HD: COD Skit+NRG Vs SCM

[Patty O'Green 0]

For the oaoast's birthday I present it NRG Vs The SCM, I'm like the guy who gives giftcards to Staples or Autozone for Christmas.

We're transported to a lavishly decorated dressing room, resplendent with gorgeous furniture, elaborately arranged bouquets of flowers, and intricately styled paintings. The flooring, however, stands out in morose contrast to the lovely surroundings, as it's been littered with a terrible bounty of half eaten brownies, cookie crumbs, mushed snack cakes, and an innumerable amount of empty wrappers that once contained various fattening foods. One's first guess might be to assume Jivin JR has gone overboard in his celebration of the oaoast's birthday. But when the camera swivels around it spots the despondent figure of Krista Isadora Duncan, in the unusually drab attire of black sweat pants and white t-shirt, lying on a leather couch, her normally beautiful face, beaten by an incredible sadness. Within seconds, her partner, Ally bursts through the door. Wearing a skinny green and white striped A&F polo shirt, and heavily destroyed cropped jeans, Alix has her good mood erased when she eyes the landfill of garbage that's taken over her dressing room.

ALIX
Woah! Oh my god, Krissy. Are...you...kidding me?

Ally carefully steps through the minfield of snack treats, trying her best to mask her disgust and shock at Krista's uncharacteristic binging. Krista doesn't even bother to acknowledge Alix's arrival, her eyes preoccupied with an infinite sadness.

ALIX
Eww, Krissy this is ri-donk-ulous! Like, seriously, this is the grossest thing ever. Tell me this is, like, some sort of performance art piece that I'll never in a twenty gazillion years be smart enough to understand, but will love you forever for anyway. 

Change that to hate you forever, as Alix notices that among all the cookie wrappers not a one says Miss Spezia's Sweeties.

ALIX
Snackwells cookies? Oh my god, Krista, if you're gonna go for the Carny Wilson pre-gastric bypass surgery look, can you least give Miss Spezia's Sweeties a little business? Why are you eating all this junk anyway?

KRISTA
Because when I called the hospital to send over some sort of IV to just pump the lard and sugar into my viens they hung up on me.

The normally spaced out Alix has a grounding realization as to the source of Krista's mental malaise.

ALIX
Ooooooh, I get it, you're crazy upset about the whole Jade, Enterprise thingie, huh?

KRISTA
Upset? Me? No, perish that thought! Perish it! I am in no way shape or form, or formed shape, or shaped form upset. Gah! I can't believe you would even suggest that, Al! I am “rip out Theodore Moneymaker's intestines with a rusted screwdriver and use them to skip rope and floss my dogs teeth with” pissed off right now. But upset? Heavens no, my sweet, heavens no.

ALIX
Awwww, poor baby! 

With a heavy sigh, Ally lifts Krista's head off the couch, and situates it onto her lap as she sits down to console the soul sick woman.

ALIX
Just because you wanna use Theo's intestines as a lasso, doesn't mean you gotta act like Indiana Jones and raid the lost temple of Frito Lay. Krissy, you're supposed to be the queen of fitness. Don't you have an example to set for the millions of people around the world who model their lives after you, and who's millions of dollars keep us in that nice ten million dollar home, and keep us driving that brand new BMW, that I just told you I bought right at this exact moment. Oopsie! Anyway, you can't just start inhaling eighty billion ice cream cakes. That'd be like the king of soul, James Brown selling out and doing a show for redneck WCW. That'd never happen! Oh wait. Bad example.

While Alix laments her failure to chastise Krista, the fitness queen sprays what's left of a bottle of cheese whiz into her mouth.

ALIX
Okay, I got something that's really gonna get your spirts off...er, up, well, both actually.

Alix leans in close to Krista and whispers into her ear. Whatever Alix said, the words have the magic touch and begin to pry away the veil of sadness clogging Krista's mind.

KRISTA
Really? You'll do that? Well, I mean, I guess it wouldn't kill me to take a little time out from my fast moving relationship with this debilitating depression.

ALIX (seductivly)
I've even got a costume.

Suddenly Krista perks up with excitement, forgetting for the moment her emotional distress.

KRISTA
Janet from Three's Company?

ALIX
Even better! Horshack!

KRISTA
The Sweathog?

ALIX
My favorite one! He sure gave that Principal Woodman all he can handle Ooo!  Ooo ooo!  Mistah Kottah! Mistah Kottah! Waaaaait a second, that's it! That's what I'll name my strip club! Arnold's Horshack! Isn't amazing how these just come to me? Uh, what we're we just doing? Oh, yeah wallowing in self pity. Um...you smell nice. What are you wearing?

