CONTENT

DEATH ROW WRESTLING: LETHAL INJECTION 9/19/2012 PT 3

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Cort Vang hits the ropes and returns, and Shane Jackson falls flat onto his belly, forcing Cort Vang to jump over him.

Ace:  Cort Vang still into the ropes. . .

Cort Vang hits the ropes on the other side of the ring as Shane Jackson gets to his feet.  Cort Vang reaches Shane Jackson and Shane Jackson lifts him up, grabbing him around the rib cage and turning before slamming him downward to the mat.

Ace:  What a spine buster by Shane Jackson.

Shane Jackson gets to his feet and stares straight into the camera, as if to say that’s gonna be you Dark.  He then turns to the fallen Cort Vang and stomps him, once, twice, three times, Cort Vang taking each blow to the upper chest.

Ace:  Shane Jackson with a little stare down to the camera—perhaps sending a message of some sorts?  Stomping the shit out of Cort Vang now, no doubt still pissed about losing some hair tonight. . . Hey jackass. . . it’ll grow back!

Shane Jackson then bends down and sticks a threatening finger in Cort Vang’s face, saying something that is inaudible but full of hate.  Shane Jackson then straightens up and stomps Cort Vang one last time in the chest before bringing him to his feet.

Ace:  Shane Jackson is not happy with Cort Vang right now—I think IM Hate is starting to affect this kid.  He’s worse than he’s ever been before.  Fuck Anarchy!

Shane Jackson reaches back flattening his hand before bringing it forward across the chest of Cort Vang, the sound ringing out through the air.

Ace:  Knife Edge Chop now by Shane Jackson—giving Cort Vang a little of his own medicine!

Shane Jackson chops him once more and Cort Vang sells up against the ropes, his chest turning a bright red.  Shane Jackson then curses the frat boys before grabbing hold of Cort Vang and attempting to Irish whip him into the ropes.

Ace:  Irish whip—no!  Cort with the reversal!

Cort Vang turns, keeping his hold and pulling, Irish whipping Shane Jackson into the ropes instead.

Ace:  Shane Jackson into the ropes now. . .

Shane Jackson hits the ropes on the other side of the ring and as he returns Cort Vang turns, pulling his hips through to his leg with a kick to Shane Jackson’s head.

Ace:  Heel kick—No!  Shane Jackson ducks!

Cort Vang ends the kick, landing on both feet as Shane Jackson hits the ropes on the other side of the ring.  Shane Jackson returns to the center of the ring and Cort Vang goes for the hip toss, hooking the arm.

Ace:  Hip toss, no!

Shane Jackson blocks it, then grabs the arm in question and spins Cort Vang around until they are back to back and then reaches up and grabs Cort by the head and hits the mat, bringing Cort’s head down across his shoulder.

Ace:  Neck breaker by Shane Jackson!

Shane Jackson then turns over, crawling over to the fallen Cort Vang, still selling the neck breaker.  He reaches Cort and hooks the leg, pinning him to the mat.  El Toro slides to the mat, going for the count.

Ace:  El Toro is down. . . 1. . . 2. . . no!  Cort Vang kicks out, and that was a mighty close one ladies and gentlemen!  Neither man wants to lose a chance to move on to the next round and possibly win a shot at that Death Row title.  It’s the belt everyone is shooting for here, ladies and gentlemen.  It’s what this tournament is all about!

Shane Jackson gets up and raises his arms, convinced he has already advanced.  His celebration is cut short when El Toro slaps him on the ass, and it so shocks Shane Jackson he jumps in fright.  The laughter from the crowd starts up as Shane Jackson turns around and El Toro informs him of the bad news.  Solo dos, hombre.

Ace:  And Shane Jackson thought he had this one won!  Sorry—close but no cigar!

Shane Jackson turns red with anger and thinks to get up in the face of El Toro, but in order to do that he would have to get on his knees.  Giving up this idea he makes his way over to Cort Vang, who’s already trying to get to his feet.

Ace:  Shane Jackson doesn’t like it, but tough cookies there rich boy.  Welcome to REAL LIFE!

Cort Vang rises up with a punch as Shane Jackson, but there is not enough on it, and it only annoys Shane Jackson further.  Shane’s head rocks back from the blow but he straightens it up and stares down at Cort with hate in his eyes.  Shane Jackson reaches back and with both hands grabs Cort by the throat, blatantly choking him.

Ace:  Shane Jackson with the blatant choke!  Come on Toro break that shit up!

Shane Jackson smiles and brings Cort Vang up to his face, so that he may more easily talk shit to him.  Cort Vang struggles in the hold but then decides to use his head—literally.  Cort Vang brings his head back and then violently brings it forward, his forehead colliding with Shane’s.

Ace:  Head butt by Cort Vang!

Shane Jackson staggers backward, but keeps the choke, and again Cort Vang brings his head back and this time brings his head forward even more rapidly and the two heads collide.  Shane Jackson see’s sparks in his eyes momentarily and releases the hold, staggering backward and up toward the ropes.

Ace:  And another head butt by Cort Vang—and that one did the job, for both men!

Cort Vang falls to his knees and shakes his head, feeling the effects of the head butt.  He gets up slowly and staggers backward, hooking his arm on the top rope to keep himself steady.  Shane Jackson shakes his head as Cort Vang charges him.  Shane Jackson moves away from the ropes, catching Cort Vang in a bear hug and then turning and then using his legs to toss Cort Vang over his head and to the mat.

Ace:  Belly to belly suplex now by Shane Jackson!  Neither man is giving up in this one ladies and gentlemen.

Cort Vang sells the belly to belly suplex on the mat as the frat fuckers buzz with drunkenness.  El Toro bends down to check on Cort Vang as Shane Jackson slowly gets to his feet and immediately falls back up against the ropes.  He breathes heavily and raises up his arms before saying CASH MONEY to the crowd.

Ace:  Shane Jackson touting his affiliation here instead of going for the pin.

As if hearing Ace, Shane Jackson then makes his way over to Cort Vang and falls to his knees before covering Cort Vang, pinning him to the mat.  El Toro slides to the mat, going for the count, as the crowd buzzes in anticipation of the potential pinfall.

Ace:  This could be it!  1!. . . 2! . . . NO!  Cort Vang kicks out of it!  Cort Vang kicks out!

The crowd dies down as El Toro rises to his feet and extends an arm up into the air, signaling the two count.  Shane Jackson sits up on the mat on his knees and grabs his hair in disbelief.  Shane Jackson then gets up to his feet and makes his way over to the fallen Cort Vang, who sells the punishment of the entire match.

Ace:  These guys are really taking it out of one another here tonight ladies and gentlemen.  They are putting on a show worthy of being a part of The Row.  All these other motherfuckers can talk all they want, Lethal Injection is the best wrestling show out there.  There is no doubt about that folks.  If you’re watching that, you already know that, but I felt the need to reiterate that.

