Promo: "What is the SWF like?"

[A Happy Medium 0]

*CRACK! SNAP!*

 

The sound of a wooden chair splintering echoes throughout an empty SWF locker room. Why wooden chairs? Because they give a nice feel to any locker room.

 

“Ah, fuck..,” calmly says Arch Griffon as he peels himself off of the floor. He picks up the seat of the chair, and flips it around. He reads the label on the bottom of the chair.

 

“Midjit’s Marvelous Cruiserweight Chairs! Cleveland, Ohio. Maximum Weight: 269 ¾ lbs.”

 

A look of anger comes to Griffon’s face. He drops to his knees, and stretches his arms out, seat still in hand.

 

 

“MMMIIDDJJIITT!!”

 

After screaming, Griffon looks around the room, to make sure no one heard or saw him. He throws the seat of his chair down, and grabs his suitcase. He slowly wheels it out of the room.

 

“I have to do something about this,” Griffon says to himself. “I’m going to Cleveland. SWF Headquarters.”

 

<cue up shot of commercial jet flying above some clouds>

 

Archie arrives at the SWF Headquarters. He wears a suit and tie, trying to make a good impression on only his second time to the office. He approaches the front desk, where an attractive woman in her mid forties sits.

 

“How may I help you, young man?” she asks politely.

 

“I need to see Mr. Jeffrey Horatio, please,” he answers.

 

“Do you have an appointment?” the secretary answers back.

 

“Yes I do. My name is Archibald Griffon, and I have a two ‘clock appointment.”

 

The woman types a bunch of random keys into her computer, and then makes a phone call.

 

“Mr. Griffon is here to see you, Mr. Horatio. Uhuh. OK. I will send him right up then.”

 

Griffon shuffles his feet, looking for comfort.

 

“He is ready for you. Just take the elevators behind us to the tenth floor. Then take the third door on your left,” says the nameless woman.

 

“Thank you,” says Arch.

 

Griffon then shuffles his way past the front desk, and calls for an elevator. It arrives shortly thereafter. Griffon steps in, and presses a button for the tenth floor. As the elevator climbs up the building, Archie listens to the music playing for him. An instrument version of “Ice Ice Baby” or “Under Pressure” spreads from the small speakers.

 

Finally, the elevator stops, and Griffon steps out. He makes a quick turn, and heads to that third door. On the way he notices framed pictures on the wall of Rane, Cyclone Comet, Stubby McWeed, El Luchadore Magnifico, and Tom Flesher. He knocks, and is invited in by a deep voice.

 

“Welcome, Mr. Griffon. How may I help you?” says Jeffrey. Mr. Horatio is a graying man in his early fifties. He has a medium build, and a slight pot belly. He wears a shirt and tie, and he may have the best mustache east of the Mississippi.

 

“I break chairs in the locker room, and I have a solution. I need a better chair,” says Arch.

 

“Ah yes. You and Lil’ Buck have destroyed thirty-five chairs between you in the last month. Please take a seat, big guy,” says Horatio.

 

Griffon slowly sits down into the plush office chair. He exhales as it doesn’t break on him.

 

“How did you know that Buck and I broke all of those chairs?” asks Griffon.

 

“Simple. You two just leave the mess where it is. People know where you two change at.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Griffon pauses.

 

“Can I have this chair?”

 

“No. It is my chair, and I will probably not get another chair. There is a shortage of chairs throughout the company for some odd reason,” says Horatio.

 

“I see. Now I have to ask another question. Why are the chairs in the locker room designed for Cruiserweights and Junior Heavyweights?” asks Griffon.

 

“Take a look around the locker room sometime, Archie. You have nearly one hundred pounds on the entire roster. We made the decision of purchasing chairs for the good of the roster. Now the decision proves to be a mistake,” says Horatio.

 

“That is a valid point. However, why did you pick wooden chairs for the guys?” Arch asks.

 

“They bring a nice outdoor feel to the locker room, we think,” says Horatio as he leans back in his chair, tenting his fingers against his chest.

 

“Yeah, I have gotten splinters from the chairs. Just like the outdoors,” Griffon jokes.

 

The two men share a good laugh.

 

“So what was your solution, Mr. Griffon?” Horatio asks Arch.

 

“The company buys me a new chair. It would save money in the long run,” says Arch.

 

“We can’t. Our whole budget has been eaten up by the need for the lowest of lower midcarders having expansive pyrotechnics displays on their entrances,” says Horatio, a smile on his face.

 

“You know, I could sue the company for less,” Griffon says with a smile.

 

Jeffrey smirks, and spins around in his office chair a few times. Archie sits patiently in his chair. Finally, Mr. Horatio stops his chair.

 

“I have a good compromise for us. Follow me,” says Horatio.

 

Jeffrey gets up, and leads Griffon out of the office. They walk down the hall. At the end of the hall is a big double door.

 

“Where are we going?” asks Griffon.

 

“The fabled SWF supply closet, young sir,” answers back Horatio.

 

Jeffrey leads the way. As they reach the doors, Jeffrey puts forward both hands, and swings both doors open. The two men enter the dark room. Mr. Horatio hits the light switch.

 

“Welcome to history.” Says Jeffrey.

 

The room is packed with old props and even championship belts. Included in the props are the cross Mayor McCheese was crucified on, the gun used by Apostle to hold Shadow at gunpoint, a crate of unsold Ted Flink autobiographies, and the groin padded underwear worn by Munich in his epic rematch for the IGNJL World Championship.

 

“So that’s how they did it,” exclaims Archie.

 

“Yes. That one piece of clothing cost the company ten thousand dollars to make,” says Horatio.

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah. Anyways, over in the back corner are the chairs we designed for certain Superstars. Shall we take a look?” asks Horatio.

 

The duo walks to the back of the room, next to the chairs. Jeffrey invites Griffon to sit in a gigantic reclining. Archie has to climb into the chair. The chair is obviously too big for him.

 

“This was the Hville Thugg’s chair. What do you think?” asks Jeff.

 

“No way. This is way to big,” Griffon answers back.

 

“Ok, we should try the chair next to you.”

 

Archie slowly climbs out the chair, and sits into the next chair. This one is considerable smaller, yet durable and comfortable.

 

“I like it. What is the story with this chair?” he asks yet another question to Horatio.

 

“This was Rane’s chair. It reclines, and there’s also a special lever that adjusts how far the leg rest extends. He had a huge growth spurt back when he started out. You just need to remember to put the leg extension back so the chair will close up,” Jeff explains.

 

“I’ll take it!”

 

Griffon looks past Horatio and sees a chair behind him. It is a nicely sized chair, covered in purple velvet. There is a huge cup holder extension on the right arm. It is more than large enough to fit a pimp cup.

 

“Whose chair was that over there?” asks Griffon.

 

“Oh, that one? That was Pimp Daddy Sarp’s,” says the old man.

 

Griffon changes his face to a serious expression.

 

“I’m going to need two chairs for the road, sir.”

 

<back to a random arena>

 

Lil’ Buck walks into the locker room. He is clad in his usual attire. He wears a Pete Maravich throwback jersey, and extremely baggy jeans. Buck stops dead in his tracks as he sees the chair of his dreams. It’s big and purple. Is has a place for his pimp cup. The chair is certainly fit for a gangsta’.

 

“Now ‘dat shits crackin’!” says Buck.

 

A tag on an arm of the chair reads “For Buck”. Of course, Buck approaches. He flips the tag around, and reads a message left for him.

 

“Compliments of Mr. Jeffrey Horatio. Enjoy!”

 

Buck smiles widely. His gold teeth shine brilliantly under the locker room spotlights.

 

“Damn! It’s good to be a gangsta’!”

 

Lil’ Buck pulls his pimp cup out his suitcase, and places it inside of the cup holder. It fits perfectly. Buck leaps into the chair, throws his arms behind his head, and relaxes.

 

<fade out>

[The Ill One 0]

I just overdosed on nostalgia and I'm loving it. Let's see we had-

 

Calling us out on the heavyweight drought, PDS, Rane, Mayor McCheese, David Bowie and/or Vanilla Ice, ELM, McWeed, the nutbite explained~!, Flink, Apostle, Shadow, and Rane's specialty chair...

 

How joygasmic. Ah, brings back members of the days.

[The Ill One 0]

Oh and it had Midjit too.

 

Yeah, I shamelessly made sure it's the top topic. It's that damn good.

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Munich = Awesometastic.

 

Also: I wonder what percentage of the roster would have over reacted had they been used in this promo without being told. "OHMYGODZY J00 BASTARD! THAT TOTALLY NOT HOW MY GUY TALKS! J00 WROTE HIM SO MUCH WRONG, WHORE-FACE!!!"

 

But, once again, Arch = (Y)

[The Ill One 0]

Hey, we could find out.

[A Happy Medium 0]

Yes we could find out. Heheh.

 

Thanks for liking the promo. It makes it worth it and then some.

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Promo - You can't handle the Truth!

 

:The following is a production of the Truth:

 

A crowd of teenagers, none older than seventeen troops into view of the camera in a busy intersection. They're obviously organized, as one grabs a bullhorn while the rest set up an easel with large posters.

