and onto the entrance stage. It lands with righteous impact, nearly deafening those spectators unlucky enough sit near it. Shortly after the powerful pyro display concludes the house lights dim to a grim blackness. The home audience is shown an overhead view of the entrance stage, it's metallic floor carpeted by simmering flames that form the shape of a bull's head. The camera pans down to reveal the hottest hunks the state of Texas has ever produce (sincerest apologies to Matthew McCaughney) , The Lonestar Gunslingers! Outfitted in matching white trunks with burnt orange kneepads, the duo walks to the ring with little in the way of preamble or showmanship However a wave of shrieking girls lends the boys barren entrance much needed flash, screaming at the top of their lungs for the sizzling hot pieces of Grade A man beef! BUFFER And his partners weighing in at a combined weight of five hundred and seven pounds, they are brawlers hailing from The Lone Star State, they are The Texas Twister Jock Mulligan, Baron Windells, THE LONESTAR GUNSLINGEERRRRRSSSS! The many women (and numerous men) who like their studs to be of the “rough trade” variety give Buffer's announcement a rousing pop. The roughnecks hit the ring, where they exchange high fives with their quirky partner. COLE The Lonestar Gunslingers were victims of a brutal attack at the hands of The Sooner Bruiser's three weeks ago. They've promised revenge and that's what they're here to dish out. But they'll also have to contend with Black T, a team that beat them just two weeks ago in the first round of the Anderson Cup. [i]Los Angeles[/i], Sugarcult's ferocious ode to the entertainment capital of the world is heard loud and clear over the arena sound system. What's heard even louder is a monstrous roar of excitement from the fans. Every last audience member rises to their feet in unbridled anticipation of the two wrestlers soon to appear. A chant of “C-O-D” goes up when a gorgeous [color=#FF0000][b]red[/color][/b] pyro waterfall dives onto the stage below. The chant only increases in decibel level when the waterfall is met with an equally astounding [color=#FF3399][b]pink[/color][/b] pyro fountain. Once those fireworks fade into nothingness, a majestically royal [color=#FFFF33][b]gold[/color][/b] pyro wall springs to life, overtaking the entire entrance stage in it's radiance. As the yearning chorus of the song kicks in, the Californian duo of Chicks Over Dicks steps through smoky cloak. Their arrival is welcomed with a gargantuan cheer from the Bostonians, many of whom hoist their pro-COD signs high into the sky. COACH Losers at home, mark it on your calendar, this Sunday, Anglepalooza, Chicks Over Dicks defends their tag team titles against the previous champions, The Sooner Bruisers. Alix,attired in red Gucci sunglasses, and white hot short jumpsuit with a deep plunging neckline, the back of which features a full length rose with diamonds embroidered in the petals, cruisers along the stage, rocking her shapely body back and forth, sending the fans into further frenzy. Krista's outfitted in a frilly Heatheratte™ rainbow patterned mini skirt, and spotless white tennis shoes. She off sets the girly lower body wear by sporting a “distressed” black Monarchy™ hoodie, featuring Archaic old English text, a rebellious rose graphic, and gothic zipper on the front. Somehow Krista is able to settle her hyperactive better half down long enough, to twirl her around and pull her into a tight embrace. Alix turns over her shoulders, brushes a strand of her brown locks out her face, and tosses a kiss to the camera, causing cute super imposed red lips to pop on the screen. BUFFER And their partners...., first, from Los Angeles, California, she is the CEO of Mrs.Spezia's sweeties, the Hollywood Bad Girl, ALIX MARIA SPEZIA! And her partner, from Los Angeles, California, she is a best selling author, a fitness queen, and star of the world famous FIT with KID line of exercise videos, she is Miss California Krista Isaodra Duncan! Together they are the OAOAST world tag team champions, America's Sweethearts, Chicks Over Dicks! Another hugenormouslargegargantuanbig pop! The champions take up position on the ring apron, discussing strategy with The Lonestar Gunslingers. The house lights come up and we are under way. DING DING Jock sits on the ring apron, clapping his hands together, working the already excited crowd into a higher state of euphoria. Dan Black, in the ring for his team, attaches a disapproving glare on Mulligan and warns him to cease his racket. However the caution simply causes Jock to increase the furor of his clapping, provoking Black's ire. On the other hand, the clapping and the crowd noise lights a spark with in Dance Dance Dragon, and he rushes towards the Ice Heart. But Black meets his advance with a swift forearm strike to the gut that leaves DDD doubled over in agony. Black furthers his pain by clutching onto the top of his mask, then smashing a fist into his face. The Dragon stumbles backwards into his foes' corner, where he's met with a plethora of taunts from James Riggs. Danny B adds injury to insult when he blasts the Japanese fighter with a stinging knife edge chop. The move forces Dragon to skirt along the ropes, attempting to cope with the burning pain. But The Ice Heart stalks his path and hooks him into a front facelock. In one swift motion he brings Dragon down to the canvas with a snap suplex. He floats over into a cover and 89 year old referee Clem Buzzlefoxer makes the count! ONE Dragon scraps his shoulder off the mat well before old man Clem can reach two. Black grabs the green tassels on the back of DDD's mask and roughly yanks him to his feet. He snakes his muscular arms around Dragon's waist, then lifts him up as if he was going for a Manhattan Drop. But Dragon, who has no desire to see his clam hammer get shattered by Black's kneecaps, fights out of the hold by boxing the Londoner's ears. The Ice Heart lets Dragon go free, but scores a a measure of revenge when she sweeps forward and drives a lariat into the man's chest. The cruiser weight crumples to the canvas as if he just shot out of a plain, and groans in pain. Dragon's groans are like blood in the water to a shark for Dan, he takes them as a cue to step his punishment. He directs harsh stomps towards his rival, trying his best to knock him out with the basic strikes. However this plan never gets a chance to come to fruition, for Uber Bruiser tags himself into the contest! Needless to say, Black is less then pleased with his “teammate's” untimely entry, and another argument ensues. “BRUISERS SUCK! BRUISERS SUCK!” Chants the crowd, offering their opinion on who should be in the match. However, Buzzlefoxer settles the spat by evicting Dan and ordering Uber into the ring. The Psycho Gremlin hauls Dragon upright and strikes him square in the chest with forearm. The attack is worse then getting hit with a battering ram-he staggers backwards and sways on his feet. Bruiser watches him wobble unsteadily with drool creeping out the corner of his mouth. He then quenches his thirst for violence by unleashing a Soonerline on DDD! But the OAOAST's own Lord of the Dance majestically counters the strike by flipping forward, latching his hands onto Uber's spandex tights and pulling him to the mat with a sunset flip! Before Clem can even attempt to make the count, Bruiser pulls his entire body off the mat. He turns his massive frame onto The Strong Style Party Animal, seeking to crush him with a simple shoulder block. But once again, Triple D gets the better of him, smacking him across the leg with a vicious kick. The strike has Bruiser hobbling in hurt, and leaves him open to a kick to another leg. The overwhelming hurt in his limbs becomes to much to bear, and The Pyscho Gremlin sinks to his knees, a defeated man. Unfortunately, Dragon shows him no remorse and slams a vile kick into the his mullet covered noggin. The sound of the leather boot crashing into Uber's skull is music to the audience's ears, and they emit a large pop in response. COLE There's that three kick combo Dragon loves so much! Triple D spots Jock leaning over the ropes, and yearning for a tag. Ever the good partner, Dragon eagerly tags in the handsome cowboy. Mulligan leaps into the ring, the memory of the beating he and his ally suffered at the Bruisers' hands still fresh on his mind. His vengeful response is immediate and overwhelming, laying into Uber with harsh left hands. Once the punch flurry ends, knife edge chops blaze across Uber's expansive chest, sounding like a string of firecrackers going off. “WHOOOOOO!” Dan Black, having no sympathy for Uber's situation, cries out “Shoulda never pulled me out the match, ya bloody moron!” Of course these comments, cause Frank to attempt an attack on Dan and once again forces James to play peace keeper. Back in the ring, The Texas Twister hurls Uber towards the corner. Bruiser's back endures a hurtlful meeting with the poorly padded steel turnbuckles. His upper body then suffers an even worse meeting with a body splashing Jock. The Pyscho Gremlin stumbles out of the corner, scarcely able to remain upright. Mulligan takes advantage his wounded state, by bouncing off the ropes and slamming a Western Lariat into his already injured back. The Okie goes down in a heaping pile of sweat and bones, and Mulligan quickly drops onto him for a lateral press. ONE TWO Uber kicks out, but his escape doesn't stop Dan Black from dumping more salt into his wounds “You're doing a fantastic job! Cheers!” he shouts. Jock brings Uber to his feet and launches him towards the cables. The Texas stud muffin lowers his head, hoping that Uber will leapfrog him and head towards his(Jock's) corner where one of his allies will dish out their own brand of punishment. Unfortunately Jock's tactics don't go to plan, as Uber stops in front of his body and punts him right in his chiseled chest. The blow rockets Mulligan upright, and has him whimpering in pain. While Mulligan attends to his own agony, The Pyscho Gremlin shoots himself off the ropes, looking to hit the infamous Soonerline. But the Texas bred Adonis turns the tables by latching onto Uber's singlet, lifting him into the air, then driving him into the mat with a bewildering spine buster! The tremendous impact of the hold shakes the ring right to it's very core, and earns an appreciative round of applause from the fanbase. “Bang up job, Uber! Couldn't have done it better myself!” Dan taunts, this time drawing a “Dude, shut up. Seriously.” from an annoyed Riggs. Feeling that he's done enough damage to Bruiser for the moment, Jock applies the tag to Alix Maria Spezia. The spicy Californian's entrance into the match gleans the expected ovation, and she salutes her vocal admirers with a round of headbanging. Unfortunately this moment of playing to the audience gives Uber all the time he needs to recover from the spinebuster. He closes in on his Anglepalooza opponent and stabs her in the stomach with a swift kick. He then makes the fatal mistake off trying to rip her Gucci sunglasses off her face. That's a definite no-no in Ally Spezia's book, and the buxom brunette makes him pay for his transgressions with a football kick to his Frank N Beans! “ALIX! ALIX! ALIX!” sing the fans. Obviously, Uber doesn't quite feel the same love towards Alix as the thousands of fans do. Right now the only thing he feels like is that he's been hit in the testicles with a sledge hammer laced in barbwire. Thanks to that, he's forced to swallow his pride and tag Tony Brannigan into the match. Dan can't resist one last cheap shot at Uber's expense, shouting “Finally, we get to see a real performer in the ring!” COLE It's going to be mighty ugly when The Bruisers meet Black T in the second round of the Anderson Cup. COACH [i]If[/i] they meet Black T in the second round, which certainly won't happen when they win the tag team titles at Anglepalooza. The former World Champion enters the ring and almost meets the same grizzly fate as his partner. But he has the wherewithal to catch Alix's foot before it can splatter his private parts across the ring. However he doesn't have the wherewithal to prevent her from leaping into the air and slicing her free foot into the back of his head with an enziguri. Tony groggily dances for a moment, spit splaying out of his mouth, before he finally timbers forward to the mat in a convulsing pile. “BOSTON?” Alix screams to the audience. “YEAAAAAAAAH?” “ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?” “YEAAAAAAAH!” “I SAID ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?” “YEAAAAAAH!” “THEN ROOOOOOOCK AWWWWWN, BOSTON!” [b]“YEAAAAAAH!”[/b] After her Vince Neil impression concludes, The Hollywood Bad Girl zips towards the ropes. Rather then run back, as would be the custom, she does a graceful cartwheel, and extends her body into it's full five feet eight inches when she nears her rival. She collides into him with a body splash, making a move to hook his leg for a pinfall the second she lands. Clem drops to his arthritic knees to count the pin. CROWD ONE CROWD TWO Tony kicks out, using his impressive strength to toss lightweight Alix off of him. Being flung halfway across the ring by a 1900's strongman doesn't seem to deter our heroine, and she blindly charges the three time tag team champion. However, he greets her charge with a knee to the gut that subdues her enormous spirit and puts her totally under his control. The musclebound brute then manhandles her into a neutral corner, where he obliterates her with an army of perfectly placed elbow strikes to her exposed upper chest. The Body leaves her a coughing and wheezing mess in the corner and backs up towards the center of the ring. He builds up a head of steam, before dashing towards her with a corner avalanche. Unluckily for her plastic surgeon's bank account, Ally avoids the implants busting move, by diving out of the way at the last possible second. Tony's brawny upper body is besmeared across the rock hard turnbuckles, and his mouth emits pained howls. Alix isn't much for sympathy, and piles on the misery by grabbing a chunk of his greasy black hair and savagely ramming his face into the top post. The bubbly superstar, gleefully invites the audience to count along with each one of her savage strikes. “ONE!” “TWO!” “THREE!” “FOUR!” “FIVE!” “SIX!” “SEVEN!” COACH Someone get in there and help him! “EIGHT!” “NINE!” “TEN!” COACH Frank is standing there and laughing! Do something! “ELEVEN!” “TWELVE!” “THIRTEEN!” “FOURTEEN!” “FIFTEEN.”..... [b]”SWEET SIXTEEN!”[/B] COLE She calls that move My Super Sweet 16! The series turns out to be anything but sweet for Tony, who can scarcely recollect his own name, where he's from, or what he's doing here. He wobbles out of the corner, seeing doubles of everyone in the bout, and hardly able to stand on his own two feet. Fortunately he doesn't have to do that last part for very long, as the perky diva takes him to the mat with a simple and leg sweep. She delays dumping more gloom onto Tony's landscape long enough to lean over the ropes and blow a kiss to a wheelchair bound fan in the front row. Awwww! She then returns to task at hand and drives the point of her bare knee onto the top of The Body's forehead. The once moaning brawler goes silent the moment the strike hits, and his dark eyes turn vacant, leaving him open to a pinfall. CROWD ONE CROWD TWO James Riggs, the only person on his team who has any concept of teamwork, breaks up the pinfall, earning himself a considerable amount of heel heat in the process. While the audience pelts JR with taunts and jeers, Alix refocuses herself on the task of defeating the other half of the Transatlantic Wrecking Crew. She watches Tony drag his carcass upright, then snags onto his thick arm to whip him towards a neutral corner. However, Tony reverses the basic hold, shifting his bodyweight, and using Alix's momentum against her to pull her into a short arm lariat. Miss Spezia topples to the canvas bellow, deeply injured by the awesome force of Brannigan's strike. She tries to rise to her feet, but the crippling power of the attack leaves her unable to do much more then emit soft cries of white hot pain. Her slender body does begin to move, however, but it's only due to the fact that Tony is dragging her towards his team. He makes the tag to Riggs, bringing the man into this contest for the first time tonight. The audience is none to happy to see JR enter the warzone and makes no bones about expressing their displeasure. Their hatred rolls off the fabulously cool grappler like water down his back, and he responds to the peons with nothing more then a spiteful smirk. COACH This man is one of the brightest newcomers we've seen in the OAOAST in years. He's going to be a world champion before the year is out, I guarantee it. COLE I don't question that one bit. What I do question is attitude towards the fans and his fellow wrestlers. Tony holds a squirming Spezia into position, while JR measures her with the snide “picture frame” taunt. He strikes upon the perfect place to unleash a beating, then hits that mark with pinpoint accuracy, driving a clubbing forearm onto her back. Brannigan releases his grip, and the quivering champion sinks to her knees, her dark hair falling in front of her like a wet mop. Riggs takes hold of those luscious locks, and leads her to his corner. He presses her body against the turnbuckles, then proceeds to maul her soft skin with a furious series of elbow strikes. The intensity packed behind Riggs' attacks is amazing, so much so that even his fueding teammates look on with wonderment. One person who isn't willing to stand idly by while Alix get mangled is Krista Isadora Duncan. She angrily zips into the ring, and lays a forearm into a surprised JR's back. Though the move didn't do much in the way of damage, it accomplished Krista's goal of pulling him away from her partner. Buzzlefoxer tries to lead KID back to her corner, but an enraged Riggs plunges a relatively mundane situation into full on chaos when he levels vulgarity stained threats at Krista. Not one to back down from any sort of argument, Krissy fires back with her own profanity ridden tirade, and soon the two blond haired Californians throw themselves headstrong into all out verbal warfare. COLE Well, Krista and James Riggs look like they could be brother and sister, but there's certainly no brotherly or sisterly love shared between them right now. With Clem's hands full with the two blonds, The Bruisers, acting on suggestion from Staci, proceed to lambaste helpless Ally with a combination of stomps and elbow strikes. Black T's contribution to this deplorable clobbering is too do nothing but have Tony comment that the only people the Bruisers seem capable of bruising are jobbers, and women. The brother's grim ignore the taunt and continue to batter Alix, much to the very vocal crowd's chagrin. On the outside Staci gets involved in the shenanigans, creeping up towards a weeping Alix. She makes light of Ally's very real pain by rubbing her eyes with her fists, pretending to shed tears. Once she's done feigning sympathy, she cocks her hand, then rears forward, devastating poor Alix with a viscous open hand slap! Alix wilts mightily under the assault, and can barely look Staci face as Miss Robert holds her up by the chin and cruelly informs her that there's no chance she'll make it too see Anglepalooza. “STACI DOES CREAMPIES! STACI DOES CREAMPIES!” chant the twisted New Englanders. If you don't know what a creampie is, then lucky you! The slowest moving referee in the industry finally returns towards the action. But by the time he reaches distressed Alix, the beatings have ceased and all culprits stand idly by, putting on expressions of mock innocence. Pleased with his squad's shaddy tactics, Riggs returns to Alix, and sends several boots into her back. Once he's done leaving his footprint on her jumpsuit, he drags her upright and clamps her into a frontface lock. Immediately she tries to battle free of the hold, shooting punches into his tightly toned midsection. But the blows are like mosquitoes on an elephant, and do nothing to weaken the hold. He smashes a forearm into her back to end her irksome punches, then hooks onto her bare right leg. From there JR lifts her into the air, and dives backwards, slamming her back first into the mat with a bridged fisherman's suplex. Buzzlefoxer, [i]slowly[/i] gets to his weak knees to score the pin. ONE TWO Alix gets a shoulder off the mat, leading the audience and her team to breathe several sighs of relief. Riggs is of the mind that Clem's inability to move at anything more then a snails pace cost him a winning pinfall, and as such he rolls the move and attempts another pin. Clem again makes the count, complaining about his perpetually aching back as he does so. ONE TWO THR-- Alix shoots her shoulder off the mat, causing another thankful cheer to rise from the stands. Riggs, however, doesn't quite indulge in the same jubilation as the capacity crowd. He mutters a frustrated slew of complaints under his breath as he rises to his feet. Alix tries to the do the same, but as she reaches her full vertical frame, she feels a pair of kicks tear into her shoulder, and then legs. Before she knows it, she's kneeling on the ground, vaguely aware of the scorching pain in her limbs. She again attempts to rise, but the leg that Riggs just attacked buckles underneath her, sinking her back into the canvas. Within moments she's overtaken by a sharp, stabbing agony in her back, and before she can think of what to do next, Riggs fully cinches in his sharpshooter attempt! “RIGGS MUST DIE! RIGGS MUST DIE! RIGGS MUST DIE!” screams the fanbase. Over their hostile chants, shouts Staci, barbarically ordering her boyfriend to make the crowd favorite tap out. Alix has no intention of permitting James to grant Staci's wish, and she bites a back a groan as she paws her way to the ropes. Riggs isn't willing to let her escape that easily, and every inch that she gains is quickly robbed from her when he tugs her back to the center of the ring. But Ally steadfastly refuses to capitulate, and digs her nails deep into the canvas and continues the arduous trek to salvation. Riggs regards her resilience with nothing more then bitter contempt, and bears down harder on his hold. The increased pressure shoots torment through her system, and she sobs in misery, her body all but going limp in response to the substantial pain. “LET'S GO ALIX! LET'S GO ALIX! LET'S ALIX!” On the outside Staci throws her hands up in preemptive celebration, certain that it's only a matter of time before Alix succumbs to her beau's technical prowess. For a time it appears that Staci's prediction may come to fruition, as weeping Alix looks to be on the verge of tapping out. But the encouragement from her fans, and from her team, chiefly Krista, blesses her with the strength she needs to continue her journey to the ropes. With gritted teeth she slogs across the ring, like a solider moving through muddy, bullet riddled fields. Riggs does everything in his power to submit Alix, going as far as attempting to break her weak back with the hold. But nothing short of murder could prevent the spirited champion from reaching the cables. She tries desperately to take hold of the bottom rope, which lies just a painful few inches out of reach. Riggs turns over his shoulder and snarls, making one last effort to pull her back towards the middle of the ring. But Alix calls upon all the energy left in her in tiny little body to shoot her arm forward and snatch the rope! [b]”YEAAAAAAH!”