Shane Jackson grabs Cort Vang by the ankle and then looks up around at the crowd with an evil smile on his face.  Shane Jackson then crosses Cort Vang’s legs around his own and drops to the seated position, wrenching on the legs.

Ace:  The Cash Out!  The Cash Out!  Shane Jackson is going for the win right here!

Cort Vang cries out in pain, reaching out for the ropes and then grabbing his pain as if to show it may be too much.  Immediately El Toro circles around Shane Jackson and checks on Cort Vang, dropping to his belly and asking Cort if he would like to submit.

Ace:  This could be it ladies and gentlemen!  I don’t know how Cort Vang could take much more of this?!

Cort Vang continues to cry out in pain as Shane Jackson continues to wrench back on the legs.  El Toro checks once again with Cort Vang, but Cort shakes his head as the crowd buzzes, anticipating the end of the match.

Ace:  Cort Vang in a bad way right now.  He’s got to get to the ropes!  He’s just got to!

Cort Vang’s face twists into a grimace and Shane Jackson grits his teeth, pulling back on the legs with all his might.  El Toro checks with Cort but Cort shakes his head and then turns, biting Shane Jackson in the calf.

Ace:  He’s biting!

Shane Jackson keeps the hold but cries out in pain as Cort Vang locks in the bite.  Cort Vang bites down once more and Shane Jackson stumbles forward and reaches down to check his leg.

Ace:  Well a little unorthodox there with the bite, but it sure did work!  Cort Vang is free, and meanwhile Shane Jackson is checking for blood!

Shane raises his hand and looks at it, then turns to the crowd and curses before turning his head back to Cort Vang.  YOU FUCKER he screams, and Cort Vang actually smiles back at him and makes no attempt to block a boot to the face.

Ace:  Boot to the face by Shane Jackson!

Shane rises up after the boot and and then stomps Cort Vang on the mat in the head several times.  Shane Jackson then bends over and curses Cort Vang before grabbing him by the head and bringing him to his feet.  Shane Jackson then throws Cort Vang into the ropes, where Jason Cruz has jumped up on the apron.

Ace:  God damn it Toro!  Get that bastard out of here!  Look out Cort!

Cort reaches the ropes and lariats Jason Cruz off the apron and to the grass.  The frat fucks let out a giant cheer as Jason Cruz lands at their feet.  One of them takes their beer and turns it over, draining the last of its contents onto Jason Cruz’s face.  The crowd lets out a drunken laugh and Jason Cruz claws at the sky, trying to prevent as much beer as possible from getting on his face.

Ace:  A beer bath for Jason Cruz courtesy of the Omega Omega pledges!  Suck it rich boy!

Cort Vang rests on the top rope and Shane Jackson charges him.  As Shane reaches him Cort Vang bends at the waist and then raises up, sending Shane Jackson over the rope and onto Jason Cruz.  The crowd lets out another drunken pop.

Ace:  Cort Vang just back body dropped Shane Jackson over the top rope into Jason Cruz.  Cash met Money with that affair!

The crowd continues to cheer as Cort Vang slowly gets to his feet, using the ropes to pull himself upward.  Cort Vang makes his way to the center of the ring toward the fallen team of Cash Money but then turns around and takes off toward the ropes opposite of them.

Ace:  Cort Vang about to. . .

Cort Vang hits the ropes and bounces off toward the ropes on the other side of the ring.  As he reaches the ropes he dives through the top and middle ropes, landing on Jason Cruz and Shane Jackson, who were both in the process of getting up.  The frat boys let out another drunken cheer, many of them staring straight into the camera, as the three men lay sprawled out amongst them.

Ace:  SUICIDE DIVE!  Suicide Dive by Cort Vang!  I don’t think we’ve ever seen anything like that from him—this tournament is bringing everything out of these two competitors!

El Toro starts up the count. . . Uno!. . . . The frat fuckers look down at the man around them, many drinking beer and buzzing about how fucking awesome that last move was.  Dos!. . .  Cort Vang looks around from the grass, seeing nothing but a bunch of mouth breathers standing over him, while Shane Jackson tries to lift his upper body from the grass, making tough work of it.

Ace:  It would be a shame for this tournament match to end in a double count out.  Come on fellas, get the hell up!

Tres!  Cort Vang sits up, breathing heavy and grabbing his head, as Shane Jackson starts to crawl his way over toward the ring.  Cuatro!  Cort Vang bends over and uses his arms to push himself up, as Shane Jackson reaches closer to the ring. 

Ace:  Come on. . . come on. . .

Cinco!  Cort Vang makes his way over to Shane Jackson, and brings him to his feet, grabbing a head full of hair.  Cort then directs Shane’s head to the ring apron and slams it down once on the apron, before shoving him in the ring.

Ace:  Cort rams Shane’s head into the ring apron, Shane into the ring now, as Toro keeps counting away. . .  These guys are fighting tooth and nail here tonight!

Seis!  Cort Vang slides into the ring and makes his way over to Shane Jackson.  Cort Vang then bends at the waist and grabs Shane Jackson by the hair, pulling upward, forcing Shane Jackson to his feet.  Cort Vang then bends over and grabs Shane Jackson, placing him on his shoulders.  Cort Vang straightens up, taking a moment catch his breath before he grabs one of Shanes legs and cradles Shane’s head as he falls to the side.  Shane lands head/neck first on the mat and the frat boys let out a drunken pop so loud you would think some chick just flashed them her tits.

Ace:  Argentine Brainbuster!  What a move by Cort Vang!  Shane Jackson is down and out—all Cort Vang needs to do now is get over to Shane for the pin.  But can he do it?!

The crowd slowly quiets down to a low drone as Cort Vang slowly crawls his way over to Shane Jackson, falling on top of him, too tired to hook the leg.  El Toro slides down to the mat and goes for the count.

Ace:  He’s got the pin!  1. . . 2. . . NO!  NO!  NO!  Shane Jackson has gotten a shoulder up!  I don’t believe it!

The crowd buzzes after the near fallen, letting out their combined disappointment with an OHHHHHH.  El Toro rises up to his feet and emphatically extends an arm up into the air, signaling the 2 count.

Ace:  It was so close—but only a 2 count.  Shane Jackson still has life here ladies and gentlemen. . . he’s still got a chance!

Cort Vang rises up on his knees and looks to Toro and shakes his head in disbelief.  He then gets to his feet and makes his way over to Shane Jackson, and brings him to his feet.  Amazingly, Shane Jackson rises with a kick to the gut, causing Cort Vang to bend at the waist.    Shane Jackson then hooks Cort Vang under the arm and grabs one his free arm and turns his hips to the left then swings through to the right, bringing Cort Vang down to the mat across his shoulder.