 

"Every day, tobacco results in the death of thousands of people! And still, their products are allowed to be sold!" the kid yells.

 

The other teens place a card that reads "Lots of People Die from Tobacco" on the easel.

 

"Smoking makes a person's lungs turn all black, and fill up with junk, but cigarettes are still sold!" the kid shouts.

 

The rest of his crew now pull up a card that shows a smoker's lung.

 

"Tobacco companies rape your mother while she sleeps, even if she's already dead!" the kid screams.

 

The other Truth kids now put up a card that says "It's True".

 

The speaker brings the bullhorn up to his mouth, but before he can speak, he's hit from behind and falls to the ground. Arch Griffon and Lil' Buck come into view, both smoking like chimneys.

 

"Fuck you, nigga! Smoking is fuckin' relaxin', bitch!" Buck roars.

 

"Yeah, kid, take a drag on this," Arch says, proffering his cigarette to the teen.

 

"Hey, man! That stuff's bad for you! Weren't you guys listening?" another kid asks.

 

"No shit it's bad, kid! Have you seen the size of the warnings? But, like my compatriot, Lil' Buck, here said, smoking is very relaxing. Look," says Archie, blowing a huge cloud of smoke in the kid's face, who predictably begins coughing.

 

Griffon nails the teen with a lariat while Buck takes two kids down with flying forearms. The remaining kid shakes with terror, wets himself, and flees, leaving Griffon and Buck to dismantle the easel.

 

"Remember kids, smoking ain't that bad," Arch says.

 

"And dat's da fuckin' truth!" Buck finishes.

 

 

PS: WELCOME TO THE FUVOLTION!

[The Ill One 0]

Down in the deep South, in the depths of the deepest, darkest forests ever to exist there's a shack. Originally the Love Shack, made famous by the B-52s, sits in the deepest of privacy. Deeper down South than "Deliverance" and with more history than a history timeline of Rhode Island. The Love Shack was made popular as a coked up, orgy house that the B-52s had built. But once the male singer had burned away his nostrils his nasal voice that rivals most Jews declined. Therefore his cry of "LLLoooovveee ssshhhhaaaaccckkk!" led to their instant demise. Afterwards it was leased to the Midnight Carnival, who would celebrate their victories after pay-per-views. But once King got a stick up his ass and went evil combined with Edwin using a fish covered in strawberry daiquiri on a groupie led to its second demise. Finally it was sold to a Dirty South gangster who was looking for the privacy to continue their botany interests.

 

--

 

The two SWF superstars of Archibald Griffon and Lil' Buck sit on the deck of a wooden shack. Nearly in shambles the little shack is quiet except for the creeking of two chairs.

 

"I can't believe Rane even had attachable rockers!"

 

"Yeah-yeah! I never even knew dat Pimp Daddy had a thing for cornpipes and rockers."

 

The two lean back and forth as their newly found chairs squeak and they both suck on their cornpipes.

 

"Feels like rain." Buck notices.

 

"Yup."

 

"Yup."

 

"Yup..."

 

"Feel it in my knees." He adds.

 

"Yup."

 

"Yup."

 

"It makes my glucoma go all whack! But dat's okay 'cause I got the meds." Lil' Buck gives a huge smile and exhales smoke.

 

"What do you mean?" Arch asks confused.

 

"Well what do you think has been in my pipe, I've been hittin' the whacky teeeebbbaacccyyy!" Lil' Buck exclaims.

 

"...You mean marijuana!" Archibald gasps.

 

"Dat's right, the sweet leaf, the ganga, the weed, the green, flyin' the Mexican Airlines, and dis' ain't no swiggy-schwagg. You want to try some!" Lil' Buck exposes a sack tucked in the depths of his baggy jeans.

 

"I don't know..." Arch cautiously answers.

 

FREEZE FRAME~!

 

The scene pauses as Lil' Buck gratiously extends the pipe as Griffon notices the marijuana plants surrounding them in complete shock. The tall plants ruffle as a man exposes himself.

 

"Now kids, these plants aren't meant for hemp." He says as he takes a huge smell of the plant surrounding him. "This is the Terrorist Plant!"

 

Finally his whole body is seen as he gets to the porch's wooden steps and strikes a pose.

 

"Hi, I'm Spike Jenkins. You might recognize me."

 

Silence.

 

"But here I'm to tell you about the evils of the marijuana plant." He snatches a stalk and struggles to snap it. "You see, cannabis has always been popular on the streets. Don't get the wrong impression- these people are the absolute scum of the universe. They don't remember things, smile and stare at nothing, are slow witted, and their reactions are next to nothing... and sometimes they might even suck on a penis for their addiction."

 

Spike Jenkins walks over to Lil' Buck and pats his frozen shoulder.

 

"Marijuana is known by various names, as our douchebag here explained. This plant alters reality and is the sole reason that Bambi died and why people go crazy. But gee whiz, it can be awfully tempting!"

 

Spike Jenkins smiles and then frowns.

 

"I used to be a stoner... or a habitual user of marijuana. I had women, success, money, fame, parties, cars, but there was something I lacked. A soul."

 

He begins to walk over to Archibald and slowly removes his cornpipe. "Marijuana is also a gateway drug- it can get you to do other awful things... such as heroin, cocaine, LSD, PCP, Carbombings in Ireland, E, Opium, Raping Fetuses, Datura, Bombings in the Name of Allah, Saliva, Skittles, OxyContin, Jizzing on Baby Jesus, Valium, Murder of Small Children and Eating Their Inwards, DXM, and methamphetamine!"

 

He gives another huge smile and walks down the porch's stairs.

 

"But don't worry, I quit! I quit absolutely everything! Now I'm a straight-edger... which means I don't use any sort of drug, no body alterations, no sex, and absolutely no fun. Since I quit, things have really changed! I have no money, no wife, no car, no home, no food, no water, no friends, and sometimes at night when I'm able to sleep in a dumpster I'll spoon with a broom for comfort!"

 

He sniffles and forces a fake smile. "Really though, I saved my soul... and do you want to be like THIS kid-" he points over to a field where a teenager stands.

 

"...Dude, are you high right now? Because I'm so high."

 

"Remember kids, marijuana is the Devil's plant. If you be like Buck, you'll be out of luck!"

 

He beams as the screen fades away.

 

--

 

VIVA LA FUVOLUTION!

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Promo: M&M Bibliography Presents: Johnny Dangerous, AKA Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting.

 

Rain pours down in buckets as lightning lashes all around. For a brief moment, a suburban strip mall is lit up before being plunged back into darkness. The camera valiantly braves the storm and zooms in on the strip mall, and one building in particular, a Tae Kwon Do dojo. The camera enters and immediatly focuses on the sensei, an old, grizzled man with an air of being able to kick the asses of the entire Oakland Raiders locker room. He doesn't seem to notice the camera, though.

 

"Tonight's first sparring demonstration will be between Parker Stevens," He begins as a small boy, no more than nine years old steps forward. "And Johnny Dangerous."

 

Ah, a flashback, detailing Johnny's skills, even at a young age, at the various martial arts.

 

Sadly, no, as an adult Johnny Dangerous steps forward, ready to begin combat. The sensei looks to both students, and signals the start.

 

The kid trembles a bit, and Dangerous rushes forward and knocks him down with a front kick. The sensei seems to have been expecting this (Then again, who didn't see that coming?), makes another signal, the rest of the nine year olds, some twenty-five in all, rush towards Johnny. The Barracuda performs admirably, sending small boys flying with kicks and palm thrusts. In less than two minutes, the horde is reduced to five children, their fellow students out cold, some sporting bloody noses and black eyes. Dangerous stands still, waiting for one of the children to initiate the action, but when none of them step forward, Johnny charges and flips a blond boy down. The other four rush the Barracuda as his back is turned, but Johnny quickly turns and sweeps out the legs of the nearest kid. Johnny rises, flips over the last three kids, and one roundhouse is enough to finish them off.

 

"Very good, Johnny. Your time has come down considerably since last week," the sensei informs Dangerous, consulting an hour glass, while Johnny simply nods.

 

It's some time later, as Johnny has changed into street clothes, and a mousy-looking woman is standing next to him. A man wearing a conservative suit steps into frame, a stack of index cards in hand, obviously intent on interviewing the Barracuda.

 

"Johnny, first, let me ask: Why children?"

 

Dangerous makes a series of odd whistles, clicks, grunts, and hand signals, and it becomes apparent that the mousy woman is his interpreter.

 

"Well, it may seem savage, what I'm doing, but small children are good to practice with. They have tons of energy, and they are so short, it's tough to use a normal array of strikes to combat them," Johnny/interpreter says.

 

"Now, I believe I read that you were top of your class at the spy school in martial arts, and that you'd had some experience in your childhood, is that correct?"

 

"Oh, yes. I grew up on a farm, and it really helped toughen me up. It was a great teacher for me. I learned a lot there as a boy."

 

"And, we've got some home movies of your childhood on the farm, would you mind if we showed them to the viewing public?"

 

"No problem. Whatever lets the fans know who the real Johnny Dangerous is."

 

The image changes from clear and crisp, to slightly grainy, which is no surprise, as most families don't have an expensive television camera they use for home movies. The camera pans around, showing a large barn, several fields, and stables. From the barn walks a fourteen year old Johnny Dangerous, though a bit ganglier and gawkier than he currently is.