[/b] shouts the crowd as Alix's team claps proudly on the ring apron. Riggs stares on in utter disbelief, unsure of how Alix was able to escape certain doom. Not wanting to press his terrible luck any further, The Blue Chipper tags in The Man of Tomorrow, Big Frank Bruiser. Big Frank's entrance into the bout is heralded by chants of “ROIDS WILL KILL YOU! ROIDS WILL KILL YOU!” Riggs does Frank the favor of pinning Alix's arms behind her back to hold her in place. She thrashes against his grip like a fish out of water, but his impressive strength is too much to escape for the moment. With Ally turned into a sitting duck, Frank bounces off the ropes, and goes duck hunting with a Soonerline! But The Hollywood Bad Girl somehow calls upon the strength and the divine luck to escape Riggs' clutches. By the time that The Man of Tomorrow realizes that his foe is long gone from his associates clutches it's too late to put on the breaks. His enormous arm slams into an alarmed Riggs, rocketing the air straight out of his chest. The world around JR goes black, and he lays perfectly still, the audience's voices swirling above him. “YOU FUCKED UP! YOU FUCKED UP!” the Bostonians sing, with Dan Black joining in on their battle cry. With Big Frank preoccupied with arguing with Staci, the crowd, and the annoyed members of Black T, Alix makes a hasty retreat to her corner where she tags in Baron Windels! Baron hits the ring, bursting at the seams with intensity and makes a mad dash for Big Frank Bruiser. He lands a forearm into a shocked Frank's upper back, then follows that up with several quick jabs to the midsection. Frank, who had no idea Alix even made a tag, recovers from his moments amazment long enough to whip around and pelt the gorgeous roughneck with a backhand blow. Baron staggers backwards, clutching his injured nose and checking for drops of blood. Frank attempts to capitalize on his disorientation by hurling him into a vacant corner. But Windels overpowers Big Frank into a reversal. The Man of Tomorrow slams into the corner with a resonating thud, but takes the brunt of the impact with his flabby backside. This means that he isn't quite as injured as Baron, who's closing in on him with shoulder charge, would like to think. He soon realizes this when his foe drops down to his stomach and disrupts his attack with a drop toe hold. Windels, unable to prepare a proper defense, suffers an unprotected face first meeting with the bottom turnbuckle. The attack leaves a grotesque aftermath on Baron's face, his nose looking as healthy as a piece of roadkill on a Georgia road. The camera shows various female fans weeping in sadness at the plight of their handsome idol. While Clem inquires on Windels' condition, Big Frank belittles the man, shouting “Come on and fight me, you pretty boy c**ksucker!” However Baron never gets the opportunity to strike Frank down for that jab, thanks to Dan Black blindly tagging himself into the contest. Of course this does not go over well with Big Frank, and verbal warfare is soon waged between the two parties. Their little spat quickly degenerates into all out fisticuffs, as the two warriors simultaneously come to blows. Frank gains the upperhand in the slugfest for a split second-a split second that Baron seizes on by school boying Dan into a pin! ONE TWO In spite of his disgust for Black T, Frank has no desire to add another L to his loss column, and breaks up the pin. He departs the ring, but not before chewing out Black and Tony for their continued disrespect. Black pays Frank no consideration, too busy lighting up his Texan rival with a succession of flesh searing knife edge chops, each one earning the requisite whoos from the fans. The fifth and final blows lands with such astounding barbarity that it knocks Baron flat on his back and has stars swirling above his head. The prone state of his adversary allows Black to make a tag his longtime partner, Tony Brannigan. COACH Black T and The Gunslingers furthering their little rivalry here. The Gunslingers said that they've taken over Black T's house, and that they're better then them. I think they spoke too soon, Cole, because they didn't show that two weeks ago and they aren't showing it here tonight. The second coming of Rick Rude is greeted by an interesting mixture of cheers from those who respect Tony's numerous accomplishments in the ring and boos from those who think he's a miserable prick. However the only opinion that matters right now is Baron's. And being part of the “prick” camp, he eagerly pounces on his enemy. He dazes his fellow Texan with a series of lightening quick jabs to the face, then puts him on a trip to the ropes. The cables bounce Tony back and he has a lariat waiting to take Windels' noggin off. But all the planning is for naught as Baron simply lowers his lanky body, and cuts through Tony with a standing spear! Overcome with a wave of adrenaline, Baron Windels stands up and pumps his fist to the roaring New Englanders. COLE If you want to prove you're better then Black T, then spearing Brannigan and leaving him in a fetal position is a good place to start. With Tony left in that aforementioned fetal position, Windels struts to his corner and brings Dance Dance Dragon into the affair. COLE We haven't seen Dragon since the start of the match, his team tags out a lot less frequently then Tony's team. In fact the only time we've even seen Krista is when she got into an argument with James Riggs. The Bemani Buster leaps over the ropes, ready to make a name for himself at the expense of Brannigan. But Tony believes Dragon's name would look better on a tombstone then a marquee, and uses powerful forearm smashes to make this wish come true. His ravenous blows bulldoze the fun loving grappler into a vacant corner, where Tony proceeds to decimate his scrawny chest with closed fists. Dragon weakens significantly under the amazing force of the strike, only being held up by the repeated succession of punches. COACH That is why Tony Brannigan is a former world champion. COLE Because he can punch a defenseless man? COACH No because of hard hitting, devastating offense that renders that man defenseless. His hands aching from the uninterrupted brutalization of the Osaka native, the burly grappler takes hold of Dragon's mask tassels and yanks him off the turnbuckle. He roughly leads him to the corner of evil, where he makes a tag to DDD's archrival, James Riggs. COLE Riggs has sort of taken up unofficial captaincy of his team, largely because he's the only one who doesn't have a problem with any of his teammates. JR's arrival into the bout is affronted by an unbelievable amount of heel heat from the rabid fans who would like nothing better but to see DDD smash his skull into pieces. Unfortunately for them that is a fantasy that will remain unfulfilled as Riggs enters the bout with a straight left cross to Dragon's face. Yet Triple D takes the volley in stride and fires back with a savate kick to Riggs' well defined abdomen. The strike pushes Riggs back several inches and leaves him stunned for a precious few seconds. But these few seconds are all DDD needs to snag JR into a tightly held front facelock. He drops backwards and mashes Riggs' goateed face into the mat with a DDT. While his foe desperately tries to remember just what city he's in, Triple D lays his arm across his sculpted chest for a pin attempt. ONE TWO Riggs' shoulder comes off the mat, and the boos return to the arena as a result. Clutching his aching head, JR unsteadily rises to his feet where his vision is met with the vexing sight of Dance Dance Dragon turning the ring into the world's largest DDR pad! His right foot taps the imaginary “buttons”, while his left bounces his bodyweight from side to side. While his actions have the Riggs-hating DDR-loving fans rejoicing, they set JR on the warpath. He stands up and assaults the Bemani Buster with a round of right hooks. Each punch earns a boo from the audience as it lands. Thankfully DDD is able to break up the lopsided slug fest by rifling a thudding knee into his foe's midsection. Holding his stomach with his left arm, Riggs' groggily stumbles from side to side, in dire need of a barf bag. Dragon continues to feed his desire to crush the overly arrogant grappler, and grabs his free arm while he hooks his leg between Riggs'. From there he drops forward, dragging his rival along with him, and smashing him face first into the ring floor with a front Russian legsweep! James yelps in distress as a harsh pain builds throughout his mangled face. “You're gonna pay for that, you ugly little freak!” Staci shrieks. Triple D puts himself off the ropes, building up great a deal of speed as he races back towards his now standing rival. But Riggs' reflexes are up to task of besting Dragon and he easily catches his enemy in a front waistlock. In one smooth as a baby's behind motion, the Californian bridges backwards and launches Dragon into the air with belly to belly suplex! SLAM! DDD's landing is of the disgusting variety, his body shaking the ring to it's core upon impact. With the crowd shooting vulgarities his way, JR makes them even angrier, showboating with a flashy pendulum elbow drop that hits perfectly onto his adversary's rib area. “There's more where that came from, freak!” Staci screams, somehow making herself heard over the chants of “RIGGS SUCKS!” A groggy Dragon finally steps to his feet. There is half a second delay before he's truly balanced, and in that half-second, his bloodthirsty foe closes in on him. He places his head under Dragon's left arm, grabs the The Strong Style Party Animal's left leg and hoists him into the air for a lethal exploding suplex. But, much to Riggs' chagrin, Dragon manages to deftly escape in midair. Instead of landing right onto his neck as JR had hoped, Triple D swings around to flip him head over heels with an arm drag! “YEAAAAAAH!” Dragon rolls to his feet, and begins delighting the capacity crowd with another one of his award winning dance routines. JR is slightly less fortunate, landing in a crumpled heap at the foot of the ropes. JR struggles upright, using the ropes for leverage, but his pesky enemy is rushing towards him, seeking to knock him clear out the ring. But Riggs reacts quick enough to halt DDD's advance with a brutal high knee lift! The base of his kneecap catches DDD squarely on the chin and plummets him back to the mat. With Triple D sprawled out on the canvas and seeing nothing but a hazy blackness, Riggs proceeds to infuriate the fans, his opposing team, and probably his mother and father watching back home in Torrence, by mocking DDD with the worst dance routine ever seen in television's eighty years of existence! COLE The dancing leaves a bit to be desired, but you can't complain about his wrestling. Dragon rises on his own will, but is quickly met with a forearm to the chest. His eyes water and his breath becomes short when another torrid blow lands on his chest. He totters from side to side, unable to mount a defense against JR's vivacious brawling assault. Feeling his rival sufficiently weakened, Riggs sweeps behind him and hooks him into a back suplex set-up. He hoists him into the sky, lifting him so high you'd swear he could touch the scoreboard. He then plummets backwards crashing Triple D into the canvas with the deadly hold. The crowd's response is of the negative variety, and they plead for Dragon to get up and give the cocky Riggs what he deserves. Unfortunately for them, before Dragon can even stand, JR tags Uber Bruiser into the affair. COLE Uber's last turn in this match didn't go as well as he would've liked, getting Sweet 16'ed into oblivion by Alix. The Pyscho Gremlin scoops Triple D up, and after delivering two vile punches to the ribcage, shoots him into the cables. Dragon returns to a waiting knee to the stomach from the Okie. He's taken head over heels, and suffers a cringe worthy neck first landing that has more then a few little kids in tears. Uber prepares to really crank up the preschool water works, as he lifts DDD up and places him into a standing head scissors. He crosses his arms under his beefy chest and then lifts him up so that he hangs horizontal to the mat. With the fans steady in their stream of hatred for him, Bruiser sits out and drops him back first to the mat, utilizing the deadly pyramid driver! Buzzlefoxer counts the ensuing pin... ONE TWO Dragon kicks out, bringing forth cheers from the audience. Uber is relentless, however, and once again takes hold of the outside leg for a pin.... ONE TWO Dragon lifts his shoulder off the mat right before Clem can hit three. Uber stares down at the prone form of The Bemani Buster, wondering what it will take to finish off this unorthodox superstar. He understands that despite his outward goofiness, the man is legitimately tough, but no one is tough enough to withstand repeated punishment from a six time NCAA champion. So The Pyscho Gremlin hoists Dragon up to his feet once more, and places him into a front facelock. He roughly jerks Dragon into the air, but at the very height of the move, the agile wrestler shifts his body free and lands behind his enemy. Leaving Bruiser puzzled as to his whereabouts, the weary dance sensation makes moves to his corner to tag in one of waiting his partners. The crowd makes no bones about who they want to see in the contest, loudly singing “WE WANT KRISTA! WE WANT KRISTA!” Dragon certainly has no intention of angering the OAOAST's vocal fanbase, and applies the tag to the blond bombshell. “KRISTA! KRISTA! KRISTA!” Miss California hits the ring like a 5'10 ball of fitness instructing alcohol consuming fiyaaaaah! She plows through her hated Anglepalooza opponent, Uber with a leg lariat, then strikes down his incoming brother with a spinning back kick! The fans are on their feet, boisterously cheering on the beautiful gladiator. Black T is shown no mercy on her rampage, as she leaps to the third turnbuckle, then flies off, shoving her Guess? Pumps into an apron based Dan Black's face with a picture perfect springboard dropkick! The result of the move is anything but picture perfect, as Black is flung off the apron and into the cold steel guardrail. Then the largest athlete on his team, Tony Brannigan, makes his presence felt once again, dashing towards the energetic champion with an axe handle smash! But Krista is more then ready for him, and she abruptly halts his charge with a boot to his abs of steel! Tony B is left doubled over and dazed, and Krissy moves quickly to capitalize on his unenviable situation. She moves behind her much larger foe, and hooks her hands around his face. She then sits out, snapping Tony's skull off the rock hard canvas with her oddly named finisher [b]Elizabeth, I'm coming to join ya, honey! It's the big one![/b] (Reverse X-factor). KID extends her arm forward, hooking Tony's leg for what everyone believes will be the deciding pinfall of the match. CROWD ONE CROWD TWO CROWD THRE... But Jame Riggs eighty-sixes the pinfall with an elbow to the small of Krissy's back! “RIGGS MUST DIE! RIGGS MUST DIE!” bellows the now standing audience. Krista shares in their hostile sentiments, and stands up to direct a virulent gaze upon her fellow golden haired Californian. JR soon feels the full force of Kris' anger as she temporarily paralyzes him with a basement dropkick. This capsizes Riggs to his knees and makes him a sitting duck for Miss California's next cataclysmic move. She runs the ropes to build speed, and rushes back towards her foe. She presses her foot against his knee, using it as a launching pad. From there she takes to the skies and swipes the side of her boot along his face! A grotesque mixture of blood and spit flies out of Riggs' mouth as he plummets back to mat, his night all but over. Krista hasn't a second to celebrate the taming of the arrogant superstar as the vexatious Staci Robert has hopped onto the apron, slamming Krista with a variety of taunts. Krista heads towards the bothersome lass to retort her various insults, but she's beaten to the punch by partner in crime, Alix Spezia, WHO SPEARS STACI OFF THE APRON! “YEAAAAAH!” shout the Bostonians. COACH That's not right! What happened to sisterhood, and all women sticking together?! Figuring that Alix can easily and happily handle the exacting valet, Krista turns her attention to more important matters, namely pinning Riggs. But as she nears her fallen foe she's taken off her feet with a [b]SOONERLINE[/B] from The Man of Tomorrow! As Kris lies on the mat, feeling like every bone in her upper body has been broken, her enemy towers above her, flexing his spectacular muscles to the infinite disgust of the audience. But Frank's moment of showboating has left him exposed to any manner of ravaging moves, and it's Dance Dance Dragon who takes advantage of his vulnerability. The Strong Style Party Animal attaches himself to Big Frank's shoulders in order to pull him over with a hurricanrana. But Frank counters this deadly aerial move by latching onto Dragon's twig like legs and pushing his lightweight body down into a Boston Crab! Fortunately for Dragon, Frank never gets the chance to properly apply the deathly submission hold, as Jock Mulligan saves the day with a [b]BANDIT KICK[/B]! The muscle bound meathead releases Dragon and topples backwards as if he just got thrown out an sixth story window. Mulligan celebrates his victory by thunderously pounding his beefy chest. But it's a celebration that may have come a seconds prematurely, for The Ice Heart rains on his parade, by driving him into the canvas with a reverse DDT! COLE Where did Dan Black come from? No one knows where Black came from, but they certainly know where he's going, and that's straight to the hospital, courtesy of a diving lariat from Mulligan's vengeful partner, Baron Windels! COACH It's breaking down in there! Buzzlefoxer restore order! Buzzlefoxer, are you even still alive? Baron hasn't a second to celebrate his besting of Black, before Uber Bruiser renters the fray. He stampedes towards Windels, seeking to decimate him with a shoulder block.. Unfortunately he'll be doing no such thing tonight, as just as quickly as he reappeared, so does he disappear. Baron sidesteps his attack, grabs onto the back of his mullet, and chucks him out of the squared circle! “BRUISERS SUCK! BRUISERS SUCK!” Problematically for Baron, James Riggs succeeds in doing what Uber failed to do; getting rid of the hunky brawler. Riggs strikes Baron with the majestic[b]Rolling Koppou (Wheel) Kick[/b], taking Baron off his feet, and temporarily out of this match. But Riggs' isn't granted the opportunity to do further damage to his foe, thanks to the fact that Dance Dance Dragon clotheslines him over the ring ropes! Owing to his great agility, Riggs manages to land on his black boots with little more then a migraine and a hurt ego. Yet this turns out to be a bittersweet victory, for he soon has a one hundred nintey pound DDR addict descending on him with a plancha! Dragon looks Riggs right in the eyes, and sees the man curse, then swerve hard to the right. Dragon flies past his evading rival, missing him by a frustrating few inches. But these few missed inches are enough to slam DDD into the paper thin ringside mats! Riggs strides quickly towards the wreck of a man, sending stomp after stomp into his bruised midsection. COACH BALLLLIN! COLE You've run out of things to say haven't you? COACH Yep. While the situation is dreadful for young Dragon, for the rest of his team, it's anything but. Ally Spezia has made her way to the top turnbuckle, where a weak and injured Dan Black lies in the center of her menacing glare. “ALIX! ALIX! ALIX!” ALIX :headbang: When her Skid Row impression comes to a finish, Alix rises to her lithe vertical base and prepares to crush Danny B with a swanton bomb. But a recovered Staci, Alix's earlier mistreatment fresh on her evil mind, shoves the tag team champion off the turnbuckle! Alix's body crunches into the stone solid canvas, her head snapping back awkwardly, evoking worried cries from the OAOAST fans. Staci gleefully watches the normally cheery champion hold her neck in obvious pain. Her face becomes flush with rage as he gruffly barks at her to “stand up, bitch.” She bends closer to Alix so that she can hear her even better. With every foul word spit rockets from her porous and insulting mouth, landing on Al's face, staining her soul with the essence of it's ire. Staci then grabs a fistful of her vibrant hair and brings her to her feet, trying to yank strands of the brown as chocolate locks from her scalp. Once Alix is fully upright , Miss Robert flings her towards a waiting Tony Brannigan, assured that The Body will leave her a crippled wreck. Tony does his best to fulfill Staci's desire, obliterating Alix with an [b]Out of Body Experience[/b]!!! “BOOOOOO!” COACH That move has put away so many wrestlers over the years! One would think that everything is coming up roses in the land of Tony Brannigan. Bodies strewn across the ringside area, and no lethal opposition for miles. However the person who thinks that probably doesn't have Krista's shoe jammed into their testicles like Tony does. The San Antonian hollers out in anguish as he totters back and forth, rendered unable to take advantage of the devastation he's wrought. All he can do is stand helplessly, paralyzed by testicular torture, as Krista pulverizes him with the [b]Elizabeth, I'm coming to join ya, honey! It's the big one![/b] for the second time this match. She grabs onto Tony's chunky leg for the pin, and Buzzlefoxer, who had been taking a nap for the previous ten minutes, wakes up long enough to count the pin! CROWD ONE CROWD TWO CROWD THRE... The beautiful Miss Robert breaks up the pin with a stomp, generating a torrent of heel heat from the audience and from Krista. While the audience can't do much more then boo and jeer, Krista is fully capable of getting physical with the meddlesome valet. And get physical she does, advancing on a retreating Staci and spearing her to the ground! The brawling ladies furiously roll themselves to the outside, where front row fans eager to memorialize the smoking hot brawl decorate the landscape with white flashes of their camera phones. Meanwhile in the ring, Dan Black is the latest grappler to try his luck on the top turnbuckle. But he meets with the same distressing results as his fellow competitors, thanks to meddling from Jock Mulligan! The Texas Twister lifts a panic stricken Black off the ropes and into a gorilla press position. The carnage thirsty observers holler with anticipation for what terrible fate Baron is about to meet. They certainly aren't let down in the least, as Jock heaves Black out of the ring so easily that it's as if the man weighed as much as a blue jay's feather! COLE Did you see the way Dan Black just got tossed out of the ring? Big Frank certainly saw it, and makes strides towards Mulligan to inflict a violent stroke of retribution. But his advance is intercepted by Alix who cuts the massive ruffian down with a missle dropkick! Big Frank timbers to the canvas like a redwood chopped down in a Northern Californian forest. However he's spared further physical torment, as Alix has directed her short attention span on an incoming Uber Bruiser. Before he can launch a single attack she overwhelms him with knee to the gut, then quickly sucks him in a front facelock. The bubbly cutie then twirls both their bodies around in nauseating fashion. Upon completing her 360 rotation, she falls backwards, torpedoing Uber's neck into the ring with the ultra deadly [b]SUCKER FREE DDT[/B]! The crowd expunges a wealth of cheers in response to Alix's signature move, as she goes for a deciding pinfall. CROWD ONE CROWD TWO CROWD THRE... James Riggs destroys the pin by bringing a steel chair down onto Alix's back! “YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK!” scream the audience, some of which start to hurl garbage and debris into the ring. COLE Darn it, Clem! Are you blind? CLEM Yes. :( Riggs turns his weapon of mass destruction onto The Texas Twister, salivating over the prospects of ending the man's career with one mighty swing. But Mulligan launches his own deadly missile in the form of a [b]Bandit Kick[/b] that rebounds the oncoming weapon into Riggs' face! JR plunges to the canvas, staring up at the bright ceiling lights, his unseeing eyes glazed over and wide open. Mulligan lays his frame across Riggs' trim body for a lateral press. Buzzlefoxer makes the count! CROWD ONE CROWD TWO Broken up by Tony Brannigan! “BOOOOO!” Mulligan launches a strong overhand left that connects with Tony's nose, initiating a flurry of punches from the rugged grappler. However this spurt of offense from Jock is abruptly terminated by a left cross from Brannigan that cracks across his orbital socket. Now Jock is left on the defensive as the strongman applies a tight front waistlock. He bends his knees for leverage as he begins the makings of a belly to belly suplex. However he can't quite acquire a secure grip around Jock's baby oil soaked body, thus he executes a standing switch, thinking he'll have more luck with a German Suplex. Mulligan attempts to shatter the hold with a fierce elbow to Tony's skull, but the former world champion frees his rival before the move can even connect. He spins an out of kilter Mulligan around and nearly drives him through the ring with an earth shaking [b]Out of Body Experience[/b]! Mulligan's body is drained of any sort of life and looks broken beyond repair. COACH It's over! It's over! Not if DDD has anything to say about it! He sneaks up behind Brannigan and hooks his arms between his, then begins to awkwardly contort and twist the alarmed pugilist's body. Finally Dragon sits out and crunches his foe into the canvas with a [b]Newbie Killer[/b] (Vertebreaker)! COLE Now it's over! Rather then go for the logical pin, Dragon starts to convey his thoughts, hopes, dreams and opinions through the medium of contemporary dance, whipping the already overexcited audience into a further frenzy. But their joyouys mood quickly turns sour, when James Riggs sneaks behind Triple D, and stabs his steel chair into his leg. Dragon's leg buckles beneath him, and he emits an animalistic cry that scarcely sounds human. His problems continue to mount when Riggs hooks his upper arm, pulls it behind his back, and applies a vast amount of pressure to his shoulder, all while cinching in a crossface! COACH There's the crossface chicken wing, James Riggs' finisher! [i]Now[/i] it's really over, Cole! Dragon lets out a strangled noise of pain that's barely heard over the crowd's appeals not to tap out. He claws at the canvas with his one free arm and futilely reaches for the ropes. But it's to no avail, as not even Gumby could stretch far enough to close the distance between he and the cables. But he doesn't give up, he continues reaching for the ropes, in spite of the fact that Riggs is wrenching back further and further. Dragon looks out across the landscape, waiting for one of his team to stage a rescue attempt. But with no savior on the horizon and no way to get to the ropes, Dance Dance Dragon has no choice but to [b]tap out[/b]! “[b]BOOOOOOO![/b]” The bumping funk of [i]Dani California[/i] returns to the audio forefront as the time keeper rings the bell signifying Riggs' impressive victory. BUFFER The winners, Black T, The Sooner Bruisers and James Riggs! COLE What a match, what a match. A great performance by all ten people, and even eleven if you count Staci's involvement. But at Anglepalooza it will be a straight tag title match between Chicks Over Dicks and The Bruisers for the tag team titles. And Dan Black, Tony Brannigan, and James Riggs will be in the Lethal Rumble. I think Riggs has some momentum heading into the rumble with this win tonight. Riggs departs the squared circle, with arms raised and contemptuous smile taking shape on his handsome face. He falls into the loving arms of his battle weary girlfriend, and soon his fractured teammates join his side, congratulating him on securing the win for their unit. Meanwhile back in the ring, Alix and The Gunslingers check on the wounded Dragon, while Krista leans over the ropes, challenging all six members of the heel team to a brawl. They of course reject her invitation, instead backing up the ramp, belittling and taunting the losing team.