Ace:  Swinging neckbreaker by Shane Jackson on Cort Vang!  I can’t believe these two are still going at it.

Shane Jackson then gets to his feet, but quickly drops down to one knee.  He breathes heavily, bent over for a moment, an arm stretch out and propped up against the mat to keep him from falling over.  Shane Jackson then rises up to his feet, still breathing heavily, but nonetheless he lets out a CASH MONEY and the frat fucks boo.

Ace:  I can smell the booze all over this place.  Or maybe it’s just Wolf.  In any case this place reeks like a sweaty bum’s nut sack.  I can’t stand it.  I aint against drinking but this is just too much ladies and gentlemen!  The binge drinking here is tremendous!

Shane Jackson stumbles his way over to Cort Vang, as the frat fucks keep up with their booing.  Shane Jackson turns them to yell AWW SHUT UP, which only makes them boo even louder.  Shane Jackson then bends at the waist and grabs Cort Vang around the head, bringing him to his feet.

Ace:  Shane Jackson bringing Cort to his feet. . . why?  Why to send  him back to the mat of course.

Shane Jackson reaches back with a right and throws it, connecting with the jaw of Cort Vang.  Cort Vang rocks back from the blow, and Shane Jackson throws yet another.

Ace:  Series of rights here by Shane Jackson.

Shane Jackson then kicks Cort Vang in the gut, causing him to bend over at the waist.  Shane Jackson hooks Cort Vang’s head under his arm and then uses his free arm to take the arm of Cort Vang and drape it over his shoulder.  Shane Jackson looks around at the frat kids and smiles.

Ace:  Shane Jackson going for the suplex here. . .

Shane Jackson grabs Cort Vang’s tights and lifts him up into the air, but Cort Vang only gets half way up in the air before he starts kicking his feet and forcing his weight in the opposite direction.  Cort Vang lands on the mat feet first and then lifts Shane Jackson up and over before hooking the head and falling to the mat in the seated position, bringing Shane Jackson’s chin down across his shoulder.  Shane Jackson falls backward his chin jutting out as he falls through the air and hits the mat flat on his back.  The crowd pops.

Ace:  Death is Welcome!  Death is Welcome!

Cort Vang crawls over to Shane Jackson, the frat fucks still cheering with raised beers.  Cort Vang reaches Shane and flops over him, El Toro sliding to the mat a split second after.

Ace:  Here we go!  1!. . . 2!. . . 3!!!  Cort Vang has done it!

The bell rings and the crowd continues to cheer as Cort Vang gets up to his knees, breathing heavily.  He raises his arms and El Toro gets up and holds one of them, pointing to him and signaling him the winner.

Ace:  Cort Vang has beaten Shane Jackson!  And he advances to the next round.

Cort Vang celebrates the ring as Jason Cruz climbs in behind him and charges him, knocking him to the mat.  Cort falls face first on the mat and the crowd resorts to boos as Jason Cruz stomps him on the mat.

Ace:  Jason Cruz with a vicious attack from behind!  Damn the little worm!  Damn him!

Jason Cruz continues to stomp Cort Vang as the frat fucks resort to throwing empty beer cups into the ring, the red cups showering down in the ring all around Jason Cruz and Cort Vang.  Jason Cruz looks up for a moment and curses the crowd before returning to his stomping.

Ace:  My God this is a mugging!  Anarchy truly is here in The Row everyone.  No one is safe!

Satisfied with his stomping Jason Cruz stops and makes his way over to Shane Jackson, who still sells the Death is Welcome.  Jason Cruz reaches Shane Jackson and pulls him up to his feet.

Ace:  Stick around, we’ve got IM Hate versus, Rupture. . . NEXT!

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Fuck What He Said!

Moments before the main event, Jason finds Ian fully dressed ready for action awaiting for his music to play.  Jason walks up to Ian a bit confused.

Jason: I thought you were unable to compete tonight man?  Did you just tell me about an hour ago that your doctor refused to clear you?

Ian ignores him, not even so much as giving him a glance.

Jason: Ian, don't act like you do not hear me.  If you go out there and get hurt, it may destroy everything we have set out to do!

Ian turns to Jason and grabs him by his shirt.

Ian Michaels: And if I do not compete, it may destroy everything we have started.  Fuck what a doctor says.  They go by numbers and odds, and BEST INTEREST!  No one knows my body and my limits better than me.  Tonight, I make Rapture a stepping stone to the title and by the end of it all.  Anarchy will showcase supreme rule over The Row!

Ian releases the shirt as Jason looks at him and nods.

Jason: As long as you think you can do this, that is all I need to hear!

Ian Michaels: No thinking needed... I KNOW!  Make sure everything comes down the way we want it!

Jason: No doubt bro!  NO DOUBT!

Jason and Ian slap hands as Jason heads off leaving Ian there waiting for his music.

la parte trasera perforadora

The frat party is in full effect, and Seth Stratton stands before a large mounted rocket of some sort. Stenciled into the side are the words ‘la parte trasera perforadora’, and he’s holding a large Survivor style torch.


Seth: Friends, neighbors. You’re all here to celebrate. To celebrate my success.

The crowd of drunken collegians cheer.

Seth: And as a grand finale, I give you this fireworks extravaganza. I smuggled this thing over the border a few months ago, and I’ve been itching to set it off. The guy in Jaurez who sold it to me called it ‘The Ass Puncher’. I have no idea what that means, but I’m excited to find out. Before we light it, though, perhaps a song?

One frat boy steps up.

Frat guy: I can sing ‘You’re the Best’ by Joe Esposito on the Karaoke machine.

Seth: Jesus christ, do I look like a queer to you? No. Does that machine have any Journey?

Sorority girl: Whose Journey?

Seth: I loathe you. Anyway, fuck it. Here we go. In Five.. Four.. Three.. Two..

Seth lights the fuse.

Frat guy: Should we be lighting this indoors?

Right after he finishes his statement, the rocket goes off. It hits the roof of the frat house and explodes, showering everyone in sparks.

Seth: Epic. My god, I bring a lot to a party.

Frat guy: Does anyone else smell burning?

Seth: No, you’re probably just having an aneurysm from all the awesome vibes.

Sorority girl: I smell smoke.

Seth: That’s just Mariguano, I saw him around earlier. Stop worrying. Who wants to touch the belt?

A crowd of frat douches surround Seth, each eager to caress the strap.

Seth: I am a golden god.

Smoke surreptitiously fills the room as the camera fades.

IM Hate vs. Rupture

Ace:  Seth Stratton has set off some fireworks!  Now there's a real show!  The Row brings it all ladies and gentlemen... beer, women, wrestling. . .  and fireworks for the kiddies too!