 

"Okay, Johnny, show your stuff!" shouts the person manning the camera, presumably Mr. Dangerous.

 

Johnny grins, runs, and hops over a fence into the cow pasture. The Barracuda stops in front of a large cow, and quickly takes a stance. In a flash, Johnny leaps, spins, and delivers a huge kick to the bovine. Dangerous lands, vaults over the cow, and begins delivering rapid-fire chops to the cow's neck, which continues to graze.

 

"Johnny, go for the pigs next!" shouts his father.

 

Dangerous leaves the cow after a boot to its udders, and heads for the pig pens. JD sends a piglet flying with a kick, but incurs the wrath of a large sow. Johnny leaps over the mother, spins around, and delivers a palm strike to the pig's spine. The sow buckles, but turns around and charges Dangerous again. The Barracuda hops back, and knocks the pig cold with a roundhouse.

 

"Now go for the sheep, boy!" his dad yells.

 

Johnny leaps over the pig pen just as a male starts to turn its sights on him, and after a quick sprint, Dangerous is amongst the sheep. Young Johnny cracks an ewe with a vicious elbow, and takes down a lamb with a chop. An old ram sees Johnny, and heads for the Barracuda, who sidesteps, and takes the sheep down with a sweeping kick.

 

The grainy images fade away and present-day Johnny Dangerous returns to the screen.

 

"Well, thank you, Mr. Dangerous, it was very informative, not to mention, entertaining."

 

"No problem. Any time, guys, any time." Johnny 'says' and laughs heartily, which entails spewing bile from his ears.

 

 

 

FUVOLUTION IN DA HEEZY!

[muzz 0]

I love you guys.

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Join the Fuvolution, then, Muzz!

[Secret Agent 0]

[Toxxic 0]

This thread may be the best thing since I lost my penis.

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Promo - It's Stain Repellent, Too!

 

"Hi, folks! I'm Chris Storm, and before you ask, no, I wasn't dead. Anyway, I'm here to talk about an amazing product that is sure to change your lives! Introducing, the new X8F73L-0NQXS147 Wrestling Singlet!" Storm shouts.

 

A curtain pulls back and a pedestal with the singlet suspended in air rotates.

 

"That's right, a new and highly improved wrestling singlet. It has amazing shock absorption technology, among its many features, but don't take my word for it, watch these demonstrations!" Storm exclaims.

 

A wall slides open and Tokyo X, Mark Kinxx, Johnny Rotten, Harbinger, Lunar Shadow, and Extreme Hound walk out, all clad in what is not the new singlet.

 

"Okay, that's great. As you can see, these men are not wearing the X8F73L-0NQXS147 Wrestling Singlet, and you're about to see what exactly that means. Tryst, could you come out?" Chris asks.

 

The Sherwood Fable, Tryst steps out from backstage, longbow and a quiver of arrows in tow.

 

"Okay, now let's see how well these old-fashioned singlets stand up to an arrow. Mr. Kinxx, if you would please, step forward," Storm instructs.

 

Mumbling something about peanuts, Mark takes a step forward, and Tryst fits an arrow to the string and draws it back.

 

"Any time you're ready, Tryst," Storm says.

 

PTWANG!

 

The arrow speeds forward and lodges itself in what might well be Kinxx's pancreas. Mark keels over, blood dribbling out of his mouth.

 

"Great! Now, let's see, the hammer test. Aecas, if you would?" Storm asks.

 

The Black Angel walks out, holding not his Flick Scythe, but a large sledgehammer.

 

"Alright, good, good. Uh, let's see. Ah, yes, Lunar Shadow, step forward," Storm says firmly.

 

Lunar Shadow takes a step forward and kicks Mark Kinxx out of the way. Storm simply nods to Aecas, and the Black Angel charges towards Shadow.

 

THUMP!

 

An ear-splitting crack later, and the head of the hammer is buried in the middle of Lunar Shadow's chest, having easily cracked through his sternum.

 

"Okay, who's next. Mr. Buck, and Mr. Griffon, please?" Storm asks.

 

Lil' Buck and Archie Griffon walk out, Sugarhill's Finest holding a Desert Eagle, and Arch a sawed-off shotgun.

 

"Harbinger, and uh...Extreme Hound, take a step forward," Storm commands.

 

Harbinger nudges aside his former tag team partner, and along with EH, stand on their marks. Chris cues Buck and Arch, and the two men fire, Lil' Buck unloading his entire clip in Harbinger, and Arch giving Hound both barrels. The test subjects fly backwards and crash into a wall, leaving bloody streaks as they slide down.

 

"Perfect. Now, Dace Night, and Va'aiga, step forward."

 

Two thirds of the Unholy Trinity make their way out, Night holding his weedwhacker, while the Maori Badass just looks at his feet.

 

"Okay, Tokyo, and Rotten, come forward."

 

Dace revvs up his gardening implement, and Va'aiga simply extends his arm. Storm waves the two men on, and Night begins shredding Rotten's chest, while the New Zealander slices through Tokyo X's body with a lariat, spins around, and decapitates him with another!

 

"Okay, perfect! Now, let's see what the X8F73L-0NQXS147 Wrestling Singlet can do! Guys, come on out!" Storm calls.

 

Wildchild, Toxxic, Landon Maddix, Manson, Insane Luchador, and Danny Conklin step out, all wearing the X8F73L-0NQXS147 Wrestling Singlet.

 

"Okay, just stand in a line, and we'll see what the X8F73L-0NQXS147 Wrestling Singlet can do," Storm says, and signals for the six men to do their things.

 

PTWANG!

 

Tryst's arrow pings off Toxxic's singlet and lands in Tokyo X's head.

 

THUD!

 

Aecas's sledgehammer crumbles as it comes in contact with Manson's chest. Bullets fly off of Wildchild and Insane Luchador, and richochet into Johnny Rotten's face. Dace's weedwhacker sputters and bursts into flame as it comes in contact with Landon, but Va'aiga slices through Conklin just as easily as before.

 

"Heh, funny thing. We switched Danny Conklin's X8F73L-0NQXS147 Wrestling Singlet with a standard singlet. You can tell the difference, so why would you bother with anything else?" Storm asks.

 

X8F73L-0NQXS147 Wrestling Singlet, available for seven easy payments of $24.36, and two insanely complicated payments that require cowry shells, bits of string, the appendix of a Mongolian man named Chandler, and the foreskin of a rhinocerous.

[A Happy Medium 0]

Promo: "Poaching PETA"

 

 

 

--Norfolk, Virginia. 13:00 hours. Inside of PETA headquarters.--

 

 

The scene is a boardroom deep in the heart of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals’ headquarters. Various heads of departments sit, drinking green tea and chatting about KFC’s unfair treatment of their chickens. Suddenly, the tea ceases to pour, and the badmouthing of “The Colonel” goes mum. The founder of PETA, Ingrid Newkirk enters the room. She is a slim, athletic woman in her late forties. She stands at the head of the table, with a manila folder in hand. Inside the folder are many sheets of red paper. She throws the folder on the large wooden table.

 

“We have a new cause to fight for, ladies and gentlemen!” she yells.

 

“But what about the poisoning of Ted Nugent?!” a member of the board screams.

 

“We will deal with Mr. Nugent. But first, we must deal with a much worse heathen,” she says.

 

“Lights!”

 

The light comes down in the room, and a projector screen drops from the ceiling behind her. A film starts to play on the screen. It is a home movie featuring a young Johnny “Barracuda” Dangerous. The entire room gasps as they see him spin kicking goats and giving cows neck chops.

 

“Lights!”

 

The lights come back on.

 

“This is Johnny Dangerous. I believe we should send him a visit, don’t you agree?” asks Ingrid.

 

The room agrees vehemently.

 

“Our friend Mr. Dangerous is going to be paid a visit by our friend, Bubbles!” she says with menace in her voice.

 

“But … Bubbles?” asks one of the men, afraid of this name without a soul.

 

“Yes. Bubbles!” Ingrid screams.

 

The woman slowly starts to chuckle. Soon, the whole room breaks out in evil laughter.

 

<fade out>

 

Suddenly, the sound of a strong, baritone voice fills the viewer’s ears.

 

“First, he took on his farm animals! Then, he took on the SWF! Somewhere in between he took on eight year old children at a dojo! Now, Johnny ‘Barracuda’ Dangerous stars in … ‘Poaching PETA!’ Featuring Dominic LeCroix!”

 

<cut to an apartment in downtown Cleveland, Ohio>

 

Redman’s “Lets Get Dirty” plays across the apartment. Dominic LeCroix, better known as the SWF’s Wildchild stands in the kitchen. He works at the stove, making some breakfast for himself. After he finishes making his breakfast, he takes off his apron, which is oddly enough, his Tag Team Championship belt, and hangs out over a pantry doorknob. He shuffles his way to the kitchen table, and sits down with his food. He is no more than a sip of orange juice into breakfast when….

 

*CRASH!*

 

The apartment door is broken open. A tall Swedish man with an evil pony tail stands. Beside him is a large hippopotamus. Wildchild looks at the man with scorn in his eyes.

