There is no electric chair, there is no hallway into a lethal injection room. There is only darkness. The masked man has been revealed, and we have moved on. You lick the hot wing sauce off of your fat fucking fingers as you find the Lethal injection stream on DeathRowWrestling.com, then you click it.
Yea you do, you fat fuck.
Buffering. Instead of feeding your pudgy face in your momma's basement, maybe you should get off your ass, get a job, and get some real internet. Of course, that wont matter soon if Death Row moves to a television network, does it?
Of course, that is to be seen.
The stream plays...
WELCOME TO DEATH ROW.
As we fade up from darkness the screams of thousands can be heard. A panoramic shot of the jam packed Oil Palace in Tyler, Texas fills the screen. Backwood rednecks sure like their wrestling and they show it with the intensity in the air.
Of course, their hometown hero FJ Tombs will be in action.
That's enough to make any cousin fucker happy in the pants. We get shots of signs in the crowd.
HOW > DRW
FJ is My Baby Daddy!
Maynard Crane is My Hero
Finally, the camera lowers and sets upon our host for the evening, and every evening. Our amazing commentary team, Waylon Wolf and Tommy Ace, sit obviously excited to have work.
Wolf: Welcome everyone to Death Row Wrestling's Lethal injection five, live from Tyler, Texas in the world famous Oil Palace! I'm Waylon Wolf, and along with me as every show is the one and only...
Ace: TOMMY ACE! Woo! Baby it's good to be back in Texas!
Wolf: Oh yea? You like Texas Tommy?
Ace: Hell no! But I sure as hell like this corn fed heifer who brings me enchiladas every time I call a show here, followed up by some post-show pu...
Wolf: We get it Tommy, you like fat women.
Ace: Cushion for the pushin' Waylon!
Wolf: We have some good matches for you tonight, including a special main event brought to us live via satellite from Huntsville, Texas straight out of the state penitentiary.
Ace: I wonder if anyone is going to drop the soap.
Wolf: I'd advise against it. Of course, maybe the biggest news tonight, Tim Ross addresses the future of Death Row Wrestling! Will he take the unknown potential investor's money, or will he go with Lee Best and join Best Studios?!
Ace: I think he just needs to get in line for government cheese and keep it how it is. Death Row is gritty and dangerous. Who wants to conform to the standard when we can become the standard?
Wolf: I think growth is natural and progression is needed.
Ace: Tomato, Potato.
Wolf: That makes no sense.
Ace: Neither does the fact we are still talking when we have so much action tonight!
Wolf: You have a point there... it's time ladies and gentlemen, for LETHAL INJECTION!
The double doors to the back entrance of the arena burst open in the most dramatic fashion, all that’s missing is the solo spotlight and a fog machine…
Wait, what’s this? Fog suddenly begins to creep into the halls from the open doors as a lone figure walks through the fog, shoulders back, chest out, arrogance oozing out of every pore when he suddenly breaks out into a hacking cough.
???: Damn it, I told you, less fog!
Coughing and waving his hand frantically in front of his head in an attempt to clear the creeping fog, the figure turns and looks around the hall. Seeing a pair of large black guys standing off the side, the figure casually toss them an object that gleams in the light as it sails into one of their waiting hands.
???: Find a nice spot for me, near the front, will ya.
Confusion turns to surprise, which then turns into glee, as the pair, known as the H-Town Hustlas, rush past the new arrival and out into the parking lot, keys to a new Ford Mustang in hand. The figure, removing his sun glasses, flashes a brilliant smile towards the cameras as he continues to walk down the hall.
???: My nigger, what’s up!?
Tim Ross turns around at the unexpected voice, shock, confusion, and budding anger quickly show on his face as he sizes up the unknown arrival.
Ross: Excuse me motha fucka, what you just say to me?
???: What? Did I say it wrong, my nigger?
Ross: I don’t know who you talking to like that nigga, I ain’t no man’s nigger, especially no white bred faggot like you…
???: Wait, I’m confused, I’ve been watching the show and that’s how everyone seems to greet each other around these parts. So don’t get your panties in a wad, my nigger, please.
Ross: Say my nigger one more time! I mean it, say my nigger one more time nigga! I swear, I’ll drop you 6 feet into the ground right here, right now! Go ahead nigga, say it!
???: Perhaps we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Here, Let me introduce myself, as if you don’t already know, but I’m “Beautiful” Bobby Dean and I’m pretty famous. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?
Not waiting for the still confused Tim Ross to answer, Bobby Dean steam rolls right on through.
Dean: Of course you have, like I said, I’m pretty popular. You know, the “Name that Entertains,” or perhaps, the “Moist Maker?” Anyway, I’m finally here.
Ross: Finally here? Whatcha talking about?