We cut to Tommy Ace, sitting at the commentator’s table next to Waylon Wolf.  He sips some beer from a red cup and then regards Waylon with a look of disdain.  Waylon snoozes away as Tommy Ace looks to the camera, trying to ignore all the drunken frats behind the camera man.

Ace:  Well Waylon Wolf is passed out, and these frat boys are dangerously drunk—that can mean only one things folks, that it is finally time for our Main Event!  More tournament action coming up for you all with—

Binge and Purge begins to play over the stolen audio system laid out in the grass.  The drunken frats let out a cheer—as at this point they are so drunk they are willing to cheer anything. 

Ace:  That’s, that’s the boss’ music!

Dark appears in the frame, staggering across the lawn toward the commentator’s table.

Ace:  Well here he comes, The Boss. . . Who’s been through a lot of shit tonight and looks none too happy. . . How the hell did he get out of that port-a-potty anyway?  I’m sure he’s out here to watch IM Hate compete tonight—maybe just kick his ass.  We saw Cash Money out here a half hour ago, but it appears they’ve been busy the rest of the show as well, taking out Tha Krew and probably Johnny Cox too.

Dark curses to himself profusely, and he seems to be covered in what looks like mud.  From the look on Ace’s face as he gets a whiff of the stuff, we can immediately decipher that it’s not mud. . .

Ace:  He’s covered in shit!  The Boss is covered in shit!  Anarchy literally put Dark in the shit tonight!

Dark bumps up against the table and slides around next to Ace with a scowl on his face.  He puts the headset on his head, and Ace, ever the ass kisser, is unable to make comment about the smell.

Ace:  Hey—uh. . .

Dark:  That son-of-a-bitch!  That son-of-a-bitch!  None of you bastards came to help me either. . . What the hell is up with that?

Ace:  I had a show to do. . . Wolf is drunk. . .

Ace says weakly, as he tugs at his coat around the neck.  He suddenly finds it too hot.

Ace:  How’d you get out of that thing anyway?

Dark shudders noticeably.

Dark:  It was like a scene out of Shawshank Redemption. . . I had to crawl my way through some shit to freedom. . .

Ace:  You. . .

Dark:  Yep. . .

Dark says dazed, almost like he can’t believe it himself.

Dark:  Crawled through some shit. 

Ace:  Excuse me. . .

Ace pukes as Escape the Fate – There’s No Sympathy For the Dead begins to play over the stolen audio system on the grass.  The camera quickly cuts to the back door of the Omega Omega House.  There seems to be smoke emitting from the roof, but strangely no one seems worried about it.

Ace:  Well Mariguano must be up in the attic, blazing away.

Dark:  Mariguano puts Cheech and Chong to shame.  This kid smokes weed like none other.

Rupture appears in the doorway of the Omega Omega house.  He stops and gazes out over the frat fucks for a moment before he charges out onto the grass, Schism in pursuit.

Ace:  Well here he comes ladies and gentlemen, Rupture along with Schism—known together as Facture.  Rupture of course was in that handicap match against Seth Stratton for the Death Row title, and though he lost that night, he’s got another opportunity to possibly earn another shot against IM Hate tonight.

Dark:  You know Ace, you disappoint me.  For a guy who kisses the boss’ ass all the time, you sure aren’t around when you’re really needed.  I ought to kick your ass.

Ace:  Please don’t. . . I’ve got. . . a pretty face!

The frat fucks around the ring part for Rupture and Schism.  Schism jumps into the ring over the bottom rope and rolls to his feet while Rupture slides in and runs the ropes a couple of times.  Rupture jumps onto the middle rope and Schism climbs the corner, and the two pose simultaneously.  Schism jumps out of the corner, performing a back flip off the top into the ring.  He lands on his feet and Rupture unceremoniously hops down from the middle rope.

Ace:  Well here they are, Fracture ladies and gentlemen—but it is Rupture who is in action tonight, not Schism.  He’ll have to wrestle IM Hate all on his lonesome—but lucky for him IM Hate still seems injured after last week.

Dark:  Serves the fucker right.  I’m going to get him back Ace.  Of that I can guarantee you.  Anarchy is going to die before it ever flowers, because nothing can grow on hate alone.

The beat of Am I Psycho by Tech N9ne begins to play, and the crowd, well into drunkenness begins to boo quite incoherently.  One would think booing incoherently to be quite impossible, but these ‘future leaders of America’ somehow manage it.

We cut to the commentators table, where Tommy Ace sits looking at Dark.  Dark lowers his head, a cigar in his mouth smoking away.

Ace:  Am I Psycho starting up now, signaling the arrival of one man, IM Hate.

Dark looks up at the camera.

Dark:  This bitch has been ducking me all show.  He’s been slowly dismantling my staff, and now he’s got to face me.

Ace:  You going for him now?  I was hoping—

Dark takes the cigar from his mouth and shakes his head.

Dark:  No, no.  Let him tire himself out first.  Don’t you worry Ace.  I’m not going anywhere:  I like you too.

Dark smiles: phony.

Ace:  Really?! 

Dark:  No.

We cut back to the back door of the Omega Omega House.  The doorway remains empty for a moment, as the music and the booing frat boys add to the scene, and then IM Hate appears in the open doorway, his right shoulder taped all the way down to the bicep.  He looks out on the frat boys and scowls.

Ace:  Wow, that actually looks serious Dark.

Dark:  That isn’t my problem.  IM Hate had to start a whole mess of bullshit last Lethal Injection.  I didn’t ask him to do it, you didn’t—no one did.  And sometimes Ace, you’ve just got to put an ass in his place.

Ace:  I understand completely.

Dark:  So you won’t mind when I do this. . .

Dark slaps Tommy Ace, the sound so loud it’s picked up over the commentator’s headset.  Meanwhile IM Hate steps out onto the grass and walks gingerly toward the ring, the frat fucks drunkenly falling all over themselves to sling insults at IM Hate.  Being unknowledgeable about Samoa they simply say things like FUCK SAMOANS and SAMOA SUCKS. 

Ace:  I don’t know if IM Hate is going to be able to participate tonight in this match.  I don’t think he’ll be advancing in this tournament!

IM Hate spits at the remarks, and gives each man a look of death as they part to allow him access to the ring.  IM Hate breathes in quick sharp breaths, almost as if his ribs are still paining him, making breathing difficult.

Dark:  What. . . and you don’t think I planned it that way?  IM Hate needs to realize the sooner he learns to play nice, the smoother everything will go for him.

IM Hate reaches the steel steps and climbs them slowly, reaching the ring post and swinging out onto the apron.

Ace:  Something tells me he’s not going to be doing that anytime soon.

IM Hate walks to the center of the apron and then steps into the ring.

Dark:  Something tells me you’re right.