 

“What the hell did you do that for? Also, who the hell are you?” Wildchild yells.

 

“Why, my name is Sven, and this is my friend, Bubbles. Is Johnny Dangerous in?”

 

“No, he’s at a dojo, practicing his mad martial arts skills! I would appreciate it if you and your friend there left,” says Wildchild.

 

“Sorry, but I just can’t do that. Is that bacon you are eating?” the Swede asks.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You American Pig!” screams the bigger man.

 

Sven charges Dominic. Wildchild is quick to get to his feet. He grabs his glass of orange juice, and throws it into the face of Sven. The big Swedish man halts, and clutches his eyes.

 

“Ah! Citric acid!”

 

With a grin, Wildchild grabs his foe and Irish whips him into the stove. Sven collides with a thud. Meanwhile, Bubbles just stands at the doorway, flapping his/her ears, and just being a happy hippo. Sven grabs the door to the oven to steady himself. Quickly, Wildchild opens up the oven door and closes it, smashing Sven’s fingers!

 

“Ah! My fingers!”

 

Sven now stands in the kitchen, clutching his fingers with his … hands. Wildchild grabs the jug of orange juice that is still on the counter. He opens it up, and dumps the rest into Sven’s eyes.

 

“Ah, god! More Citric Acid!” screams Sven.

 

Wildchild finally has enough of this, and picks up a frying pan from the stove. He nails Sven on the top of the head with it! The big man hits the floor. Wildchild throws the pan into the sink, and looks down at the fallen European. Dominic then hears a jingling sound. The floor shakes as well. Dominic turns around just in time to see a now angry Bubbles charging at him. Bubbles, bell around its neck jingly brilliantly, approaches Dominic. Wildchild can’t get out of the way of the hippo’s girth. Bubble’s massive frame smashes into Wildchild’s ribcage, and down goes Dominic. Wildchild clutches his ribs, and quickly passes out from the pain.

 

*GROAN!*

 

Bubbles then goes to work. He bites down on the neck of Sven’s shirt, and slowly starts to drag the man out of the apartment. With each tug, Bubbles lets out a grunt.

 

<cut to a hospital>

 

Johnny Dangerous sits by the bed of his hospitalized partner Wildchild. Dominic is passed out from the painkillers the hospital has given him. Dangerous just sits in a chair beside the bed, a look of shame on his face.

 

“It wasn’t your fault, son,” says a mysterious voice.

 

A police officer enters the room.

 

“Who are you?” asks Johnny.

 

“I am officer Dave Kovic. I was the first man on the scene,” explains the man in blue.

 

“Who did this to my best friend,” asks Johnny.

 

“The most vile, disgusting force on the planet … PETA,” the officer says with zealous anger.

 

“Those bastards!” Johnny screams.

 

“And they left this for you at the scene,” continues the officer.

 

Kovic offers the note to Dangerous, who accepts, and quickly reads it.

 

“Your days are numbered, Ram beater!”

 

“Those bastards are in fifth grade,” says Johnny. “I’ll show them. Where are they based from?”

 

“Norfolk, Virginia,” says the well informed man.

 

“Thank, you,” says Johnny, as he bursts passed the officer.

 

“Where are you going?” asks the officer as Johnny gets to the door.

 

“I’m going … to poach PETA!” says Johnny as he walks out the door.

 

Even though saying you are going to hunt down humans to a police officer is not a bright move, Dangerous confidently climbs into his 72’ Barracuda, and peels out of the hospital parking, nearly taking out an arriving ambulance on the way out.

 

<driving montage, where Dangerous shifts gears 72 times, and hard rock plays>

 

-Inside of the PETA boardroom. Ingrid stands in front of a window overlooking downtown Norfolk, her arms behind her back.

 

“Sending Bubbles was successful, fellow members of the board. However, Johnny Dangerous has not met his justice yet. He could be out there right now, waiting for the right time to strike,” she says ominously.

 

“Yeah, right. Like he would come all the way from Cleveland to get revenge for us nearly killing his tag team partner, I’d like to see that!” yells a muffled voice.

 

“Who said that?!”

 

“I did!”

 

Bursting down through the ceiling is Johnny Dangerous. He lands on top of boardroom table, and starts to the throw kicks at the seated members. Johnny strikes so fast, papers go flying everywhere from the force of his legs. Before long, all the people at the table are unconscious, their faces down on the table like they were playing fucking “Heads Up 7Up.”

 

Dangerous stands defiantly on the table, and stares a hole through Ingrid.

 

“So you’re the one who ordered a hit on me?” Johnny says in a monotone voice.

 

“Yes, and now I finish the job,” she says as she leaps up on to the table like a cat.

 

The two get into their fighting stances. Ingrid is the first to attack. She sends palm thrusts Johnny’s way. Dangerous is able to block all of them. Ingrid leans forward a bit too much on one of her thrusts, and Johnny spins around and sends Ingrid back pedaling with a spinning back fist. Ingrid clutches her cheeks, and then kicks a high heel at Johnny. The heel of the shoe slides by Johnny, and slices open his arm a touch. Johnny scowls, and comes forward. Ingrid kicks another shoe at Johnny, but The Barracuda dodges this one easily. Ingrid’s eyes get as big as saucers as Johnny does a running back flip, and hits Ingrid in the chin with both feet. Ingrid, already standing at the end of the table, flies off of the table and floats towards the window.

 

*CRASH!*

 

“AHHHHHHH! OOF!”

 

Dangerous sends her through the window, and to the street below. Ingrid’s fall is broken by an open chicken truck, full of ready to die chickens.

 

“Hey, I’m alive,” she exclaims. But then, Ingrid looks around her, and sees where she is. She feels something wet underneath her, and draws up her hand. White feathers splattered with blood greet her eyes. She starts to cry hysterically as the truck pulls away from the headquarters.

 

Meanwhile, Johnny stands on top of the table. He looks down at Ingrid. A smile plastered across his face.

 

<Fade Out>

 

In the background, a song plays. The song is “You’re the Best Around” from the Karate Kid soundtrack. Scant filming credits roll down the screen.

 

Johnny Dangerous … Himself

Dominic LeCroix … Himself

Ingrid Newkirk … Herself

Sven … Mats Sundin

Officer Kovic … Kevin Kline

Bubbles … Mercury

[Ace309 0]

HEY! YOU GUYS GET BACK ON TOPIC!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nah, just fuckin' with you.

[The Ill One 0]

Inside a bar the Insane Luchador and Ejiro Fasaki sit.

 

"Hey bartender, I'll take two beers," IL calls out.

 

"There wasn't much description when you explained this place to me..."

 

"Because I'm lazy and it's vague," Luchador concludes as two frosty mugs get slammed down in front of them. "Go for it."

 

"...Andrew, I can't drink," Ejiro slowly says.

 

"Phft, it's just a beer," IL taunts.

 

"No." He stands his ground.

 

"Look, I don't even have a fucking liver and I drink like a fish!"

 

"How'd you lose your liver?"

 

"Hey, I needed to buy the plane ticket from Afghanistan to the United States somehow... but that's beside the point," he explains.

 

"How do you survive?" Ejiro asks in wonder.

 

"I'm crazy," Luchador casually says as he leans over the bar and snatches a bottle of Scotch. He quickly smashes it over his face as blood squirts out in every direction in an act that'd put Quentin Tarantino to shame. "See? Crazy."

 

"Oooohhh. Well, I can't, sorry. My sister will kill me," he continues to attempt to reason.

 

Luchador shrugs his shoulder as an eyeball plops away. "Shit, I could need that," he grumbles as his hand blindly feels for it. "Don't worry, I can keep your sister quiet." He snatches it and puts it in backwards.

 

"How?" Ejiro Fasaki asks.

 

"Does she have a mouth?" IL questions.

 

"Yes..."

 

"I have a cock. Boom, done, problem solved," Luchador rudely answers.

 

Ejiro Fasaki looks on in horror and rage before looking down at the beer mug. "So being crazy makes you invincible?"

 

"Well sure, watch this." The Insane Luchador leans over the bar and feels around before leaning back up with a shotgun. He sticks it into his mouth. "Nwth whafch dis" with a sudden movement he pulls the trigger, his brains splattering everywhere. The headless Luchador shrugs his shoulders. "See?"

 

"...Not really," Ejiro says as he watches Insane Luchador's blood squirt from his neck like a fountain.

 

"Well then..." Luchador says.

 

--

Two hours later.

 

The drunken Ejiro cracks up as the decapitated Rickmen finishes his story. "So then I went into his factory and shot the fucker!"

 

Silence.

 

"Whoa, what...?" Ejiro slowly asks.

 

Luchador swears and then goes, "Bartender, more booze!"

 

The laughter continues.

 

"Hey IL?"

 

"Yeah man?"

 

"Would you really let my sister suck you off?"

 

"Only because you're my friend..."

 

--

 

Soon to come- Misty, the federation groupie, confessions~! The Fuvolution continues!