Dean: Well, like I said, I’ve been watching the shows and I got to admit, you guys need a name with some actual drawing power. I mean sure you got cVc and CCJ but they’re no BBD. There is only one “Beautiful” Bobby Dean, and now you’ve got him.
Ross: Motha fucka, don’t you know, we don’t need you around these parts, playa.
Dean: I’m sorry, I’m having such a difficult time understanding you. So, how about we just go ahead and assume you’ve accepted my gracious offer to lower my standards by working in these slums for you, and you’ll just go ahead and give me the shot at the title I so rightfully deserve. K, thnx, bye.
With that said, the man known as BBD, smiles, nods his head, and turns walking away from the confused Tim Ross. Putting his sunglasses back on his face, BBD walks out into the darkness of the parking lot, looking for his car.
Dean: Wait, where’s my car!? Where are those two Valet drivers!?
Wolf: That's right ladies and gentlemen, Lethal Injection Five is streaming to you live from Tyler, Texas.
Ace: Yes, indeedy, Wolf, you excited? I'm holding back a chub.
Wolf: We're all excited Ace for tonight, a card which features cVc and Cancer Jiles in a match picked by the Death Row Fans, a prison cell match!
Ace: Two men enclosed in a cell, engaged in deadly combat. Will the COOL One put down cVc, or will the Trailer Park Prodigy prevail?
Wolf: That's tonight folks! On Lethal Injection Five, that's Lethal Injection Five, brought to you by Eugene's Beaver Fur Maxipads, the only maxipad with the strength of a beaver's dam. We're talking serious flow stoppage here folks.
Ace: And Bloody Clown beer, its the beer clowns drink.
Wolf: Well, we're about set for our first match folks, lets head down to the ring!
Escape The Fate begins to play as Schism and Rupture, collectively know as Fracture come bursting through the curtain.
Wolf: Fracture of course coming off a big win at the iPPV over the H-Town Hustlas and the Untouchables, Ace. Looking here to no doubt continue their dominance.
Ace: Yeah if Tim Ross ever gets him a decent tag team division, I see these guys being right at the tippy top. Who knows, gold may even be in these men's future.
They run down the ramp, hardly giving the music any chance to build up, charging straight to the run. Rupture slides in as Schism, right behind him jumps under the bottom rope, rolling to his feet. Rupture runs off the ropes a few times while Schism climbs a corner and does a back flip just as Rupture jumps to the middle rope on the opposite side of the ring and does a pose.
Wolf: These guys are a couple of high-energy daredevils Ace. This should be an action packed night tonight Ace.
Ace: Don't go counting out the House of Pain, both members have long pasts glittering with gold. They've both won titles multiple times in other federations Wolf.
Wolf: But this is The Row.
Ace: Right as always Wolf, I'm just saying these guys aren't to be overlooked. They may be new here in The Row, but there are a lot of marks out there drooling all over these guys: both Derek Mobley and Warrick Hill.
The drum beat to Superstition by Stevie Wonder starts up as the lights in The Oil Palace start to go down. The beat picks up as Derek, with a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth emerges from behind the curtain with the other half of House of Pain, Warrick Hill. They make their way to the ring at their own, steady pace.
Wolf: Feeling superstitious tonight Ace?
Ace: Don't be ridiculous, I'm a man of science. . .
Wolf: So you've got Fracture to win tonight?
Ace: Now I didn't exactly say that. . .
House of Pain splits at the bottom of the ramp, with Derek sliding into the ring as Warrick climbs to the top of a turnbuckle. He looks out on the crowd and flicks his cigarette at a fan. They meet together in the ring as Superstition starts to die down.
Wolf: Tag team action about to be underway.
The bell sounds to begin the match as Warrick Hill and Schism lockup as does Mobley and Rupture.
Wolf: We’ve got a double collar and elbow tie up!
Schism and Rupture both throw knees into stomachs, as they each shoot their guys off.
Wolf: House of Pain off of the ropes.
Both men duck as Fracture leap frogs. All four men turn around, Fracture jump.
Wolf: Double drop kick!
Ace: Fracture may look goofy as hell, but they work together great!
Each member of Fracture lifts a House of Pain alumni up to their feet. Fracture nods to each other and whip their opponents into the ropes again.
Wolf: House of Pain on the return again.
Fracture run back, hit the ropes. As the meet House of Pain in the middle of the ring they leap.
Wolf: Double cross-body blocks!
As they hit the mat with force, Warrick Hill rolls out of the ring as Derek Mobley holds his mid-section. Fracture talk amongst themselves before Schism exits the ring to the apron, allowing Rupture to be the legal man along with Mobley.
Wolf: It seems as if the match is about to officially begin, but can House of Pain make a come back?
Ace: It's been all Fracture up until now, if they can keep the momentum then there is no question about who will walk out winner tonight.