KRISTA
Valentino Rock N Rose.

ALIX
Oh, oh, oh, very butch. Smelling is a really, really, powerful thing. Did ya know that? Yessir, the queen of all the senses. Sight is just the bouncing of light, hearing is only filtering sound waves, touch is way crude and hella overrated. But smell is little teeny weeny molecules, a lil part of someone floating through the air and entering you, whether you want it or not. And if ya don't like it, POOF, vamoose, no more, rejected just like that. But if you do like this other person, entering you, becoming part of your senses, then the nose tells the heart-the mind, the body-what it wants. And then taste, the tongue, explores, finding out what's edible, or maybe what's most delectable about this soul that's invaded your air. 

KRISTA
Do you know what I smell? I smell a cesspool of two bit scumsucking shitheels. I smell a sewer of insignificant dried out little turds who might as well have killed Jade, one of our best friends in front of our very eyes. And now the corpse of the girl we once knew is rotting away in the revolting bowels of The Enterprise. And unless you can do something to bring her back, and I don't think you can, there's nothing that can be done to make me feel any better.

ALIX
Okie dokie artichokie. Strike two, Alix. How about ya go for the big strikeout, you're doing famously terrible so far. I know what would really cheer you up, Krissy! Why don't I bust out the Ipod and we can rock out to [i]Dark Side of the Moon[/i]?

KRISTA (more depressed then before)
Yeah, right. Pink Floyd sucks.

ALIX
[img=http://e.deviantart.com/emoticons/j/jawdrop.gif]

KRISTA
You heard me. White trash trucker music.

ALIX (trying to soothe her burning rage)
Okay, just because you're a little bit angry right now doesn't mean you have to be blasphemous.

Suddenly there's a knock on the door, and thank the lord for that because otherwise we were about to see the break up of Chicks Over Dicks over an overrated, intellectually pompous rock band. Ally, being the only one with the willpower to get up, goes to answer the door. She isn't at all surprised to find that the source of the knocking comes from D*LUX. Without their manager, Jade, the two boys look like lost puppies caught in a rainstorm. Their eyes are filled with sadness, and their faces sag with a permanent frown of deep depression.

ALIX
Hiya, boys. Uh, hella bad news. I'm sorry, but Krissy's feeling kinda not so hot about the whole you know who doing you know what, so I think we're just gonna have to cancel my erotic pottery class tonight. Okie dokie? Tyler, don't look like that! I know you laid out the blueprints for the cervix and everything, but mother's day is months away, there's plenty of time to make her the world's creepiest gift.

TYLER
That does kind of stink. But we're really here to talk to you know who about you know who doing you you know what, so we know who can stop doing we don't know what when we don't know why?

ALIX
Ooooookay, do you see the pink liquidy stuff running out my nose right now? That's my brains that you just melted. So while I take my shirt and wipe up my Temporal lobe, why don't you bitchin' dudes tell me what's up?

Trying to speed this doorway conversation along, Shayne buts in front of Tyler to get to the point.

SHAYNE
We [i]have[/i] to talk to Krista about Jade and The Enterprise, Ally.

ALIX
Yeah, I don't really think you wanna, ya know, mention that for the next, oh I don't know, half century. Unless you're totally stoked on possibly having your testicles crammed into your esophagus. And some guys are, I don't really judge. It's how my dad put me through college.

TYLER
Please, Alix. We just need some help, we're so lost right now. It's been such a hard week. We know you understand.

Tears begin to form in the corners of Tyler's eyes, which truly touches Alix's heart, because when a man cries it's beautiful thing. Truly. Honestly. Patty ain't bullshiting here. Let's cry together and forever.

ALIX
Well, Krista always says I don't turn anything down but the covers, so go-go Gadget Go. It's your funeral. Or, to be more accurate it's your rapidly decaying bodies through the use of flesh mleting acids, that I'll be throwing over a bridge after she chokes you to death with Chunky Monkey ice cream.

Granted permission by Krissy's caretaker for the night, Shayne and Tyler dart into the room, kneeling before Krista's dejected spirit as though she were a holy deity able to make everything right.

SHAYNE
Miss Krista, Miss Krista, thank god we found you!