The frat boys buzz drunkenly as IM Hate comes face to face with Rupture.  The two exchange words, IM Hate nodding in agreement with his own arguments.  Rupture takes it all in and his mask moves, hinting that perhaps he is talking too—or maybe chewing some gum.

Ace:  Come on sugar!

The crowd erupts into cheers and whistles and Charlene saunters her way to the ring and up the steel steps.  She reaches the apron and walks to its center before entering the ring under the middle rope.  She straightens up after entering the ring, pulls down her skirt (as it had ridden up upon climbing over the bottom rope) and raises the microphone to her lips.  She smiles, seductively.

Charlene:  Gentlemen and Gentlemen. . . and more Gentlemen. . . oh and that one girl there. . . Yeah hi bitch. . . The following match is your mainnnn event!

The crowd pops as Charlene jiggles her titties for the crowd.  She then looks to IM Hate and pushes him back a bit as she feels he’s ruining her spotlight.

Ace:  Look out Charlene!  Don’t touch that man!

IM Hate scowls at her, but she pouts her lips and blinks rapidly, doing her best to act like an innocent little girl.  Hate ignores her, and returns his gaze to the eyeless mask of Rupture.

Dark:  If he touched her, there would be a riot.

Charlene:  The following contest is a tournament match, has a forty five minute time limit, and will be for one fall!  Introducing first my honeys. . . from Albu—umm. . . Albu--. . . Albu—someplace, New Mexico, weighing in at one hundred and eighty five pounds, Ruptureeee!

Rupture backs away from IM Hate and then turns to face the frat fuckers and raises his arms.  The let out a mild pop as Rupture turns back to face IM Hate.

Ace:  Who do you like in this one, Dark?

Dark:  The fans.  They win in this one. 

Ace:  Well aint that the truth!

Charlene:  And his opponent. . . From

IM Hate roars out his hatred and the frat fucks boo him, boo him mercilessly, their courage well upon them floating up on a ton of booze.  IM Hate then looks to Rupture and Charlene saunters out of the ring, picking up two or three customers before she leaves the scene.  El Toro goes over the rules briefly and the raises up an arm, signaling the bell.

Ace:  And we’re under way!

Dark:  I wanna see if IM Hate has got it in him to succeed here despite his injuries.  He’s been full of talk up to this point if you ask me, and if he toughs it out here tonight, all that talk will be backed up with proof.

Both men circle around the ring, IM Hate slinging insults at Rupture as he stalks about the ring, eyeing his opponent.  The two men then clash in the center of the ring with a front lock up, and though the pain comes to IM Hate's shoulder, it's minimal enough for him to ignore.

Ace:  Lock up here. . .

Dark:  Fuck Hatred kids, learn to love.

IM Hate then rises up with a kick, causing Rupture to bend at the waist.  IM Hate then steps back, measuring up a left.  He brings the fist forward, connecting clean with the head of Rupture, the force of the blow knocking him clean to the mat.

Ace:  Hard left by IM Hate!

Dark:  Notice he's trying not to use his right.  It's hurting him more then he would like to let on.

Ace:  Good point there, Boss.

Rupture gets to his feet quickly and IM Hate is ready for him with another left.  He measure up the left and brings his fist forward, clocking Rupture square in the jaw and again knocking him clean to the mat.

Ace:  Another hard left!

Rupture gets to his feet quickly and IM Hate bends down and hooks Rupture between the legs and lifts him up and over, slamming him down to the mat.

Ace:  Power slam by IM Hate!

The lift brings a bolt of pain up IM Hate's arm and he cries out in pain.  Rupture gets to his feet and IM Hate curses Rupture before reaches back to throw a right.  The fist comes forward and Rupture blocks it, raising an arm vertically to prevent the blow from hitting his head.  Rupture then turns his arm, grabbing IM Hate by the wrist and he turns his back to IM Hate and brings the arm down across his shoulder.

Ace:  Armbreaker by Rupture!  And he’s definitely already attacking IM Hate’s persisting injuries.

Dark:  That’s what I would do.  I’m going to love this match if the rest of it follows suit.  Eat shit Ian.

Ace:  Speaking of shit, did you ever think to hose off?

Dark:  I was in the midst of methane delirium.  Leave me alone.

IM Hate sells the injured arm, screaming out in pain and reaching up with his good arm to cradle his injured arm up against his body.  IM Hate turns and backs away from Rupture, his face contorted into pain, and the doctor’s face flashes in his head ‘YOU’RE NOT CLEARED TO WRESTLE.’ 

Ace:  IM Hate in obvious pain here ladies and gentlemen, his injuries as severe as the doctors warned.

Dark:  IM Hate is an idiot.  He’s trying to destroy The Row, and meanwhile he’s slowly destroying himself in the process. 

Rupture follows in pursuit of IM Hate and meets him in the corner, where IM Hate still sells his injures.  Rupture grabs IM Hate by the right arm and lifts it up before jerking it violently down, causing a shriek of pain to erupt from IM Hate.

Ace:  Rupture continuing to work the arm here ladies and gentlemen!

Dark:  That’s it, leave a one armed wrestler to finish off Rupture.  In fact I’ll even give you a bonus!

IM Hate stumbles out of the corner of the ring, grabbing his right arm with his left, and as he passes Rupture, Rupture grabs him around the head and slams him to the mat.  IM Hate cries out in pain, and tries to sit up, but the pain in his ribs burns through his chest.

Dark:  Like that mother fucker?  Huh—do you like that?  That pain you’re feeling is The Row.

Ace:  I know I personally love The Row!

Dark:  Oh yeah?  Then I aint doing my job properly, gimme that chair of yours.

IM Hate sells on the mat and Rupture makes his way over to him and bends over at the waist, grabbing IM Hate’s right arm and then lifting himself up in the air and coming down with a knee on the arm of IM Hate.  IM Hate lets out a cry of pain coupled with a few curses SHIT-MOTHERFUCKER.

Ace:  You can’t be serious. . .

Dark:  I’m serious.  Give me your chair, you’re standing from now on.

Ace:  Aww. . . shit.

Rupture keeps his weight on the arm of IM Hate, one knee pressed up against the elbow, the other against the bicep.  IM Hate screams out as Rupture grabs the arm and pulls upward against his knees.  El Toro bends at the waist and checks on IM Hate, and in response IM Hate grabs him by the horn and pushes him out of the way.  The crowd laughs as IM Hate continues to writhe under the knifing pain in his shoulder.

Ace:  IM Hate taking a little of his frustration on little El Toro here.

Dark:  I’m definitely going to kill him now—I don’t give a shit.  Nobody fucks with Toro!

Ace:  What is it with you two, you guys. . . close?

El Toro returns to IM Hate and snorts in his face, as Rupture continues to pin IM Hate to the mat, his weight all on IM Hate’s shoulder and upper arm.  IM Hate kicks his feet.