Rupture walks over to Derek Mobley who is getting to his feet.
Wolf: Rupture sending Mobley into the corner turnbuckle. Runs, and leaps. Huge splash!
As Rupture hits, he bounces back and catches his footing. Mobley stumbles forward a bit, Rupture runs around him, leaps to the second rope and jumps off twisting in the air with a kick to the back of Derek's head.
Wolf: The agility of Rupture is nothing short of amazing.
Rupture reaches out and tags Schism in. Schism climbs the turnbuckle from the outside as Mobley stumbles in the ring. He leaps, catching Mobley's neck with his legs and spins around, flipping Derek to the mat.
Ace: This one is over!
Schism covers Derek Mobley as Warrick Hill rushes the ring, but is met with a drop kick from Rupture as the referee drops to count.
Wolf: It could be over!
Ace: It is!
The referee hits the three and calls for the bell.
Wolf: Fracture with a quick, but huge win here on Lethal Injection!
Their music hits as they hug then raise each other's hands in the air to celebrate.
Our view goes backstage, Tim Ross' office to be exact. Tim is sitting in his chair, behind his desk in deep thought as the office door opens. Tha Krew step into the office.
Ross: What da fuck you need?
Leon Williams steps forward.
Williams: Couple mutha fuckas wanna see you boss.
Ross: Send them in.
Wes Payton motions for the visitors to come in. The Untouchables, Jeff Andrews and Ronnie Long, walk into the office and to the front of Tim Ross' desk.
Ross: What da fuck you want? I'm a busy nigga tonight.
Jeff Andrews looks at Ronnie then at Ross.
Andrews: Everyone is telling us Maynard Crane isn't here tonight. We where just curious about our match.
Tim ross smirks a bit before answering.
Ross: Don't worry bout dat nigga Maynard Crane, I got Crane handled. You two take the night off and rest up, cause on Lethal Injection VI you got to face two low down, dirty mutha fuckas.
The Untouchables look at each other then at Ross.
Leon and Wes each tap one of The Untouchables on the shoulders. They turn around.
Payton: Us nigga.
The Untouchables turn around toward Tim.
Andrews: These guys haven't even had a match and you expect us to face them?
Tim just looks at Jeff.
Ross: Nigga, you two aint even had a good match. Get yo asses out my office before I have them beat yo teef in dis week.
Long: This is bull.
The Untouchables turn and walk toward the door and out of the office. Ross points at tha Krew.
Ross: You two niggas betta beat those asses on the next show. I need a team who is routhless to hold the new title.
Williams: Sho' nuff boss.
Payton: Sho' nuff.
Ross: Good, now get da fuck out my office. I got shit to do.
The visual switches backstage. Inside what appears to be the office of Tim Ross, sits a man who is not Tim Ross behind the big, fancy desk.
Sporting an all black suit, with a Superman tie bringing the color, Doozer waits.
The Dooze looks up anxiously with a smug, little smile pushing his cheeks apart.
Doozer: Enter, minion.
Voice: Uhhh - okay.
Through the opening door, steps...
Doozer: Sit, min-
Tim Ross’ office phone rings. The blue eyes of The Dooze dart left and align their focus on phone. The eyebrows above them scrunch in confusion. After three rings, he answers.
Doozer: H-hello, this is-
Voice of Tim Ross: [interrupting] Quit the minion shit. You’re my minion. The wrestler’s are my minions.
Doozer: [interjecting] But I’m Head of Tal-
Voice of Tim Ross: [interrupting again] I know what the fuck you are. And you don’t get minions yet. Now get this stupid fuckin’ talent eval done already. You know what you gotta do, so stop beating around the bush.
Doozer: [head nodding] Okay.
Voice of Tim Ross: Okay, what?
Doozer’s eyes widen and he looks up at Dylan Daniels, now sitting in front of Tim Ross’s desk, with shame. He forces the next words out.
Doozer: Okay, sir.
Voice of Tim Ross: You god damn right... minion.
Swallowing what pride remains within, The Dooze hangs up the phone and addresses the wrestler sitting across the desk.
Doozer: So, Dylan...
Dylan Daniels: Doo-
Doozer: [interrupting] No talking, min- [catching himself] - stral of match...es...
A cross look from Daniels.
Doozer: Today, we discuss your future here at Death Row Wrestling.
Dylan Daniels: Sounds goo-
Doozer: [interrupting, and finger-shaking] Nope. Still not your turn.
The Dooze takes a sip of water from a Superman-themed nalgene on his err- Tim Ross’ desk. That’s right, water. Not Bud Light. Which most would claim is not much different than water.
Doozer: Let’s just get down to business, shall we?
Dylan Daniels straightens his posture, seemingly unsure of whether or not it was finally his turn to speak. Technically, The Dooze did ask a question... but typically that type of question is rhetorical. Oh, Mr. Daniels’ dilemma... Luckily, Doozer picks up before Dylan can make the wrong move.