KRISTA
You say that like I was hard to find. You could've looked in a muddy ditch, a bar, the dumpster behind the bar, detox, a Weezer concert, or any other place where the the emotionally shattered, or the mentally forlorn go to wait for the chilling arrow of death to pierce the cancerous blackness that was once their heart. Or Dairy Queen, I like Dairy Queen.

TYLER
Miss Krista, we really need your help, Leon isn't here, he's MIA. And you're the only one with any brains around here. What can we do about Jade? We need some ideas because this situation is tearing our heats apart. When you..you...invest all your trust, and your love, and your hopes into someone, and you make them family, and they just turn around and without warning or any signs, jam a knife straight into your gut, that kills you. Not suddenly, not even quickly, but there is a strong hint of death as you trudge through life without the person who pretty much left you to die. 

SHAYNE
He's right. This has been pure murder, like the slowest death sentence ever enacted. Every morning I wake up, and I think that we're going to meet Jade at the gym, or at the arena, that this isn't real, that this is only a terribly impossible dream. And it takes me long minutes to understand that this is our new reality. And I hate it! I can't stand it anymore. I've cried myself to sleep every night since Jade left.

ALIX (hugging Shayne and Tyler)
Awwwww that's so adorable. You dudes are so the sweetest things ever!

KRISTA
Yes, how deliciously charming. The lesbians and the teenage lady boys who cry beside them. We're ready for our own Lifetime special. Or our own little section reserved in hell. Same thing. I'm sure Regan and McCarthy will welcome us with open arms and bouquets of roses and kisses.

Not having any idea who McCarthy is (damn public schools), Tyler continues to prod Krista for help.

TYLER
What are we going to do Miss Krista?

KRISTA
That all depends on whether or not physician assisted suicide is legal in this country.

Taken by a sudden surge of male bravado, Shayne shoots his body off the floor and through trembling voice announces a rather brave idea.

SHAYNE
I say we meet The Enterprise in the ring, take them on four on five and get Jade back by force! They hurt us emotionally? Then let's hurt them physically!

KRISTA
If you're looking to kill yourself there are much better ways to do so then suicide by getting power bombed into an announce table by a three hundred pound ex convict named CPA. Trust me I've attempted many of them. Your problem is, you still think of The Enterprise like it's an actual stable, a collection of people that can be pinned, submitted or somehow defeated. You fail to realize that The Enterprise is no more then a stable then Ebola, The Avian Flu or SARS is a stable. The Enterprise is a virus. It's a virus that knows itself. And try as you precious little scamps might, you can't kill a virus that knows itself. All you can do is cry and then smile, because you'll learn to respect this incurable virus, because you'll learn to identify with it. Determined lowlife. Just like the rest of us.

TYLER
Then what we can do?

KRISTA
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because Jade, mind, body and soul is now a registered trademark of the most evil, twisted, viscous bastard to ever snort coke in the Lincoln Bedroom, Theodore Moneymaker. My advice to you would be to forget the name Jade Rodez ever entered your mind. Leave the company, and fight every urge in your heart to look back with your last dying breath. You're talented kids, I'm sure you can land a new gig somewhere else. What do other people in your family do? What about your brother, Tyler?

TYLER
Uh....he's gay.

KRISTA
That's his job? That's what he does for a living? I've been at this for years, and I haven't seen a dime! I've seen everything else, fortunately and unfortunately, I gotta call someone, where's my gay4pay? Alright, Shayne, you weren't always in in a profession that predestined you die of a steroid induced heart attack before the age of forty, what did you do for a living before you got here?

SHAYNE
Computer school.

KRISTA
I asked you what you did for a living and you said [i]computer school[/i]? So jobs requiring the usage of the braincells you may or may not have are obviously a no-go, which I guess, explains your current employment as professional wrestler. We'll find something. In the meantime, and I say this because I like you more then most men, which means if given the choice of drinking the unflushed toilet water in a New York City Subway or having to talk to you, I'd still choose the bowl of Man chowder, but I'd feel very guilty about it. Please try and forget about Jade. It's the best thing you can possibly do for yourselves. I'm sorry. And just know that when you do inevitably not follow these words wisdom, because no one ever listens to me, and you're ground into the tiniest Justin Timberlake impersonators in the country by the heel of Mackenzie's shoe, I'll will be there to put you back together so you can try and fail again.  Now if you'll excuse me I have to prepare to be treated to the incredibly awesome match between the Militia and NRG. And I by incredibly awesome I mean mind-bendigly awful, and by treated to I meant tortured with, and by NRG, I mean....I guess I mean NRG. Happy birthday oaoast: Hope ya like [b]shit[/b]!