There will be a very, very, very minor announcement concerning the tag team champions. Super minor. So minor you may wonder why I even bothered in the first place.

And we have Krista's bit The unbridled female fury of Britt Black's dedication to the party life [i]Nighttime[/i] powers it's way into the sold out venue. The audience, who's never heard this song on OAOAST television before, looks on with silent confusion. Yet their silence is quickly replaced with braying cheers when they witness Krista Isadora Duncan's MTV worthy entrance video appear on the video screen. The woman herself storms onto the stage, a look of total outrage contorting her facial features. Outfitted in a pair of Rock N Republik Light washed jeans, and Topless California t-shirt, featuring a shimmering Tiger graphic, she heads to the ring, ignoring the throng of fans chanting her name. Her tag team title is clasped around her waist, and a half full bottle of Jack Daniels is held tightly in her hand. COACH What number beer do you think she's on? Six? Seven? It's been a bad night so I'm gonna say eight. Hey, honey, this is HeldDOWN, not happy hour at girlbar@Ultra Suede, put the bottle down, sister! Krista enters the squared circle, and angrily demands a microphone. The production assistants quickly meet her request, unwilling to incur her sizable wrath. KRISTA Uber, Frank, I'm gonna make this short, but certainly not sweet; if you think you can leave my one and only Alix, a shivering, weeping, emotional and physical wreck and go on about your day without having to make a cameo appearance in the ICU, then as Judas Priest would sing, you got another thing coming! You must have constipation of the brain to think you could've gotten away with hurting her, hurting me, like that. Well, consider ol' Krista the cure for your constipation, because kind of like diarrhea, I'm about to bring you some shit you just aren't ready for. See, the night is still young but I'm already tired of your crap, so do a grumpy old woman a favor, save her the trouble of having to hunt you down backstage, and come on out to the ring, because you need your asses checked ASAP! [i]Frankenstein[/i] comes pouring through the sound system, provoking a heated round of boos from the audience. Many fans rise to their feet, eagerly anticipating a showdown between champion and challengers. However, several seconds pass without an appearance from the despised villains. The production department has no choice but to cut the music, leaving the audience's groans as the primary noise. Krista simply smiles to herself, which isn't a good thing, because Krista only smiles when she's about to hurt some body. KRISTA Okay, West Virgina, I think I get it, they're tough actin' kind of like Tinactin. But in reality these guys are about as brave as Scooby and Shaggy. They'll trick my precious Alix into believing she's having a birthday party-one month too late-, and get a degenerate coke fiend to stand guard, while they jump her from behind close doors, but when I start making threats, they're more scarce then pork on a Muslim's plate. They won't meet me in the ring, because they know I'll turn their heart into a deadbeat, kind of like my kid's father. But ya know what? I'm a very resilient gal, I'm kind of stubborn, bull headed, if you will, and I never take no for answer. So, I'm going to extend another invite to our Oklahoman pals, but this time I'm going to ask in my nicest, sweetest, most adorable little princess voice. Are you ready? Okay! KRISTA (in a high pitched voice that you might use when talking to a child) Little bitches, little bitches, please come down and play. Little bitches, little bitches, oh, how I missed you today. Little bitches, little bitches, I just want to play. Little bitches, little bitches please come down today. Why do I call you “Little Bitches”? Because I forgot your names, so I'll call you what you're acting like. “OOOOOOH” Once again [i]Frankenstein[/i] assaults the ears of viewers worldwide. While one half of the crowd chants Krissy's name the other turns their attention toward spewing venom at the Bruisers. Unfortunately the targets of their ire neglect to show up, further drawing Kris' ire. Once the music cuts away, she raises the microphone up to hot pink lips to speak. KRISTA Uber, I've been called more names then I can count by more people then I care to remember, but I've never in my life been labeled a coward. So maybe you can satisfy my burning curiosity and come down here and tell me what it's like to front like your hard, then hide for your worthless life when you get called on it. How can you live with yourself, walking around, pretending to be something you're not? What kind of example are you setting for the disenfranchised inner city youth of America? I mean, let's really talk about this, honestly, and earnestly. We as a people have to address the false image that you're perpetuating on international television. How can you lie and say you're a bad ass when you barely stand five foot six and need a bar stool just to get up to my waist. I'm wondering how tough you can really be, when you gotta book a flight on Orbitz just to be able to hit me in the face. I see why you're so nasty, Uber. I'd be pretty mean to if I was thirty years old and still couldn't ride the tea cups at Disney World. But, Uber, I'll tell you this, I'm very happy for you. I'm happy that the OAOAST gave you work after your last Hollywood movie role feel off. The audience looks confused! “What movie role?” they ask. Why don't you come out here and tell them if you were Grumpy, Sneezy, Dopey or Doc? “OOOOOH” COACH Hold on now, I happen to know for a fact that Uber's biography on OAOAST.com lists him at five foot eleven inches. COLE It also lists you as a competent, insightful, and well educated addition to the OAOAST announce team. Point being: wrestling website does not equal accurate source of information. COACH Krista thinks that all her taunts can provoke the Bruisers into running into the ring and fighting her, and she's probably right. But she has no idea what she's getting herself into right now. She just keeps digging her hole deeper and deeper to the point where she won't ever be able to climb out of it. KRISTA And as for you Big Frank, The Man of Tomorrow who might not even live to see tomorrow, I didn't forget about you old buddy! You fancy yourself as an angel of pleasure, similar to Cobain you take all the ladies straight to Nrivana. Now, I know this company is populated by men so stupid they don't even remember to unzip their pants when they stand in front of the toilet, but who do you think you're fooling, Franklin? We read through your lies like Aristotle through [i]Cat in the Hat[/i]. You're no Don Juan, my good man, you'd have to GHB a blowup doll to get it in bed with you. Everyone knows that you couldn't get your dick wet if you skinny dipped in the Pacific ocean! Frank, I hate to be the one to break it to you, actually I take that back, I [b]love[/b] to be the one to break it to you, but the truth is, I've gotten more ass on accident then you ever got on purpose! Now, Franklin, as Miss Celo and her psychic friends look into their crystal balls, they see exactly what's going on backstage, you're overturning tables, you're breaking monitors, you're roughing up prepubescent stage hands, and you're screaming that I'm a motherf**king whore. Well, Frank, considering that Mama Bruiser paid my bed a little visit last night, I guess that does make me a motherf**ing a whore. Krista puts on expression of mock innocence, asking if she said something wrong. The West Virginians don't seem to think so, loudly cheering her scathing attack. COACH That did it! That did it! No way the Bruisers take all this from some alcoholic lipstick butch! COLE I never knew you so versed in GLBT slang, Coach. The crowd's cheers are quickly replaced with boos, and more then a few warnings of "look out" directed towards Krista. Who has drawn the fans' ire as well as their worry? Who else but Uber Bruiser, positioned behind Krista, snorting like a rabid pitbull, ready to pounce upon his foe. But Krista is well prepared for his attack, she whirls around to meet the oncoming canine with her beer bottle! Tiny shards of glass explode around the battleground, mingling with drops of liquor and specks of Uber's blood. 'YEAAAAAA!” screams the crowd, as a disoriented Uber staggers about the ring. Krista unhooks her title belt from her waist, then charges forward, seeking to imprint the nameplate onto his oversized forehead. But Uber has the wherewithal to duck her attack, and she and her glittering gold belt go sailing past. However he's not quite out of the woods yet, and Krista gives him a painful reminder of this fact, by slamming the metal plate into his mullet covered head. The throng of outdated hair does nothing to cushion the blow, and he erupts with a tortured howl before his massive frame falls into the ropes. Miss California waves her hands into the air, whipping the capacity crowd into a raucous frenzy, before zipping towards the other side of the ring. Unfortunately the exact second she reaches the center of the squared, she's floored by a devastating Soonerline from [b]Big Frank[/b]! COLE Damn him! “BRUISERS SUCK! BRUISERS SUCK!” sings the audience. COACH Be careful what you wish for, Krista. Frank ignores the river of hatred cascading around him, instead focusing his attention on pulverizing Krista. He decimates her upper body with a barrage of stomps, while his younger brother sets out to cripple her legs with a stream of knee of strikes. Spurred on by chants of “K-I-D! K-I-D!”, Krista makes every last effort to fight to her feet. However she's frustratingly unable to make it past the wave of brutal strikes being unleashed by her enemies. All she can do is cover her face and pray that someone will rescue her from this horrific beating. “ROCKERS! ROCKERS! ROCKERS!” sing the audience, begging the Rock N Wrestling soldiers to make an appearance. The audience's dream materializes into reality, when Logan Mann and Synth Esizer come storming down the ramp! Outfitted in black leather pants an an unbuttoned white shirt, Logan Mann has armed himself with a crimson V shaped guitar. His partner, wearing faded jeans, has chosen to come to war with a pair drum sticks and an unquenchable thirst for violence. COLE Yes! Yes! The Heavenly Rockers! The Heavenly Rockers! The repugnant duo in the ring fail to share in Cole's pleasure, and eye their oncoming enemies with anmialisitc glares. The intimidating look does nothing to ward off Logan and Synth, who charge into the ring to meet their archrivals. The now standing fans spew forth a deafening roar as the boys from Vegas prepare to wage war on the demons from Sooner Country. Logan attempts to draw first blood by swiping his instrument at Big Frank. But the weapon is so heavy that he's unable to build up much speed, permitting Frank to sweep beneath it. The Man of Tomorrow winds up behind Mann, where he sets him up for a side Russian leg sweep. But Esizer rescues his long time friend by beating a tune onto the muscle bound creature's head. Stunned and annoyed, Frank lets Logan go free to attend his mounting headache. This turns out to be a mistake of epic proportions as Logan grabs onto his bleached blond hair, and chucks him over the ropes! The Man of Tomorrow gruesomely splatters onto the mats bellow, generating a gargantuan pop from the audience. Meanwhile Uber tries to turn the tables on his aggressors. But before he can even can think of volleying a single strike, Synth takes the drumsticks and JABS THEM INTO HIS EYES! Uber emits a blood curdling scream of raw pain, while the crowd openly delights in his horror. Fortunately for his health, Big Frank recovers just in time to pull him out of the ring and into the safety of his arms. “ROCK N WRESTLING! ROCK N WRESTLING! ROCK N WRESTLING!” “It ain't over, Rockers! It ain't never gonna be over!” Frank bellows, as he backs up the ramp, clutching his wounded head. Uber is too worried about his searing eyes to do much more then weakly shake his fist at his victorious foes. Synth responds to the Bruisers' threats by leaning over the ropes and howling, “Owwwww owwwww owwwww!” For the moment, Uber forgets all about his terrible pain and makes a bid to head back to the ring to pummel Synth as punishment for the mocking. But Frank holds him back, assuring him that the Rockers' time will come soon enough. With The Bruisers taken care of, The Rockers check on Krista's condition. She seems less then grateful to have been saved by a man, and makes a half hearted attempt to convince them she was merely lulling the brutes into a false sense of security. Her little “independent woman” spiel assures Synth and Logan that her pride is hurt more then her body, and they eagerly help her to her upright. Once again she protests their aid, informing them that she doesn't need any help in standing on her own to feet. The crowd, seeing Krista appear to be somewhat healthy, salutes her bravery with an enormous round of applause COLE Lot of respect goes out to the Heavenly Rockers for doing the right thing. Coach, The Bruisers say that wrestling is a long standing tradition in their family dating back to the turn of the twentieth century. They say they respect the sport. I think over these past three weeks we've seen that all that talk of respect is a steaming load of garbage. They don't respect anything or anyone. If they respected this sport, then they wouldn't go out of their way to attack and injure their fellow athletes. That's not what respectful people do. I don't have the words to even describe what I feel about The Bruisers. COACH Good. The show gets better and the better the less and less you talk.

Yeaaaaah, so, the second skit can go anytime after the first one. Thanks! EDIT: Uh, I think Tony wanted the AAB/Rescue 911 match to go on before these segments. If that doesn't work, I can just edit the commentary around that. Sorry for the all the orginizational directions. We're taken backstage where tag team champion Alix Maria Spezia is practicing the time honored art of salsa dancing. Ever the unusual one, Alix's choice of music isn't traditional salsa fare, rather she's chosen to shake her tail feather to [i]It Ends Tonight[/i]. Needless to say,her energetic dancing is not quite in step with the tone of the Top 40 song. She's outfitted in a True Religion halter style dress with a striking grey fishnet print. Her tag team title, now featuring blinking Christmas lights to go along with the other outrageous decorations, sits on a nearby table. ALIX (dancing and singing. Doing the first one very well and the second one very, very poorly) One two cha-cha-cha. Three four cha-cha-cha. Mandy Moore's a whore cha-cha-cha. Five,six. cha-cha-cha. Seven Eight cha-cha-cha. She ain't so great cha-cha-cha. Nine, ten cha-cha-cha. Eleven, twelve, cha-cha-cha. Can't think of anything that rhymes with twelve cha-cha-cha. Suddenly a skinny to point of being emaciated, young man in an Audioslave t-shirt and baggy jeans slinks onto the scene. YOUNG MAN Uh...excuse me. Always an outgoing sort, Alix has no qualms about grabbing her visitor's arm and enlisting him as her dance partner. YOUNG MAN Al...aix? ALIX That's my name cha-cha-cha, don't wear it out cha-cha-cha. What's your name cha-cha-cha? YOUNG MAN Um, I got an invitation for you. ALIX An invitation cha-cha-cha? For me you say cha-cha-cha? That is odd cha-cha-cha? What's it for cha-cha-cha? YOUNG MAN Why don't you open it and see cha-cha-cha? I mean why don't you open it and see? The youngster digs his grimy hands into his pocket and presents Alix with the mysterious invitation. Smiling broadly, she rips through the envelope in order see where exactly her presence is requested ALIX Dear Alix Maria Spezia, you have been cordially invited...Wow! Freaking awesome, dudes! I've never been cordially invited anywhere! Well except for the time Krista cordially invited me to throw myself in front of a speeding truck after she found out I was selling her underwear to the local neighboorhood boys. And the time I was cordially invited to courthouse to testify as a witness for the prosecution in my step brother's trail. I tried to tell him that he may fool the inhabitants of the trailer park into believing the dead body in the front lawn is some kind of new age scarecrow, but the FBI is just a wee bit smarter then our NASCAR loving, mouth breathing, paint drinking neighboors, who are used to being greeted by a federal crime scene when they step onto their front porch. But other then all that I've never been cordially invited anywhere in the whole wide world! And now I've been cordially invited to...hey, where have I been cordially invited to? YOUNG MAN Read some more and find out. ALIX (reading) To celebrate the birthday of Alix Maria Spezia. Wow! Freaking awesome, dudes! I've been cordially invited to celebrate the birthday of someone with the same stupid first name as me! I never thought I'd meet someone who's parents were big enough pricks to name them Alix with an [i]i[/i] and not an e. YOUNG MAN Uh....I think the party's for your birthday ALIX My birthday? Holy crap! That's like a million, trillion times more freaking awesome, dudes! YOUNG MAN Yeah, real cool. Alix takes a moment to ponder what this all means on a deeper, existential level, and comes up with a most startling conclusion. One that is sure to shake the foundation of the OAOAST to it's mu'fuckin core. ALIX Waaaaaaait a second! My birthday is in December! I know what this means... MAN (nerovusly) You do? ALIX Yeaaaaaah. MAN Really? ALIX It means my time machine really, really worked! I'm in the future! The future, Conan? The future! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! Krista said aluminum foil, empty cereal boxes, back issues of [i]Home and Garden[/i] magazine, and my mother's bras wouldn't be enough to defy the laws of the space/time continuum. But who's laughing now, best friend from the future? Who's laughing now? The answer is none of us are laughing currently. But I'm gonna start laughing in about three seconds. One. Two. Three. GO! HAHAHAHA! You know, back in my time, whereas a woman like Krista was forced to get by solely on the basis of her sweet, sweet, tush, I, Alix Maria Spezia, was revered as a leading purveyor of intellectual thought. A true revolutionary in the fields of academia, chemistry, and literature. My limitless intelligence was heralded in lands both near and far. My words of wisdom were as valuable as a thousand dollar bill and as plentiful as a mere penny. And if I, history's most treasured scholar, could impart one piece of advice to the daughters and sons of the future it would be, never wear a g-string and coconut bra to your Grandmother's funereal, it may seem like a good idea, but your family will never, ever, ever forgive you! YOUNG MAN Yo, I'm not from the future! Look, you're a big and famous celebrity, and you celebs live on your own planet. So I guess you don't have a lot of time for the little people in the OAOAST apparently. But they really wanted to celebrate your twenty eighth birthday, but they never got the chance. So with you being here tonight, they figured it would be a great time to throw a party for you. ALIX They're a month late! YOUNG MAN That's just shows how much they love you round here ALIX Well it's like you say, shirts, shoes, knees, socks, everyone knows that Alix rocks! YOUNG MAN I never said that before. ALIX Who's one month too late birthday is it?! YOUNG MAN Shirts, shoes, knees, socks, everyone knows that Alix rocks! Hey, uh, I know exactly where the party is at, so can I walk you there? ALIX Is my name Jodie Foster? YOUNG MAN No. ALIX Then what the hell did I steal her social security number for? Well, you can escort me anyway. Come on, creepy and unusually suspicious person who I just met, let's go-go-go! Despite the fact the boy is an obvious sub human piece of filth, trustworthy Alix hooks her arm between his and skips down the hall, as he leads her along. After several seconds, and several bad knock-knock jokes by chirpy Alix, the pair reach their destination. YOUNG MAN Alright, you're here, have a kick ass time. ALIX Aren'tcha coming inside? YOUNG MAN Um...it's not really my scene. You have fun though. ALIX Awww! You gotta come! It just isn't Vegas without you! Actually, it isn't Vegas with you either, but you still gotta come! YOUNG MAN I'm cool, but thanks for the invite. ALIX Well, okie dokie, artichokie. Thanks for the trip, babe, I'll bring you a slice of cake when I'm done! Alix passes a wink to the young man before stepping into her birthday bash. The shady character takes up position in front of the door, his eyes nervously patrolling the landscape for sights of suspicious and troublesome passerbys. Suddenly we hear a piercing shriek from behind the closed doors. It's quickly followed by the thunderous sound of glass crashing against the floor. The sound scape becomes polluted with chaos and dread when a voice that's distinctly Alix's bellows out for help. There's a frantic rasping at the door, no doubt Alix making a panic stricken bid to escape whatever despicable monstrosity is pursuing her. However the young guard remains stern, holding the lone escape route closed, leaving Alix to fend for herself against these vile attackers. Soon the noise of her rasping is overwhelmed by that of her stabbing cries of agony. The ice hearted guard holds firm in the face of her heart wrenching pleas for help, even as the sound of her lightweight body being violently slammed against the door becomes the prevalent noise in the area. The mood further decreases into one of bitter sorrow as the harrowing sound of steel chairs crashing into raw flesh is picked up by the cameras in front of the door. As the metal tears through her skin, Alix elicits horrible moans of misery, tears no doubt streaking down her face. Eventually the savage punishment leaves her so weakened that all her chilling screams merely die as a high pitched bubbling in her throat. And soon her voice becomes nonexistent, leaving a sinister air of silence to settle over this woebegotten area. VOICE FROM BEHIND THE DOOR Let us out! Recognizing the voice as that of his master, the young man quickly rips open the door. Stepping into the hallway like beasts exiting the gates of hell, are the deplorable Sooner Bruisers. They stand tall, brimming with pride, and with their white Ohio State t-shirts decorated with specks of blood. Uber slams the door behind him, preventing the camera from getting a shot of Alix's horrid condition. BIG FRANK That was some birthday party, little bro. I always said any man who'd rather beat a woman then screw one is a moron, but The Man of Tomorrow just got himself the best of both worlds. UBER Heh. I almost feel bad for the girl. BIG FRANK (yelling for no reason) You going soft on me?! UBER I said almost. YOUNG MAN (stepping between the two men) Yo, guys, hate to interrupt a pair of legitimate sociopaths, but how about you show me that money you owe me? I'd be very thankful if you dropped that twenty bucks on me. BIG FRANK Thankful? You oughta be thankful we don't drag you into that room, kick your crooked yellow teeth out your mouth, break every bone in your little body, and have you sharing an ambulance with that airheaded whore, Alix Spezia. Now, get the hell outta here, and be [i]thankful[/i] we ain't makin' you leave on a stretcher! UBER Owwww owwwww owwwwww! Not needing to be asked twice, the unscrupulous character scurries off before the Bruisers can make good on their threat. The loathsome brothers exchange high fives before exiting the scene. With nothing left for us to look at, we're taken back to the announce team. COLE Good god. Is there anyone on earth more disgusting then The Bruisers? I don't know many times I can say that these men have crossed the line. They just keep on committing these heinous acts, and nothing is ever done about it. Folks, Krista isn't at the arena yet, but when she gets here, someone is going to pay. COACH Yo, I agree, them dudes is out of control. But ain't no one gonna slow they role, especially not a thirty five year old celebrity fitness instructor. Krista needs to stay on Oprah preaching a healthy lifestyle to bored and lonely housewives and stay outta the yard where the real dogs at. And why isn't she in the arena, ain't nothing special about homegirl that she can show up twenty minutes after the show started. All truth. All the time. Johnathan Coachman. You already know, nigga.

I think any one of the NRG dudes is free, and I know none of Los Conquestiadors are being used this week. When you say run in, do you mean he's going to come in and start beating their asses or something? Did I tell you ordered my skateboard yet?

If you're super desperate for dudes you can always use any one of The Gunslingers or Los Conquistadors. Also: As announced on last week's HD, Chicks Over Dicks will defend their tag team titles against The Sooner Bruisers.

Something from me, my friends, something from me relating to the tag team title match at Anglepalooza. And maybe The Lonestar Gunslingers will be in action. If I have the time. Which I probably won't.

Half assed Feedback in super reverse order. I like the little “~!” thingie next to my all-caps name in the credits! Makes me fell like a real man, and not a boy with a user name after an obscure 80's cartoon character. The Gunslingers in the mainevent! I feel like a proud step father who's only known the kids for about two weeks, and who will most likely abuse, molest, and finally neglect them over the course of the next several weeks. Jesse and Tony S. being used in Anderson Cup matches is rad, it makes the tournament feel all special like, plus they're hella entertaining. Anyway,both AC matches were purdy good. Coach is right, it must suck to be Colombian Heat. Are we close to the end of Heat? Will he turn it around and claim the HI-YAH tag team championship? Or will his emotional duress cost him a pivotal title match? IT entertains me. That fuckin' guy! Now the half assed feedback is gonna get even more half assed and even more out of order I think I told KC what I thought about the Jade segment. If I didn't I'll tell him, I will when I respond to his last pm. YA'LL STAY THE FUCK UP OUT MY BIDNESS. Hey, The SCM were actually used twice on one show. I never thought I'd see the day. Is Masked Man of Mystery still around, because I remember Asamodi being one of his dudes. Looks to be some tension between Zack and AS, as the boss dude is worried about losing his cash cow for good. Even if Zack wins what will be the cost of victory? That is the true question, my good people. PK droppin that world knowledge on ya'll fools right from the start, linking to wikipedia. Expanding the mind and liberating your consciousness. PK is the e-fed Nas.