Dark:  Take off your shoes. 

Ace:  Aww—no I was kidding. . .

Dark:  And the socks. . .

IM Hate screams out in pain YOU FUCKER and kicks his feet as Rupture rises up again and comes down with both knees on the arm of IM Hate.  IM Hate screams out and El Toro checks with him, only to get spit in the face, courtesy of IM Hate.

Ace:  IM Hate is spitting now!

Dark:  The fucking camel.  He’s not even Samoan.  I’m telling you.  Michaels sound Samoan to you?  Fuck no.

Rupture gets to his feet then, keeping his hold on IM Hate’s arm.  He tugs upward on the arm and IM Hate cries out in pain and slowly gets to his feet.  IM Hate rises up and uses his free arm to strike the hand of Rupture causing him to release his hold on the wrist.

Ace:  IM Hate is free!

IM Hate then throws a right, knocking Rupture back with the blow, but the force of the shock shoots up his arm and into his shoulder, causing IM Hate to cry out in pain.

Dark:  Dumb ass.

Ace:  I guess he forgot!  But how could you forget such a thing?

Dark:  Because he’s a dumb ass.

IM Hate turns from Rupture and with his free hand cradles his shoulder, and Rupture shakes off the two rights and follows in pursuit of IM Hate.  He reaches Hate and spins him around, facing him.  Rupture then hooks IM Hate by the arm and pulls him up and over to the mat.

Ace:  Arm drag by Facture, using the injured arm!

IM Hate quickly gets to his feet and charges Rupture, and Rupture hooks him by the right arm again and pulls him up and over to the mat.  The frat fucks pop as IM Hate sells on the mat, cradling his shoulder.

Ace:  Rupture linking together those arm drags!

Rupture makes his way over to IM Hate and drops to the mat, grabbing IM Hate’s injured arm and extending it backward through his legs.

Ace:  Arm bar by Rupture on that injured arm of IM Hate.

Dark:  That’s good Rupture.  That’s good.  Rip that fucking thing off!

IM Hate cries out in pain as Rupture wrenches the arm.  The frat fucks cheer IM Hate’s pain as El Toro circles around the two and drops to the mat, checking on IM Hate.  IM Hate shakes his head refusing to submit.

Ace:  IM Hate in a lot of pain here—but he doesn’t seem to want to submit.

Dark:  He wants that Death Row title.  He’s going to go through Hell to get it—and I’m gonna try my best to ensure he does go through Hell.

IM Hate kicks his feet and manages to slide a bit to the side of Rupture, and using his legs he kicks toward the ropes.  Rupture continues to wrench on the arm, shaking his head at IM Hate trying to slip away.  El Toro checks on IM Hate for a final time, and still he receives no answer.  IM Hate slides a little, closer to the ropes and throws out a leg and drapes it across the bottom rope.

Ace:  IM Hate has reached the ropes!

Dark:  The bastard. . .

El Toro notices the leg draped over the bottom rope and informs Rupture of the rope break.  Rupture keeps his hold and El Toro starts up the count.  Uno. . . Dos. . . Tres. . . Rupture breaks the hold and IM Hate quickly takes the arm and pulls it toward himself on the mat as Rupture rolls backwards to his feet.

Ace:  IM Hate free from the arm bar.

IM Hate sells the injured shoulder on the mat as moves toward him, standing over him.  Rupture then turns his back to IM Hate and jumps backwards up into the air, landing on IM Hate.

Ace:  Standing moonsault by Rupture on IM Hate!

Rupture lays on IM Hate and hooks the leg, pinning him to the mat.  El Toro slides to the mat a second after, going for the count.

Ace:  We've got a pin here!  1. . 2--no.  Kick out by IM Hate.

Dark:  Thank God for that.  Now Rupture gets to punish him anymore. . . Hate is fighting with fucked up ribs and a rapidly degrading shoulder.  If I were him I'd laid down to fight another day--but IM Hate doesn't think that way.  In fact--I believe he doesn't think at all.

El Toro raises an arm and signals the two count as the crowd dies down after the near pin fall.  Rupture gets to his feet and makes his way over to IM Hate, and rolls him onto his stomach.  Rupture then stands on the back of Hate's knees/thighs and locks Hate's ankle behind his legs.  Rupture then grabs both of Hate's arms, pulling back he sits down and rolls onto his back, lifting Hate up off the ground.

Ace:  Surfboard by Rupture!

Rupture pulls back on IM Hate's arms and IM Hate cries out with pain, his head shaking back and forth.  El Toro checks with IM Hate but IM Hate ignores El Toro and cries out in pain as Rupture pulls again on the arms.

Ace:  Rupture certainly put on a showing here ladies and gentlemen. 

Dark: Yeah he's worked Hate down to the mat and he's kept him there.  Of course the existing injures have helped a lot too.

El Toro continues to circle around the two as the frat boys in their drunkeness start up a pointless chant.  WE WANT PUSSY clap-clap-clapclapclap WE WANT PUSSY clap-clap-clapclapclap WE WANT PUSSY clap-clap-clapclap

Dark:  Ace they're calling for you. . . they want a pussy.

Ace:  Respectfully, I don't think that's what they mean Dark. . . Can I have my shoes back?

WE WANT PUSSY clap-clap-clapclapclap WE WANT PUSSY clap-clap-clapclapclap.   Rupture releases the hold, throwing IM Hate to the mat.

Dark:  No.

WE WANT PUSSY clap-clap-clapclapclap WE WANT PUSSY clap-clap-clapclapclap.  IM Hate sells the surfboard on the mat, his face contorted with pain and his free arm reaching up toward his injured shoulder/arm.  Rupture makes his way over to him, and bends at the waist, bringing him to his feet.

Ace:  My chair?

Dark:  No.

IM Hate reaches his feet with the aid of Rupture, still selling his bad arm.  Rupture grabs the arm in question and pulls on it, in an attempt to toss IM Hate into the ropes.

Ace:  Irish whip--no!  Reversal.

IM Hate reverses the Irish whip, sending Rupture into the ropes instead.  IM Hate immediately grabs his shoulder after the whip, and Rupture hits the ropes, bouncing off and returning to the ring.  IM Hate goes for the lariat with his left arm, but Rupture ducks.

Ace:  Rupture into the ropes, yet again.

Rupture hits the ropes on the other side of the ring and returns to the center of the ring, where IM Hate kicks him in the gut and then hooks his head with his left arm, bringing him head first to the mat.

Ace:  DDT by IM Hate!  He's finally gotten off some offense!

The crowd drunkenly pops at the DDT, while those who utterly hate IM Hate start to boo.  IM Hate sells his bad arm on the mat as Rupture sells the DDT, grabbing his head while laying on his mat.  El Toro rushes over to Rupture and checks on him.