Shayne and Tyler sigh inwardly and bury their heads into the couch, more confused and lost then ever before. Ally tries to pressure Krista to say something motivational or inspirational, but she seems much to busy trying to peel away the wrapper on her block of cookie dough.

After departing the COD dressing room, the view is returned to sold out GM Place. Standing within the center of the squared circle is newcomer to the oaoast Maggie Nerdly, in a black skirt and a black Led Zepplin t-shirt. Within her hands is microphone and it appears she'll be playing the role of Michael Buffer for this tag team contest.

MAGGIE NERDLY
What's up, Vancouver, BC?!

“YEAAAAAAA!”

MAGGIE
OAOAST fifth anniversary! You excited to be here?

“YEAAAAAAA!”

MAGGIE
Then let's get going with a tag team match!

COLE
That's really a very nice young lady. So positive and energetic.

COACH
And so very, very fine. God damn, she can get it. Dimepiece to say the least.  These fans wouldn't know like I do, most they've ever been with was a rusty penny with a hole in it. And don't be saying nothing about age, Cole, if she's old enough to crawl, she in the right position.

The house lights morph into a spooky darkness, as the arena is given light only by a humming green buzz shining around the entrance stage. The electronic prelude of Gavin Rossdale's ode to testosterone [i]Adrenaline[/i] is heard loud and clear over the state of the art system. Those in the crowd that recognize the music bring a celebration of applause to the arena air. The black entrance doors marked by the OAOAST logo strewn across the front rip apart, and give birth to a small assortment of cheers from the audience members who are quited delighted to see [b]NRG[/b]. Biff Atlas, sporting a crown made entirely of leaves, and a barely there hula skirt to cover up his ripped lower body , enters first, waving his fist towards the supportive crowd. Flex Phillips trails behind him, wearing bold aqua tights with the letters NRG etched across the back. The duo join hands and foist their arms into the air as a series of ten foot high [color=#43C6DB][b]blue[/b][/color] pyro missiles explode around them.

COLE
Some say that the members of NRG have million dollar bodies but ten cent brains. There's no arguing their physiques are to die for, but washboard abs, and gorgeous pecs can only take you as far as my back seat. In the oaoast you need skill, grit and determination. I happen to know NRG has all three of those things but it hasn't translated into many wins. Maybe they'll be able to score a victory as we celebrate our fifth anniversary.

MAGGIE
This first team is made up of Venice Beach's Biff “Shampoooooo” Atlas and the most pumped up dude to ever come out of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Flex Phillips! Vancouver, give it up for Nutritions Real Gurus....N-R-G!

No sooner then Maggie completes her announcement does Adrenaline cut away and all attention is focused upon the arrival of NRG's fearsome opponents.

The metallic opening of [i]Cross That Line[/i] by Rick Ross fills the arena with an urban scented dread. As the audience murmurs with anticipation, the formerly bright lights delve into a troubling blue hue.

[i][color="#FF0000"]Convict....Convict....Convict[/i]
[i]Up front
Yeah....[/color]
[color="#FF0000"][size="6"]Convict Music[/size][/color][/i]

While the haunting piano melody heightens the tension in the venue, scenes of The South Central Militia's special brand of havoc blaze across the Angletron, showing the alarmed fans what type of savage aggression the men who are soon to arrive are capable of.

[I]Oooooh ooooh oooooh
If you ever cross that line 
I guarantee ya there'll be nothin' to save ya (save ya, save ya)
I got a whole bunch of gorillas ready to pull the trigga 
And we all for that paper (paper)
Comin' from a life of crime 
Tryna be on my best behavior 
You see my rep's gettin' bigger but still that same nigga bustin' shots at them haters (them haters, them haters)
But only if you cross that line[/i]

The colossal bass of Rick Ross' street anthem booms through the venue, heralding the arrival of the tag team title challengers. The entrance doors split apart, and jeers rise into the air as The South Central Militia steps through a cloud of smoke to take position on the entrance ramp. Wearing a pair of flared Red Monkey Jeans, decorated by a Chinese feudal map, and a black LRG throwback track jacket, Vincent Santana throws his arms out to his side, and unleashes a feral howl into the night sky. Blue and white lights glimmer beautifully across his sleek body as he releases his enormous rage upon the world. His partner, wearing Artful Dodger Jeans with a blue gothic pattern on the side, and a t-shirt boasting a giant symbol of a grenade, stands in solemn menace, intimidating any unlucky enough to meet his gaze.