Doozer: What’s your five year plan?
Dylan Daniels: Well, I tho-
Doozer: [interrupting] Fuck it, I can’t do this. You’re five year plan is outside of Death Row Wrestling.
Daniels, more confused now than ever, opens his mouth to respond but Doozer quickly raises his right index finger to hush him up.
The Dooze tightens his tie around his neck, then puts on his best Trump face.
Doozer: Yew’re foi-yad.
Mind you, he’s a retired wrestler... not a professional actor or imitator.
The newly unemployed Dylan Daniels instantly jumps out of his chair to his feet. His face lobster red and steam rolling out of his ears. He raises his right finger and points it straight in front of Doozer’s face. Then, as if The Dooze pushed an emergency button under the desk, enters Tha Krew. Arms crossed, they stand at the door staring at Daniels. Dylan immediately recognized a lost battle. He lowers his arm, drops his head, and trudges out of office.
Scene cuts to the view of Doozer crossing a line through something on the lone piece of paper sitting in front of him. The look on his face, surprisingly, is melancholy.
The lights in The Oil Palace dim, the crowd buzzing in anticipation of the next scheduled match. Harold Halloway is already in the ring. A drunk in one of the rows haw-haws, as he is already well into his drink, having already burned forty bucks on cold, delicious brew. The missus will not be happy tonight, but he is happy now: he's filthy drunk. The unmistakable intro to Sabotage rips through the P.A. system and the crowd pops.
The cheers maintain their initial burst of enthusiasm as Skidd row appears in a tattered black shirt and blue wrestling shorts, his face crafted like stone, set in determination.
Wolf: Here is a kid with guts ladies and gentlemen, no doubt about it. He has a past in the indies, but has never had a chance anywhere.
Skidd Row stands for a moment, the intro music reaching its crescendo:
I can't stand it--
I know you planned it--
Skidd Row charges down the ramp, head full of steam. The fans reach out to touch him, the drunk seen puking himself as Skidd runs past. He doesn't see the fans, he sees only the ring that he hopes will help to bring him the fame and success he believes he rightfully deserves.
Wolf (cont): Now, he's in The Row, looking to perhaps change his own fate. All he wants is a chance, Ace. . .
Ace: That goes without saying Wolf--you've got to have guts to be in the Row--what with guys like Maynard and Tarrasque running around. But I don't know: is that really enough Wolf? Guts can only get you so far.
Wolf: Well no one can say Skidd Row is a coward, he has come to fight week in and week out since joining The Row.
Ace: Yeah, but can he win?
Wolf: Maybe if you quit your jabbering we'll find out.
Ace: Wolf old chap, I fear your age is getting to you: you forget that that is what we're supposed to do! Jabbering is our job!
Skidd Row stands in the ring after having slid under the bottom rope. The lights brighten and Sabatoge slowly fades from hearing. As if controlled by the music, the fans quiet down to a low drone.
Wolf: Well anyhow, the fans certainly buzxing here today in Tyler, Texas, for this our second match of the evening.
Ace: These Texans love their wrestling!
The bell sounds to start the match.
Wolf: Harold Halloway has a slight size advantage over Skidd Row, but don't count Row out as he has proven he can defiantly hang here in Death Row.
Ace: That's confusing when you say his last name and Death Row.
Wolf: Just call the match Tommy.
Harold jolts forward toward Skidd.
Wolf: Skidd Row side steps.
Halloway puts his arm out, grabbing the top rope to stop himself. As he truns around he is just in time to see Skidd running toward him, arm stretched out.
Wolf: Harold Halloway sent over the top rope with that clothesline.
Halloway hits the side of the apron before falling to the floor.
Ace: Skidd Row needs to use this to his advantage. Take the size out of the equation.
Skidd Row looks down at Harold, then behind him. He runs back and uses the ropes to gain momentum.
Wolf: SKIDD ROW OVER THE TOP ROPE! HE FLIES!
Skidd flips over in air and lands a leg drop catching Halloway right in the chest.
Wolf: SKidd Row with an amazing leg drop from out of the ring and over the top rope!
Ace: Yea, but did you see how he landed?
Skidd Row holds his head from how it hit the floor. Harold Halloway seems to gasp for air, as if he can't breath.
Wolf: High risk maneuver, paid off, but Skidd Row paying the price.
The official is checking on both guys, but Skidd soon puts his hand up as if to say he is OK.
Wolf: Skidd Row not out of this yet.
Ace: I like this guy. The name not so much, but this guy right here, yea I like him.
Wolf: Are you drunk?
Ace: Maybe a little, but what's it to you? Yea I said it. Wanna fight about it?
Wolf: You're stupid Tommy.