Ace:  What  a DDT by IM Hate.  He brought Rupture head first to the mat!

Dark:  Yeah it was just a DDT.  No need to get excited Ace.

IM Hate slowly gets to his feet, using his good arm to get to the ropes.  Rupture gets to his feet soon after and charges IM Hate and throws a right.  The blow connects as IM Hate has no real way of blocking it.

Ace:  IM Hate is wrestling one handed here now folks!  He's definitely in a bad way here.

Dark:  Rupture needs to keep working that right.  IM Hate has no way of blocking it.

Rupture throws another right  and then hops up, hooking IM Hate around the head.  Rupture starts to go down for the hurricanrana but IM Hate holds him and then pulls him back up before snapping him down violently to the mat.

Ace:  Powerbomb reversal by IM Hate!

The crow pops as Rupture folds up on the mat and sells the powerbomb.  IM Hate stumbles backward into the corner, crumbling his bad arm.  He grimaces from the pain in his shoulder and then makes his way over to Rupture, who still sells on the mat.  IM Hate reaches Rupture and stomps him, once, twice, three times.

Ace:  Well he's only got one arm, but he's still got two feet!

Dark:  Seems to me like Hate has been doing a lot of this tonight.  Stomping people that are already down.  Mother fucker ought to fight a real man for once, and not attack from behind like a little bitch.  But I doubt he's capable of fairness.  The coward.

IM Hate stops his stomping, content he's fucked Rupture up enough and then looks up toward the commentator's table and sees Dark.  He makes his way over to the ropes and starts cursing Dark, leaning over the top rope so he can get close enough for him.  His insults are washed up in the boos of the frats.

Dark:  What's the douche saying now?

Ace:  I don't know, I can't make it out.

Wee IM Hate mouthing words. . .

Dark:  I'm a homosexual. . . I can't go five minutes without a dick in my ass.

Dark imitates IM Hate, adding a voice to IM Hate's mouthing.

Ace:  Ha ha--hey that's pretty good!  You sound just like him!

Rupture slowly gets to his feet in the ring, and IM Hate turns around just and Rupture rises to his feet, turning and hitting IM Hate in the head with the heel of his boot.  The shot rings out through the air and the crowd lets out a huge drunken pop.

Ace:  Heel kick by Rupture!

Dark:  Serves Ian right.  Talking shit to me will get you kicked in the face.  Remember that everyone.

Rupture crawls over to IM Hate and hooks the leg, going for the pin.  The frat fucks buzz as El Toro hits the mat to go for the count.

Ace:  We've got a pin!  This could be it!  1. . . 2. . . NO!  Kick out!

Dark:  God damn it!  I'd love to see IM Hate lose here tonight.

Ace:  I'm sure you're not the only one.

The crowd dies down as Rupture gets up to his feet and checks the count with El Toro.  El Toro raises his arm and signals the two count, and disgusted Rupture turns to IM Hate and comes down with an elbow across the chest of IM Hate.

Ace:  Elbow drop by Rupture!

Rupture the gets to his feet and takes off toward the ropes.  He hits the ropes and returns, rolling on the mat before jumping up into the air and coming down with a leg drop across the throat of IM Hate.

Ace:  Leg drop by Rupture!

Dark:  IM Hate is in pain here ladies and gentlemen.  Look at Ian's face.  That's the look of pain.  And I'm loving every damn second of it.  God bless The Row.

IM Hate sells the leg drop, and Rupture gets to his feet and makes his way to the corner.  El Toro checks briefly with IM Hate as Rupture grabs the top rope and pulls himself up to the top rope. 

Ace:  Rupture going to the top rope now!  High risk!

Rupture straightens himself up on the top rope, getting to the standing position.  He measures up IM Hate on the mat before leaping off.  Rupture comes down and hits nothing but mat as IM Hate rolls out of the way.

Ace:  And Rupture comes up empty!

Dark:  Fuck!

Ace:  IM Hate had enough to roll out of that one ladies and gentlemen!

El Toro looks around and sees both men on the mat and starts up the count.  Uno. . . both men sell on the mat, slow to get up and breathing heavily.  Dos. . . Rupture makes motions like he's trying to turn over on to his stomach, but can't seem to do it.  Tres. . . IM Hate crawls his way over to the ropes, making slow work of it due to only having one arm.

Ace:  Both men slow to get up here, and we're back to square one!

Dark:  Great. . . just great.

Cuatro. . . IM Hate grabs the middle rope and pulls himself up, dropping to one knee, as Rupture rolls onto his belly.  Cinco. . . IM Hate pulls himself to his feet and Rupture hops to his feet and they meet in the center of the ring, exchanging blows.

Ace:  Both men up and fighting now!

IM Hate throws a left, rocking Rupture back with the blow and Rupture returns with a right.  IM Hate throws another left and the crowd boos.  Rupture returns with a right and the crowd cheers.  Left BOO right CHEER left BOO right CHEER left BOO right CHEER left BOO left BOO left BOO. . . The boos start to rain out, overcoming the cheers as IM Hate gains the upper hand, throwing repeated lefts.

Ace:  IM Hate wailing now on Rupture!

Hate continues to throw lefts and Rupture takes all of them, out but on his feet, standing there rocking back on his heels.  Hate then charges the ropes and as he returns to the still stunned Rupture he brings out his left arm and forces it forward over the throat of Rupture, forcing him to the mat.

Ace:  Lariat by Hate after unleashing all those lefts!  He's fighting one handed and doing quite well with what he's got!

Dark:  If he were in there with a real fighter, say, maybe myself for instance. . . it'd be a different story.  IM Hate would be bashed up and bleeding right now.  More bashed up than he already is right now--don't get me wrong, Rupture is doing a fine job--I just could do better.

Ace:  You are a former Death Row Champ.

Dark:  And you are the biggest ass kisser in the Row. 

IM Hate sells his arm, injury slow to get to his feet, as Rupture sells the lariat, rolling around on the mat and grabbing his throat.

Ace:  Hey Dark?  Do you smell smoke?

Dark:  You smell it too?

The roof to the Omega Omega house suddenly caves in, and a jut of fire shoots out in the opening of the roof, licking the tiles that once so beautifully graced it's surface.

Ace:  HOLY SHIT! 

Dark:  Jesus-H. . .

Ace:  The Omega Omega House is on fire!

The smoke begins to thicken, billowing out in the clear air and producing a real heat that can be felt in the ring.  IM Hate looks to the fire and smiles, as this is exactly the sort of destruction he likes.  He doesn't love it, for IM Hate believes himself to be incapable of love--but he'll let him like something.  And he likes watching a house gut itself with fire.  Rupture sells on the mat, as the frat fucks turn and realize their beloved home if on fire.  Chapter President, Phillip Barnes freaks the fuck out, and screams his head off, running around as if the sky was falling.