[i]Frankenstein[/i] by genre bending artist Edgar Winter plays causing an entire arena to fill with disgusted boos and taunts. Chants of “Bruisers Suck” bubble up from various corners of the venue, a true testament to how much hatred the OAOAST faithful holds for the grapplers. The entrance doors spread apart, revealing the targets of the fans ire, Big Frank Bruiser and his younger sibling, Uber Bruiser. Uber outfitted in simple black trunks doesn't bother with any flashy poses or plays to the camera. The Psycho Gremlin simply walks to the ring, ignoring every fan he passes, even the few who offer him words of encouragement. Big Frank, in red shorts with 69 written on the front and a Superman style S on the back, takes a second to show off his freakish physique before he joins his brother in their solemn journey to the squared circle. BUFFER The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a time limit of twenty minutes. Now making their way to the ring from Oklahoma, weighing in at a combined weight of five hundred and thirty five pounds, they are former OAOAST tag team champions, and NCAA all Americans, combined between them they have won six NCAA wrestling championships, two world championships, eight high school championships, and seven USA wrestling championships, they are The Pyscho Gremlin, Uber Bruiser, The Man of Tomorrow Uber Bruiser.....THE SOOOONER BRUISEEEEERSSS! “BRUISERS SUCK! BRUISERS SUCK!” chant the crowd, forcing Frank to pump his majestic muscles in arrogant response. COLE I'll tell you what, I love the way these guys wrestle, smash mouth and in your face. But I do not, have not and never will like their actions. They're bullies, plain and simple. They attacked The Gunslingers last week because they were mad the Gunslingers got a shot at Alix and Krista before they did. And rumor has it that they're planning on attacking any team that gets a match with Alix and Krista before they do. And the only reason they agreed to a match with Los Diablos De Fuego tonight, is because they're friends with Alix, and they want to draw her out or at least send a message to her. COACH The Sooner Bruisers have athletic drive and a desire to succeed, something a namby pansy little man like you would never understand. Too many teams sit on their butts and wait for a title match to come their way. These two lose the belts under dubious circumstances and they go out and go right back for them. Respect given where respect due. What's not to like about these two, except for this entrance music. Man, someone shut this mess off! Coach's wish is the music director's command and Frankenstein (thankfully?) comes to a close. It's replaced by the club hopping beats of former Spice Girl Geri Halliwell's rendition of [b]It's Raining Men[/b]. The arena lights dim to a moody pink as Miss Spezia's Sweeties' world famous gingerbread cookies rain from the ceiling and onto the heads of frightened and alarmed fans. Those who aren't under an air assault from overpriced cookies, loudly cheer for the arrival of Los Diablos De Fuego! The queer duo doesn't disappoint their fans, making a spectacular appearance on the entrance stage, bumping and grinding with a giant gingerbread man! The gingerbread man eagerly thrusts his ample tush into Mariachi's pumping crotch, while he seductively roams his lusting hands along Morraca's gyrating and writhing hips. Both luchadores plant a kiss on The Gingerbread Man's cheeks, causing the snack treat to faint from an ecstasy overload. Mariachi, outfitted in a sparkling pink PVC singlet, skips towards the ring, waving his plastic pitchfork at all the sexy males in the audience. Morraca, who's carrying an inflatable toy monkey, trails behind his partner, seductively pursing his blue lips at any hot man he sees. COACH I know I'm going to regret asking you this, but why does Morraca have toy monkey? COLE That monkey is Mono, the longtime lover of Los Diabos fallen mascot El Ouvea. I'll tell you what, wrestling has it's fair share of moments that make me question why I even stay in this crazy messed up business, but this right here, this is what's it's all about. Pride. Love. Respect. Famillia. We honor so many people for what they do in an athletic venue or a performance outlet. But what El Ouvea did away from the ring before his death, displaying his conviction, his principles and everything that he stood for, is what makes him a cut above the rest. And for his lover to be here with us on HeldDOWN well words can't properly express the swell of emotions I'm feeling. It's a wonderful thing, Coach, it truly is. COACH I said I'd regret asking you that, and what a surprise, I do. I got no respect for these dudes. None at all. I'm so homophobic I won't even keep my clothes in the closet. BUFFER And the opponents from Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, Mariachi, Moracca, LOS DIABLOS DE FUEGGGOGOOOOOOOO! COLE Coach, what exactly is the deal with The Beverly Hills Blonds ducking Los Diablos De Fuego? Ned's a certified tightwad, who's so cheap he gave his daughter Maya a blender for her birthday. COACH What's wrong with that? A kid needs to learn how to cook for herself at some point. COLE It was the same blender she gave him for Father's Day! Despite his cheapness, he's out there with Simon and the rest of The Enterprise paying cash to avoid a meeting with Los Diablos. Why is that? COACH I can't even bring myself to dignify your question with a response due to your use of the word ducking. The Beverly Hills Blonds duck no one. They paid off Team Canada because they want some decent competition. Unfortunately NRG couldn't provide them with it, but Los Diablos sure couldn't have either. Mariachi slides into the ring, where he energetically pumps his crotch into the canvas while he stares with deep enchantment into the camera, turning out every male viewer with a simple wink and a steamy smile. Moracca remains low key, situating Mono in a safe position, so that he can watch the contest without risk of being attacked by unscrupulous OAOAST performers. Once he's assured that Mono is safe, he takes his position on the apron, as his partner stares down The Psycho Gremlin in the center of the squared circle. ***DING DING DING*** The match begins with the warriors coming together for a lockup. The normally sleep inducing move is anything but as both men battle over the hold like the fate of the world depends on it. Muscles tighten and mouthes grunt as they engage in an epic struggle. Eventually Uber is able to use his sheer size to overpower the luchadore and move into an arm wrench. He snaps Mariachi's arm back and forth, drawing pained moans from the grappler. Unable to withstand the agony much longer, Mariachi makes a move to escape. He drops down to his back, then presses the heels of his white boots into the mat and kips up. His intention was to thrust himself out of Uber's hold. But the ring savvy Bruiser is one step ahead of him, and slides behind the man. He drops onto his orange knee pads, ready to do more damage to the Mexican. But instead of using the expected double leg takedown, he does something far more disturbing. He opens his mouth wide and sinks his off white choppers deep into Mariachi's fleshy BUTT! COLE Oh my! Your typical hetrosexual male might react to this attack with a combination of chilling horror and outright revulsion. But Mariachi is the furtherest thing from your typical heterosexual male. In fact, he isn't even heterosexual! He's a homosexual luchadore who fancies dressing up like day time Emmy award winner Susan Lucci on the weekends. Thus he reacts to the pseudo rim job with orgasmic ravishment, and excitedly grinds his amble backside into Uber's face. Bruiser's expression instantly morphs from smug satisfaction to utter fear when he realizes that Mariachi is enraptured by this perverse attack. As the rambunctious crowd hoots and hollers at scene, The Psycho Gremlin tries his damnedest to escape the dire situation. But Mariachi's flabby cheeks make themselves an unbeatable jailer, trapping Uber in the unenviable position. However, he's soon rescued when Mariachi is violently shoved to the mat away from his lips. Unfortunately for Uber, the one performing the rescue wasn't his partner Frank, it was Moracca! Consumed with jealously over the fact that Mari was getting all the lovin' from the burly bear, Moracca stormed into the squared circle to get his piece of the action. Uber looks to Moracca with confused eyes, dangerously unsure of what the salivating luchadore has in mind. The Pyscho Gremlin is quickly exposed to Moracca's outrageous plan when his vision is engulfed by the horrifying sight of the man's [b]BARE[/B] ass! UBER [IMG=http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y39/Portfree/donotwant.jpg] With his beefy posterior hanging out, Moracca demands in broken English that Uber give him the same “pleasure” he bestowed upon his associate just seconds ago. “DO IT! DO IT!” chant the now standing fans. Uber does [i]something[/i] all right. And that something is slam his forearm into Moracca's groin! The cheap shot doubles him over in distress, and allows a thankful Uber to escape the harrowing predicament. The Psycho Gremlin springs to his feet and bowls over the Latin Lothario with a devastating lariat. Consumed with bitterest rage, he begins decimating Moracca's masked face with brutish stomps. Unwilling to watch his boytoy be annihilated by the homophobic redneck, Mariachi charges to his lover's aid. However, Uber shoots down his rescue plane with ease, overtaking the man with a back body drop! As Mariachi's body slams into the canvas, Uber takes a moment to howl in triumph, drawing a smattering of boos from the audience. Yet those [i]jeers[/i] quickly turn into [i]cheers[/i] as a vengeful Moracca (with ass back in pants) knocks him head over heels with a high flipping lariat! COACH Moracca making sure to come to Mariachi's aid. I guess your kind sticks together, Cole. There's a sodomy joke in there somewhere, but I'm too lazy to make the connection. COLE Thank god for small favors. As Uber scrapes himself off the mat his eyes witness a truly appalling vision; Moracca is rhythmically thrusting his crotch directly at his face. Uber quickly swallows the vomit that sight brought on, and hops to his feet where he launches haymaker towards his foe. Unfortunately, the Mexican catches his arm and proceeds to nearly snap it out of it's socket with an arm wrench. To add insult to The Psycho Gremlin's quickly mounting injury, Moracca begins to angrily pump his crotch into Uber's sizable rear end. “UBER'S A HOMO! UBER'S A HOMO!” chant the fans who may or may not be aware of the irony in their statement After he finishes stripping Uber of his dignity and self respect, Moracaa heads to his corner and plants a loving kiss on Mariachi's cheek. That's deemed equivalent to a tag into the match, and Mariachi enters the squared circle. He picks up where his life partner left off, awkwardly contorting the Psycho Gremlin's limb with an arm wrench. Unwilling to be the victim of another simulated rape, Uber makes moves to free himself from Moracca's clutches. He roars backwards and slashes his fingers across Mariachi's brown eyes, ending the arm wrench and putting the Latino under a great deal of duress. Uber then seizes complete control of the bout by taking his fist and and smashing it into Mariachi's jaw, knocking the luchadore loopy and into the Bruiser's corner. Starved for any semblance of action, Big Frank reaches over the ropes and hooks onto Mariachi's arms, allowing his baby brother to obliterate the luchadore's stomach with uncontested stomps and punches. After fifteen seconds of this brutal manhandling passes, referee Charles Robinson promptly orders the brothers grim to stop. But the rebellious duo refuses to follow orders, forcing the official to threaten a disqualification. The warning causes the siblings to begrudgingly acquiesce to Robinson's demands, and Big Frank switches spots with his younger brother in order to legally continue the drubbing. COACH I think it's true shame that these two rejects from an Elton John tour are allowed to illegally double team a model athlete like Uber Bruiser, but when the Bruisers try to fight fire with fire, the official gets a stick up his BUTT. And it wouldn't surprise me if that stick belongs to one of Los Diablos De Fuego Frank pins Mariachi against the corner post and begins to savage his midsection with a series of brutal stomps. After the sixth strike lands with deadly precession, he peels his wheezing rival off the posts and hurls him to the ropes with an Irish whip. The Ohio State alum has a fierce lariat awaiting his rival's return, but Mariachi ducks underneath the move and carries himself to the opposite end of the battle field. Frank whirls around to floor the returning superstar with a discus punch, but the Cabo San Lucas native counters the move by leaping onto The Man of Tomorrow's wide shoulders and overwhelming him with a hurricanrana! Frank rises just as quickly as he fell, and charges towards his enemy like a rabid pitbull off his leash. But Mariachi sidesteps the muscle man and uses his momentum to throw him into the poorly padded steel turnbuckle! Frank's shoulder clangs off the post with a resounding thud, and his audible grunt of misery brings smiles to the faces of the fans in the front row. Fortunately for him, he'll have a brief opportunity to nurse his injuries as his lil bro had the wherewithal to make a blind tag. Uber chucks himself into squared circle with a spring board shoulder block that slices right through Mariachi like the sharpest of razor blades. He then applies the tag to Franklin, who gets a measure of revenge on The Diablo by driving his arm into his chest with a picture perfect slingshot elbow drop. The Sooner drapes his arm over Mari's heaving chest, leading the referee to count the first pinfall of the contest. ONE TWO The butthole surfer kicks out long before the ref can reach a three count. He rises on his own accord and begins pouring a series of forearm smashes into Frank's cranium. The shots leave the former tag champion dazed and allow Mariachi to do a bit of showboating by thrusting his groin towards the barbaric grappler. As the crowd roots him on, Mariachi surges forward and bowls Frank over with a leg lariat! The luchadore leaves The Man of Tomorrow coughing and wheezing on the mat, and bounds to the ropes. When he skirts back, he does a little shimmy, then takes to the skies, and drives his knee onto Frank's chiseled face! The audience comes to their feet in response to the effective strike, while an apron based Moracca eggs them on with DX-esque crotch chops. COACH Showboating and hotdogging will get you nowhere, Cole, nowhere. COLE Lighten up, he was just trying to entertain the fans. COACH Lighten up? I am lightened up. I'm so light you need to tie me to chair, I just might float towards the roof. All I'm saying is that it's more then a little stupid for a man who's won all of five matches in his OAOAST career to be showing off like that. Back in the ring, Mariachi whips Big Frank towards the cables. He pushes himself off the ropes as well, seeking to floor his rival with a lariat once their paths cross. Unfortunately for him he failed to notice that Uber made a blind tag. By the time he becomes aware of this fact, the sole of Uber's boot is being violently introduced to his face. Mari plummets backwards, bellowing in misery. The tortured screams cause Moracca to lose all tracings of good judgment, and draw him into the ring to save his friend. However, the referee vehemently denies him passage, and this untimely distraction permits the Bruisers to double team poor Mariachi. Both men rush to opposite ends of the ring, where the ropes shoot them towards the hapless luchadore like bats out of hell. They extend their tree trunk thick arms and decimate Mariachi's upper body with sandwich Soonerlines! The lifeless grappler crumples to the canvas in a twisted heap of body glitter and broken bones. Big Frank exits the ring, while Uber attempts a pinfall. The suddenly undistracted referee rushes to the fighters to make the count. ONE TWO Mariachi pulls his shoulder off the mat, causing The Psycho Gremlin to unleash a torrent of obscenities. Struggling to keep his anger in check, Uber rises to his feet and demolishes Mariachi's lower back with a deadly array of stomps and punches. The only thing that prevents him from fully pulverizing his enemy is Charles Robinson's stern warning about the usage of closed fists. Rather then be kept in the check by Robinson's overbearing rules, Uber says “to hell with it” and drags Mariachi to his corner to let Frank deal with him. After the tag is made The Man of Tomorrow enters the match and works out a quick double team strategy with his sibling. They fling the smaller grappler to the ropes and celebrate his speedy return by hooking their arms underneath his, lifting him into the air, flipping him over and violently slamming him back first onto the mat! Delighted with the pain he's wrought, Uber exits the ring, howling into the air. Meanwhile, The Man of Tomorrow towers above his whimpering foe, flexing his Mister Olympia worthy muscles in marvelous triumph. “FRANK YOUR MAMA'S TITS SO TINY THAT IF SHE WAS A RAPPER THEY'D CALL THE BITCH TITTY SMALLS!” screams a fan in the third row. Ignoring the fan's crude comments, Big Frank drops to his knees and applies the always exciting reverse chin lock to the flamboyant superstar. Frank's powerful tattooed arms coil around Mariachi like a boa constrictor, robbing the man of his ability to breathe with each passing second. Stricken with desperation and already on the verge of passing out, the queer one reaches his hand towards Mono, the lover of Los Diablos' dearly departed mascot El Ovéja, for kindness, support and encouragement. COLE Mariachi trying to draw strength from the spirit of El Ovéja! COACH Oh, for the love of Christ! Some would say that what happens next could be logically be attributed to the fact that the heavy combination of baby oil and sweat on Frank's arm makes it nearly impossible for him to maintain a tight grip on his foe for any length of time. But I prefer to think that somehow, El Ovéja was able to pass along the power of love and peace from the great beyond and aid his former comrades in their quest for victory. Whatever you wish to believe, the fact is that Frank's death grip weakens just enough to allow Mari to maneuver his way to his feet. Frank has little choice but to follow him, lest he lose his hold altogether. Mari begins to slam elbow after elbow into Big Frank's brawny abdomen, and eventually rids himself of the Bruiser's treacherous shackles! He celebrates his new found freedom by charging to ropes and bouncing back towards his enemy. However The Man of Tomorrow regains control of the affair by crashing his knee into the luchadore's midsection, totally robbing the man of his air and new found momentum. The bestial brawler wastes no time in pulling Mari upright, where he smashes his elbow into the side of his head. The strike sufficiently stuns Mariachi, allowing Frank to sneak behind him and apply a tightly held half nelson. The Cabo San Lucas native tries his hardest to escape his rival's trap, but Frank's restraint is far too difficult to destroy. Helpless, all Mari can do is brace himself for the eventual impact of Frank's attack. And what a devastating impact it is, as Frank roughly yanks him off the ground, and peels backwards, dropping the over matched warrior directly onto his neck with a half nelson suplex! A stream of Spanish flavored vulgarities leaves Mariachi lips as he struggles to cope with the searing pain that's spreading through his neck. For his part The Man of Tomorrow stands at his opponent's side, flexing his impressive muscle and kissing his biceps. After he's done tonguing his arm, Frank drives the point of his elbow towards his rival's face. Fortunately the fan favorite pulls himself away from speeding bullet in the nick of time, leaving Frank to have a nasty, bone rattling introduction to the canvas. Infuriated by Mariachi avoidance and the pain he's been left in, Frank rises to his feet and unleashes another massive elbow drop on his foe. Sadly he meets with the same maddening results, and the agony is enough to make him scream out in pain and frustration. COLE It's funny, Coach, showboating and hotdogging worked a lot better for the team that has “only won five matches” then it did for your beloved former tag team champions. Care to explain why that is? COACH Care to explain why you wear a dress when you have a penis? The formerly subdued audience returns to life at the sight of Frank's struggles, and fills the arena with boisterous chants of “HOMIES! HOMIES! HOMIES!”. Mariachi draws strength from their support as he begins the arduous trek to his corner. Eventually he reaches his station and makes the long awaited tag to Moracca, causing the crowd to erupt in unbridled euphoria. Admist the joyous confusion, Uber illegally enters the ring and charges towards Moracca, seeking to end Los Diablos offensive flurry before it can start. Unfortunately the Oklahoma native is dealt a crushing blow in the form of a flipping heel kick straight to the jaw! “HOMIES! HOMIES! HOMIES!” Big Frank groggily rises to his feet, only to be met by Moracca with knife edge chops that push him towards the corner. The unmerciful luchadore peels him off the turnbuckle pads just as quick as he put him there and whips towards his waiting life partner. Mariachi leaps into the air and laces his legs around Frank's shoulder's, hoping to pull the Bruiser down into a hurricanrana. But the amateur wrestling legend has other ideas, and cinches his meaty hooks onto Mariachi's legs. Fully in control of his foe, Frank continues his journey towards the corner. When he nears the turnbuckles, he unloads Mariachi from his shoulders, barbarically blasting him into the poorly padded steel posts with a running powerbomb! Mariachi cries out in raw agony, as the fans react with a mixture of shock, horror, and amazement at Frank's contemptible attack. COACH Frank wins at smear the queer for life. Spegro is dead! Satisfied with the carnage he's wrought, a smirking Frank turns around to deal with the remaining Diablo, only to get walloped in the face by Mono! Well, Moracca holding Mono in his hand. Frank staggers backwards, fighting to regain the balance the surprise attack robbed him of. But an incensed Moracca does him no favors and continues to pummel him with the inflatable primate! Frank tries to escape the ridiculous assault by ducking underneath the ropes, but one mighty home run swing from Moracca knocks the strongman flat on his back. Frank can do little but cover up and wonder who he wronged in a past life to deserve getting beat down by $5.99 toy monkey. “MONO! MONO! MONO!' the crowd chants, making the inanimate monkey the most over participant in the match. A recovered Uber puts an end to this monkey business by slamming his forearm into Moracca's back. The Mexican whirls around to paste Uber with a closed fist. But the Bruiser intercepts the strike with a knee to the gut, leaving the luchadore in a most vulnerable position! Uber takes advantage of his weakened state by lifting him horizontally in his arms. He then runs a full circle around the ring, building up velocity and suspense for his inevitable move. Once he closes in on the center of the ring, he dives forward, crushing Moracca (and Mono) underneath his enormous body weight with the [b]Oklahoma Stampede[/b]! COLE Oklahoma Stampede! Oh my, I think that could be it! Uber shares similar sentiments as Cole, and hooks his motionless foe's leg for a pivotal pinfall. The referee makes the count... ONE TWO THREE!!! The moment the referee's hand hits the canvas, an annoyed groan leaves the lips of the spectators who are less then pleased to see the Oklahoma bullies capture another victory. BUFFER The winners of the match....THE SOONER BRUISERS! The crowd replies to Buffer's announcement with further jeers and catcalls, some of the more inebriated onlookers even going as far as to foolishly challenge the brother's to a brawl. COLE A very hard loss to take for Los Diablos De Fuego. Let's hope it doesn't prove costly in their Anderson Cup hopes. However a defeat like this can truly damage a teams momentum. COACH Wait a second, if say lightening strikes killing the remaining participants in the Anderson Cup and Los Diablos are the only team left alive, and win it by default, would they actually fight their best friend, Alix? Do any of those three have the stones and the guts to put friendship aside and lay it all on the line for the tag team titles? The answer is no, and that's why a team like Los Diablos don't even belong in the Anderson Cup! COLE Coach, over the last several months Los Diablos have prove....hey what's going on in the ring?! The answer to Cole's question is that the Bruisers are dishing out an unholy beating to the men they just scored a victory over. Frank has Moracca trapped in the corner, where he proceeds to rain a hell storm of closed fists onto the helpless fighter's head. Eventually his razor sharp strikes slice through the spandex mask and draw an inkling of blood from the top owf his victim's forehead. Uber is having his way with Mariachi in the middle of the ring, crippling the poor man with stomps so vicious that it feels like a sixty pound weight is being dropped on his chest. The fans, of course, boo this display of crass and classless behavior. But their anger only causes the gruesome twosome to increase the intensity of their assault. Frank grabs Moracca by the back of the head and roughly rakes his bloodied face along the top rope, putting the superstar under an inordinate amount smoldering torment. Elsewhere, Uber goes for a more complicated but no less painful form of punishment, by lifting Mariachi into the air and spinning him around until the defenseless grappler is draped over his shoulders. From there he dives forward, slamming Mariachi into the mat and landing on top of him with a tilt-a-whirl powerslam! Robinson makes a half hearted plea for mercy on behalf of Los Diablos, but gets punched in the stomach and chucked out of the ring by Frank as a result of his meddling! COACH That's just a little payback for Robinson's terrible officiating in the tag team turmoil match. COLE Why are they doing this? What's this going to accomplish? Leaving Moracca a bloodied mess, Frank parades around the ring with his muscles flexed and his mouth jaw jacking with the outraged front row fans. Pleased with the damage done to Mariachi, Uber moves onto his next victim, the toy monkey, Mono. He points at the unprotected primate and slowly nods his head, eliciting boos from those fans who don't wish to see harm befall the creature. Ignoring the crowd's emphatic request for mercy, Uber shoves Mono between his legs and grabs onto his midsection. Snarling like a comic book villain, he takes one last look at the angered crowd before he sits out, spiking Mono's head into the rock hard canvas with a piledriver! “MONO! MONO! MONO!” bleats the crowd, either chanting the fallen monkey's name or giving a mass medical diagnosis. COLE (nearly in tears) Damn it no! Hasn't that monkey suffered enough for one lifetime? Why do bad things happen to such good people? How can we talk to an angel? Are you there god, it's me Michael? COACH Seriously, can you even look at yourself in the mirror anymore? While a wholly amused Uber gingerly puts the boots to Mono, Frank attends to the sentient victims, alternating between stomping Mariachi and Moracaa. Suddenly an enthusiastic roar erupts from the stands as all eyes turn towards the entrance way. None other then the tag team champions Chicks Over Dicks, charge down the ring with [b]field hockey sticks[/b](??!!) in hand! As the crowd the chants their name, the duo slides into the ring, ready to do battle with the violent Okies. Despite the fact that the girls and their girly choice of weaponry don't exactly pose any sort of threat, the brothers decide to retreat, choosing to fight COD another day. They back up the ramp, neither taking their ice cold eyes off the reigning tag champions. Alix checks on her fallen comrades and they're wounded monkey, while Krista, who is mostly indifferent to Los Diablos De Fuego's existence and doesn't really care about a toy chimp, grabs a microphone and waits for the raucous crowd to calm down before she unleashes one of her trademark hate filled tirades. “C-O-D! C-O-D! C-O-D!” COLE Thank the good lord Krista and Alix came out when they did. COACH And thank the good lord Krista chose not to wear a bra today. KRISTA Big Frank, littler Frank, what are ya doing all the way up on the ramp? Huh? The party is down here in the ring! We've got booze, we've got the illegal drugs, we've got hot women, one of which is so bad ass that she just incriminated herself to the DEA and the FBI on national television, and none of which would ever touch you, or any man, with a ten foot pole, unless that pole happened to be laced with flesh searing acid. But don't let that stop you from RSVPing, because we've got Johnathan Coach's edible underwear, Sadist ate the cake and the stripper inside we had to work with what we got, our hearts go out to her family. We've got even Zack Malibu's O-Town albums, and Alix's Kidz Bop CDs. So come on down and get your inner pedophile on! No [i]Dateline To Catch a Predator[/i] hidden cameras are gonna jump out and bust you as you get your freak on to the scintillating sounds of ten year old boys singing [i]Promiscuous Girl[/i]! Anything goes at this shingdig! And maybe, just maybe we can talk about this little incident with Los Diablos De Fuego, and your teeny tiny little argument with The Lonestar Gunslingers from last week. And just a disclaimer for your benefit: When I say talk, I really mean bash your skulls into oblivion with these field hockey sticks, and use your juicy brain matter to feed the homeless. So please come down, because I wanna party! Before Krista can further provoke the Bruisers, Alix snatches the microphone from her. Holding the mic in one hand, Ally picks up the deflated primate, Mono, and gazes upon it with sorrowful eyes. ALIX Who among us has not, whilst tenderly ravishing oneself underneath the nebulous beauty of an early morn's dew, passing fancies upon the spires of the Golden Gate Bridge, eating a brightly crisp apple while sweetly interlacing one's moistened lips with a ripe virginal lady and thinking to the leather-bound volume of Baudelaire pressed in one's garment, thought to the classic characters that define our fair and modest entertainment mediums? Thus, I entreat you, heartless hinds, as you gloat over the desiccation of this primordial creature to consider what blithesome revelry his sub species has anointed our sapience with. Since the dawn of man, monkey's have worked tirelessly behind the scenes to secretly manipulate the very course of humanity as we know it! Now, gather close my little lambs because your Grandma Alix is about to spit that hot fire. My dad took me to enough gay bathhouses as a child that I've picked up a few life lessons and some good stories to share. And I've got a truly heartwarming tale for you tonight. It's a story of a wonderful primate. A sweet caring beast, with a terrible case of tourette's syndrome, and partner of a nazi jewel thief, who makes his escape from a five star communist controlled hotel on the eve of the season's biggest social event! Now, I'm not gonna lie to you, mayhem, cultural misunderstandings, and your fair share of off and on the set bestiality may have occurred. And I'm not gonna make excuses for him, as an orangutan capable of building a profitable and fully functional meth lab in his basement, he should've known better. But when the sexually repressed ten year old son of the hotel manager needed a welcoming and loving partner to safely explore his blossoming homosexuality with, that underwear sniffing ape was there, dude. You see, [i]Dunston checked in that day[/i], and maybe he grabbed a few of the more attractive and underage bellboys in their no-no spots, and he left an unholy mess in the mini bar fridge, and maybe he racked up an obscene amount of charges for the various pornographic movies he ordered on Spectravision over the course of his stay, but, god damn it, America, Dunston didn't check out! Tears begin to well in the corner of Alix's eyes ALIX Dunston left us back in 1990 ,his legal affairs a jumbled mess, his once legendary estate in shambles, his wife a raving alcoholic, and his son a heroin overdose away from the grave. It puts a smile on my face and sadness in my heart that I watch his story unfold every year on the anniversary of his death. It is with tear stained eyes and a heavy heart that I ask you, America, after witnessing the mistreatment of his fellow primate, Mono, tonight, can you continue to perilously ignore Dunston's blood curdling cry for vengeance from beyond the grave? “NO!!!!” ALIX Then let's grow some hair on our nads, burn our bras, tip some cop cars, crank up the Hendrix, and burn this motherfucker down! “YEAH! KILL WHITEY! KILL WHITEY! KILL WHITEY!” ALIX Slide, slide, slippity slide, Bruisers, our fantastic voyage has yet to come a close, and I'm about to knock you on a magic carpet ride to the moon. Not only have you brought the pool cue of animal cruelty down on Mono, wrestling's true MVP, most valuable primate, but you've also gay bashed my amigos, the beef in my burrito, the taco in my bell, the Mex in my ico, the Che in my Guevara, the batteries in my vibrator, Los Diablos De Fuego! And for what? To draw us out like pictionary, awesome game by the way, we must play sometime, I will own you so hard. Well here we are on the canvas in living color like David Alan Grier and Damon Wayans in men on film. But just like the foppish duo featured on that short lived but way hilarious early nineties comedy sketch show, you happen to be acting like a pair of sissies! We're here in the ring, ready to rumble like our name was David Arquette and this was a WCW endorsed movie worthy of a billion and one Oscars and a few Nobel Peace Prizes. But when you saw us, you hauled up the ramp like we're more dangerous then the LAPD. We may be women but it's obvious you're the.... “PUSSIES!” screams the crowd. ALIX I was going to say the passage leading from the uterus to the vulva in certain female mammals. But I guess your way was more concise and had a little bit more oomph. Did you notice the part where I said only certain female mammals. How much does it just totally suck to be that female mammal without a vagina? How horribly, horribly, horribly, horrible must that person's life be? Christian Wright our prayers go out to you! KRISTA Sweetie, I know your modern day Voltaire in bloom, but why don't you hold off on your wonderful insights until we're back at the hotel. Even the finest wines need time to age! As for you two, if you're not going to come down here and let me peel your face off your head with a nail file, then maybe you can tell us what exactly it is that you want. UBER (snarling) What do we want? What do you think we want? ALIX (singing) If you want to be my lover, you have got to give, taking is too easy but that's the way it is! BIG FRANK Hey Alix, why don't you do something more useful with your mouth...like see if you can handle this 10 incher. Think of it as the start of your new career, because after we get what we want back -- the World tag team titles, which were stripped from us by a bullshit referee, working for a bullshit company in a bullshit match that was voted on by the stupidest, most ignorant, most moronic idiots on the face of this earth! -- you're not gonna want to step foot inside a wrestling ring ever again. KRISTA I'll give you working for a bullshit company...but the stupidest, most ignorant, most moronic idiots on the face of this earth? Tsk, tsk. That's no way to speak about your parents. BIG FRANK That's the problem with you screwed up sorority chicks. You're more keen on trading jokes with the Red Rooster and defending our belts against pretty boys who should have to earn their shot in the Anderson Cup rather than putting them on the line against the team who never lost those titles in the first place! Because of that you forced us to concoct a little scheme to get your attention and get ourselves back into tittle contention. I think you'll find it as impressive as my 25" anacondas. Frank flaunts the largest arms in the world. KRISTA I'm just impressed by the fact that you can use words with more then one syllable. ALIX Hooked on phonics worked for you! UBER Heh, funny. Real funny. You know what would be even funnier? Heh heh heh. If we went down there right now and took your titles the American way...by force! BIG FRANK You broadband's just proved my point. Your hands will be covered in the blood spilled by our bruising until you give us what we want, a rematch. First it was those Brokenbackin' punks last week and Spezia's fag hags tonight. And you don't wanna know who we're gonna hit next if ya keep screwin' us out of title shots. If you think we're playing, if you think this a joke, try and test us and find out how deadly serious we really are. You've been gone for awhile, out the loop, so you don't know the kind of terror The Sooner Bruisers can hit the OAOAST with. Let me clue you into what kind of screwed up people you little girls are dealing with. We don't give a damn who we hurt, who's lives we ruin, who's careers we end, or who suffers at our hands. Human life doesn't matter, human emotions don't matter. The only people that matter are the people we see when we look in the mirror each morning and the only thing that matters is getting the tag team titles back around our waist. And until we get, them back, until you give us our due title shot, people will be hurt, people will suffer and blood will be shed in your name. Your return to the OAOAST and subsequent... KRISTA Subsequent? Look out Christian Wright, there's a new human dictionary in town. BIG FRANK Let's see how many quips you can get in standing next to your daughter's hospital bed, bitch. "OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!" KRISTA :firedevil: BIG FRANK That got your attention, didn't it? See, unlike us, you care whether or not people get hurt. We don't protest wars. We make them. KRISTA Listen you, you goddamn poor excuse for a son of a bitch! You so much as say hi to my daughter, may all the higher powers in this world help save you from the wrath of a mother's scorn! I see you up on the ramp, smiling, laughing, thinking that we can't hurt you. You've got that Big Red S on your tights and you think that makes you Superman? Well, Clark Kent, we don't have any kryptonite, but you're about to find out how fast we can Christopher Reeve you. I say we because for better or for worse, Alix has become like a... ALIX Second mother... :) KRISTA (CONT'D) ...big sister to my daughter Maya. ALIX :( KRISTA We're family, you're family, so we're gonna make like Richard Dawson and bring you a [i]Family Feud[/i]. If you ever mention my daughter again, we will leave you on an IV like Roman Numeral Four. Please believe that. And as for these tag team belts you covet so much; I got some bad news for you, kids, you taking these titles away from us is like is kind of like constipation, it's some shit that's not gonna happen. “C-O-D! C-O-D! C-O-D!” chants the audience. KRISTA And don't even think about putting that microphone up to your lips to respond. Because I'm like Professor Xavier tapped into Cerebro, I can read your small as an anorexic midget minds, and I know exactly what you're gonna say. You're gonna bore the few viewers-who didn't rush to change the channel to [i]Real World/Road Rules[/i] challenge when they saw you come out-half to death by rambling on and on about bruising our asses. Honey, nobody pounds my ass. I pound THEIR ass! UBER (shouting) Do you know who you're talking to? You bimbos are threatening six time NCAA wrest- ALIX Quiet, poopie head! No one cares about your amateur wrestling junk! So save your childhood stories of rolling around the mat with other gay/bi/curious teenage boys and engaging in fits of quasi dominant fondling and dry humping in an act of raging adolescent desires for rec.alt.sports.homerotic.grappling. Thank you drive through! KRISTA Alix, sometimes your words are like the trash strewn over the freeways of my native land. Anyway, Frank and guy also named Frank but not currently named Frank, if we're not gonna talk about amateur accomplishments, lets talk about some of your professional achievements. Because the way I see it you're pretty overconfident in your abilities despite having done nothing to justify it. Anything you've done, we already did and we did it long before you could even dream about it. Whatever you can't do we can. Whatever you want to be, we already are. We set trends, you follow them. We're blazing a trail, you're still struggling to get on the road. You say you've beaten Black T..... ALIX O-M-G translates into Oh My Gawd! You have one fluke win over Black T? Who even knows if that was legit? Maybe you had incriminating pictures of Dan Black in the bedroom with Bill Watts and the underage cast of [i]Zoe 101[/i] in furry costumes, and he had no choice but to let you win lest his secret obsession with Jamie Lynn Spears and Sonic the Hedgehog be exposed to the world! Hmmmm? Your one little win doesn't mean anything when we've already beaten them twice! Not only that but if you go down to the arcade and you see the high score on Street Fighter Two Championship Edition with the initials P-E-E that's so me rocking the high score and clever witticism game. So you best fall back lest you wind up like the M.Bison to our Chun-Li, and end up Jello pudding creek without a spoon for the delicious low fat Jello treats. And, despite what various rubber cement induced hallucinations tell me, maybe I can't hurl massive blue fireballs out of my hand, and perhaps I'm not a giant, green monster who can generate volts of electricity to shock my mortal enemies without incurring the wrath of federal prosecutors-thanks alot, Jodie Foster-but I'm pretty sure that me and my partner in state sponsored civil union, who happened to be a dancer for Guns N Roses, that'll be important in about two seconds, can take you down...take you down to the [i]Paradise City[/i] where the grass is green and the girls are pretty! Oh won't you please take me hooooooome? KRISTA Right. Well, you be... ALIX Hooooooooooome! KRISTA You bea.... ALIX HOOOOOOOME! KRISTA ...... ALIX ..... KRISTA You bea.. ALIX HOOOOOOME! KRISTA You bea..... ALIX :headbang: KRISTA Stay calm, Krista, and remember your karma. Remember your Karma. Okay, you two beat the Heavenly Rockers, two guys who are so injury prone they might as well have been born with giant FRAGILE HANDLE WITH CARE stickers on their asses. What will be your next illustrious accomplishment? Beating up Bon Jovi and pushing Professor Stephen Hawking down a flight of stairs? Bruisers, not only have we defeated The Rockers, but we took their names away from them, made them our personal bitches for a whole month, then tossed them aside like yesterdays garbage, and never heard a peep from them again. But you keep going after them, and they keep coming back. If you were as bad as you say you are, they'd have one foot in the grave, and your foot in their ass. But the way it's going now, they're one verse away from shutting your mouthes for good. The audience loudly cheers the thought of The Heavenly Rockers beating up their archrivals. KRISTA You beat down the Sk8r Bois and left them like Apollo Creed after Ivan Drago hit him? Well, if you're Drago that makes us Rocky, and that means at the end of this story we leave you flat on your back with no belt on your waist. If you die you die. Wake up and smell the truth gentlemen, I'm the woman who made the Sk8r Bois. Their mother gave them birth, but I gave them life. There wouldn't have even been Sk8r Boiz for you to beat if it weren't for me. It's exactly as I said, anything you've done, we've done it before and we did it so much better. You should've accepted your tag title loss like the nameless, faceless, mongoloid dopes that you are. When it comes to challengers for our titles, you're two people we aren't particularly worried about because we will beat your ass every time we see you for the rest of your life. You can jack up the not-so ambiguously gay duo, beat up Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and drop disses from in front of that Wizard Of Oz Curtain on the entrance stage all you want, but when that yellow brick road starts to crack you bitches better click your heels together three times and head back to Oklahoma, because we will break your jaw every time we see you, from now until forever. You feud with us and we'll bury you so far underground that your next match will be against Owen Hart and Chris Candido. ALIX Oh, yes, she did. Frank shakes his head in a combination of disgust and outright anger before he finally opens his putrid mouth BIG FRANK Who can I blame for this? Who's neck can I wring, who's face can I pulverize, and who's kneecaps can I crack? Who is the person responsible for making you girls think you're equal to real people? Was it these inbred pieces of Australian white trash? Because they're the only ones dumb enough to let you believe you're anywhere near our level! “BOOOOOO!” BIG FRANK Even though your both as skinny as toothpicks, and the veins in my 25" anacondas are bigger then your entire bodies, you still got in your head that you're actually in the same league as six time NCAA wrestling champions. Forget about being America's Sweet Hearts, we're America's Bad Asses, and there ain't nothing in this world except a sex change and whole lotta juice, that's gonna get you anywhere near the Sooner Bruiser's league. But that ain't gonna stop The Man of Tomorrow and the Psycho Gremlin from doing what needs to be done, and that's crushing you in a heartbeat. Don't think for a second that just because you're women you can talk all that trashed you just talked and not get the same beatings we dished out to those mirror obsessed pretty boys The Sk8r Boiz, and those no talent Vegas lounge singers the Heavenly Rockers. Ask that diseased dumpster slut, Holly-Wood just what Big Frank can do to a chick when she makes the mistake of crossing him. And over the span of one year she didn't say or do half of what you just did to me and my brother in the last ten minutes. Now you might even get beat worse just because you're girls. It's my duty as a red blooded American male to put you uppity skanks where you belong, on your knees and in front of my ****! “YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK!” chant the fans. BIG FRANK But even though you tried to take our heads off with hockey sticks, ran us down, and stole our championship belts, I'm not gonna hold it against ya. Don't get me wrong, we're gonna punish you, we're gonna break you, but I'm ain't gonna hold no grudge. After we take the belts back, and all the scores are settled, and the doctor clears you for release from the hospital we put you in, I'm gonna do a good deed for you two. I'm gonna give you both something you haven't had in a very long time. I'm gonna give you the gift of havin' a real, live, warmblooded man inside of ya, and not some seven inch piece of rubber that's attached to a leather harness. So go ahead and put your plug n play hardware back in the box because once you get on the hardrive with The Man of Tomorrow you won't find no floppy disk, just all the ram your system can handle. And don't worry about the anti-virus, because Big Frank always comes packing the trojans. So get your input devices ready because you never know when my output device will go into burst mode and spray that HotJava all over your size 32 bits. Right now you're screaming “I am woman here me roar”, but when I get you alone, all you'll be saying is “Oh, Frank, do me more!” While the crowd boos Franks vulgar tirade, Krista quite literally looks as if she's about to explode in furious rage. Her skin turns several shades of red, and audience members in the front row begin to murmur thinking that she might actually go up the ramp to fight the duo. Somehow, Krista miraculously calms down long enough to propose an idea to her foes. KRISTA Wow that sounds,really,really, wonderful and inviting and not at all like something that makes me want to inhale the fumes from an exhaust pipe. But back to matters that don't make me wish an eight ton anvil would fall on your head; the tag team titles. Originally I was going to suggest that we wipe the ring with you at Anglepalooza. But if you feel that strongly about getting your rematch, if you're that passionate about being totally embarrassed by women who aren't even a quarter of your size, and if we've made you that upset, why don't we forget all about Anglepalooza and work out our issues right now? How's that sound? Why don't the people here in uh....um..uh....hey, what city are we in? “MELBOURNE!” KRISTA I knew that! I knew that! I was just making sure you all knew what city you were in. A mind is a terrible thing to waste and to lose, although Alix seems to be getting along pretty well without it. Just a little public service announcement. Krista, like the NBA, cares. So, Bruisers, how about we give the people what they really wanna see? ALIX Nooooo not a tape of Mackenzie DeCenzo's drunken and lurid strip tease from the company's Chirstmas party, silly boys! But a tag team title match, here tonight on HeldDOWN! The fans give a raucous response to Alix's suggestion. KRISTA I like it, the asses...I mean the masses, how silly of me, like it, Uber is such a poor actor that he's totally incapable of emoting anything that doesn't involve grunting or snarling but I'm sure he likes it also! So Sooner Bruisers from Tulsa, Oklahoma, come on down and get your beating...I mean rematch, again how silly of me, with the champs. “YEAAAAAAAH” BIG FRANK Listen up, goldie crotch, when you're hoking up with The Man of Tomorrow you don't tell him when to come, he comes when he's damn good and ready. ALIX If backstage gossip is any indication then you'll be coming in about twenty seconds. “OOOOOOOH” That comment seems to draw Franks ire, and he begins a vile march towards the ring. Unfortunately for the excited audience, Uber interjects himself and manages to calm down his enraged sibling. Making no effort to keep his voice level, Frank puts the mic to his lips. BIG FRANK We ain't doing this tonight! So every last one of you can sit right back down in your seats and keep your traps shut, because you're not gonna get the pleasure of watching the two greatest amateur wrestlers of all time dominate a second rate Jane Fonda and her bulimic pillow biter. Not tonight! Ask anyone of The Man of Tomorrow's megabytes and they'll tell you Big Frank is all about the big finish. And the big finish never comes premature. So we're gonna wait until the moment is right to stop the talkin' and start the fightin'. And that moment is Anglepalooza, just like Hot Lips down there said. COLE Come on! The people want to see the rematch tonight! BIG FRANK And lemme clear up any confusion before these dingo humping, down under pieces of white trash start to think we're ducking you. You don't intimidate us. There ain't a man on this roster or who's ever worked in this company that intimidates me or my bro. And you're no men, you're a couple of loud mouth Frisco dykes who's bark is worse then your bite. There's an old question that asks what do you tell a woman with a black eye? The answer is nothing, she's already been told. The problem with you two is you don't have any black eyes, so you haven't even been told once. But me and my brother, being such good sports, are gonna tell you twice, just to make sure you get the point. UBER We hope you had your fun as champs, because in just two weeks, your reign is going to come to a very violent and very abrupt ending. You can't stop us from getting the titles back at Anglepalooza. We're gonna rip through you like machetes through watermelons. Ow, ow, ow, owwwwwww! With that final howl [i]Frankenstein[/i] returns to arena forefront as the brothers make the infamous belt motion around their waists. Taunting the current champions, they back through the entrance doors, while various nearby crowd members lambaste them with insults and jeers. Never one to take no for an answer, Krista leans over the ropes and continues to order her enemies to come and face her. Meanwhile, Alix returns to the task of checking on her wounded friends, Los Diablos', condition. COLE Folks, there we have it, at Anglepalooza it will be the challengers, The Sooner Bruisers taking on the champions, Chicks Over Dicks. I know we all wanted to see the match tonight, but I'm sure at Anglepalooza those two teams will lay it all on the line for the tag team titles!