Skidd uses the apron to pull himself to his feet. He rubs his head and shakes it off before pushing past the official and stomping Harold Halloway in the chest.
Wolf: Skidd Row has a lot of built up aggression from his loss at Death from Above.
Ace: I thought Ross sent a memo out to pretend like that event never happened.
Wolf: We may have had a few glitches, but you have to admit that Death from Above was interesting.
Skidd Row lifts Harold Halloway halfway up before coming forward with a knee to the side of his face. Halloway hits the floor.
Wolf: Skidd Row defiantly making it known that although he is small in size, he can dish out the punishment.
Skidd holds the top of the barrier and uses it to lift himself up, and bring as knee down into the face of Harold Halloway.
Wolf: Skidd Row back to his feet.
He looks into the camera and yells that he should be the number one contender.
Wolf: Skidd Row lifting Harold Halloway up, directs him toward the ring.
Skidd slams Halloway face first into the metal corner post. Halloway grabs his face and stumbles back turning around. As he removes his hands, he reveals blood trickling down his forehead.
Wolf: Skidd Row with an elbow to the busted open face of Harold Halloway.
Ace: This guy is defiantly not impressing me, not good for a debut.
Skidd rolls Halloway into the ring, then slides in himself.
Wolf: Skidd Row still in full control. You know that Tim Ross must be sitting in the back, very impressed by Row.
Ace: This guy is just awesome.
Halloway slowly uses the ropes to pull himself up as Skidd Row waits patently behind him.
Wolf: Skidd Row waiting patiently.
Harold turns around and Skidd Row locks his arm across Harold's chest and under his arm. He throws his free arm out, leans slightly back and leaps up, flipping Halloway over and to the mat, covering him after the standing moonsault side slam hits perfectly. The fans pop like crazy.
Wolf: DOWN ON SKIDD ROW!
The referee slides in and begins counting.
Wolf: that was beautiful!
The fans count along with the referee as he hits three and the bell sounds.
Wolf: Skidd Row pulls off an amazing win!
Ace: Skidd Row might have just stolen the show with his performance there, and the hearts of Americans everywhere!
Wolf: Wow, really Tommy? Lay off the drink.
We go backstage where Tim Ross is in his office, prepping for his big announcement tonight. The phone rings.
Tim Ross: This is Ross, who there?
Caller: Do you need a dictionary tossed at your fucking head? When you answer your phone you should at least sound somewhat professional being a business owner.
Tim Ross: Nigga, Imma reach trhough this phone and choke yo ass.
Caller: What we have here is failure to communicate, some men you just cannot reach, so we get what we have here. Which I guess, is the way you want it. Well, you won't get it today, no matter if you like it or not!
Tim Ross: I don't know who da fuck you think you are nigga, but I'm mutha fuckin' Tim "The Boss" Ross and I run shit around here! Bring yo ass to my office and talk shit!
Caller: Really now Timmy? You spent time in some prison being Bubba's bitch and suddenly you're hardcore? Suddenly, you have balls the size of grapefruit and want to swing them freely huh? Listen here Ross, I wanted to do you a favor.
Tim Ross: Look nigga, if you got somethin' to say,say it. Otherwise get off the line. I got shit to deal with tonight.
Caller: I wanted to make a courtesy call. It is merely just a policy sorts, to let you and your wrestlers know that their time is up. Next Lethal Injection, I will not just be in the building, but I will be leaving a major mark on this company!
Tim Ross: Is that so? Well talk is cheap mutha fucka. Don't call me nigga and talk shit, walk the talk nigga.
Caller: Just make sure that mark is not my foot print on your fucking face, BITCH!
Ross: Did this nigga just hang up on me? Did this nigga hurr, just hand up on me? Mutha fucka!
He slams the phone down and sits there. He doesn't seem to stay mad for long as a smile slowly comes across his face as he realizes what is about to happen next show.
Tim Ross: Wes, Leon.. Make sure dat nigga has access next show, shits about to get real here in Death Row.
What appear to be three medical assistants huddled around the recently beaten and bruised Harold Halloway have their work cut out for them. They are busy checking vitals, making notes, and overall assessing the wrestler’s physical health after taking such abuse at the hands of Skidd Row. Halloway, barely able to keep himself sitting upright, groans (and periodically screams) in pain as the medics poke and prod away at his person. However, they continue with their work, not knowing if the source of the outbursts are induced pain or Harold’s tourrettes.
Out of nowhere, Death Row’s Head of Talent Management, Doozer comes charging around a corner with both hands covering his... private area. Looks like a classic example of too much caffeine - too few bathroom breaks.
The sight of Harold Halloway’s dire condition, however, stops The Dooze in his tracks. He looks at Halloway, then reaches into an inside pocket of his suit and pulls out a piece of paper. He scans what appears to be his Talent Evaluation sheet, then looks back at Harold.