[A Happy Medium 0]

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

[Toxxic 0]

Deep in darkest Australia

 

The camera shows a bedroom decked out in enough pink frills to put Barbara Cartland to shame. The centrepiece is an Emperor-sized four-poster bed with a sign hung over the head, reading 'There's No Place Like Hell' in almost unbearably cutesy writing - in fact, the simpering teddybears adorning the space around the letters look almost sick at the disgusting soppiness of the font, although this could merely be a lack of talent on the part of the illustrator. Suddenly the scene is blocked out by the massive back of the part-time Hell Machine, Janus.

 

"Ah," the Australian giant sighs, "there's nothing like a couple of tubes of lager on the barbie..."

 

CRASH!

 

Janus looks up in shock as black-clad shape tumbles in through the window. Before the big man can react the intruder KIPS UP~! to his feet, whereupon his is revealed as none other than the Straight-Edge Sensation, Toxxic! Instantly, Janus drops into a kung-fu stance.

 

"You!" the Hell Machine snarls, the words tumbling from his lips in no real relationship to the way his lips are moving. "How dare you enter here without knocking on the doorbell?"

 

"I laugh at your doorbell, giant homosexual!" Toxxic replies, adopting a crane stance as he too becomes badly-dubbed. "Prepare to wear your brain on the outside! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!" he finishes as the translation ends before his lips do, and the voiceover decides to throw in a maniacal laugh to cover it.

 

Without any further ado the two men throw themselves at each other, fists and feet flying in a fury. However, even though Toxxic lands more blows it is Janus who gains the advantage as he produces a pair of scissors from nowhere and cuts Toxxic's wires, bringing the wire-fu bout to an end!

 

BUMP!

 

Toxxic KIPS UP~! again, but before he can react Janus POUNCE-HUGGLES~! him back to the floor where he begins licking his ear!

 

"Arrgh! Gerroff me, ya big lummox!" Toxxic yells, his lips now back in normal synch.

 

"You spoil all my fun," Janus complains, rising back to his feet and adjusting his pink tux. "You're late you know - Crowe's All-Night Barbie And Disco has already started. Good job I have two special invitations."

 

"Yeah yeah," Toxxic mutters. "You know I've had to pull a sicky from the fed for this, right? Let's get goin' then."

 

"Wait," Janus says, smiling slightly. "You're still wearing black, Toxx."

 

"Yeah," Toxxic says, "so?"

 

"So you said you'd wear pink." Janus loving fingers NO NOT THAT YOU DIRTY BASTARDS, WAIT FOR ME TO FINISH THE SENTENCE his own tuxedo. "You promised me."

 

"Well, I'm changin' me mind," Toxxic shrugs. "Come on, I hear Crowe does wicked king prawns-"

 

"You said you'd wear it," Janus declares, eyes suddenly blazing red as he thrusts a smaller version of his own garb at the Straight-Edge Sensation. "So wear it." Toxxic looks at the newly-ignited Hell Machine in some concern, then takes it.

 

"Alright," he says soothingly, "but wait outside while I get changed, OK? I need to do my eyeliner again anyway."

 

"That's better," Janus smiles. "But don't be long now!"

 

The big man leaves the room and Toxxic shrugs off his t-shirt and bulky trousers, then quickly gets pulls on the pink tux and matching pants before hastily re-doing his make-up in the frilly pink mirror (how can a mirror be frilly? By having frills around the edges, stupid!). Something about his appearance seems to catch his eye, and the World Champion pauses for a moment, readjusting his pink tuxedo.

 

"The things I do for love..." Toxxic sighs, and leaves the room.

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Promo - It Pays the Bills

 

"Oh God, this stinks!" the Straight-Edge Sensation, clad in a pair of dingy coveralls says.

 

"Yeah, it smells something fierce for you new guys, but you'll get used to it in a few months," replies a man with horribly crossed eyes.

 

"Say, Doug, ever thought of getting some of those glasses?" Toxxic asks.

 

"What glasses?" Doug inquires.

 

"Uh, nothing, forget it. Let's just try and finish this job as soon as possible," Toxxic says.

 

What exactly is this job he speaks of? It's tough to tell, but Toxxic and Doug both have various scraping tools at hand, and are standing over a large gray mass.

 

"Guess you're right. Miss GOdrea doesn't like her manatees to have ham on 'em for long," Doug says.

 

Toxxic and Doug roll a particularly large manatee over and shudder slightly at the large hams clinging to their bodies.

 

"So how does this happen?" Toxxic wonders.

 

"You know, I never asked. I mean, Miss GOdrea's a bit of an intimidating boss, so I figured I'd stick with working and not ask questions," Doug says.

 

Toxxic shrugs and the two men start working, prying and scraping at the hams. After several hours and five manatees, Toxxic mops his brow, pulls out a flask, and takes a hearty swig.

 

"Not to pry, but I thought you were a straight edge person," Doug says.

 

"It's tea, I'm British," Toxxic says.

 

"Hey, you two, more worky, less talky!" GOdrea screams, running down a pier.

 

THUNK!

 

"Blimey! I mean, blimey!" Toxxic exclaims as a javelin protrudes through his stomach.

 

"Warned you 'bout Miss GOdrea," Doug says under his breath as he resumes scraping hams.

 

"But, blimey! Blimey!" Toxxic adds as an afterthought.

 

"You want another one in ya?!" GOdrea yells.

 

"Blimey..." Toxxic mumbles.

 

"That's what I thought. Get back to de-hamming my manatees," GOdrea says.

 

"Look, I know a guy who can take care of that in a jif," Doug tells Toxxic, nodding to his javelin after GOdrea has left.

 

"Blimey," Toxxic replies, a bit more cheerful.

 

The duo continue to remove hams from manatees in silence, lest GOdrea return. As the last ham is removed, Toxxic scoops up the pork and makes to throw them away.

 

"Hey! What do you think you're doing! Don't toss them out!" Doug warns.

 

"Blimey?" Toxxic asks, confused.

 

"No, we take them to homeless shelters and orphanages. You know, give back to the community," Doug explains.

 

The Straight-Edge Sensation nods in understanding, and dumps the hams in a large burlap sack.

 

 

 

FUVOLUTION TO THE MAXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[janusd 0]

Deep in darkest Australia

 

(and so on and so forth)

....

 

(Y)

 

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Promo - So Good, It'll Make You Slap Yo Momma!

 

Inside a dirty, hole-in-the-wall restaurant sits SWF superstar, Lil' Buck. He picks up a large rib, slathered in bright red sauce and takes a small bite.

 

"God damn! What tha fuck you put in dis shit?" Buck shouts, jumping up and knocking over his table. "Can't you mu'fuckas make some decent fuckin' ribs?"

 

"They can't. But I can," says a low voice, belonging to Danny Williams.

 

"Who the fuck is you, bitch?" Buck demands, slowly reaching under his shirt.

 

"I'm Danny Williams, and I'm here to invite you to Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs," Danny replies

 

Star wipe to a gleaming Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs location, and the two men enter. Danny hands Buck a plate piled high with ribs, and Sugarhill's Finest tentatively takes a bite. He smiles slightly, and begins eating in earnest.

 

"These shits is great! Might not be as good as my momma's, but she can't send 'em to me any more, cause of the herbs she uses!" Buck exclaims.

 

"Yes. At Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs, you get the full rib experience," Danny says in his monotone.

 

"Hells yeah, bitches! I can't believe dis white boy here can make ribs this damn good! Straight up, Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs knocks the competiton's fronts out, bitch!" Buck yells.

 

"Tony Roma?" Danny asks.

 

"Fuck 'im!"

 

Star wipe to a shot of Buck holding Tony Roma in an alley and Danny unleasing with a vicious rolling elbow. Cut back to Buck and Danny in the restaurant.

 

"Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs, with locations in all fifty states, and soon, all over the world! Ya heard?!"

 

 

 

Can't let the Fuvolution die!

[A Happy Medium 0]

Nothing like a good starwipe, Andrea.

 

I will do something once an idea strikes.

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Note: This is in the vein of the horror movies back on the IGN Wrestling Community board where someone picked a person to be the killer, and everyone else wrote stuff, and tried to figure out who was the murderer. Or something. Just a Friday 13th thing of stuff and wax.

 

Promo - Gund Down (Or, Spooky)

 

*SKIRTCH*

 

The sound of tires squealing on asphalt disrupts the silence in the parking lot of the Gund Arena. Lil’ Buck hops out of his car and heads for the entrance, but stops as another car pulls up behind him. Sugarhill’s Finest turns around and sees Insane Luchador climb out.

 

“You got the call, too?” Buck asks.

 

“What? Oh, yeah. Know what this is about?”

 

“Not a fuckin’ clue, man. Hope we can get this over with quick, though,” Buck says.

 

Before long, the once-empty parking lot has a fleet of cars, as Landon Maddix, Manson, Johnny Dangerous, Todd Cortez, Scott Pretzler, Arch Griffon, Toxxic, and Wildchild show up, all seemingly called to the Gund Arena, same as Buck and Luchador. The ten men enter the Arena, which is so unaccustomed to having any athletes in it during May, and come across a large sign tacked to a wall.

 

Go to the ring. You’ll receive further instructions there.

 

With no other option, they head down a winding set of corridors and hall ways, all of them gaining overness from this except for Johnny, and make their way down to the ring.

 

“Okay, so now what?” Cortez asks.

 

For an answer, all of the house lights turn on to a blinding level of brightness.