MAGGIE
And now walking down the aisle with a mean gangster lean, they are the team that's gonna try and kick NRG's butts! From South Central Los Angeles, they are two men who'd just as soon shoot you as look at you, Vincent “Whitaaaaay” Santana, Marcellus “One-Eye” Wallace, THE SOUTH CENTRAL MILLITIAAAAAAAA!

The spectators welcome the end of the introduction with more disdain for these sickening goons. Quite dissimilar to many teams, who usually don't pay attention to such disrespect from the audience, the natives of South Central dish out verbal trashing to each attendee they encounter until they reach the squared circle. They dive into the ring, and ascend to opposite turnbuckle where their fists pump into the air in defiant triumph. The camera rotates around their rebellious ritual, as the chilling [color="#0000FF"][b]blue[/b][/color] lights continue to dance along the ringside area. 

COLE
Former tag team champions, The South Central Militia were, believe it or not, still in prison the day of the oaoast's first show. I'm not even sure if they were allowed to watch the oaoast in their maximum security facility. But things have improved slightly for them since those fateful years, as they've picked up a short title reign, and have hung with some of the toughest teams in the world. But if they hope to remain in title contention a victory over NRG is a must.

[b][color="#696969"]DING DING DING[/color][/b]

The affair begins with Biff extending a hand in respect towards One Eye. Wallace, as usual, is not in a sporting mood, and responds with a clubbing forearm to Atlas' back. The strike fails to floor Biff, which proves to be to his disadvantage, because Wallace is given the chance to whip him into the cables. Upon his return, the hula skirted brawler is shot into the air with a back body drop. But he avoids disaster by extending his legs forward and dropkicking Marcellus to the canvas. In celebration of his minor victory, Atlas does a bit of comedic hula dancing. While the audience seems to enjoy his clumsy dance moves, a long haired demon by the name of Vinny Santana is less then entertained. Shooting through the gates of hell, Vincent drives a pitchfork in the form of a lariat into the back of his rival. Watching his partner go down in flames draws Flex Phillips into the affair, but his path is halted by Charles Robinson. With the official distracted, the crew from the mean streets of LA double team poor Biff with savage stomps and elbows. And by the time the referee is made aware of the cheating, only Vinny remains in the ring.

“SOUTH CENTRAL! IF YA HEAR ME GET YA MOTHER FUCKIN' HANDS UP!” Whitey bellows through cupped hands.

This being far removed from south central, very few hands get up. What does get up is a number of boos from the sellout audience. Ignoring the jeers, Whitey brings Biff to his feet. What he can't ignore is the army of punches Biff is lobbing into his scrawny chest. Thus he's forced to resort to a headbutt. The move draws a bit of a blood, but from not Atlas, rather it's from Vinny. Smiling sheepishly, Biff points to the source of Vinny's cut, the thorns that outline his leaf covered crown.

“Oh, you dead now.” Vincent mutters, clenched teeth almost turning into fangs. He surges forward with a lariat, but has it ducked by the oddball grappler. He turns around to throw the same move, but is instead dropped with a Lou Thez press! Punches begin to come rapid fire upon his goateed face, as the crowd delights in his mistreatment.

“KILL WHITEY! KILL WHITEY! KILL WHITEY!” they scream.

Those chants seem to be all the motivation Vincent needs, and with a beet red face he shoves his assailant off his skinny body.

“KILL WHITEY?” He wonders. “AIN'T NO ONE KILLING THIS NO LIMIT THUG” He proclaims, beating his hands into his chest.

Biff is unintimadted by these boastful words and makes a charge towards his rival. Unfortunately he's taken into the sky with a flap jack. Though he lands with a thud on the canvas, he can at least take comfort in knowing that he was able to tag in Flex before his landing. Phillips hits the ring and serves a knuckle sandwich to Vinny. Unhappy with that meal, Vince returns the favor with an elbow strike and soon a full on slugfest erupts in NRG's corner. But it's Flex getting the upperhand with a knee strike to Vinny's midsection. With the thug doubled over, Flex quickly moves to the second rope then flies off with shoulder tackle. A pin shortly follows.

ONE


TWO

Vincent kicks out and immediately rises to his feet. Flex meets him with a pair of knife edge chops but his moment of offense is brutally cut-short by a surprise [b]Whiteout[/b] (X-Factor). A crazed procession of stomps to Flex's head follows, each accompanied by lewd trash talk from the thirty three year old Californian. Once he's done with his stomps, Vincent scrapes Flex off the canvas and leads him to his corner where he applies the tag to his partner in crime, One-Eye Wallace. Unfortunately for the SCM, their planned double team dies before it's even born, as Flex bashes both of their heads together! This garners quite the reaction from the fans who chant “MILITIA SUCKS! MILITIA SUCKS!”