Doozer: Oh, wow. It’s even worse than it looked from the match coverage. You alright, Halloway?
Doozer: Rude. I mean... you may be beaten bloody, but it’s not like you have a mental disorder or anything. Surely you can answer a higher-up, like myself, when asked a question.
Another groan. Doozer grimaces, then pulls a pen out from another pocket and writes some notes down on his sheet. Obviously, The Dooze missed the boat on the whole Harold suffers from tourrettes thing.
Doozer: Wrong move, Halloway. I remember when I was young and dumb, like you. Thinking that no else mattered but me. Making up excuses for my lack of abilities, if you will. That’s not the way to live life, my man. Maybe we can work more closely together here in the next few months and I can help get you on the right track. How’s that sound?
An unfortunately timed outburst.
Harold Halloway: ASSCLOWN!
The Dooze frowns, then nods his head as if taking the outburst as a form of constructive criticism. He scribbles a couple more notes on his talent sheet, then looks back up at Harold.
Doozer: YEW’RE FIO-YAHD!
Halloway instinctively attempts to stand in protest, but is pushed back down into his seat by the medics in front of him. He groans in pain and relents back into his seat.
Harold Halloway: FUCK!
Odds are - that wasn’t the tourrettes.
Wolf: Up next of course we have FJ Tombs vs. the monster Tarrasque.
Ace: I was watching em bring in the raw meat trucks. Rumor has it Tarrasque eats a whole cow raw before his matches. HIGH IN PROTEIN. Maybe Tombs should just try and appease the beast with some of the best cuts from his father's butcher shop!
Wolf: Tombs is a tested warrior here in The Row, having been in the tournament for the Death Row Title, which Dark of course now holds, and also having been in the gauntlet match, Ace.
Ace: Where he put on a good showing of course, but in the end it was down to just Skidd Row and Cancer Jiles, and two Terminal Cancer's later, Cancer is the new number one contender.
Wolf: You can bet Tombs is determined for a win tonight after the loss.
Ace: If you disagree he'd probably tell you to kiss his--
"Kiss My County Ass" fills the Oil Palace as several people jump up to their feet. A large section of people in the bleachers cheer even louder as FJ Tombs makes his way from the back. In addition to his ring gear, he is sporting a blue, UT Tyler Patriot's shirt and carrying a large Texas flag. He makes his way all the way to the ring where he secures the flag in the corner of the ring. Then he drops back down to the floor and walks up the entrance before stopping.
Ladies and Gentlemen by Salvia begins to play in The Oil Palace, the crowd suddenly growing morose. . .
Wolf: And here comes the monster. . .
Ace: Hide your children everybody!
Tarrasque runs out from behind the curtain, roaring, his arms outstretched his strenoclidomastoids like dock ropes coming up out of his massive chest, his hands two big, weighted sledgehammers. A massive figure, a genetic beast, he fills the entire entrance, dwarfing its size. His chin drips fresh blood.
Wolf: What--what is that Ace! It's--it's
Ace: It's blood!
Wolf: That can't be sanitary. . .
Ace: I think Anderson needs to take that thing to the vet, it's definately got worms.
The blood drips down Tarrasque's chin, his teeth specked with bits of half-masticated raw beef. From behind him appears 'The Brain' Allen Anderson in an expensive three piece suit. He hobbles after Tarrasque on a fine wooden cane with a globe for a handle. It is in his humble opinion that he holds the whole world in his hand, and with a man/beast/monster/thing/abomination like Tarrasque on your side, there are few willing to challenge that assertion. Make way, piss ants.
Wolf: Allen of course just may be the only person keeping Tarrasque from killing us all. He is Tarrasque's conscience, for he has none. He is Tarrasque's off switch, and without him there is no telling what horror this monster could unleash upon the world.
Ace: Good bless Allen Anderson! The chain for this beasts dastardly neck! It is in my opinion that perhaps Tim Ross has made a mistake hiring this monster. I know if he lays a finger on me I'll sue.
Wolf: If he lays a finger on you, you won't be alive long enough to sue.
Allen Anderson and Tarrasque walk to the ring, Tarrasque smiling at Tombs with images of violence floating through his head. Tarrasque climbs in the ring, Allen Anderson entering soon after.
Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing first, hailing from Athens, Texas [pop], weighing in at two-hundred and seventy-five pounds, standing six feet, five inches. . . He is. . . F. . . J. . . Tooooombs!
The crowd pops as FJ Tombs raises his arms for everyone in the crowd to see. The crowd quiets down and Tombs resumes his calisthenics.
Announcer: His opponent. . . From Akira, China, weighing in at two-hundred and eighty-five pounds, standing six feet, seven inches, accompained to the ring by 'The Brain' Allen Anderson, he is the monster. . . the product of the Warhammer Corporation. . . he is. . . Tarrrrraaasssque!