 

“Kay, thanks. Can you turn the lights down a bit?” Dangerous wonders, looking around.

 

Suddenly, the Smarktron flickers to life, and over the black background, red, blood-like letters appear, spelling out a message.

 

You are all going to die

 

“So what? We were brought out here to see some new guy’s entrance?” Pretzler asks. “I mean, it’s a cool effect, the letters look like dripping blood, but we all had to rush here for this?”

 

“Eh, it’s not that great. Perfect Bo had something like that back in the fucking JL,” Luchador replies.

 

“I bet he didn’t have that!” Maddix shouts, pointing.

 

The nine other men turn their heads to see a large drop slide off the Smarktron and hit the stage below with a wet splat.

 

“This’s some fucked up shit. I ain’t stayin’ here to die, motherfuckers,” Buck says, trying to force his way out of the ring.

 

“No, you’re going to stay right here. All of you,” says a deep, booming voice.

 

“Who the bloody hell is that? There were only six cars outside,” Toxxic says.

 

“I don’t give a fuck who it is! I ain’t goin’ to find out and get fuckin’ killed!” Buck yells.

 

Before Buck can shove a single person out of his way, the lights go out, plunging the arena in darkness. Just as quickly, a single light flares up from the sky box, illuminating a shadowy figure, watching the competitors in the ring.

 

“Who’s that?” Pretzler yells.

 

The light in the sky box goes back out, and then...

 

THUNK!

 

“AAAAGH!”

 

Thud

 

A pained scream comes from someone, and the lights flicker to life again. The wrestlers look around, a few splattered with blood, before looking down and seeing a corpse. Who’s corpse exactly?

 

Why, none other than....

 

 

 

To be continued

 

 

PS - If you want to continue this, feel free, though I do have a good portion already planned out. Then again, this is Fuvolution, so, blork!

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Promo - Gund Down (Or, Spooky) Part 2

 

 

 

“Scott?” Toxxic says, astonished. “Who the fuck is doing this?!”

 

“Dis some bullshit! If I had my gat, I’d put two in the bitch did this shit!” Buck roars.

 

“Well, Buck, where is your ‘gat’? How can we be sure that you didn’t just put two in Pretzler?” Griffon asks.

 

“Man, fuck you, Archie! Ain’t no bullet holes on him!” Sugarhill’s Finest yells.

 

“No, of course not. We would have heard a gun go off. He died quickly, though. It must have been someone fast. And what do you know, the fastest man in the federation just so happens to be standing in this ring, too,” Arch says, rounding on Wildchild.

 

“You can’t be serious, mon!” says WC.

 

“Oh, yes I can. Pretzler’s been going after you for weeks, and you just so happened to find the perfect opportunity to take care of him,” Griffon replies cooly.

 

“Dat’s impossible! I couldn’t do nothin’ like dat! I’m not strong enough! But...you’re a powerhouse, aren’t ya, Archie?” WC asks.

 

“Me? Yes, I theoretically could have, but as we’ve established, it must have taken someone fast. But, what if it wasn’t a someone? What if it were two people, acting as a team? But that’d have to be a well-organized team. Have to work together for a long time, trust one another, know each other inside and out, backwards and front. Besides, it wouldn’t help if a member of that team had some special skills. Skills he learned when he became a spy. Spies, they know how to kill someone quickly and efficiently in the dark, right, Johnny?” Arch inquires.

 

“Hey, fuck you, Griffon! Why the hell would I want to kill Pretzler?”

 

“Simple. He’s been going after Wildchild, and you couldn’t have your tag partner out of action if you were going to defend those belts, could you? So you just took care of him,” Archie says calmly.

 

“Oh, that’s just the biggest pile of shit I’ve ever heard. If you ask me, we should be asking about your friend. You know, the one who’s melted a Nazi’s face?” Johnny says, pointing at Manson.

 

“Ha. That’s funny Johnny, really funny. Yeah, I killed Pretzler. Look, I’ve never been one for subtlety, okay? If I wanted to kill Scott, and yes, I could have very easily, there would have been a flash of light, and beams come out of my eyes, and his bones would disintegrate! But all this sneaking around in the dark shit is the kind of thing a coward would do. A punk. A person who doesn’t drink alcohol,” Manson says, pointing a finger at Toxxic.

 

“What? Get your bloody finger out of my face, sunshine! Why would I kill my own stable mate?” Toxxic demands.

 

“Simple. Pretzler’s been slipping. He lost a few matches, and it wouldn’t work for someone without a near-perfect record to be associated with you. But, you couldn’t just kick him out of Revolution Zero, because we all know what happens then. They go after you, get on your heels for months, tormenting you. And you didn’t want that with Pretzler, so you took him out for good,” Manson says.

 

“You’ve got to be joking! This is a load of bollocks! You know who’s behind this? The cryptic message, the shadowy figure, it all smacks of Kibagami!” Toxxic yells.

 

“Very good, Toxxic, I’m impressed,” Landon says, clapping. “Everything’s always got to be about you. Couldn’t dare think that someone was after Pretzler. No, it’s Kibagami, coming back to toy with your mind. And that’s exactly why you didn’t do it. Because you wouldn’t want someone else given credit for your handiwork. If you wanted to take Pretzler out, it would be in full view of the public. You know, just like Bowers.”

 

“Hey!” Luchador shouts, getting everyone’s attention. “Okay, now, it could be that someone in this ring did this to Scott, but there’s an equally good chance that some psycho is in here with us...”

 

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Insane Luchador?” Cortez asks. “Maybe you finally snapped and Scott was the first person you could reach.”

 

“Todd, just shut the fuck up and let me finish, okay? Now, as I was saying, since we don’t know for sure who did this, I think we should at least get out of the ring, where, if it is someone else, they don’t have all of these ways to get us. Now, we should head for the locker rooms, that way we’ll know if it’s one of us or not,” IL says.

 

“Great plan, idiot. Why don’t we just get the fuck out of here and call the cops?” Cortez asks.

 

He pulls out a cell phone, but stares at it in disgust.

 

“No signal. Can anyone else get one?” he asks, and one by one, the wrestlers shake their heads.

 

“Well, let’s just get out of here, at least,” Maddix says.

 

The nine remaining grapplers leave the ring, but Toxxic lags behind.

 

“What about Scott? Are we just going to leave him, or what?” the Straight Edge Sensation asks.

 

“What can we do, though? We’ll get out and send someone back for him,” Dangerous says.

 

They head up the ramp, and backstage. After another winding trip through some corridors, they come to the front doors, barricaded with tables, chairs, crates, and other objects.

 

“Who’s the idiot now?” Luchador asks. “We got to the locker rooms.”

 

Moving as one, the group heads back for the locker rooms, and in an ironic twist, they’re locked shut.

 

“Aw, we’re trapped!” WC moans.

 

“Are you retarded?” Griffon asks as he shoulders the Bahama Bomber aside.

 

THUMP

 

Griffon’s shoulder isn’t enough to break the door down, though, and Lil’ Buck joins in the effort.

 

THUMP

 

THUMP

 

Crack

 

The door finally gives, and the wrestlers pour in.

 

“So, what? We wait until it turns out that one of us is the killer or we die from starvation?” Toxxic asks.

 

“Hell no! I ain’t goin’ out like no bitch! If I have to eat through the walls, I’m gettin’ out,” Buck says.

 

“Yeah, and besides, I doubt our cell phones will be down forever,” Manson says.

 

Just at that moment, the lights flicker, and all nine wrestlers spring to their feet, but the lights remain lit.

 

“Fuck you,” Buck says, flipping the bird to the fluorescent lighting.

 

The lights seem to take offense to that, as they promptly go out. A moment later, the door creaks open, and then...

 

CRACK

 

“Ungh”

 

Thud

 

As the moan fades away, the lights come back to life.

 

“Not again!”

 

 

 

To be continued

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Promo - "Whoa"

 

“Come on, JJ, we’ve got to keep going,” Edward James says, in a far-away voice as if everything is incredibly confusing to him.

 

JJ Johnson, with what appears to be the Nintendo Power Glove and a back pack that weighs at least one hundred pounds on his back, makes a few odd gestures, and digitized speech issues forth.

 

“But JJ tired, Eddie! JJ want stop! JJ want to have ice cream!”

 

“But you already had cookies ten minutes ago! No way, JJ, we’ve got to find Neil Patrick Harris! Once he reads our Doogie Howser fan script, he’ll have to agree to do the episode!” James yells, despite not appearing angry or excited.

 

“JJ like Doogie, Doogie good doctor. Doogie fix JJ so JJ talk?” JJ asks.

 

“We won’t have time for that, JJ, Neil Patrick Harris has to devote all of his time in preparing for this episode once he sees it,” Eddie J replies.

 

The duo continues to trek onward through the harsh desert. The sun rises and sets a handful of times, as nothing eventful occurs for several days.

 

“JJ tired! JJ want water drink fruit!” Johnson moans.

 

“Don’t worry, JJ, it’s not much further,” Edward says, not believing his words for a minute.

 

Eddie and JJ walk onward, and after over an hour, they come across a large cave and Johnson stops in front of it.

 

“JJ want stop in large hole!”

 

“No, JJ! We’ve only just started today, and we can’t stop now!” James yells.