If this could go on before the Black T/Gunslingers match that would be super duper! Tony or KC, you can edit anything you'd like. I guess the rest of you could do the same, but I dunno why you'd want to! We go backstage where Mean Gene Okerlund is chillin' like a villain with those wild west cowboys, The Lonestar Gunslingers. The duo are dressed identically, wearing tight blue jeans and black cowboy hats. The absence of shirts doesn't go unnoticed by the female fans, who go absolutely gaga over their washboard abs and finely sculpted bodies. BABY BOYS IZ LOOKIN' STUPID FOOOOOINE! GENE OKERLUND Fans, I'm currently with one of the hottest young tag teams in the OAOAST, Anderson Cup competitors, The Lonestar Gunslingers. Baron Windels, Jock Mulligan, we all saw the heinous acts committed against you last week by the Sooner Bruisers. The Bruisers were fined ten thousand dollars a piece, but I'm sure that's small consolation to you. Please, tell us how you're holding up. BARON WINDELS Mister Okerlund, I've been in a lot of scraps in my day, lost few, won many, but I ain't never taken a beatin' like that in my life, and I pray to god I never have to take one like that again. Could hardly drag my rotten carcass out of bed the next morning. My bones is still store from all that. Saw the doc today, and he said if that had gone on any longer me and Jock woulda been doin this here interview from a pair of wheelchairs. But, the fact that we're here, standing on our own two feet is all thanks to Miss Alix Maria Spezia and Miss Krista Isadora Duncan , who came to our aid when we needed help the most. That was right decent of them lasses. THE TEXAS TWISTER JOCK MULLIGAN Yeah, real decent, real honorable. (Jock fixes a deadly gaze upon the camera) Bruisers, the fact that yer from Oklahoma is reason enough for us to wanna stomp your asses into dust. All you did last week was give us a lot more provocation to go ahead and do it. Boys, you better watch out, because we're huntin for ya, and we're gonna getcha. We may not getcha today, tomorrow, next week or even next month. But believe you me, Bruisers, there will come a time when yer walkin down the street and you come face to face with the two meanest roughnecks the state of Texas has ever produced! And when that times comes, ya'll two better turn tail and run, because we're lookin' to put a bad hurtin' on ya! The females in the audience pop for Jock's passionately stated threat. Of course Jock is so hot that he could've said “Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers” and they still would've cheered. OKERLUND Fellas, let's discuss Black T, your opponents in tonight's Anderson Cup quarter final match. The mention of Black T puts a confused expression on Jock's face. JOCK Black T, Black T. That name sound real familiar don't it, Baron? BARON Yeah it do. It kinda do. JOCK Just tryin' to think where I done heard it before. BARON Ain't that the team we beat in last years Anderson Cup? JOCK Naw. BARON Yeah! JOCK Couldn't be! I remember that team as being a pair of young, strong, though, bad ass, stallions. But this team they got us facing tanight, well, they look like they've been through the mill a few times. Couple of old, washed up, worn out, mares, ready to have the bullet put to their head so they can be made into glue. BARON That's the same team! Swear on my pa's grave. Mister Okerlund, lend me a hand here. OKERLUND The Black T you'll see before you tonight is the same Black T you saw before you last year. BARON Hey, Black T, if you're listening, and I don't know if you can hear that well in yer old age, but we beat you pretty good last year, made you look like a couple of wet behind the ears amateurs. Now, you can chalk that up to beginners luck all you want, but the bottom line is, we've only gotten better and better since then. And the way I'm looking at it, ya'll have only gotten worse and worse. JOCK Transatlantic wrecking crew, OAOAST legends, former tag team champions, former world champions. All them accomplishments don't mean jack to me because the last time we metcha, you was looking up at the lights getting' pinned one two three. You think you want a piece of the Lonestar Gunslingers, but I can smell the fear on your breath from miles away. You lilly livered bastards are scared to death. And well you should be. Because the tag team division may be the house that Black T built, but you built it in 2005. It's 2007 and it ain't it your house no more. It's ours, and we will lay you to rest whenever we feel like it. And unfortunately for ya'll, today is exactly when we feel like it. In case ya haven't been payin' attention, we're a hell of lot better then you Rodeo Clowns. We proved it last year, we'll prove it this year, and we'll prove it anytime you feel the need to come 'n test us. The audience reacts with excited murmurs to Jock's throwing down of the gauntlet. OKERLUND Wow! Black T certainly has something to think about tonight! Thank you for your time, gentlemen. Micheal, Johnathan, back to you.

In non Anderson Cup action Los Diablos will take on The Sooner Bruisers. And Chicks Over Dicks will offer their thoughts on whether Bulgaria and Romania are really ready for European Union memembership. Or maybe they'll just find someway to address those wacky Sooner Bruisers. And hey, maybe the Lonestar Gunslingers will actually get to speak again! Wouldn't that be cool, huh?

Mad love for the compliments, dudes. I probably won't be able to leave expanded feedback, so I'll just say the show was hyphy. For those not in the know just assume that means good. Some good storyline development from the opening segment all the way to the end of the show, and some nice matches also. Really liked the New Years Knockout in particular. Didn't Axel used to be the president/gm of this show or was that some kind of drug induced hallucination of mine. But yeah, nice show!