COLE
If they had any brains to begin with that might've scrambled them.

One Eye is able to recover quicker then his associate, and as such succeeds in knocking Flex over the top rope with a lariat. Despite not being very agile, Phillips lands on his aqua colored wrestling boots. But he's quickly taken off those boots by a devastating running baseball slide from Vincent Santana. Snarling with primal satisfaction, Vinny eyes down a wounded Flex ready to throw him into the jaws of the steel barricade. But a charging Biff Atlas rescues his partner by using the ring steps as a launching pad to slam a BUTT bump into his unaware rival!

“MILITIA SUCK! MILITIA SUCK!” the fans repeat, while the baby face stands above the fallen Vincent, spanking the tightly toned booty that's scarcely able to be covered by the skimpy hula skirt.

COACH
Why does he have to wear that stupid thing?

COLE
If Krista or Maggie or Staci or Lindsay were wearing it you wouldn't mind.

COACH
You say that like it's a bad thing.

Flex rolls back into the squared circle but isn't able to capitalize on the unorthodox high flying of his partner; Marcellus locks him into a rear chinlock. The hold is tight, and One-Eye makes no bones about his intent to rip Phillips' thick neck clear off his body. Despite repeated warnings from the official, Wallace continues to push the bounds of legality, moving his chinlock into a chokehold. Somehow Flex is able to move to his feet, and while there he begins shooting a parade of elbows into One Eye's ribs. The seventh strike turns into a charm and grants Phillips his freedom, and he puts it to excellent use by bowling over One Eye with the [b]Flex Express[/b], which is best described as a Running Benoit Attack. I don't actually [i]know[/i] what that is, but it does allow Phillips to attempt a pin on his rival.

ONE


TWO

But Marcellus' shoulder is off the canvas!

“TRY AGAIN! TRY AGAIN!” sing the fans who obviously can't stand The Militia. Flex would listen to their advice, however there's the tricky problem of One Eye not only being on his feet, but charging towards him with a running knee strike! Thankfully for the few NRG fans in attendance, Flex avoids the deathly attack, but he fails to maneuver past the Silver Bullet (Samoan Spike)! Phillips cries out in agony, as Marcellus' commensurates his move with a less then graceful bird dance. While One Eye is making a total ass of himself, Flex heads upright. Marcellus eyes his ascent and moves to meet him with an axe handle smash. But Flex clamps into a front facelock before the blow can land. He takes Wallace off his feet with a vertical suplex and plants him into the canvas, much to the pleasure of the sold out crowd. While One-Eye tries to cope with the intense pain in his back, his foe makes his way to his corner to bring Shampoo into the match. The Hair fetishist waits patiently for the groggy One Eye to stagger upright, and when he finally does, Atlas unleashes a springboard shoulder block upon him! But One Eye counters the high flying assault by cranking his arm around Biff's head and pummeling him into the canvas with a ddt! Biff's pain is enormous but it's only added to by the mounted punches his enemy slams into his forehead.

COLE
One-Eye looks like he's trying to bust him wide open!

And he might have succeeded, had Flex Phillips not interjected himself into the fracas with a stomp to his rival's back. One-Eye is able to keep his temper in check long enough to forget about Flex's bothersome antics and maintain his focus on Biff. He thrusts the lovable goof into a front face lock, then uses his strength to drag him into the skies for a suplex. Instead of timbering downwards, the brute holds Atlas upside down in the air, showcasing his incredible power. After several seconds and a number of begruding Ooos and Ahhs from the crowd, One Eye falls backwards and spikes his opponent into the mat. Wallace then floats over onto the battered bones of Biff Atlas for a quick cover.

ONE

TWO

But Atlas gets his shoulder off the mat, pleasing the fans in the process.

One Eye leads Atlas to his feet, where he takes hold of his wrist to Irish whip Shampoo across the ring. Atlas reverses the momentum, however, and it's One Eye who's flung into the far turnbuckles instead... but the savage thug merely springs to the top turn buckle, then shoots back at his rival to lacerate him with a diving clothesline! 

COACH
These dudes is looking sharp as they work their way back towards a title shot!