 

“JJ isn’t going any more!” Johnson screams and sits down on the hot sand.

 

Thump

 

Thump

 

Thump

 

RRROOOOOOOAAAAAAAARRR!!!!

 

“What was that? JJ is scared, Eddie!” Johnson screams, trying to get to his feet, but is weighted down by his back pack.

 

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to stick around to find out, JJ! Let’s get out of here!” Edward says.

 

James extends his hand, and pulls Johnson up, but out of the cave lumbers what appears to be an enormous newt.

 

“Is that a dinosaur?” JJ asks.

 

“I’m not sure, JJ, but we’ve got to run!”

 

As Eddie turns around, another equally large newt appears, blocking the two men’s path.

 

“We’re trapped! Only one thing to do. We’ve got to fight them off!” Eddie exclaims.

 

Johnson and James both assume fighting stances, as the newt-like creatures rumble forward.

 

“HAAAADOOOOOOKEN!” James screams, but nothing happens. “Oh shit. I forgot...we’re fucked!”

 

“WHOOO-HOOO!” from above the cave comes a raucous yell.

 

BLAM!

 

The first newt shudders, and collapses, a fair amount of blood splattering the ground around Eddie and JJ.

 

“Hot shit, there’s two!” screams the mysterious voice.

 

KA-BLAMO!

 

The second newt’s face completely disappears and brain and blood rains down on James and Johnson.

 

“We’re saved, Eddie!” JJ shouts excitedly.

 

“Quiet, JJ. We don’t know who this person is. Just let me do the talking,” James says quietly.

 

“Hey! There someone down there? Better get up on high ground before any more of them things come,” the voice says.

 

“Okay, we’re coming on up,” James says. “He sounds friendly, JJ, but just be careful, okay?”

 

“JJ be good. JJ always good,” Johnson says.

 

The duo clambers up the hill and arrives at the top, face to face with a blond man holding a shotgun and a large case of beer sitting at his feet.

 

“Thanks a lot, man. You really helped us out. What are those things?” James asks.

 

“Hell if I know. Some kind of government experiment, maybe, or something all mutated from radiation, or maybe it’s just the last of some prehistoric species,” the man says.

 

“Whatever they were, thanks a...holy shit, you’re Jake Busey!” Edward exclaims.

 

“Yeah, I am. You want me to introduce you to my dad or something?” Busey asks.

 

“Any other day, we would love to meet him, and spend time with you, but we’re on a mission...what is it, JJ?” Eddie exclaims as Johnson has been pulling on his sleeves.

 

“That man! He was in the movie, with the bug!” JJ shouts.

 

“Holy shit, you’re right! You were in Starship Troopers!” James yells.

 

“Yeah. About that, I was kind of desperate and...” Jake begins.

 

“No, this is great! You worked with Neil Patrick Harris,” James says.

 

“Doogie!” JJ adds.

 

“Yeah, and we’re the biggest fans of Doogie Howser, and we need to find him. Do you, by any small, tiny chance know where he is?” James asks, crossing his fingers.

 

“Shit yeah, I know where that son of a bitch is!” Busey exclaims heartily. “He’s not too far from here. I can take you if you want, just let me finish my beer.”

 

“Gee, thanks, Mr. Busey!” James shouts. “What do you say to the nice man?”

 

“JJ want to thank Busey, and JJ not think like Eddie, who say Jake Busey man have big large creepy Busey-head in bug movie,” Johnson says.

 

However, Busey is too busy being drunk to catch the remark. In a shockingly short amount of time, the beer is gone, and Jake weaves back to his dune buggy. A bit reluctantly, James and Johnson get in and Busey drives away, swerving all over the barren desert. After about an hour, Jake stops in front of a small mud hut.

 

“Okay, this is me and my dad’s place. We’ll have to stop a while and refuel, so get some food or whatever,” Busey says and proceeds to bend over and throw up.

 

James and JJ walk into the hut, and from a corner, Gary Busey springs, holding a knife to Edward’s throat.

 

“Who the fuck are you two?” Busey roars.

 

“Please, sir, your son found us and saved us from some dinosaur things, and he’s taking us to meet Neil Patrick Harris,” James says quickly.

 

“Bullshit! You two are Communist spies from Greece! I know because I don’t have a son any more. He died when the weevils came,” Gary says, managing to slur about half of his words.

 

“Dad! These are friends of mine!” Jake says, rushing in. “Sorry, I forgot to warn you about my dad. I’m pretty wasted.”

 

“Dad? I’m not your dad! He was shot down over Nebraska in ‘95,” Gary replies. “Body was never found.”

 

“No, look, I’m your son, and you’re my dad,” Jake says, rolling up his sleeve and displaying a branding scar of a bicuspid.

 

“Oh, Jake! Sorry, I was confused. Did I nick ya, kid?” Gary asks.

 

“N...no, sir...” Edward mumbles.

 

“So, friends of Jake? Well, help yourselves to whatever supplies you need for whatever the hell gay shit you said you were doing. I’m going to get drunk,” Gary says and stumbles off in another room.

 

“Okay, I’ll be outside. Do what you’ve got to do, but try to keep it down. I don’t know how long he’ll remember who you are. Or who I am, for that matter,” Jake says.

 

JJ and Eddie simply stand in silence for a few minutes, recuperating from their ordeal, before refilling canteens and other mundane shit that’s really boring. Half an hour later, James and Johnson are ready, and leave the hut.

 

“Okay, let’s get going. It’s not far to where Neil Patrick Harris is, but we can’t go in a straight path, unless you don’t want to ever get there,” Jake says.

 

“Get the fuck back here, you sons of bitches! I’ll kill you all, you damn Australian bastards!” Gary screams, running out of the house, empty bottle of scotch in hand.

 

CRASH!

 

The bottle shatters against the frame of the dune buggy, and Jake speeds off, not wanting to give his father another shot.

 

“So, what between here and Neil Patrick Harris is bad enough to go around it?” James asks.

 

“Uh, let’s see. There’s the salmon dam. They jump out and can chew through a foot of steel in two minutes. Not to mention Wink Martindale. He’s sort of lost it, and managed to breathe life into the cactus plants out here, and made them into his own personal army. There’s other stuff, too, but I hope I don’t have to mention it in case we run into any of it,” Jake says.

 

“JJ scared! JJ want to go back!”

 

“No, JJ! We can’t go back, Mr. Busey is probably still drunk! Besides, we’ve got to see Neil Patrick Harris,” James says.

 

Jake drives on, occasionally consulting a map, but for the most part, seems to know the way. Suddenly, as the dune buggy enters a canyon and rounds a bend, the younger Busey stops the dune buggy as a large cactus springs from behind a rock, pistol trained on JJ Johnson.

 

“Shit! It’s one of Martindale’s cacti! Everyone be cool and let me handle things. Edward, try very slowly to grab the gun from underneath your seat without being seen and then pass it to me,” Jake whispers.

 

“Who da fuck is you?” the cactus asks.

 

“Nobody, sir. We’re just three college kids, and thought we’d travel across the country during our summer break,” Busey says.

 

“I don’t believe you! Hands up! Hands da fuck up, I said!” the cactus shouts.

 

“Don’t listen to him, Eddie,” Jake mutters.

 

“Listen! Either get your hands up, or I call the rest of my squad here and we’ll see how well your story holds up,” the cactus says.

 

“Holy shit, what’s that?” Busey screams, pointing past the cactus.

 

“Huh?” the cactus mumbles and spins around.

 

Jake grabs the gun from James’ trembling hands and fires at the cactus, emptying the entire clip, and cutting it in half.

 

“Whoa! That was awesome, Jake Busey!” Eddie exclaims.

 

“Well, those cacti are kind of scary, but aren’t too smart,” Jake explains.

 

“Not smart, huh?” comes a voice from behind a large pile of rocks.

 

Another cactus steps out, followed by six more, all pointing their guns at Jake, Edward, and JJ.

 

“Look, when I say so, I want the both of you to duck down and stay down until I tell you to come back up, okay?” Busey says.

 

“Well, well, well. Looks like we got us some fresh meat, boys!” the largest and most grizzled looking cactus says, eliciting a laugh from his soldiers.

 

“Yeah! And they’re gonna pay for what they did to Murph!” screams a small cactus armed with an AK-47.

 

“Of course they are, Jones. But not here. We’re taking them to Mr. Martindale, and he’ll know what to do,” the commander says grimly.

 

“NOW!” Jake roars.

 

He, James, and JJ all crouch down, and Busey floors it, shooting past the cacti, and bowling a few over on the way. After nearly five minutes of blind driving, Busey looks up and sees the path is devoid of cacti.

 

“Okay, guys. It’s cool now.”

 

“That was close. JJ was very scared,” Johnson says.

 

“What does Wink Martindale need a mutant cactus army for, anyway?” James asks.

 

“To survive, mostly. This desert’s a pretty rough place to live. We Buseys have been out here for years, and we’re used to it, but a newcomer like Martindale needs some help,” Jake explains.

 

Jake drives on, leading them out of the canyon, and past a large hole filled with scorpions. Suddenly, a tumbleweed blows across the path, and Busey slams on the brakes.

 

“What the hell was that for?” James asks.