And the match The haunting beauty of Ennio's Morricone's [i]The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly[/i] drifts into the arena, giving birth to an excited murmur from the Tampa crowd. Red and blue lights splash across the landscape, as an orange pyro missle descends from the peak of the overhead scoreboard and onto the entrance stage. It lands with tremendous impact, nearly deafening those spectators unlucky enough sit near it. Immediately after the powerful pyro display concludes the lights dim to a troubling blackness. The home audience is shown an overhead view of the entrance stage, it's metallic floor carpeted by simmering flames that form the shape of a bull's head. The camera then pans downward to reveal the rugged tag team known as The Lonestar Gunslingers. Like beasts walking through the gates of hell, the surly Texans confidently stroll through the blazing symbol. Roving orange lights dance along their muscular baby oiled physiques and give a menacing tint to their matching white trunks. The men toss a nod to each other then set out to the squared circle. With only a nod passed between them, the roughriders begin their journey to the battle ground. BUFFER Ladies and gentlemen the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a televised time limit of thirty minutes, and it is for the OAOAST world tag team championship! Now making their way to the ring, the challengers, weighing in at a combined weight of five hundred and seven pounds, they are brawlers hailing from The Lone Star State, they are The Texas Twister Jock Mulligan, Baron Windells, THE LONESTAR GUNSLINGEERRRRRSSSS! The second Buffer's announcement concludes Baron slides into the ring amidst another series of soft applause. Jock stays on the ring apron, hooking his arm around the top rope. He gazes through the thousands of fans, not focusing on anyone or anything, merely contemplating the landmark task that lies before him. He turns towards his longtime ally and exchanges a solemn look. Each man is keenly aware that this is the most important match of their short careers. COLE They've got speed, size, talent and looks that could stop traffic in a heartbeat, but their attitude leaves much to be desired. We don't get a chance to see them often on HeldDOWN, but the Lonestar Gunsligners have an opportunity to establish themselves in the OAOAST record books. The industry was stunned on New Year's and it could be stunned again tonight if The Gunslingers have their game in order. Many scouts have said there's no reason this team shouldn't be ripping up the tag division, they just need to be given a chance. Well, they've been granted a chance, let's see if they make the most of it. COACH Forget about that, because whatever team wins tonight is going to get picked apart by The Sooner Bruisers. They are maaaaaaad, Cole, mad as all hell, about what they perceived as being screwed out of the titles at Mainframe Monday. Personally, I think they have a legitimate grievance. How can you lose your title and never be pinned or submitted? But what's set them off even more is that The Lonestar Gunslingers, a team that's never won any championship in any level of athletics got the first title match before they did. I was there when they found out The Gunslingers were getting first crack at the girls, and I couldn't get out the room fast enough. They tore that mother up! Those brothers are criminally insane. It wouldn't surprise me if they came out while this match was going on and just started smoking fools left and right. Droppin out of helicopters and such, straight blasting suckas, Bruce Willis [i]Die Hard[/i] style. POW POW POW on all you mofos! Duck and hide! For that reason, I'm putting on this riot gear, I've gotta protect myself, I gotta earn my money. If I were you I'd do the same. Coach actually does put on a SWAT team helmet, and clutches a knight stick like a precious jewel in an anticipation of The Sooner Bruisers inevitable arrival and destruction of human life. Cole remains nonplussed. COLE As Terry Taylor mentioned, Theodore Moneymaker... COACH Mister Moneymaker to you, peasant! COLE [i]Mister[/i] Moneymaker and [i]Mister[/i] Wright along with their cronies and henchmen in the Enterprise are distraught with the outcome of the tag team turmoil bout. They felt that the titles were rightfully their's by nature of the original match lineup. Although I feel the passion for their point, I can't say I agree with them. And it doesn't seem like many of the OAOAST wrestlers, and the OAOAST fans feel much sympathy for their plight. Sugarcult's unadulterated and athletic rock anthem [i]Los Angeles[/i] kicks through the sound system, as the venue plunges into a dreamy darkness. For a moment nothing happens, but the rowdy fans know exactly what's forthcoming. They make their voices heard above the music's sonic drumbeats, belting out chants of “C-O-D! C-O-D!”. Their voices only grow louder when a gorgeous [color=#FF0000][b]red[/color][/b] pyro waterfall cascades from the heaven's above, interloping with an equally majestic [color=#FF3399][b]pink[/color][/b] pyro fountain in front of the Angletron. Once those fireworks fade into an oblivion an astonishing [color=#FFFF33][b]gold[/color][/b] pyro wall booms to life, engulfing the entire length the entrance stage. Sugarcult's ode to the city of angels reaches it's hot point, and through the smoky haze step LA's favorite angels, Chicks Over Dicks. The anticipation of seeing COD make their return to HeldDOWN after a year long absence pales in comparison to the actual event, and the audience responds with a monstrous scream of excitement. COLE Such an ovation! Alix, attired in a white tube top, matching booty shorts, and white boots with faux fur leg warmers, bounces across the stage, doing her part to further pump up the adrenaline charged audience. Krista, outfitted in a black open sided mini skirt, white Adidas snow boots, and a red Obey tank top that reads “Make art not war” strikes an alluring pose atop the ramp, sliding her hands through her vibrant hair, and putting on a expression of enchanting mystery. Eventually, Krista is able to corral her wild n' crazy partner by the hand. She twirls Alix around like a ballroom dancer, then pulls her into her a tight embrace. Ally tosses her head over her shoulder, and blows a kiss towards the camera, leading cute super imposed red lips to pop on screen. BUFFER And the champions....now making their way to the ring, first, from Los Angeles, California, she is the CEO of Mrs.Spezia's sweeties, the Hollywood Bad Girl, ALIX MARIA SPEZIA! And her partner, from Los Angeles, California, she is a best selling author, a fitness queen, and star of the world famous FIT with KID line of exercise videos, she is Miss California Krista Isaodra Duncan! Together they are America's Sweethearts, Chicks Over Dicks! At the conclusion of the announcement another frenzied pop rises from the stands. Alix repays the audience for their appreciation by passing out her world famous Miss Spezia Sweetie's peanut butter cookies to their eager hands. Ever the sweetheart, she gives the remaining treats to a young autistic boy in the front row, and even kisses him on the cheek. Krista just kind of waves at him awkwardly, then quickly backs away before he can think of asking her for a smooch. COACH I hope Special Ed over there enjoyed that, because that's most play he'll ever see in his life. Fasten your chinstraps, bucko, that's all the excitement you're ever gonna get. COLE Alix and Krista shocked everyone when they made their return on Monday, and they left more then a few superstars upset with the manner in which they came back. But, the fans are the ones who keep the OAOAST alive, and they are tickled pink to see them back! And I feel the same way. Krista slides into the ring, and leans over the ropes facing the cameras, beaming a cocky smirk into living rooms across the country. Alix scampers to her side and makes herself an enormous menace by enthusiastically shaking the ropes. The sudden jolt in the cables, causes Krista to vulgarly ask Alix what the hell she's doing. Ally shrugs her shoulders, replying “I dunno”, before leaving a nauseated Krista to her lonsome. COLE Folks, the 2007 Anderson Cup is underway, and I personally feel that it will be the best Anderson Cup we've ever had. The brackets have already been announced, and are available at OAOAST.com for you to check out. Also at OAOAST you can vote on who you think will win the historic tournament. Now, Jock and Baron are penciled in to take on Black T. However if the Gunslingers should win the titles tonight, then Chicks Over Dicks would take their spot and would face the powerful team of Brannigan and Black. Anytime you have Black T in the ring, you're looking at a big time match, but to put Chicks Over Dicks in with them is off the charts. The girls try to settle the argument over who should start the match with a heated game of tic-tac-toe. Alix actually beats Krista, making this the first time she's ever beaten Krista in [i]anything[/i]. Thus a disillusioned and confused Krissy departs the ring, and Ally is left to square off with Baron Windels. “C-O-D! C-O-D!” chant the Floridians, most of which are still on their feet. The ever mischievous Alix points to the ropes and sweetly asks Baron if he wouldn't mind running towards them. Windells tosses her a quizzical glance, but one sickeningly cute “Pretty, pretty, pretty please” later and he's dashing towards the cables without question. Unfortunately for him, Alix charges behind, collars her arm around his head, then drives him nose first into the canvas with a bulldog! Her clever scheme earns her a scream of approval from the fans, and a shout of pain from her foe. But she has little time to gloat over her trickery, because Jock Mulligan comes roaring at her with a Bandit Kick. Alix easily sidesteps his trademark attack, then leaps into the air and pummels the man with a standing enziguri! With a throbbing headache and regrets of interjecting himself in the match in the first place, the defeated Texan rolls his carcass out the ring. Meanwhile, his outraged partner, Baron, is seeking to gain a measure of revenge on his bubbly tormentor. He zooms towards Alix wielding a viscous Western Lariat. However Ally delays a possible decapitation by appealing to Baron's spiritual side. “Wait! You can't hit me. I'm Jewish! Jews are Jesus' people!” She exclaims, cowering in an mock fear. Torn between his devotion to the lord, and his devotion to his profession, Baron's pea size brain ponders this great quandary. Sadly, he's never able to reach a solution due to his sneaky enemy rolling him up for a pinfall! ONE TWO Baron yanks his shoulders off the mat, and soon his whole body follows as he ascends to his full six foot seven frame. Towering above Ally Cat, the angry cowboy throws a familiar lariat her direction. But Alix has never met a clothesline she can't avoid, and this one is no different. She ducks behind her foe, and dropkicks his muscular back, thrusting him towards his corner. Jock who hasn't the slightest clue that he's about to be steamrolled by a two hundred seventy five pound bulldozer, groggily returns to the apron. And just as soon as he puts his foot on the beige surface his errant friend slams into him, flinging him off the apron and throwing him shoulder first into the steel barricade. [b]CLANK[/b]! Mulligan's massive body lands with tremendous impact, pushing the barricade back three inches and knocking the beers out the hands of nearby audience members. An outraged child, who had his soda spilled by the Slinger, proceeds to wallop the poor man with a foam Colombian Heat hand. Covering his head in the wake of the unusual assault, Jock loudly curses both his fortune and his buffoonish ally. However, his complaints are overshadowed by the cheers of those fans entertained by his predicament. COLE I don't see what Jock's problem is. What could Baron have done? COACH Not get dropkicked. Not go stumbling forward and knock Jock into a steel barricade for starters. A distraught Baron leans over the cables, apologizing profusely to Jock. However no amount of sorries can alleviate the searing pain Mulligan feels in his shoulder and his ego. Thus he continues to lambaste Baron for his foolishness. COLE I think Mulligan is overreacting to a simple miscommunication. In fact, Baron was already on his way to the ropes when Jock started to climb onto the apron. So if Jock had paid a little more attention to what was going on in the ring, he wouldn't be were he is now. The Gunslingers embarrassment increases when Alix blasts Baron with another dropkick. This time the attack hilariously hurls the sheriking brawler over the orange cables and onto the floor bellow. With a booming thud, Windels lands in front of his partner, who has several choice words for him. Baron rises and attempts to defend himself in the wake of Jock's rampant criticisms. But Jock offers no argument, instead bellowing a frantic “Look out!”. Confused by Jock's warning, Baron turns around, only to find his enemy descending on his team with an over the top rope body splash! The duo quickly dive out of the way of the soaring cutie, praying that she'll crash into the cold metal barricade. Much to their chagrin and to the crowd's delight, Alix's cat like agility sees her land with her feet on the railing and her back to the Gunslingers. Operating in unspoken unison, the Texans step forward, seeking to shove her into the laps of the audience. But Alix counters this tactic by launching herself backwards, extending her arms, and nailing her bumbling rivals with a moonsault double lariat! The not so gruesome twosome topple to the floor in a heap. Alix stands up, and for some inexplicable reason, chooses to celebrate her triumph by doing the robot and singing [i]We are Family[/i] by Sister Sledge in a robot voice. “ALIX! ALIX! ALIX!” chant the crowd, who don't seem to mind her less then pleasing singing voice. COACH Again Baron's fault. Why did he move out the way when she did the body splash? She's lighter then a feather. Alix is so skinny she could hula hoop with a Cheerio. Just catch her in your arms, and drive her into the ring post, chump. Baron's taking L's left and right. Jock, you a real man, you need a real partner. Holla at the Coach! Jock and John, tag team champions 2007. Jock shares some of Coach's sentiments, and resumes browbeating Baron for his considerable stupidity. Even as Alix rolls Windells back into the squared circle, Mulligan lies on the outside mats, alternating between grousing about his physical pain, and whining about his poor choice in partners. Back in the squared circle, Baron rolls to his feet, and spots Alix darting towards him. He halts her charge with a boot to the stomach that leaves her doubled over and wheezing in pain. Seeking to gain some revenge for all the trouble she's caused him, he roughly lifts her up as if he was going for a body slam, then inverts her and drops her shoulder first across his knee before discarding her to the canvas. Alix slinks away from her rival, clutching her wounded arm. But he stalks her across the ring, eying her with feral intent. He reaches down and grabs a thick clump of her hair, using it to pull her upright. He then pushes her into a bent over position and coils his arms across her slender waist. He lifts Alix into the air and holds her in position for a few seconds to showcase his ungoldy strength, then brutally slams her into the canvas with a gutwrench powerbomb! Krista and the audience react with horror to the viscousness of Baron's attack, and even Jock can't help but be a [i]little[/i] impressed. Not satisfied with the damage already done, Baron hauls Alix to her feet, and hurls her to the cables. Her incredible speed proves to be her downfall, as she gets bounced back before she can contemplate a plan of attack. Baron isn't nearly as indecisive as she, and knocks her off her feet with a spinning back fist. He stands victorious over his whimpering enemy, smirking to himself, gloating over the pain he's wrought. COACH I knew Baron was that dude all along! I've always been a supporter of the Baron Windels movement. Never could say a disparaging word about the man. Deciding to quit while he's ahead, Baron tags in the ill tempered Jock Mulligan. The Texas Twister's entrance into the fray earns a smattering cheers and boos. However he pays the varied crowd reaction little mind, instead focusing all his thoughts on winning his first championship belt. He hits the ropes and comes back with fists clenched for The Hollywood Bad Girl. Alix, resting on one knee, looks up at the last minute and makes a desperate bid to get out of the way. But Mulligan tracks her movements, and as she scrambles to her feet, he extends his knee forward and smashes it into the top of her skull! “CRAAAACK” the disturbing sound of bone meeting bone echoes throughout the venue, as the camera picks up a shot of a worried Krista pacing back and forth on the apron. Jock doesn't wait for Alix to rise before he continues his punishment, choosing instead to drive the point of his elbow into her bare stomach, causing the redhead to spasm in pain. Mulligan springs to his feet and repeats the same sequence, before latching onto Alix's left leg for a Boston Crab. Miss Spezia is steadfastly opposed to being placed in such a submission hold, and uses her tennis shoes to kick Jock away before making a mad dash to her feet. Enraged by Alix's escape, Jock pulls himself together and prepares to knock her into the stone age with a Bandit Kick. Unfortunately he doesn't move quickly enough to prevent Ally from leaping onto the third rope, spring boarding off, and catching him with a spinning wheel kick. The fans responds with a huge ovation for her counter. She acknowledges their love and support, with a wink and smile as she nurses her sore stomach. Always overprotective of Alix, Krista views Alix's minor discomfort as a sign of her being near the deathbed and hollers, “Tag me and fast!” “Tag you and fast? Do you mean tag you and hurry or do you mean tag you and not eat for a really long time?” Alix inquires. “Just tag me, dummy!” Krista screams, wondering why she even wastes her time being concerned in the first place. Alix follows orders and applies the tag to Miss California, eliciting a gargantuan pop from the capacity crowd. COLE Would you listen to that reaction! That incredible reaction lasts for all of ten seconds, as Jock, who recovered during COD's confusion, storms over to Krista and blasts her with clubbing forearms before she can properly enter the ring. The official admonishes Mulligan for his questionable tactics, but The Slinger ignores him, focusing all his attention on punishing his foe. He latches onto Krista's vibrant golden locks and drags her into the squared circle. The handsome brawler hauls her into a neutral corner, and uses his burly frame to seal off her escape routes. He raises his thick arm, preparing to strike down on Krista like some sort of demented human guillotine. But the speedy lady somehow manages to slip past Jock's elevated limb, leaving the man dumbfounded! She takes advantage of his brief confusion, and swaps places with him on the turnbuckle. With his barrel chest exposed to the world, she unleashes a hellstorm of knife edge chops on his buff pectorals. Each blow does a fantastic job of tearing away at Jock's baby oil drenched skin. However his mounting anger allows him to brush the damage aside and land a ferocious knee into Krista's six packed stomach. Another knee follows, granting the big man control of the contest. COLE Jock Mulligan is doing what he does best, and that's brawl and use his strength to overpower his smaller opponents. The Texas Twister applies tightly held front facelock on Kris, then situates her onto the top turnbuckle. Krissy teeters back and forth, sweat staining her forehead, her brain working overtime to determine how she can beat this intimidating beast. Jock's answer is that she can't, and he drives this point home by playfully slapping her in the face, as he ascends to the top turnbuckle. Disgusted with Jock's crude treatment of Krista, Alix rushes to her rescue! She punches Mulligan in the ribcage and actually challenges him to a shoot-out at the OK Carrol. Though the actual punch was nothing more then a minor annoyance to Jock, it provides Krista with all the distraction she needs to shove her assailant back to the floor. Jock lands on his boots, but struggles mightily to maintain his balance. This moments disorientation grants Krista the time she needs to prepare to strike him with an aerial attack. The roaring audience rises to it's feet, many readying their cameras to capture an image of what should be a jaw dropping move. Krissy shoots herself off the turnbuckle and laces her toned legs around Mulligan's neck. He tries his damnedest to rid himself of her unwanted presence, but it's to no avail. She peels backwards and pulls the rugged warrior head over heels with a fabulous hurricanrana! “KRISTA! KRISTA! KRISTA!” scream the audience, as Jock lies a groggy mess on the canvas. The chant's recipient scales to the second turnbuckle, further exciting the highspot lusting crowd. But before she can execute any high risk move, she has be assured her makeup looks acceptable. Thus Krista pulls a Revlon compact mirror out of her top, flips it open, and admires her gorgeous visage for a solid thirty seconds. In fact the only reason Krista stops checking herself out is because Alix screams... “Krissy! Do your stupid move and fast! And I don't mean do your stupid move and not eat for a long time!” Snapped back to reality, Krista chucks the mirror into the stands, leaving the audience members to battle over the precious souvenir. While the crowd fights, Krista rises to her full vertical base, leaps from the posts and fires herself at Jock. She rotates in midair and drives her full weight onto his chest with a gorgeous shooting star press! The impressive aerial move claims a cheer from the fans, and Krista stands up to bow like a 17th century court dancer to her numerous admirers. As she soaks up the adulation, a dazed and confused Jock rolls onto his front, ready to push himself upright. However, Miss California spots his ascension and immediately nullifies it with a basement dropkick. Mulligan holds his face in sharp misery, but refuses to stay grounded and staggers to his feet. Problematically, Krissy is no where to be seen. Though she's out of sight, she certainly isn't out of mind, and Jock turns in a dazed circle to get a bead on his elusive foe. Unfortunately for him, she reveals her location in a most painful manner. Leaping from her position on the second rope, Krista sails through the air, latches her legs onto Jock's shoulders, and sends him skidding across the canvas with a hurricanrana. As the audience applauds her latest attack, Krissy leaves her moaning adversary in the middle ring, and strides to the turnbuckle. The crowd screams with anticipation for her next glorious move. She certainly doesn't disappoint them, jumping to the top rope, then corkscrewing back with a majestic moonsault! But to the fans' and Alix's immense dismay, Mulligan pulls himself out of the way at the last possible second, leaving Krista to hit the mat with devastating impact. She crumbles to her side, screaming as the chilling pain spreads like a cancer throughout her body. “LET'S GO KRISTA! LET'S GO KRISTA!” the audience sings, doing their part to make sure the momentum doesn't swing to the side of The Gunslingers. Drawing strength from the fans' support, Krissy tries to get back to her feet, but the pain in her stomach slows her down enough to allow Jock to prepare for her. The Texas Twister lashes a spinning back fist across her face that knocks her head from side to side and leaves her staggering backwards. Following her trail, he closes his arms around her exposed waist with a grip that holds tighter then cast iron bars. From there he bridges backwards, launching the fan favorite into the sky with his trademark belly to belly overhead suplex! Krista lands on the mat and is instantly attacked with horrible pain, her back feeling like it's been carved up by razor blades. The audience is absolutely livid at such a blatant disrespect for Krista's body, and gives a remorseless Mulligan an earful. COLE Looks like Jock has the bulge! COACH You nasty, kid. I'm checking out Krista, like any red blooded male would, and you looking at a man's package, staring all intently to see what he's got in there, salivatin' and secretin' over it and whatnot. COLE To have a bulge, means to have the advantage in cowboy speak, Coach. I was just trying to bring some education to this program. Going against his better judgment, Jock applies a reluctant tag to his oafish partner, Baron Windels. After thanking Jock for the second chance, Mister Windels enters the ring and promptly picks up where his ally left off. He grabs Krista as she's starting to stir and snags the blond bombshell into a front facelock. To Baron's chagrin he encounters spirited resistance from the fitness queen. And for a fleeting moment it appears that she may be able to break free of his clutches. But a quick forearm to her upper back subdues the spirited fighter. Baron slings her right arm over his head, takes hold of her mini skirt, foists her into the air, then timbers to the canvas, crushing her back with a textbook vertical suplex! The effects of the hold barely have time to register in Krista's mind before Jock Mulligan illegally reintroduces himself, planting a knee into the top of her skull! Before the referee can even think of admonishing him, the Twister's already fled the ring, disavowing himself of responsibility for his actions. On the apron, Alix pitches a hissy fit over Jock's tactics to anyone who will listen. But the one person who needs to hear it the most, the referee, is too busy counting Baron's pinfall to listen... ONE TWO Krista scrapes her shoulder off the mat, leading Alix and the fans to breathe a sigh of relief. Frustrated with his inability to end the contest, Baron brings in Jock to seal the deal. Mulligan joins Windels in the ring, each man taking a hold of Krista's arm and tossing her to the ropes. With their onyx colored eyes gleaming like quicksilver, the cowboys surge forward and bowl her over with a pair of shoulder blocks. Krista plummets to the mat, pain lighting up everyone of her howls. Alix witnesses her dire state, and leans over the ropes, rapidly clapping her hands together, making every effort to rally her fallen friend. Jock sees Alix's worried expression and taunts the feisty lass, promising her that she's next in line to feel the Gunslinger's wrath. Ever the mature one, Alix replies by making a monkey face at him. See? Mature. Once Baron exits the ring, Mulligan takes the stock of situation. He realizes that Krista is in a sizable amount of pain, but he wants to make sure she's perfectly incapacitated before he attempts to put her away. With that in mind, he crooks his arm around her sweat drenched head, then takes hold of her right leg, situating her for fisherman's suplex. Krista makes a heroic effort to break free, but the brute strength of The Texas Twister is too much for her to overcome. Fortunately for the damsel in distress, Alix comes to the rescue, sprinting into the ring and pasting Jock with a roundhouse kick! “YEAAAAAAA!” scream the previously dead crowd. More annoyed with the fact that the fur from Alix's leg warmers got in his mouth, then hurt by the kick, Mulligan makes a bee line for the retreating Alix. Yet he's unable to cause her any damage, as a recovered Krista saves her from harm with a rollup! ONE TWO Jock kicks out, and manages to rise to his feet before Krista. He wraps a hand through her shimmering hair, and violently hauls her upright. He drags her to his corner, where Baron has the presence of mind to rest his cowboy boot on the top rope. With a sneer towards the thousands of fans in attendance, Jock prepares to smash her beautiful face into his ally's waiting shoe. But Krista has other ideas in mind, and stymies Jock's efforts, by placing her left hand on the small of his back, and pushing forward, sending him hurtling into Baron's leg! The fans come alive with a roar of approval for Krissy's counter attack, as Jock wails like an unwashed baby. Windels, who hadn't been paying much attention to the proceedings, looks over to see what all the commotion is about and is left in utter shock when he spots his partner clutching his nose and insulting him for uselessness. Hoping to make up for his latest error, Baron tags himself into the fray and instantly goes to work on Krista's back with clubbing forearms. The femme fatale responds to the assault by rifling a parade of rapid fire punches, not letting up on her rival for a millisecond. But her strikes aren't powerful enough to floor Windels, and the big man easily swats them away, returning fire with a series of straight left hands to her already sore face. Krissy's body rocks against the tremendous force of the attacks, not stopping until he ceases his reprehensible battering. As Krista has been left dazed by his brutalization, Baron meets little difficulty in lifting her limp body into a standing fireman's carry position. COACH I don't know what's coming, but I bet it leads to new tag team champions. Smiling from ear to ear, Baron spins around, slowly showcasing his beautiful victim to the viewing world and adding suspense to the inevitable damage his move will bring. The audience's heat swells to the boiling point, as they and Alix urge Krista to fight her way to freedom. Just as Baron is about to slam Krista into the ninth level of hell, she somehow manages to roll off his broad shoulders. She lands on her white Adidas snow boots with all the grace of a classical ballerina, and all the hatred of a caged lion. Windels is so dumbfounded by Krista's escape, that it doesn't even register that she's no longer on his shoulders until the queen of the jungle does a one handed hand stand, spins her entire body around, and liquidizes his delicate facial features with her right leg, before her left leg replays the same painful sequence. The onlookers give Miss California a rousing ovation for her ability to stave off certain defeat as well as for her flashy technique. COLE That is a capoeira attack known as the Au Malandro. It's moves like that make me love watching Krista wrestle. COACH I don't mind seeing her wrestle, but I'd much rather see her [i]box[/i]. hehehehehehee. Box. Krista's devastating attack fails to floor the lumbering giant, for when he timbers backwards for the earth shattering drop to the canvas, he's caught within the chilly embrace of the ring ropes. The cables act as an unwilling host, and eagerly rebound the muscle stud back to his resurgent foe. Baron takes a few unwanted steps towards the center of the ring, too dazed to prevent Krista from draping his right arm over her shoulder. Seeing his chances of holding OAOAST gold fall apart before his eyes, Jock screams at Windel to stage a counterattack. But Jock's pleas fall on deaf ears, as Baron is at the cruel mercy of Krista's whims. And those whims drive her to perform a back flip onto her stomach, forcing a hollering Baron to go airborne with her. Windels is deposited into a forward roll, brutally landing on his back at the hands of [b]Everybody hates Kris[/b] (back flip rock bottom). The ring ripples beneath the monumental impact of Krista and her mangled adversary, and Alix claps excitedly for Krista's moment of victory. “YEAAAAAAAA!” shouts the crowd. Krista sprawls stomach first on the mat, mortally exhausted, her sweat drenched locks cloaking her exasperated face. Through damp strands of hair, her blue eyes spot Alix on the ring apron, begging for a tag. Gritting her pearly white teeth together, she undertakes the arduous journey of trekking to her corner. Her mind urges her to move with speed, knowing that Baron won't lie dormant forever. But her impoverished body refuses to cooperate, taking it's sweet time in getting her to her destination. “KRISTA! KRISTA! KRISTA!” the audience chants, encouraging their fallen heroine. COLE Krista has got to get to Alix. If she doesn't then this first title defense will be their only title defense! At the zenith of the crowd's chant, the warriors stir their wounded bodies. They both slowly gain their feet and unsteadily inch their way upright. The combatants are bone weary, hardly able to tell what's going on or even what city they're in. Neither seems to have the slightest clue of what to do next as they teeter back and forth on weakened knees. Baron stands on one leg, comically swatting at mythical foes like a drunk after happy hour. Krista, however, encounters better luck then him, and is blessed with surge of desperate energy. She clenches her fists together and uses her last trace of strength to sprawl forward to make the tag with her partner in state sponsored civil union, Alix Spezia! The capacity crowd goes nuclear for Alix's arrival, nearly taking the roof off the arena with their cheers! Alix points to Baron and channels the spirit of Al Pacino in [i]Carlito's Way[/i] by hollering “You wanna be big time? You gonna fucking die big time!” at the man who is so out of it that he thinks he is actually being threatened by Al Pacino himself. Windels makes a weak effort to defend himself against Alix's impeding onslaught, offering a languid elbow smash as she nears. But Alix handily neutralizes his strike by taking his attacking arm and slinging it over her right shoulder. She then ignites a blaze of anguish along his back by driving him to the mat with the [b]True Life: I just got beat up by a girl[/b](STO)! “YEAAAAA!” Seeking to derail the COD train before it knocks his team completely off the tracks, Jock enters the contest and darts towards Alix. He extends his lengthy leg forward, trying for the third time tonight to take her head off with the infamous [b]Bandit Kick[/b]. Once again his efforts meet with unbridled failure, as Alix deftly avoids his volley by grabbing onto his foot and slamming it back to the canvas. However, Mulligan doesn't even get the chance to bemoan Alix's evasion, because in the blink of an eye she locks her arm around his neck, leaps into the air and spins him like an out of control merry-go-round. After a full 360 rotation, she plummets to the canvas, spiking Jock's noggin into the mat with the Sucker Free DDT! Every fan in the arena lets loose with a wild ovation for Alix's domination of the roughnecks. But Jock, who's now suffering the worst headache of his life, fails to see what's so joyful about his miserable situation. COLE Perhaps Jock ought to consider putting the Bandit Kick into retirement after tonight! Alix decides that with her foe in a prone position, now is the perfect time to showcase her [i]ass[/i]ets to the lustful crowd. Standing at Jock's side with legs apart and hands on bent knees, Alix bounces her voluptuous BUTT up and down, making it shake like dice much to the hormone driven audience's enormous pleasure. Splurty sounds of young boys fapping their way INTO MOTHER FUCKING MANHOOD to Alix's sweet ass, while repeatedly looking over their shoulder to make sure their mom doesn't catch them in the act, are heard in basements across North America. Finally Alix ends her booty shaking routine and rockets herself backwards, coming down across Jock's chest with a standing moonsault. As the audience bellows a gigantic pop, the referee drops down to count the resulting pinfall. CROWD ONE CROWD TWO! Baron Windels makes an ill fated attempt to break up the pinfall with a top rope body splash. Ill fated because Alix spots his descent out the corner of her eyes and yanks her body away from the speeding bullet. [b]OOOMPH[/b]! Windels lands with a nauseating clunk onto Jock's chest, instantly seizing all the air from both men's lungs. He lifts his battered bones off The Texas Twister, much more concerned with his own welfare then that of his grouchy associate. But he's offered no time to lick his wounds, as Alix pulls him upright and hurls him to the corner. But Baron is able to shift his weight, and use his sizable strength advantage to reverse the hold and send the SoCal babe to the ringposts. He watches her smash into the padding back first, then follows her in with plans of bringing misery to her world. However those plans fail to materialize thanks to the cherry haired fighter sidesteping his rampage! Baron has a terrible meeting with the turnbuckles, his injured chest receiving the scathing brunt of the blow. COLE I think at this point in time The Gunslingers are getting overwhelmed by Alix's amazing speed. Windels has nary a second to get his wits together before a revitalized [b]Krista[/b] descends upon him with a body splash. He drags his impressive frame out of the way, certain that she'll encounter the same grizzly fate he did seconds ago. But KID manages to land flawlessly onto the third turnbuckle, popping the audience and giving Baron fits of rage. She further adds to his problems by flipping towards him with a moonsault press! But Baron avoids the attack by diving underneath her plummeting body, and praying to the gods above that she'll splatter onto the canvas. His prayers go unanswered as the blond goddess lands with exquisite grace on her flashy footwear. Just seconds later those expensive shoes join Alix's equally expensive shoes in decimating poor Baron's face with double dropkicks! “C-O-D! C-O-D!” sing the fans to the girls who are currently exchanging high fives With the taste of Adidas and Gucci on his lips, Baron staggers out the corner. His teary eyes search for a comfortable place to pass out and throw in the towel. Unfortunately his legs give out before he does, belly flopping his entire body towards the mat. A deafening ovation spews from the stands when Baron's shaved head lands precisely on Jock's purple headed womb broom. A mortally wounded Mulligan shoots his back off the mat and wails into the night sky, damning the day he chose to enter this heartless world of professional wrestling. COLE Safe to say Jock doesn't have “the bulge” anymore! Eh, Coach? Hehehhhe. Bulge. COACH I wish I was dead. No wait, I wish you were dead. Yes, that would be much better. Face awash with anger, and hand clutching Rumple Foreskin, Jock rises, seeking someone, anyone, to obliterate. His crazed gaze locks onto Krista, and he charges towards her, hoping to flatten her with his sheer size. But Krissy has no trouble dealing with the studly Texan, and halts his advance with a face caving superkick! COLE I think we may have just heard Mulligan's nose break! Eyes rolled into the back of his head, he topples himself into a full nelson by Alix. She wraps her leg around his, then slings his entire body forward imprinting his facial features on the canvas with her finisher [b]You Have Died of Dysentery[/b] (full nelson face crusher)! “YEAAAAAAA!” Mulligan lies a shredded heap on the mat, unable to think past the pulsating wave of pain in his battered face. Fortunately for him, all he has left to do in this match is lie in perfect harmony while Alix pins him and the official makes the count. CROWD ONE CROWD TWO CROWD THREE! The girls theme music kicks up once more, but it can scarcely be heard over the earthshaking ovation of the audience. The referee hands the elated champions their titles, which turns out to be a big mistake because chirpy Alix takes that as an invite to explain to him the origin of her title's unusual and overly girly decorations. BUFFER Your winners, and still tag team champions of the world....AMERICA'S SWEETHEARTS...CHICKS OVER DICKS! COLE All in all a pretty solid showing from The Lonestar Gunslingers. They've beaten Black T before, one of the best, if not the best tag team to ever set foot in this company, and they almost pulled off another upset tonight. We'll see if they can work some magic when they face Black T in the first round of the Anderson Cup. Jock and Baron scrape their defeated bones off the mat, trying to stable their bodies under the pressure of throbbing pain. Brief words are exchanged between the two, and the outlaws seem to reach some sort of plan. Holding onto hurt ribs they limp their way over to the girls' winner circle. Murmurs are heard amongst the audience, for many believe they are about to bear witness to a post match confrontation between champion and vanquished challenger. However no such battle will come to pass, as, The Gunslingers, in the ultimate act of sportsmanship, extend their hand in respect to the victors. Krista, who is distrustful of any man much less one who tried to beat her up, eyes their offer with extreme skepticism. Alix, on the other hand, strangely hollers out “THIS CRACKER IS DOWN FOR WHATEVER”, and eagerly returns their show of respect. Despite her initial trepidation, Krista gives into peer pressure and repays the Gunslingers gesture. The audience greets the symbol of respect with a stirring round of applause COLE How about that, Coach? Doesn't that just warm your heart, old buddy? COACH That's exactly what would I do to two people who caused a two hundred sixty five pound man to land square on my nuts, I'd shake their hand and thank them for it. I was wrong, Jock Mulligan is a brokeback fool. And don't call me “buddy”, I'm not your friend. You don't know me like that. With one final nod to The Slingers, the champions exit the ring. As they leave they hold up their titles to the delight of their adoring fanbase. COLE Well, Chicks Over Dicks making their return to HeldDOWN and picking up a hard fought victory over The Lonestar Gunslingers. A great first defense for our newest champions. And I....hey what the heck is happening in the ring? While Cole is wasting everyone's time recapping what they've already heard a million times before, a donnybrook is being kicked up in the squared circle. [b][color=#993300]The Sooner Bruisers[/color][/b], amidst all the gleeful commotion, have ran through the crowd and stormed the ring, where they've accosted The Gunslingers. The brothers grim are pummeling their victims with punches and kicks, drawing jeers from the Anti-Bruisers audience. COACH I told you they were coming! Quick hide under the desk! If they can't see you, they can't attack you! Jock fires off a series of forearms in his defense, leading the fans to believe he actually has a chance of staving off a brutal beating. But Big Frank dashes that hope by slamming a trilogy of clubbing forearms into the man's upper back. Uber further subdues Mulligan by striding forward and pulverizing him with a devastating lariat. Jock folds to the canvas like a crumpled newspaper, powerless to prevent the barbarians from decimating him. Elsewhere, the stunned referee gathers enough of his composure to order the time keeper to ring the bell repeatedly. The stunned referee gathers enough of his composure to order the time keeper to ring the bell repeatedly. As you can probably guess, hitting a metal object over and over again does not stop the Bruisers from their uh...bruising. COLE What are they doing this for? What is the point of this? COACH I told you already! The Bruisers are mad they weren't granted a rematch for the titles they never truly lost, while a team that's never held any championship of any sort gets the first crack at the new champs. So, they're taking out their aggression on The Gunslingers, and once they're done with them, who knows who's gonna be next! Big Frank presses Mulligan's broken carcass into the air as he lewdly taunts the enraged audience. After ten seconds of keeping Jock Mulligan, Frank releases him, dropping him throat first onto sharp ring cables. Mulligan bounces off the ropes and onto the mat where he clutches his throat and tries to regain the air that's rapidly leaving him. The Man of Tomorrow regards his weakened victim with a disgusted sneer as he watches him struggle to breathe. He then steps forward and buries his foot deep into Jock's chest. The force of the blow pushes Mulligan onto his stomach. He lies face down on the mat, coughing up gobs of blood, withering under Franks stomp filled assault. Across the ring, Baron is trying his damnedest to trade blows with the maniacal Uber Bruiser. But in his weakened state he's no match for the amateur grappler's raw power, and Uber is able to overwhelm him with a monstrous lariat. Baron plummets to the canvas and lets out a scream of horrendous pain. That alone would be enough to satisfy any normal sociopath. But Uber is far from your run of the mill sociopath. Thus the Psycho Gremlin begins to satisfy his lust for blood by raining punches onto Baron's handsome face. Windels moans of misery fill the crazed savage with orgasmic glee, and lead him to increase the furor of his strikes. COLE Someone stop this! COACH No, don't stop it. COLE One man has blood pouring down his head, the other has it coming out of his mouth like a waterfall. Why would you want this to go on? COACH No reason. I just like being contrary. Having seen enough, Alix and Krista valiantly (and perhaps foolishly) charge to the ring, getting a raucous ovation in the process. Devious smiles slide onto the brothers' faces, as they know beating the tag team champions in a fist fight would be easier then snatching candy from a baby. Unfortunately for them, no such brawl will take place as a bevy of road agents, referees and various other backstage sorts flood the ring to keep order and protect the first ladies of the OAOAST from a savage stomping. Angered at the intrusion but not wanting to risk a brawl with an army of OAOAST personnel, the Bruisers exit the warzone, but not before delivering a few well placed stomps to their victims. Krista's ice cold eyes stalk the ex-champions up the ramp, and her mouth showers them with a legion of insults. Big Frank simply makes kissy faces at her, flexing his steroid enhanced muscles as he and his howling sibling retreat up the ramp. COLE All I can say is thank god. That was bad but it could've been even worse. You know what, I'm sick of those bullies. If they were fired tomorrow, I'd be thrilled. Overjoyed even. They repeatedly cross the line, they get fined, and then they just do it again. Nothing ever changes, I'm tired of the Sooner Bruisers and I'm not the only one. If you have a problem with the title situation take it up with the appropriate people, those in charge. Don't just attack innocent victims because you're eating sour grapes. COACH Those weren't innocent victims, they stole The Bruiser's title shot! COLE They didn't steal anything. They presented a challenge, Chicks Over Dicks accepted it and that was that. As always The Bruisers were completely out of line in what they did today. Someone has to shut these monsters down, and put an end to their rampage. I know you agree with me. COACH You ugly. And you smell. You smell like muskrat love.