Leaving Atlas to nurse his busted bones, One-Eye journeys to his corner and and returns Vincent to the affair with a tag. Whitey tucks his adversary into a tightly held reverse headlock. He then then sinks to one knee, using the other as knife to jab into Shampoo's neck. Still holding onto his battered rival, Vincent stands up, and this time falls to both knees to pulverize Biff with an inverted ddt. He drapes his arm across Biff's heaving chest for a pivotal pinfall.

ONE


TWO

But Biff kicks out, earning applause from Flex and a few fans in the first three rows.

“KILL WHITEY! KILL WHITEY!” the audience screams with vigorous passion.

As he makes his way atop the highest turnbuckle, Vincent treats the vexatious crowd to a slew of profanity laced insults, not mincing any words as he let's them no what he thinks of their chants. His words only cause their insults and threats to grow louder, and internally he has to admit defeat, knowing he'll never be able to silence the glut of naysayers in his midst. Now standing on the top turnbuckle, he moves to take out his anger on Shampoo, launching himself off the top rope with a leg drop! But the high risk move has absolutely zero reward, for Biff rolls his body out of Vinny's path! 

“YEAAAAAA!”

Whitey tries to clamber back upright, but the massive pain clogging his joints is too much to bear and slows him down considerably. Eventually he does make it to his feet but is promptly assaulted with a spinning back fist from the resurgent bodybuilder. The powerful strike staggers the Californian into the ropes , which bounce him right back into an exploder suplex courtesy of Biff “Shampoo” Atlas!

COLE
Did you see that suplex from Biff Atlas? What power!

And so the great work of tagging in Flex begins in earnest for Biff. Unfortunately for him, Vinny isn't as nearly as crippled by the exploder as one would think, and just seconds after the move's completion has already begun stirring. Thus Biff is forced to worm across the canvas with grand speed, pushing away the pain in his neck and limbs. He finally reaches Phillips and a hot tag is made! Flex leaps over the ropes, a six foot three ball of HGH ingesting fire, and utilizes his brute strength to run through the incoming Vincent with a lariat! His furious gaze then sets it's sight onto Marcellus, who's tentaivly entering the squared circle. But before a clothesline can skewer One Eye's already less then pleasing facial features, the ex-convict makes a desperate plea for mercy. He points towards his coffee colored skin, then motions towards Flex's similarly colored complexion, and with sorrow filled eyes asks Flex to “please stop the black on black violence”.

COACH
Powerful message right there from One Eye. Tell it like it is, man. Gotta unite!

In a move that's sure to infuriate Jesse Jackson, Flex ignores the call for racial unity and hoists Wallace into the sky in a gorilla press slam set up. As he screams in savage pleasure, and his vein filled body trembles with adrenaline, the audience marvels at his impressive show of strength. But they don't get the chance to see his move to completion, thanks to Vincent Santana rearranging the bodybuilder's face with a superkick! The powerful blow forces One Eye out of his tormentor's grasp, and into a lateral press. The second the pairing hits the mat, Robinson moves into position to count the resulting fall.

ONE


TWO

But Biff Atlas overjoys the anti-SCM fanbase by breaking up the count with a running elbow drop. However, he's given no chance to bask in their cheers, as he must deal with Vincent Santana, rampaging towards him with a spear! Atlas leapfrogs Whitey, and the stringy haired thug is expelled through the ring ropes, much to the crowds' enormous glee. Somehow he's able to shift his legs in midair to land on his BAPE shoes and avoid a fatal collision. But this simply leaves him as a sitting duck for Biff Atlas' diving lariat to the outside! Whitey is able to move out of the way at the last possible moment, but Biff, owing to a criminally underrated agility, manages to plant himself firmly on his bare feet. When Vincent turns around to witness the pleasing sight of the hula skirted brawler splattered onto the mats, his vision is engulfed by an open handed palm strike from the crown prince of hair care! Santana recoils, several yellowed teeth dislodged by the ferocity of Atlas' strike. A spinning back elbow piles additional misery into his wounds, and would've knocked him clear off his feet were it not for the fact that he held onto the announce table for support. Detecting blood in the water, Biff attempts to devour his pray by surging forward to crush him with the [b][color="#2F4F4F"]Biff Upper Lip[/color][/b](running knee strike). But Vincent calls upon a surge of energy to collar him with a leg lariat! Biff is left stunned and dazed by the move, the momentum he had all but evaporated.

COLE
Biff got his clock cleaned by that kick!