 

“Shut up,” Jake says quietly, watching the tumbleweed roll.

 

“It’s just a tumbleweed,” Edward says.

 

“Just a tumbleweed? I’ll show you, motherfucker!” the tumbleweed screams.

 

“Screw this shit! Lock and load!” JJ shouts, grabbing for a shotgun.

 

BLAM!

 

“You dumb son of a bitch. That shot’s just going to go right through me,” the tumbleweed says to Johnson.

 

“Yeah? Well, how about this?” Busey shouts.

 

Jake grabs a spare bottle of whiskey, takes a big gulp, flicks his lighter, and spews the alcohol into the flame, torching the tumbleweed. As the weed is reduced to ashes, Jake speeds on.

 

“Look, you two don’t know what goes on out here, so when I tell you to shut up, just do it, okay?” Jake asks.

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry. It just didn’t seem to be that bad. What could it have done, anyway?” Eddie asks.

 

“On it’s own? Rip up the tires, cut us pretty badly, but the real threat is that nine out of ten tumbleweeds out here are scouts for Martindale’s army,” Busey explains. “I just hope it wasn’t reporting before it came across us.”

 

“Shit. I’m really sorry, man. You’ve helped us out so many times, and then I go and almost get us killed,” James replies.

 

Jake drives on, and occasionally takes a drink from the whiskey bottle. After another thirty minutes, he stops in front of a large mesa, with a steep staircase carved into the very rock.

 

“Well, here we are. At the top is where Neil Patrick Harris is. I’d go with you guys, but the dune buggy’ll get stolen if I leave it for too long. I wish you the best of luck,” Jake says, shaking Edward and JJ’s hands in turn.

 

“Thanks man. We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us. If there’s any way we can repay you, just ask,” Eddie says.

 

“Yes. JJ like Jake Busey man. Jake Busey man helpful and friendly,” JJ chimes in.

 

“Well, now that you mention it, there is something,” Jake says and starts to unbuckle his pants.

 

James’ eyes go wide while Johnson stares on in confusion.

 

“Hell, I’m just shittin’ you guys! Naw, you guys don’t need to repay me, or anything, but don’t be strangers, okay?”

 

With that, Jake heads back to his dune buggy and drives off, leaving James and JJ alone.

 

“Well buddy, I guess we better get a move on if we want to see Neil Patrick Harris before nightfall,” Edward says.

 

James and Johnson start climbing up the staircase, and after a few hours, reach the very top.

 

“We made it! Where’s Neil Patrick Harris?” James asks.

 

“Yes! Where Doogie Howser?”

 

James scans the mesa, and in the distance, through the haze of the heat waves, sits a small building.

 

“There, JJ! He’s got to be over there,” James says, pointing.

 

The two march onward, and after another hour of walking, arrive at the building, which looks to be made out of slabs of sandstone.

 

“So where Doogie?” Johnson asks.

 

“I am here,” Neil Patrick Harris says, emerging from behind the building.

 

“OH MY GOD, IT’S NEIL PATRICK HARRIS!” Edward shrieks.

 

“Yes, it is I,” Harris replies, looking very serene.

 

“Mr. Harris! We’re pretty much your biggest fans, and we’ve got just the thing to get you back on television!” James exclaims.

 

“Yes! JJ and Eddie love Doogie Howser!” JJ shouts.

 

“So I gathered,” Neil says, chuckling softly. “So, what is this thing that will get me back on television?”

 

“Oh, it’s only the best written fan script of Doogie Howser, MD ever!” James shouts.

 

“Doogie Howser? I don’t know, guys. It’s been a long time, and besides, the appeal of the show was that he was practically a kid, and I’m much, much older,” Neil says, a bit crestfallen.

 

“Yeah, but, that’s part of the plot! He’s being sued by a family because of a mistake he made as a kid, and he’s fighting that, but at the same time, is back in the hospital, and he cures this guy who’s got AIDS. And also Ebola and what was it, JJ?” Eddie asks.

 

“Stabbed in the brain,” Johnson replies.

 

“That sounds really contrived. I don’t think many people will want to see a doctor take care of all of those things, especially with so many hospital shows already out there,” Harris says.

 

“But at least read it, Mr. Harris. Please?” James pleads.

 

“Okay, I’ll read it, but just because I like it, which I’m sure I will, doesn’t mean that it’ll get made,” Neil says.

 

Neil Patrick Harris takes the script, sits down, and starts reading. After five minutes, tears are rolling down his cheeks. He slowly sets the script down, stands up, and looks at Eddie and JJ, who are watching him expectantly.

 

“That was...without a doubt...the most...horrible, disgusting, ill conceived piece of trash I’ve ever read. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you were retarded, and I’d feel sorry for you, but you obviously aren’t, and it saddens me that two grown men can produce such shit,” Harris spits.

 

Within seconds, James and Johnson begin sobbing while Neil Patrick Harris stares daggers at them.

 

“Can...we...at least...have...our s-script back?” Edward mumbles.

 

“No, because nobody else on this planet should know of its existence. I’m going to wipe my ass with it, then burn it, and then pour hydrochloric acid on the ashes until nothing remains,” Harris shouts. “Now, get the hell out of my sight.”

 

Convulsing with sobs, James and Johnson march away. As soon as they are out of earshot, Harris pulls out a cell phone and flips it open.

 

“Artie? Yeah, it’s me, Neil. Look, you need to get out here, because, buddy, have I got a killer script!”

 

 

 

EL FUVOLUTIONO!

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Bumped for the sake of bumping because this is Fuvolution, and we can do what we want, bitches!

 

Also, the next (Third?) part of Gund Down (AKA Spooky) might be coming. Or, perhaps Danny Williams vs. Abdullah the Butcher to determine the wrestler with the best rib place.

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

SWF Secrets

 

"Welcome back to the show!" Conan O'Brien beams. "We've got Alex Winter coming out in a bit, but first, a little treat. As some of you might know, the SWF was in town recently for the epic Genesis Six Pay Per View, and we here at Late Night managed to get a few of the stars to tell us their deepest, darkest secrets. Let's take a look, shall we? First up is 'The Superior One' Tom Flesher."

 

The TV screen behind Conan flickers to life and shows Flesher sitting in a small room. He quickly snuffs out a cigarette in a glass ashtray and downs a shot of scotch before staring at the camera.

 

"Thinking about or seeing cardboard boxes causes me to become aroused."

 

Secrets

 

"Very interesting. And next, we have Johnny Dangerous," Conan says.

 

Dangerous looks at the table, mustering up the courage to tell his secret. Finally, he glances up.

 

"Eight inches of my large intestines have been replaced with manicotti."

 

Secrets

 

"Okay, let's see what Megan Skye has to tell us."

 

"I...I have a third breast growing on my back," Megan says.

 

She turns around, and a small protuberance can be seen. Megan slowly lifts up her shirt and the area is quickly covered with blurry pixels.

 

Secrets

 

"Shocking. I wonder what we'll hear from Chris Card."

 

Card slowly lowers his sunglasses, his face stoic.

 

"My penis lusts for Ashton Kutcher."

 

Secrets

 

"You know, that's odd. Nearly all of the SWF superstars said the same thing. Tom Flesher told us that it was a prerequisite of joining the company. Anyway, let's hear from Zyon."

 

"When I was eight, I used to eat my socks after I'd worn them twice."

 

Secrets

 

"All right. I have a feeling that Danny Williams will shock us all."

 

"I hold the record for largest Hello Kitty collection within the continental United States."

 

Secrets

 

"Now let's see what JJ Johnson is hiding."

 

JJ stares at the camera then holds up a large placard that reads "One of my lungs is filled with Skittles."

 

Secrets

 

"I'm being told we really need to move along, so I'll skip the introductions for the remaining three."

 

El Luchadore Magnifico glares, then says, "I only eat carrots shaped like Abe Vigoda."

 

Secrets

 

Now it's Manson sitting down, looking surly as usual.

 

"I write novels under the penname Danielle Steel."

 

Secrets

 

Landon Maddix looks at the camera, then shakes his head, obviously not wanting to tell his secret.

 

"I was raised by bald eagles after my family was killed by militant radishes."

 

Secrets

 

 

 

Guess who's back? Back again! Fuvolution's back, tell a friend!

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Promo - Better Late Than Never

 

It's a bright, sunny day, and Chris Wilson is walking down the street.

 

Doo-wah-ditty-ditty-dum-ditty-doo

 

KA-BLAMO!

 

From out of nowhere, Ted Polack, also known as mother fucking Thoth, rushes out, knocking Wilson to the ground.

 

"YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU ARE INVOLVED IN AN INTERNET-BASED WRESTLING FEDERATION! STOP ACTING LIKE THIS IS SOME IMPORTANT SHIT!" Thoth screams.

 

He then proceeds to beat the shit out of Chris. Literally. Wilson craps himself from the assault. GOdrea also joins in, because FUCK CHRIS WILSON. Seriously.

 

 

 

 

Fuvolution. It is back, and better than ever.

[muzz 0]

PROMO:

 

Sacred: "Do you have any lite milk?"

 

Shopkeep: "I'm afraid we're all out."

 

Sacred: "All right, I'll just have this can of peaches."

 

END PROMO