Wolf: Massive weight disparity here. Tarrasque with the advantage in all the important categories Ace.
Ace: Yes, but Tarrasque isn't exactly what we call smart. Tombs is gonna have to use his brains and his speed here tonight, if he has any hopes of surviving.
The bell rings...
Wolf: There's not much to choose from in size between these two.
Ace: Physically similar, but their mentalities couldn't be more different.
Tarrasque storms across the ring at FJ Tombs, who sidesteps and Tarrasque hits the corner.
Wolf: No feeling out process, its action straight from the bell.
FJ Tombs starts to unload on Tarrasque with rights and lefts, he slows down before sending a knee into the gut of Tarrasque and attempting to send him across the ring into the opposite corner.
Ace: He puts the breaks on.
Tarrasque doesn't leave the corner though, he holds onto the ropes and uses his strength to pull FJ Tombs towards him and into the corner.
Wolf: What strength!
Tarrasque throws a big right hand but FJ Tombs moves out of the way and once again starts throwing rights and lefts, this time to the body of Tarraasque.
Ace: Early on and it looks like FJ Tombs is just a tad quicker than his opponent.
Tarrasque manages to get his hands up to protect himself, he then pushes FJ away sending him across the ring.
Wolf: Another impressive display of strength!
Tarrasque comes out of the corner as FJ Tombs is getting to his feet, he sends him off into the ropes with an Irish whip and swings for a big clothesline but FJ Tombs ducks it and comes off the ropes.
Ace: Big shoulder tackle....
Wolf: And Tarrasque hits the canvas for the first time in this contest.
As Tarrasque gets to his feet FJ Tombs kicks him in the shoulder forcing him to stand up straight. Tombs then pokes Tarrasque in the eye and locks on a sleeper.
Ace: It might be a bit early to go for a submission.
Wolf: I think Tombs just wants to buy a little time.
Tarrasque pushes Tombs back into the corner and breaks the hold before he staggers into the middle of the ring.
Ace: It didnt take much for the Beast to get out of that one.
Tarrasque turns and charges towards FJ Tombs, but at the last minute he manages to get his boot up and kick Tarrasque square in the jaw. FJ Tombs then runs out of the corner and hits the ropes on the far side of the ring, he bounces off them and takes Tarrasque down with a big running boot.
Wolf: Twice he takes one in the face.
Ace: FJ Tombs with a cover...
Wolf: He gets a shoulder up.
FJ Tombs pulls Tarrasque to his feet quickly, throwing an arm around his neck and hooking him for a suplex.
Ace: Two very big men doing battle in the ring now.
FJ Tombs tries to lift Tarrasque into the air, but he dead weights him. He tries once more but Tarrasque sends a knee into his gut and Tombs drops to the canvas.
Wolf: That knocked the wind right out of him.
Tarrasque starts to ruthlessly stomp away to the body of Tombs who curls up trying to protect himself.
Ace: You can only imagine what size boot Tarrasque is.
FJ Tombs starts to pull himself up using the ropes. Tarrasque sends him across the ring with an Irish whip, he comes off the ropes and Tarrasque grabs him around the throat as if he's going for a chokeslam. FJ Tombs then starts replying with elbows to the back of the head.
Wolf: It might be to early for a move like that.
Tombs breaks free but almost as soon as he does he gets kicked in the stomach and bent over. Tarrasque lifts him up onto his shoulder and hooks his legs and grabs him around the chin.
Ace: Or maybe not.
Tarrasque drops down into a seated position.
Wolf: Cripples Peak!
Tarrasque rolls Tombs over and goes for a cover.
Without missing a second, the moment Tombs kicks out, Tarrasque rolls him onto his front and tries to hook him for a camel clutch.
Wolf: It looks like he could be going for that devastating submission move - The Paralyzing Factor.
As soon as Tarrasque gets his hands around Tombs' chin, he manages to wriggle backwards and through his legs. Tarrasque turns round and Tombs lands a big right hand that sends him staggering backwards.
Ace: What a bomb.
Wolf: But he's still standing.
Tombs throws another big right hand.
Ace: Straight between the eyes.
Tarrasque staggers back to the ropes.
Wolf: He's looking uneasy on his legs now.
FJ Tombs sends Tarrasque across the ring with a whip, as he bounces off the opposite cables, Tombs goes for a big hiptoss. Tarrasque hooks his arm and resists the maneuver.
Ace: He blocks it!
Tarrasque swings for a big clothesline but Tombs ducks that and kicks Tarrasque in the mid section before sending him to the ropes with another Irish whip.
Wolf: Tombs' trying to get some momentum here.
Ace: Eight minutes in and I don't think we've seen the best of him yet.