All I ask is that the promo goes before the match. Thank ya! The promo: COLE Terry Taylor is backstage... COACH Terry Taylor? He's still stealing a paycheck? COLE I suppose. I mean he's dumb, but not dumb enough to work for free. COACH So money that could be going into the bank account of moi, is going to that fool, Terry Taylor? Ain't no justice in this world. While Coach laments Terry's employment, we go backstage to the man himself. TERRY TAYLOR Greetings and salutations, wrestling pals! OAOAST corespondent, Terry Taylor on the scene, here to bring you to the hottest scoops and the latest news. This past Monday we were given the surprise of a lifetime when two of my favorite ladies, made their return to OAOAST television and captured tag team gold. You know who I'm talking about; Alix Maria Spezia, and Krista Isadora Duncan, America's Sweethearts, Chicks Over Dicks. And your man on the scene, is going to be the first to interview them about their return and controversial win, as well as get their thoughts on their first title defense against The Lonestar Gunslingers. The champions arrive on the scene, and get an enormous pop from the arena audience. A befuddled Terry Taylor notices that the pair looks much taller then they were the last time they were on OAOAST television. About five feet taller to be exact. Ever the sharp one, Terry finally notices the source of their amazing growth: THEY'RE ON HORSES! HORSES, PEOPLE! HORSES! Krista's belt rests around the neck of her black steed, who seems none to pleased to have a shiny hunk of middle strangling it's neck. Unsurprisingly, Krista is holding a half empty bottle of Budweiser. Alix, on a white horse, wears her belt in a more traditional manner then her partner. But the championship looks anything but old fashioned, as Miss Spezia has decorated it with rose petals, flowers, multi colored glitter, silly string, and Hello Kitty stickers. Even more amazing is the fact that she's attached a horn onto her horses' forehead to make into a unicorn. TAYLOR Welco...... Jesus humping Mary! What on earth are those things? ALIX How rude! I know Krista's getting up there in age, but I don't think they're sagging that much. KRISTA He means the horses, you twit. ALIX Horses? What horses? Oh! These horses. Gotcha. Yes, Terry, these are our pretty little ponies! Aren't they just the cutest thing? Krista's is a boy. And what a boy, might I add! Oh my. Put that thing away dude, you're making Terry jealous. TAYLOR You can't let a live animal in here! KRISTA Why not? We let you in here. Deeply wounded by Krista's mostly harmless insult, Terry let's out a mournful sigh, and holds his head in heavy sadness. TAYLOR Girls, I was hoping that with a new year, we could usher in some new traditions. Maybe get rid of some of our old and unhealthy, malicious, and hurtful, habits. ALIX You want me to close down my moonshine still? TAYLOR No, you don't have to do that. Actually, I was kind of hoping that you could, maybe, if it's not too much trouble or difficult for you, be a little less horrible and mean to me this time around, maybe not brutally rape me of the little self respect I have left. I would really, really, really appreciate that. KRISTA What? Terry, we're like your own personal Dairy Queen, we treat you right. You walk into our house, and it's like Burger King, you can have it your way. Think of all the fantastic things we've done over the years to shine light onto the barren abyss that is your soul. I mean, I took time out of my busy whirlwind schedule to become your personal weight loss consultant. Only the crème de la crème get such treatment from fitness royalty like myself. I had Sharon Stone call me trying to get me to tighten her abs and firm her BUTT, and I said “Sharon, honey, I love you but I'm sorry, I've got a meeting with wrestling journalism's biggest name this side of Lord Alfred Hayes, Terry Taylor.” TAYLOR Weight loss consultant, huh? Your weight loss program involved shoving me into a car trunk, driving it onto train tracks and telling me you were going to leave my fate in the hands of god. I was so scared I defecated a quarter of my body weight! KRISTA Hey, you lost the weight, didn't you? Besides I moved the car, right? TAYLOR Of course you did, it was your car! ALIX Don't be so snarky sparky, we're plenty nice! What about the cleansing ceremony we preformed for you? TAYLOR Cleansing ceremony? Ha! You stripped me naked, handcuffed me, tossed me in a pit of mud, then got in your car and chased me down the streets of South Central Los Angeles while you blasted [i]Ass and titties[/i] out of your radio. I ran for fifteen minutes until the cops came and arrested me for indecent exposure. I spent that night in a cold, dark, dank jail, fending off would be mates with a spork and a loose brick. I missed my mother's funereal! It was the worst birthday of my life! KRISTA We get you to the front of the line to a veritable buffet of the California state correctional system's most wanted hunks and all you can do is whine and complain like you were about to be forced to reenact a scene from Jail house Butts 2: Doin' Hardtime. Such a drama queen. And as for me being so nasty to you, is it my fault that you're so incredibly dorky that I can not communicate with you as a human being but rather as a feeble sub human shit pile of neuroses and desperation? No, nothing is ever my fault, for I am perfect, and perfection can never be wrong. But, because we're such nice gals, we promise from here on out not to drive you to commit any murder/suicides, so toss those recipes for homemade bombs into paper shredder, Timothy McVeigh. In fact, here ya go, Terry, have a soulless mass market beverage on me. You don't need your kidneys anyway. Krista tosses Double T her half finished beer. Naturally, he bobbles it like a goof before managing to secure it in his possession. TAYLOR The doctor said I shouldn't mix alcohol with my yeast infection medication but when in Rome! ALIX Rome? I thought we were in Chicago! KRISTA I thought we were in hell. TAYLOR Girls, I appreciate and value your kindness. And I perhaps more then anyone here in the locker room, am thrilled to see you return. But, I must ask what brings you back to the OAOAST? It goes without saying that the allure of getting a title shot on your first day back was too much to resist, but what else drew you to return? And how do you think your fellow tag teams will react to your surprise return and capturing of the titles? KRISTA “Oh no! The wrestling game is all messed up now! What are we gonna do? How are we gonna survive? How are we gonna eat, man? How are we gonna pay our bills? How are we gonna keep our jobs? How we gonna feed our family? I got six kids by four different women, my baby's mama said she was on the pill and now she's pregnant again. I'm broke, I'm twisted, my wife's a hoe, the kid isn't mine and everybody knows. But I love my baby's mama, I'll never let a go. What are we gonna do? We we gotta log onto Monster.com and find a new vocation because there's no hope for us now COD is back around!” That's the rest of these bum ass tag teams thinking out loud when they saw us back in town. That sound you heard when we made our glorious return to this less then glorious company, wasn't the sound of thousands of people chanting our name, that was the sound of the hearts of every tag team in the OAOAST sinking to the pit of their stomaches, because they know they couldn't hang even if their last name was Husein. So my suggestion to you fine gentlemen is that you pray to the goddess above that HI-YAH shows you a random act of kindess and let's you get a run with their belts, because the only way anyone's getting a whiff of the real thing is if they pry it from my cold, lifeless, dead of alcohol poisoning body. You come to take these belts away from us, and I will take your dignity, your self respect, your pride, your will to live, your sister's virginity, the LSATs , I always thought I'd make a good lawyer, your car, one of those Cosmo tests that asks if you're a tiger or a pussy cat in the bedroom, guess which one I am, a trip to Boston, always have wanted to go never got around to it, hear it's lovely, your house, and anything else of your's I damn well feel like. TAYLOR Krista Isadora Duncan serving notice to OAOAST tag teams! However there's one tag team, one with very powerful connections, and an even more powerful bank account that is none too pleased with the way you arrived into the OAOAST. And I don't think threatening words can chase these men off. Of course, I'm talking about the richest man in professional wrestling, the billionaire, Theodore Moneymaker and your old enemy, The Natural Christian Wright. “[b]BOOOOOOOO[/b]!” responds the arena audience. Alix feigns fright at the mention of the snotty duo's name. KRISTA Ah right, Mister Moneymaker and his loyal, castrated, man servant, Christian Wright. Upset because they were actually forced to do work to become tag team champions. Great heavens no! Such a deplorable tragedy mustn't occur! It mustn't, it mustn't, oh it mustn't! How dare these venerated Jevoahs, heroes of the sacred land, actually have to [i]wrestle[/i] a match in order to win a wrestling championship. Such abhorrent atrocities should be punished by death and death alone! Look, when I saw Teddy making his entrance, I didn't know if he was with his partner or if he was walking his dog backwards. Christian, I've seen better faces on hemorrhoids. There are cases of genital warts that have more sex appeal then you. Crawl back to the swamp you were born in, Quasimodo, and keep your buck toothed mouth shut, before I keep it shut for you. If you didn't learn last Anglemania, your damn sure gonna learn now. TERRY Christian Wright, you have your warning! KRISTA Wait, wait, wait, hold on. Ya know what? I take all that back. All of it. It was cruel, hateful, and completely uncalled for. That was the liquor talking, that demon whiskey speaking, that's not Krista talking. Here's Krista talking. Gentlemen if you have an issue, if you have a problem, let's work it out like adults. Theo, toss Christian in the truck, get him his leash, his water bowl, his rabies shot, and tow his fat ditch pig ass down to Auntie Krista's spacious palace, and let's have a little talk. Come and chit-chat with the world's most beautiful woman, the only person who looks good enough to give sight to the blind. Have a pow wow with heaven's finest angel. Don't be shy or afraid, I don't bite. I'm a nice girl, a calm, tranquil, caring, docile little dove, not temperamental in the least, or prone to sudden, vulgar, and melodramtic, fits of violent anger. I'm a people person... TAYLOR If you're a people person why are you so mean to me? KRISTA I don't consider you people. Theo, Theo's castrated man servant, if you have a problem or a complaint, call my office, children. Business hours are ten to five, Monday through Thursday. Call at five fifteen, I'm not picking up. Leave a message after the beep, if you'd like to leave a call back number press nine, if you need help press five for options. Tell 'em what my voice mail says, Terry. Tell the people 'cause the people need to hear it! TERRY (doing a poor impression of Krista's raspy voice, while she mouthes the words in the background) Can't talk, counting money! KRISTA Speaking of money that's another thing that brought us back to the land of milk and honey. Where else can you work once a week for three months and still earn millions of dollars? Where else can you say I'd like to do as little work as possible and still collect an unreasonably astronomical salary, while doing so at the expense of the horribly mistreated minimum wage earning citizens who tirelessly toil in deadend jobs, praying for a better life that will eternally elude them? Where else besides the OAOAST and the US senate? ALIX This place is so much nicer then my other jobs! I used to work at Abercrombie when I was in college, yes I went to college, and I, like, didn't show up to work for like five maybe six weeks, and when I finally did generously grace those jerks with my presence, they had all these crazy questions for me. No, welcome back party, no gnarly welcome back briefcase full of unmarked bills. Just a whole bunch questions! Where have you been? Were you the one accepting bribes from mall security to run cockfights in the stock room? Did you use the store phone to dial 1-900-senior-whores. How did you dial 1-900-senior-whores? There are way too many digits! "I'm all like, whatever, dudes, I'm a liberal arts major with a focus on 18th century neo-classical ballet, and you will not talk to me in such a manner, I'm skimming a few twenties out of the register, stealing a pair of jeans, and then I am so gone." A swarthy sea faring lass like myself must stand up for her employee rights! Anyway, the main reason we came back to the O-A-O, besides the bags full of money and instant title shot, is for the super rad fans, who we just l-o-l-o-l-o-v-e to bits n' pieces! KRISTA We [i]luv[/i] you, but you we don't [i]love[/i] you, so, if some of you would be Tom Clancy's could keep your more disturbing and horrifying erotic fiction on your hardrive and out of my inbox, that would be all kinds of awesome. TAYLOR I spent three of the most agonizing and difficult weeks of my life hand writing that story, and an additional two months illustrating it, and that's all you have say in response? You're a devilishly cruel temptress, Krista. Well, with that out of the way, I can finally ask the question that's being driving me insane for the last five minutes. What's with these darn horses? Are those actually live animals? As soon as Terry finishes his somewhat insulting question, Krista's horse decides that it would be a good idea to chew on his hair. Significantly freaked out by having his hair treated like a bale of hay, Terry nervously pushes the animal away. ALIX Because superior alien intellect from the planet Zorbtron have yet to bestow upon us meager humanoids the technology to properly create lifelike and incredibly well hung farm creatures from Styrofoam and paper mache, I have to say, yes, Mr.T, these are real live animals. Yeah they stink worse then an unwashed baby, yeah they're really freakin' large, and yes they just had a bowl movement the size of my head in Beverly Hills Blond's locker room, but they sure are fun to ride! Kind of like Krista's mom! KRISTA Excuse me? ALIX Your moms made her choice, ese. KRISTA Look, Terry, In the spirit of our match with the Gunslingers, we thought we'd show the world that we're the real, rootin' tootin', pistol totin' outlaws in this here jurisdiction, not The Lone Star Gunslingers. See, they ain't nuthin but two pairs of lyin sacks of crap. They're cheatin', and horn swagglin honest citizens into thinking they're real roughnecks, when they ain't nuthin but a couple of rotten' city slickers. Lord-a-goshin, Terry, we just can't have that! They wanna fight us? Crazy as loons, that's what they is! Their brain cavity wouldn't hold ennuf water for a cactus plant, comin up with ideas like that! Gunslingers, ya'll fellas might as well just hang up yer fiddles right now because you couldn't hit a bull's ass with a handful of banjos! I know you say you gonna beat us, but yer words ain't worth a hill of beans. Boys, ya'll can't defeat us any sooner then you can catch a weasel asleep. Terry, when we get them varmints out in that ring we're gonna make 'em about as happy as two ducks in Arizona! TERRY Hmmm. I don't believe a duck would find himself very happy in Arizona. There's a marked scarcity of water in that state, and contrary to many people's erroneous belief's, water is an integral part of the duck's continued survival. Thus your claim of making them happy as ducks in Arizona doesn't hold much weight. I expected better researched quips and witticisms from a woman of your alleged educational level. It would seem you can buy two masters degrees from Standford, but you can never truly buy [i]intelligence[/i]. KRISTA That's the idea, Terry! A duck without wa...oh forget it. Why do I even bother getting out of bed in the morning? ALIX Terry, while we're getting our Western lingo on, the Gunslingers are still having trouble forming coherent sentences. Remember, fellas, I before E except after C. No child left behind! It takes a village! Hillary in 08! TAYLOR Girls, do you really think you're actual westerners? ALIX Totally! I mean we are from California. And if I could get my [i]Where in the USA is Carmen San Diego[/i] on for a moment geographically speaking, the good ol U-S-of-A doesn't get much more western then Californ-i-a. Well, except maybe for Hawaii, but they're all a bunch of godless, Jesus hating, devil worshiping, hedonistic savages. So in a way they're kind of like California. Except we have Lego Land. And Lego Land, in case you did not know, totally rocks. But even better, Krissy and I know, like, a gazillion and sxity country western stars! Don't we, Krissy? KRISTA Hey, don't drag me down with you. I'm still taken semi-seriously around here. ALIX Okie dokie, thanks my unhealthy and borderline psychotic obsession with the Dixie Chicks, [i]I[/i] know plenty of Country Western stars as well as many Nashville county prosecutors. I don't really like to name drop but I'm purrrdy close to a certain red headed stranger you might remember from his riveting performance at Wrestlemania VII. TAYLOR Willie Nelson?! ALIX Willie Nelson, what the heck are you...I mean yeaaaaaah, Willie Nelson. Riiiiiight. Oh, me and Nelly, he likes me to call him Nelly, go waaaaay back. Here's a juicy morsel of scandalous gossip for ya, babe! Uh....(Alix looks around nervously until she notices an old issue of TV Guide with [i]Star Trek[/i] on the cover) I drove the get away car when he set William Shatner's house on fire. And, um...(her eyes roam until she spots at a pamphlet for Sea World on a nearby table)Did you know that he hunted the hammer head shark into extinction? Uh-huh, true story. When I asked him why he did it, he said the sharks' condo was blocking his view of the mountain. When I said sharks don't have condos, he shot me in the leg. TAYLOR My word, Alix, I never knew that you were so connected to the privileged and fabulous lives of country music's royal elite! ALIX Given enough old TV guides and pamphlets, I can go on about stupid crap I don't understand for hours on end. Can The Gunslingers pointlessly ramble on about nothing for ten straight minutes? No way, Jose! But Ally Cat can. For instance, you know what I've always wondered, why is Tom from [i]Tom and Jerry[/i] such a prick? Seriously, what is that cat's deal?! See? Told ya! And can we talk about those Gunslingers, Terrence? I mean, can we? Can we, pretty please with eighty million cherries on top? TAYLOR I think that would be a splendid idea, Alixandra. ALIX The Gunslingers are so boooorrrring even a boomerang wouldn't come back to them. Believe me, party people, I know this from experience. Jock tossed a boomerang and it never, ever, ever, ever, came back. I was so appalled and disturbed that I had to put on my [i]Danny Phantom[/i] junior investigator badge and get to the bottom of the situation. Two hours later I found Mister Boomerang at the bar at Applebees getting wasted off rum and Coke. What follows is a dramatic recreation of our earth shattering conversation. “Boomerang, what are you doing, dude, The Gunslingers are waiting for you!” “I ain't paying that bitch a dime.” “What?” “ You done heard me woman. I ain't paying that girl no child support.” “Exsqueeze me bacon powder?” “How she gonna have me in court trying to get me to pay child support when the kid's got blue eyes and blond hair? I ain't got blue eyes. I ain't got blond hair. I ain't got hair or eyes period, and she want eight thousand a month. And then she's gonna tell me she got the clap, she got chlamydia, and I need to get checked out. The bitch is Muslim and she got chlamydia. What does Allah say about that? See if Mohamed gonna pay your electricity bill, because this dude sure ain't. I ain't messing with these Cuban girls no more. Chick ain't worth the boat she came in on. Makes me wanna beat someone's kids just thinking bout it.” “Uh, dude, what about the Gunslingers.” “They talkin' about throwing me in jail. I wish they would throw me in jail, they got dudes cooking food for you, dudes sorting your mail, doing your laundry, cable TV, beds, and hot water in there. I spent last night sleeping in front of an Exxon gas station with one eye open. I wish they would they put me in jail. I got a semi automatic in my trunk and I'ma put her on some kind of support. Just not the support she wants. Please believe that.” Terry, the boomerang wouldn't even acknowledge their existence, that's how boring they are! Boomerangs don't even have wives, it had to make the entire story up to avoid acknowledging the Gunslingers existence! TAYLOR (trying once again to prevent Krista's horse from eating his hair) I didn't even know boomerangs could talk! ALIX They can't! I had to make the whole thing up because I had nothing else to mock the Gunslingers with because they have no discernible personality traits! You can't make fun of something with no personality, it's like trying to make fun of a blender, or a lamp shade, or Simon Singleton. You can't do it! It's possible in English! Il est impossible en français ! É impossível no português ! Es ist auf Deutsch unmöglich ! それは日本語で不可能である! Check this, Mr.T, if the OAOAST was money, The Gunslingers would be rated as food stamps. What can you buy with food stamps, Terry? The generic Alphabit Cereal, that's it, that's what. You can't even get the real deal, you've got to buy the one where the letters only go up to K. You'll be looking around asking weren't there twenty six letters? Not for three dollars worth of food stamps, my friend. Your kids won't know how to read, because all they've got is cereal that goes up to K. They'll be in class and they'll come to the word [i]L[/i]amb and they'll have a seizure. What is is this strange and mysterious symbol with the horizontal and vertical line?! I do not understand these ancient hieroglyphics! Help me, help me! But look at us, Terry, we're the total opposite of the Lonestar Gunslingers. Our cereal goes up to the super secret letters after Z. KRISTA Super Secret letters after Z? And what, dare I ask, would those be? ALIX If I told you it wouldn't be a super secret, silly! DUH, Krissy! TERRY Duh, Krista. Even I know that. God, you're so stupid, Krissy! God! Why are you so stupid? On orders from his perturbed master, Krista's horsie takes another chunk out of Terry's rapidly thinning hair. KRISTA Okay, let's bring this happenin' shindig to a close while I still have some semblance of my sanity. Gunslingers, I'm dyslexic, but even still, us with hang can't you. Your career reminds me of Dick Clark, I can't believe it ain't dead yet. Now, I understand you want the minuscule fame and modest fortune that goes with winning a championship in a sport that's only taken seriously by people who are even less respected than meth addicts and serial rapists. And given the [i]America's Funniest Home videos[/i] worthy failure that is your sad and pathetic lives, I'm sure you hunger for even the tiniest morsel of glory to bless your otherwise pitiful and mundane existences. I know you're fantasizing about riding off into that sunset with these belts held high and your heads held higher, looking into each other's eyes, casting glances of intense affection, wondering if you should commiserate your life long partnership with a tender but ever so passionate kiss. But if you wait, wait, wait, wait a minute Mister Postman, and take the time to truly consider your current course of action, you'll see that that fighting us makes less sense then naming Terry Taylor world's sexiest man. You don't really want it with me, Rascal Flatts. I'm not the kind of girl you come for, I'm the kind of woman you run from. You get in the ring with me and I'll show you more blind rage then Helen Keller and Ray Charles in a steel cage. I don't think you know how crazy people say I am. “You're running in the deep end, Krista”. Well, I don't give a damn. I'm screwed up from years of hard liquor and I'll send you to god quicker then any religion. It doesn't matter if you're Muslim, Hebrew, or Christian. I'm indiscriminate with my punishment, I've got permanent PMS, and I stay bitching. I repeat once again, and production department flash some subtitles onto the bottom of the screen for the benefit of the hearing impaired: You...do..not..want...it...with...us. We will run you into the ground and right out of this town. You might never be heard from again. When we're done with you, you'll have a whole company singing like Paula Cole (Krista begins singing) "Where is my Baron Windells? Where is my prairie song? Where is my happy ending? Where have all the cowboys gone?" Your's in Christ, Krista Isadora Duncan. ALIX Oh, your beautiful majesty, thank you for deigning us ragged peasants the immeasurable delight of your golden soliloquies! Geez, talk about a snoozer! You could at least show some cleavage if you're gonna talk my ear off! Bewildered, Krista slumps onto her horse and clutches her chest in exaggerated pain. KRISTA I think I'm having a heart attack. TERRY Well then, while we wait for Rescue 911 to revive Krista in time for her match, I'll turn it back to, Johnathan Coachman and Michael Cole. For the OAOAST, I'm Terry Taylor. God speed, and God bless. On cue our view switches back to the announce table. COLE Thanks, Terry. I've been granted the opportunity to speak with the challengers in the tag team title match, The Lonestar Gunslingers. And I'm sure they're eager to rebut some of the comments made by Alix and Krista. Gentlemen, are you there? JOCK Where else are we gonna be, boy? Jock Mulligan and Baron Windels appear on screen, leaning against a nondescript locker room wall. Outfitted in their trademark all white wrestling attire the normally handsome duo scowl at the screen, striking an intimidating presence COLE Gentlemen, thank you for taking time speak with us. No sooner then a day after Chicks Over Dicks won the championship at Mainframe Monday did you issue a challenge for a title bout. Were your surprised to see them accept your request? JOCK No, I ain't surprised they accepted the challenge, because there weren't no choice to do otherwise. When The Lonestar Gunslingers say you're gonna do something, you can bet your bottom dollar that you're gonna get up and do it. What you call a request, I call an order, and those gals fell in line like any good woman should. COLE Some might say that by getting a title bout, you've leapfrogged several teams who were in tag title contention. JOCK What you call leapfroggin', I call using the brain god gave us. We're Texans, not idiots. We weren't gonna jump through hoops like all the other teams 'round these parts, and waste time in tag team turmoil matches that don't make a lick of sense. Hey, if all those morons wanna beat each other down like a bunch goofballs for the chance to maybe one day get a title shot, then that's their business right there. But while they're doing that, Baron and I will be backstage sipping champagne and toasting our victory like the true champions we are. BARON When we want something, we go out and we get it. And we wanted a title shot, and that's what's we got. See, we've been waiting all our lives to win those belts! COLE Wait, how is that even possible, this company's only been around for five years. BARON ......... COLE ........ JOCK ....... COACH ........ After an unreasonably long spell of awkward silence, a less then pleased Jock finally speaks. JOCK Alright, I see what you're tryin' to do here. You're tryin' to kick up a row. COLE Kick up a row? JOCK Yeah, kick up a row, create a disturbance, get us real nice and angry. COLE I assure you... BARON Don't assure us of nothin', slim! JOCK I don't need you to tell me what you is and ain't tryin' to do when I can see perfectly well what's going on, saddle licker. Just like them girls did, you want to make us mad, get real deep under our skin, because you know we got bad tempers, and rilin' us up is easier then lickin' butter off a knife. But, I'll tell you this, Alix and Krista may have pushed us a bit too far. Ain't that right, Baron? BARON I know I'm madder then an ol wet hen. But my mama told me to never lay no hand on no woman. And I'm not one for hittin' the lady folk, and I got full respect for those gals. But if the good lord is gonna give me the chance to make something of myself, to see a little glory before I pass on to the next life, well, then, I gotta make hay while the sun shines, and settle up with my conscience later. COLE That's perfectly understandable. JOCK As you can see, my partner is someone to ride the river with. He is a gentlemen of the first water. But I am anything but. I been the on the dodge, running from the law, since the day I was born. I'm full of piss and vinegar. I'm always lookin' fer trouble and spolin' for a fight. I can hit a woman just as well as I can love a woman, it don't make no lick of difference to me, just as long as she's gone by morning. If the time calls for it, I can be as savage as a meat axe. Now you mail order Hollywood cowgirls may have been able to stretch the blanket, and tell your tall tells for Terry Taylor's and these people's enjoyment, but when it comes time for the real showdown, we'll see what you princesses got. COLE Gentlemen, thank you. JOCK You're not welcome. COLE Well, thank you anyway. JOCK You're not welcome anyway. With that the feed to Gunslingers lockeroom cuts out leaving us to look the world's most average looking announce team, Johnathan Coachman and Michael Cole.