Letting loose a liberal stream of profanity, Vincent drags Biff to his feet, where he violently slams the man's head into the steel ring steps. A loud thud travels throughout the arena as Biff's flesh is torn by the jagged metal. Through the searing pain, Atlas makes an attempt to head upright, but it's an effort that's easily squashed by a clubbing forearm from Whitey Ford. Vinny isn't done with his decimating of Atlas, however, and snatches the bell away from the time keeper, giving rise to anticipating murmurs from the more bloodthirsty audience members. Taken with youthful curiosity, Maggie leaves her seat to get an up close inspection of the grizzly fate that's about to befall Shampoo.

COACH
Maggie, what are you doing, it's dangerous near those animals! Come over to Coach's lap where it's nice and safe.

Atlas evades certain doom for a brief moment when he stabs his elbow into Whitey's midsection. The nutrition expert then rises to his full five feet eight inches in order to mount a counter attack against weapon wielding foe. Punches blaze across a dazed Vinny's face, as the capacity crowd roots the goofball from SoCal on. But after the sixth strike, Vincent becomes numb to the procession of attacks and finally obliterates Biff's skull with the brass ring bell!

COLE
No! That's uncalled for!

“OOOOOOOH!” scream the crowd, stunned by the viciousness of Vinny's attack.

The Venice Beach native plummets to the canvas, trailed by a geyser of his blood. The warm red goo splatters everywhere, landing atop the sadistic Santana, on the floor, the edge of the ring apron and even onto the suddenly surprised Maggie. Despite the gory assault that just occurred in front of her onyx eyes, Maggie holds a small smile on her face as her hands wipe away the blood from her black outfit. Looking down on the crimson liquid that runs through her hands brings a sharper smile into focus on the lovely young lady, but once she realizes that the camera is on her, her look turns to that of grave concern for the fallen Atlas.

COLE
I think Maggie is just excited to be witnessing all this great oaoast action!

Meanwhile back in the ring (yes there's still a match going on!),  Flex has his hands latched onto One-Eye's neck for his signature choke breaker. But the always underhanded, Wallace escapes the hold by simply driving his steel toed boot into the middle of Phillips' testicles. Neither the referee, nor the howling Flex approve of his questionable tactic, but One-Eye ignores their grousing as he gives Flex a taste of his own medicine, by setting him up for the chokebreaker. The situation grows even worse for Phillips when One-Eye's partner rejoins him in the ring and attaches his own hands onto Flex's neck. In spite of a round of spirited thrashing from the bodybuilder, the SCM succeed in picking him up and destroying him with [b][color="#8B0000"]The Bodybag[/color][/b] (Double chokeslam)!

COACH
Oh snap!

With Flex reduced into a puddle of quivering flesh, One Eye places a boot onto his chest to mark an arrogant cover. While Silverman counts the cocky fall, Vincent parades around the ring, flashing gang signs to the heated Canadians.

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TWO


[b]THREE[/b]!!

The fans voice their displeasure for the outcome with groans and boos, but their disgust matters not to The SCM who celebrate their win by mugging for the camera  and throwing up more gang signs for their gangstas back home and in the cell block.

MAGGIE
Lemmme hear ya for the winners, The South Central Milishaaaaaaaa!

COLE
The Militia picking up an important win on HeldDOWN!. A loss to NRG would've been a major set back as they look to return to the tag title scene in the oaoast. By winning they've proven that they can easily handle the lower echelon of teams...

COACH
It don't get much lower then NRG. Them fools is hot...hot garbage!

COLE
Perhaps, but Biff Atlas is in dire need of medical attention and when we return we hope to have an update of his condition.

[b]COMMERCIAL BREAK[/b]

When the fifth anniversary of the oaoast returns, viewers are shown a site sorely lacking in a celebratory atmosphere; one of a medical room within the arena, looking as though it's been ransacked by a tornado, as medical staff is strewn about the floor a beaten and broken mess, and Biff Atlas lies slumped against the wall, the blood incurred from Vincent's attack now dribbling down his chiseled body. On his bruised and sore neck rest two deep gashes from which more of the crimson juice seeps out. And on that pleasant note we return it to sofa central.

COLE
What happened back there? Was that the work of the Militia? No, I doubt it, there's no monetary benefit in randomly attacking NRG after you've already beat them. It's not like them to act without the possibility of some kind of financial reward.

COACH
Who cares? After five years is this how far the oaoast has sunk? To wondering who may have or may not have jumped some asshole in a hula skirt? A hula skirt! Jesus tap dancing Christ!

Edited April 7, 2007 by Patty O'Green