FJ Tombs swings for a big clothesline but Tarrasque hooks the arm and brings him in close before bridging backwards dropping Tombs on his head.
Wolf: Big T-Bone Suplex.
Ace: Just when you thought Tombs was going to get back into this match.
Tombs holds his head as Tarrasque surveys the damage he just inflicted on him.
Wolf: That move sets him up perfectly for that modified camel clutch, neck hold - The Paralyzing Factor he likes to utilize.
Tarrasque lays Tombs out before delivering a big stomp to the neck.
Ace: He's going to focus all his attentions on that area now.
Tarrasque pulls FJ Tombs to his feet and locks him in a front facelock, he takes his arm and turns him over before they both drop down to the canvas.
Wolf: Carefully executed spinning neckbreaker.
Ace: And another cover...ONE
Wolf: FJ Tombs in real danger now.
Tarrasque pulls up Tombs and casually headbutts him as he gets to his feet. He then throws Tombs up onto his shoulder in a powerslam position.
Ace: Just look how casually he did that.
Tarrasque moves across the ring before building some speed up, but Tombs manages to slide off behind Tarrasque.
Wolf: He escaped.
Tarrasque turns round and throws a big right hand but Tombs ducks it and hits the ropes behind him. He comes off and hits a big shoulder tackle sending Tarrasque to the canvas.
Ace: Some big men colliding there.
Tarrasque gets up to his feet and FJ Tombs lifts him into the air, holding him across his body.
Wolf: I didn't think he'd be able to lift him after all he's been through here tonight.
Tombs bridges back throwing Tarrasque over him.
Ace: Big fall away slam.
Tarrasque staggers to his feet, Tombs carefully waits for him between he hits the ropes, he runs past Tarrasque and hits the ropes once more before diving at him with a vicious clothesline.
Wolf: Clothesline from hell!
Ace: He nearly took his head off
Tombs hooks the leg of Tarrasque.
Wolf: The first real chance FJ Tombs has had so far tonight.
Ace: He needs to stay on him now.
Tombs hooks Tarrasque around the waist and tries lifting him up into a side slam position.
Wolf: He could be going for his trademark move The Stampede.
Tarrasque throws an elbow into the face of Tombs and he breaks free. Tarrasque then tries to lock on a full nelson but Tombs sends an elbow into his face.
Ace: No man able to get the better of the other at the moment.
Tombs grabs Tarrasque's hand and places it behind his own head, he then pulls back and punches him straight into the centre of the chest.
Wolf: He calls that Deep in the Heart!
Ace: What a punch!
The bell begins to sound.
Wolf: FJ TOMBS WINS FJ TOMBS WINS!
The crowd goes insane for their hometown hero.
Ace: Did I just see someone win with a heart punch?! Vintage!
FJ Tombs rolls out of the ring, walking over to the fans and begins slapping their hands. He stops at what looks to be some family members and hugs them. The entire Oil Palace is going bonkers for Tombs as he continues to celebrate.
Cut to Huntsville.
So quiet in fact, it could almost be confused for dead air.
Through the bars of a cell we find Cancer Jiles. He’s sitting on a cot with his back leaning against the unforgiving wall that the flimsy bedding buts up to. Showing no signs of emotion, his head nods back and forth in unison to whatever song blasts over his Ipod.
It’s I AM THE COOL.
It’s the only song he listens to.
Ominous Voice Over: Tonight, LIVE on Lethal Injection... two men enter. One man leaves. It’s the King of COOL, versus the Trailer Park Prodigy!
Crowd pop for blood and broken bones. They are watching the satellite feed of Cancer chilling in a cell up on the Jumbotron, and hear the ghostly V.O. via the PA system.
It’s called becoming acquainted.
Resting on the bridge of Count COOL’s nose are platinum-jet-blackened T-Shades which I’ll have you know go an extra long way inside the claustrophobic confines of Huntsville Penitentiary.
Take that bloodshot eyes.
As for the rest of his person, King COOL has on military grade cargo shorts and some wicked pair of appropois shit kickers. No silk shirt with the collar popped though, rather, just the word COOL permanently inked in Old English lettering across his abdomen.
Ominous Voice Over: Hot off the tails of a controversial victory at Death From Above, can this man, Lord Cancer of COOL, The Mongoloid Heart Eater, the NUMBER ONE CONTENDER FOR THE DEATH ROW CHAMPIONSHIP, bring home the bacon one more time when he takes on CHANCE VON CRANK? WE’RE GONNA FIND OUT, BECAUSE LADIES AND GENTLEMAN it’s tonight’s MAIN EVENT!!!!!!!!!!
Another crowd pop before the feed cuts to a 24/7 logo.
"Hope you’re hungry! ‘Cause I got a Knuckle Sandwich... WITH YOUR NAME ON IT!"
- Lunchbox Larry