Now I'm truly back to being a gangsta grilla. Thanks electronic wrestling federation pals!

Chicks Over Dicks will have their first tag team title defense against everyone's favorite roughnecks, the Lonestar Gunslingers. And there will probably be a promo as well. Or maybe not. It depends on the weather.

eeeeeeee I have no moderation powers. I am but a lost and lonely little boy in this savage land of grizzly giants.

No, TBA is not the name of an actual city. It means the tour schedule stops before this PPV. Send everything to Tony149.

I don't know if this should go before or after KC's funtime skit so I leave it's placement up to the wisdom of KingPK! COLE Folks, Living Angleously is this Sunday, and we have a stacked card planned for you! However the show got a bit more interesting when Miss California herself Krista Isadora Duncan issued an invitation of sorts to Flex Phillips, Biff Atlas, Melvin Nerdly, Marvin Nerdly, Alix Maria Spezia, and Leon Rodez, to participate in Run For The Gold 2 at her house in Los Angeles! On the line in this Living Angleously edition of RFTG is the highly sought after 24/7 title. The belt has been hotly contested over the past few weeks, and now the top contenders are getting their chance to lay their hands on it. It should be amazing! COACH Hold up, Tinkerbell. I can understand Alix, Leon, Flex, and [i]maybe[/i] Biff being in the RFTG but what are Melvin and Marvin doing there? COLE Maya thinks Marvin and Melvin are the hottest thing ever so she begged her mom to let them come over, and Krista agreed. And I don't really care for you calling me Tinkerbell, thank you. CABOOSE This whole setup doesn't sound like something Krista would be willing to do. Completely out of character. Is this some kind of joke? If Krista doesn't even like wrestling, why would she ever let a wrestling match happen inside her million dollar home? She knows good and well the place is going to get trashed by those psychopaths. COLE The inside scoop is that she proposed the match with the caveat that anything the wrestlers break the company has to reimburse her for at three times the original retail price. She's looking to redecorate on the company's dime, and this is the best way to it. CABOOSE Now, that sounds more like Krista. COLE Now folks, the OAOAST has partnered with MTV to bring you a special HeldDOWN edition of [i]Cribs[/i] featuring the lavish Beverly Hills estate of Krista Isadora Duncan. This will give you a sneak peek at the course of the second annual Run For The Gold. Take a look.... [IMG=http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y39/Portfree/mtvcribsstill.jpg] [b]5 Bedrooms 6 Baths Beverly Hills, California.[/b] Once the stats fade we're shown a montage of images that display Krista's landmark estate and spare me from having to write a flowery description, providing me with more time to masturbate. [IMG=http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y39/Portfree/krisfront.jpg] A view from the fabulous front. [IMG=http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y39/Portfree/kris2.jpg] A charming look of basement level front walkway [IMG=http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y39/Portfree/pool.jpg] A shot of the pool and it's sweeping city and ocean views The images end and we're transported to the lush settings of the front porch where Krista Isadora Duncan, wearing a fern colored tank top and desert camo print cropped pants, is leaning against her French door, tapping her foot impatiently. KRISTA Hurry up and get your asses in here! And make this quick, I gotta pick up my kid at soccer practice in an hour. To accentuate the point that Krista isn't the friendliest gal on earth, the camera man zooms in on her welcome mat which reads [b]Go away[/b] in vibrant bold letters. We're shown a highlight package of Krista's various accomplishments and performances. Conspicuous in their absence are any mentions of Krista's work in the field of pro wrestling. What is featured in the presentation are excerpts from her fitness videos, shots of her book signings, images of her on Hollywood red carpets, and images from her modeling photoshoots. When the package ends, we return to the “live” shot. Krista kicks the door open allowing the camera crew to step into her not so humble adobe. The home audience is blessed with a breathtaking view of her stunning hallway, who's flooring is constructed of marble tile imported directly from Italy. A water fountain stands in the middle of the floor, it's streams, illuminated by gold and blue lights, reach to the edge of the gold beamed ceiling. The wall length windows above the spiraling stair case beam down sun rays, that give the area an almost Heavenly feel that's sure to warm anyone's heart. KRISTA Hallway meet cribs, cribs crew meet hallway. I think my interior decorator's secret identity must be Aqua Man, because there's this whole aquatic theme going on. Right when you walk in you see this gorgeous fountain in the middle of the floor, with these little succubus sculptures in the center spewing water towards the ceiling. I think it's a pretty cool sight. Krista seats herself on the edge of fountain, and splashes her hands through the water. KRISTA Bordering the walls there's a mini lake with little gold fish swimming in it. And then the you can see that the carpeting on the stair case kind of makes it look like a waterfall with water cascading down. Definitely decorated by Aqua Man. But can you imagine how much it would suck to be in mortal danger, and your only hope of survival is Aquaman? “Help, we're trapped inside this burning eighteen story building!” “Don't worry Aquaman is on his way.” “Aquaman? He'll use his powers of water manipulation to create a giant and continuous stream of water to put out this blazing inferno! Hooray! We're saved!” “Naw, Aquaman don't do that.” “Well, what does he do?” “That muthafucka talks to fishes.” “:o” KRISTA When is Aquaman ever gonna be of use to anyone? I guess if you're negotiating a hostage situation with Free Willy, or talking Flipper out of a suicide bombing, Aquaman may come in handy, until then screw 'em and screw The Flash. He can run fast. So what? Carl Lewis can run fast, is he a superhero to? Where's his red spandex tights? Anyway, there's so much more to see, so follow moi. **** The scene shifts to a wide shot of Krista's sophisticated dining room. Standing in the center is an absolutely beautiful antique table constructed from beech wood. Off to the side, striking an imposing figure, are two matching glass shelves, with beveled glass doors and beveled mirrors. However the dining room seems more like a miniature botanical gardens then a place where a formal dinner might be conducted, as gorgeous flowers and large exotic plants have overran the majority of room space. KRISTA Welcome to the jungle, baby, you're gonnnnna die! Well, it only looks like a jungle, but it's actually our dining room. The reason the room looks like Poison Ivy's lair is because it's supposed to be this sort of fanciful, mythical place, that makes you feel like you're in a dreamland or a fairy tale. I got the idea from the garden in the opening scene of [i]Suddenly Last Summer[/i], the Tennessee Williams play. Unfortunately, no one really ever eats in here. Maya and I just usually eat out, or order Chinese food and eat on the couch and watch [i]Gilmore Girls[/i] or Zoey 101 on the big screen. But it's nice to know we've got our own [i]Little Shop of Horrors[/i] in case we ever feel like getting eaten by oversized carnivorous plants. Anyway, see that bookshelf over there near the window? If you pull the copy of [i]War and Peace[/i]forward, the wall will spin around to reveal the entrance to my meth lab. Groovy, huh? Krista walks over to the glass shelves, which house a wealth of personal pictures. KRISTA This is where I keep a lot of my favorite pictures. Most of them are of my daughter Maya. But here's a picture from a couple Halloweens ago, where I'm dressed as Sonny Bono. Ned was supposed to dress as Cher, but changed his mind and went as a top hatted piece of poop instead. And considering that he is in fact a piece of shit, and an unemployed one at that, it was actually a very fitting wardrobe choice. You know, I heard Ned caught a bit of an illness recently. Hopefully it's nothing [i]trivial[/i]. So what else do we have on this shelf? Here's a picture from my first major modeling gig with Revlon. Note my poofy feathered hair that makes it look like I should be dancing on top of a station wagon before a Whitesnake concert. Here's a current picture of me with my friend Megan. She happens to be about ten years younger then me, has all her expenses paid by me, and currently lives in the guest house rent free. Read into that arrangement what you will...... **** The shot switches to one of Krista's bedroom. Resting inside the east wall is a fish tank that stretches the length of the room. It may be one of of the most eloquent fish tanks in the state, containing a variety of exotic and foreign salt water fish. A rock crystal chandelier hangs above the center of the room, basking the luxurious area in a radiant glow. Beyond shutter flanked French Doors on the west wall is an overhanging entertainment patio, which overlooks the entire back yard and provides a view that stretches all the way to the Pacific Ocean. KRISTA Here's the bedroom, where the magic hasn't happened in six years. I probably couldn't make Whoopie if my last name was Goldberg. Anyway, over on the south wall is a mural of the skyline of New York. The reason I have it is because as a kid I always dreamed of living in a penthouse that had a view of the NYC skyline. But when I got older, I realized that everyone east of the Mississippi river was a horrible, disturbing and black hearted human being. Just like me! Therefore I wouldn't be unique on the East Coast. But here in Cali, I am unique because everyone is a nurturing, caring, loving, and understanding person. And I'm the cold hearted bitch who's running old ladies off the road and giving the middle finger to deaf school children. In my defense I only give them the finger because they're deaf and they can't hear me scream “GET THE HELL OUTTA THE WAY, YOU DAMN BASTARDS.” Anyway above the bed post, I've got an guitar autographed by Kurt Cobain, touch it and I strangle you with the strings. Alix has a room a couple doors down, but I won't take you in there, because I'm afraid her stupidity might be contagious. I couldn't live with myself if I gave the world another person who thinks that reason that leafs fall off trees is because they're jumping off before the birds can eat them. Mumbling something about Alix's ditziness, Krista leads us towards a nondescript door at the back of her bedroom. KRISTA Behind this door lies my shangri-la. My Utopia. My personal paradise. My sanctuary. My Arnold's drive in. My walk in closet! Hey, you gotta watch this; you open the door and... (Krista opens door and trance music comes out of a ceiling based speaker inside the room) KRISTA Music plays. Close it? Music stops. Open it? Dance music plays again. It's like the world's smallest Abercrombie and Fitch store. All I need is a strobe light, some ecstasy, and some underage girls strung out on PCP, and I could have a bitchin' rave everyday of my life. We're shown a roaming shot of the walk in closet, which is bigger then most people's entire apartment. The east wall is home to hundreds of shirts and tops, while the west wall contains Krista's army of pants, skirts, and dresses. Over on the south wall is the gorgeous 18th century vanity table, made up of 24 Karat gold fixtures. A wet bar stands next to it. KRISTA Of course I have to have a bar filled with ice cold Bud Light. That way I can use the liquor to kill off my memory cells and forget the fact that I just spent six thousand dollars on shoes. On my laptop over there on the dresser I have this neat little program that lets me preview different outfit combinations, and mix and match them to get the best look. That's what America's best and brightest minds are doing. Not working on finding a cure for cancer, or a solution to world hunger, but designing a computer program that lets me find what slutty top and what tight pair of jeans are going to make me look thirty instead of thirty five. After pouring herself a glass of Ol No.7 from the bar, Krista ventures towards her enormous collection of expensive dresses. KRISTA To me it's important to be on the cutting edge of fashion and to look your sharpest. I mean, I've always been on the best dressed lists. If you were clever, you'd say and “you've always been on the least dressed list to.” And then I'd crack a beer bottle across your skull, and we'd see who's the clever one amongst us and who's the one soaked in blood and fighting a futile battle for their worthless life while I contemplate shoving the aforementioned bottle up their rectum. But you didn't make that clever quip, so this remains a non violent affair. Unfortunately. Let's move on. **** We switch to a view of Krista's living room, which, unlike the other rooms we've seen, is an utter mess of catastrophic proportions. The sea of filth and junk seems like it could consume the entire mansion at any second. If we ignore the mountains of junk, we'll notice that ocean colors are explored throughout the room's décor, bringing out the calming rhythms of nature. Large wall length windows herald the warm outdoor California climate and afford us a view of the back yard. KRISTA We call this the [i]living[/i] room, but I wouldn't be surprised if there was a dead body buried underneath all this junk. Maya was in here earlier with her friend Katrina, and I guess that friend was [i]hurricane[/i] Katrina because they turned this place into a disaster area. What a mess! She's got Xbox games lying all over the place, Barbies everywhere, empty soda cans, I can't even see the god damn carpet. Krissy gets on her knees to pick up a few Barbies and dump them into a nearby toy bin. KRISTA I have a maid, she's Lithuanian. I guess in Lithuania the word maid translates to sitting on your ass all day, drinking my beer, watching soap operas and smoking Virgina Slims while I pay you an exorbitant fee because I'm too self righteous and liberal to exploit illegal immigrants and hire cheap labor that actually does what they're paid to do! Anyway, over on top of the big screen TV are a lot of my awards. They function as a not subtle reminder to guests such as yourself, that I am in fact better then you. But you can take solace in the fact that your living room, unlike mine, does not look like it's being used as a reenactment for the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings. Stepping over the piles of filth, Krissy leads us to an impossibly complicated panel on the east wall, that consists of numerous video screens and over one hundred different buttons. KRISTA This is the security system, and you have a better chance of figuring out the meaning of life then figuring out how to work it. I have two masters degrees from Stanford and I can't figure out where the damn on/off switch is. Basically this thing let's me monitor every room in the house and get my creepy voyeur on when I have guests. Some of these buttons let me open and close all the curtains in the house, others let me turn on the sprinkler system, and the rest do some other stuff that I don't know about and never will know about because Alix used the instructions to wipe up the Kool-Aid Jammer she spilled on the carpet. That Alix, such a sweetie! I need a drink. **** The shot changes to one of Krista in her home gym, walking on a treadmill that's situated in the middle of a row of cardio machines. The equipment faces a line of wall based flat screen TVs, each showing different programs, from [i]Real World[/i], to [i]Passions[/i], to [i]Pardon the Interruption[/i]. Life size posters of Krista decorate the sea blue walls. The wood floored room takes up the length of the basement level and is adorned with numerous pieces of exercise equipment, and several Powerade vending machines. KRISTA Just in case you lack any sort of capacity for logical thought and couldn't tell from the hundreds of weights and exercise equipment, this is my private gym. To be honest, I don't use half of this silly crap and stupid machinery. But as a fitness queen, people have this lofty expectation of what your home gym should be like. And I don't wanna disappoint so that why it looks like I've raided your local Ballys. Over on the west wall is the famous symbol of KID fitness, a very large outline of my body, done in 24 karat gold. Way over on the right is the racket ball court, which no one ever uses. In the back is the dance studio where I defy the sterotype that “middle aged white women can't dance” on a daily basis. I used to be a dancer for Guns N Roses so I know how to bust a move or two, kids. **** We're shown a shot of Krista standing on her spectacular patio that overlooks her rear yard. The patio boasts a tropical atmosphere with bamboo furniture and hurricane lanterns. The immaculate yard is an enormous compound, large enough to encompass another mansion. It's a splendidly private location, that sports a guest house in the back of the spacious grassy area. KRISTA If you put a fence around the better part of Disneyland, you'd have my backyard. Over there near the pool is the cabana, with some stupid little tiki torches around it. I have no idea why I even own tiki torches. Although they make nice flaming spears to throw at narcissistic dead beat ex-boyfriends. Uh, the gated tennis court is waaaaaay down on the south end. Whenever I have any free time I'm usually swinging the racket. Although I'm typically swinging it at somebody's head and not at a little yellow ball. Krista walks down the patio steps and into the grassy area. KRISTA To the west we have the pool, which I never go into because it creeps me out. It reminds me of one of those [i]Penthouse Letters[/i] stories, where two college aged jocks who are doing some house sitting are swimming naked in the backyard pool, and somehow wind up in a mutual masturbation session, with promises of more to come in the future. Name and address withheld by request of the author. That's why I like the tennis court, because I don't think college aged jocks masturbate each other on tennis courts. Something to think about. **** The scene shifts to Krista standing at her front door holding her two month old puppy, with the camera positioned on the porch. KRISTA So that would be my house. Thank you for allowing me to show you around. If you're ever in the neighborhood, [i]do[/i] hesitate to stop by. (Krista tosses a beer to the camera man). Have a cold one for the road. Krista slams the door on the camera's face, and we fade out. We cut back to an actual live feed and see that Melvin Nerdly and his elder sister Melody have situated themselves in front of a TV in the locker room hallway. Melvin has a crazed look in his eye, one of an utter maniac hellbent on some lunatic goal. Melody is simply thumbing through an OAOAST magazine, drawing hearts around the pictures of Leon Rodez. MELODY Dude, if you're gonna be over Krista's house with Leon, see if you can get his number for me! And tell him that despite what the rumors say, that little thing I got....it isn't contagious. MELVIN (ignoring his sister and staring into space like a psychopath) Call the company and tell them to draw up the Melvin Nerdly name plate because that title is all mine, Melody. I'm looking at the list of Run For The Gold participants and I oughta text message them a piece of advice; stay home, don't bother wasting your time, do something worthwhile with your life, because Melvin's getting that strap, baby. The [i]Run For The Gold[/i] should be renamed Melvin slaughtering five other tricks and bitches for his gold. They think they can take my belt. That's my belt. My shit. I'm keeping it. I'm saving it. And they think they can just walk up to Krista's house and take my shit? My own personal shit, right in front of my two eyes. That's not right. That's not happening. MELODY Are you Alix Spezia? Because it's still Ali's shit. And I bet Marv might have a thing or two to say about what you just said. MELVIN Marvin? Yo, forget that dude. The 24/7 title is a sucka free belt, and he's the biggest sucka I know. I love him but I've been waiting two years to get my hands on a singles title. Two long years of suffering. They say I was too short to be given a chance. Screw that. They say I didn't have the skills to hold a singles title. Screw that. They say I ain't high profile enough to be put in a title match. Screw that. They say I can't run with the so called big boys. Screw that. This no talent, low profile, unskilled midget will run their big boys right off the road, and take his 24/7 title and anything he else he damn well pleases. I may take their cars, I make their houses, I may take their sister's virginity, I may take their virginity. I may take whatever the hell I want. No more of this civil war, Upstart crap. The real upstart, the real man sneaking in the OAOAST's back door and wrecking their pristine little shit is Melvin Nerdly. Whenever I leave the house and step outside, the whole world gets put on alert, because I make big business happen everyday of my life. Sunday's going to be no different, I assure you that. I got dreams, Melody, major leauge Martin Luther dreams. I'm talking California dreamin'. I'm dreaming myself in a home that big, I'm dreaming myself with a ride that's tight, I'm dreaming myself with a stable of fine babes, I'm dreaming myself on the cover of [i]Entertainment Weekly[/i], I'm dreaming myself a handsome leading man in blockbuster Action Movies. Arnold, Van Damme, The Rock, and now... Melvin! And where does this dream start, Mel-o? MELODY With a snort of whatever cocaine you happen to be on a this moment? MELVIN All wrong, dudette. This dream starts with the 24/7 title. On Sunday night, the world will be mine. The 24/7 title is no mere wrestling belt, Melody. Oh no, oh no, oh no. It is a gateway that will take me up the stairway to heaven. And when I reach heaven, I will be crowned the holy kingdom's ruler. Come Sunday I will no longer be your brother, Melody, I will be your God! Worship me! Melvin hops up onto a table and throws his arms into the air, striking a triumphant pose. MELODY You drank a lot of Mountain Dew today didn't you? MELVIN Only about thirty or forty cans. Because I can't think of any other way to end this segment we'll abruptly cut back to Sofa Central and hopefully KingPK will have come up with some clever or profound piece of wisdom for the announcers to impart on you.

If you just need bodies, why don't you use the Triple Threat (Dick, Nick, and Rick Garner)? I don't think anyone actually controls them anymore and I'm sure they aren't doing anything.

Yeah, the NRGetic duo of Biff Atlas and Flex Phillips are already in use.

That reminds me of when Tony used to call Drek Stone Derek Stone, and how NYU knew he arrived when Tony finally spelled his name correctly. Funny times!

Smoke weed everyday