Ace:  Shouldn't we do something?

Dark:  I'm a wrestler.  Not a fireman.  Are you a fireman?

Ace:  No but--

Dark:  Then we do nothing.

Rupture gets to his feet and forgets for a moment all about the match.  He gets to his feet and looks at the blaze, as the occupants of the home start to rush out.  Unseen, on the second floor, a troop of brave drunks are desperately trying to fight the fire with buckets of water taken from the sink--but are failing. 

Ace:  Jesus Christ--this fraternity will never be the same.

Dark:  Courtesy of The Row.  You're welcome.

IM Hate rushes Rupture and hooks him around the head with his good arm, forcing Rupture to bend backward.  IM Hate then falls forward to the mat, forcing Rupture down with him.

Ace:  And meanwhile the match is still on!  Reverse DDT by IM Hate!

IM Hate gets to his feet and then stands over Rupture.  He flips Rupture over onto his belly and then grabs both of his arms whilst placing his foot over the back of the head.  IM Hate then forces his foot down, forcing Rupture face first to the mat.

Ace:  Hate Crime!  Hate Crime!

Dark:  Aww shit. . .

IM Hate then drops and goes for the pin.  El Toro slides to the mat and goes for the count, as a few screams of terror erupt from the Omega Omega House.

Ace:  And we've got a pin!  1. . .

Dark:  No!

Ace:  2. . .

Dark:  Fuck no!

Ace:  3!!  He's done it!  IM Hate sneaks out a win!

Dark:  This is bullshit!  Rupture took his eyes off the damn prize!

The bell rings and the ring hand quickly books it out of the place, and El Toro bends at the waist and raises IM Hate's arm.  It's his bad arm, so IM Hate rips his arm away and kicks the midget away from him as the frat boys start to flee the scene.

Ace:  We've got pandimonium!

Dark:  Excuse me.

Dark drops his headset and charges the ring, making his way through the fleeing drunken frats.  Dark slides under the bottom rope and IM Hate is there to receive him.  Dark gets to his feet and IM Hate throws a left, connecting.  Dark rocks back from the blow and throws a right of his own, rocking IM Hate back.

Ace:  Dark and IM Hate exchanging blows!  They're ignoring this fire!  They want to fight one another and don't care if the world blows up all around them!

IM Hate throws another left, connecting, and Dark returns with a right of his own.  Having two arms Dark then throws a quick left, which connects.  Dark then links it with a right, then another, and then Dark reaches back far and swings with a hard right that knocks IM Hate clean to the mat.

Ace:  And IM Hate is down!

IM Hate rolls out of the ring and Dark taunts him, as Cash Money appears on the scene charging from the burning house.

Ace:  And here comes Cash Money!  They want a piece!

Shane Jackson slides into the ring first and he gets to his feet and Dark promptly sends him to the mat with a hard right.  Jason Cruz slides in just as Shane hits the mat and gets to his feet.  Dark turns and hits him with a hard right sending him to the mat.

Ace:  And Dark is holding his own against Cash Money!  He's all alone tonight!  Anarchy has taken out Johnny Cox and Tha Krew!  They planned this folks!  They planned all of it!

The fire throws shadows into the ring as Dark and Cash Money continue to go at it.  Shane Jackson gets to his feet and charges Dark and Dark lariats him to the mat.

Ace:  Lariat now by Dark!

Dark turns and reaches Jason Cruz as he gets to his feet and works him into the corner with lefts and rights.  Dark works his gut, throwing lefts and rights as Shane Jackson gets to his feet.

Ace:  Look out Boss!

Dark turns and greets Shane Jackson, showering him with lefts and rights.  But the numbers soon catch up with Dark and Jason Cruz hits Dark from behind, knocking him to the mat.

Ace:  Dark is down and now he's in a real bad way--with no one to help him!

Jason Cruz and Shane Jackson then start to stomp the shit out of Dark and IM Hate rolls back into the ring.  He laughs at Dark as Jason Cruz and Shane Jackson go to work.  IM Hate then directions Jason Cruz and Shane Jackson, and then nod.  Jason then grabs Dark by one arm, and Shane Jackson grabs Dark by the other arm. 

Ace:  Oh no. . . don't tell me. . . NO!  NO!

IM Hate makes his way over to Dark and lifts up his head and gets real close and starts talking shit to him.  We can't make out exactly what he is saying, but you can tell from the way he's talking his pissed.  He threatens Dark and Dark then spits in his face.

Ace:  WOAH!

IM Hate jumps back and reaches up and wipes the spit from his face.  He scowls and then stomps over to Dark and places his foot on the back of his head.  He screams out in hatred and then brings his foot down, forcing Dark face first into the mat.

Ace:  Three Man HATE CRIME!  NO!  Anarchy had taken out the boss!

The frat fucks continue to flee the scene, and we see Charlene rushing out of the house with her dress half on and a frat boy pulling up his pants right behind her.  IM Hate looks down at Dark and spits on him, and he and Cash Money leave the ring, acting as if they don't even see the ranging inferno behind him.

Ace:  Dark is out and he's not moving!

A large bellow of smoke comes from the house along with a loud explosion, as another firework finally goes off.  It throws oranges and blues and reds up in the sky, sparkling up there with the stars.

Ace:  Jesus Christ I've got to get out of here!

The cameraman zooms in on Dark, motionless in the ring, and then pans up to the fire.  He zooms in even more, and then we fade. . .

Burning Down the House

In the distance, the Omega Omega house is engulfed in dancing yellow flames. Smoke billows skyward, and also in every direction like a plume of sinister tule fog. Breaking through the smoke is Seth Stratton, the Death Row championship still strapped to his waist. He carries a girl on his shoulders and sprints toward the small grouping of students.

Seth: SAVE THE GIRLS! SAVE THE GIRLS!

He reaches the group and deposit’s the girl onto the grass. He breathes heavily.

Frat guy: Uh, Seth?

Seth: This is no time for questions, random frat boy! There are PEOPLE in there, just like this young lady!

He points to the girl.

Frat guy: Seth, that isn’t a girl.

Seth: So what? Transvestites deserve to live too!

Frat guy: No, it’s a Real Doll.

Seth: What?

Frat guy: A Real Doll. You know, a lifelike sex toy.

Seth reaches down and touches the skin of the doll.

Seth: Holy shit, this is a fuck doll? Where has this thing been all my life? You’re telling me all the hours I’ve spent trying to create simulated vaginas I could’ve been fucking one of these things? This is way better than the Pasta Plaything!

Frat guy: Yeah. Wait, what’s a Pasta Plaything?

Seth: It’s when you take a jar and fill it full of cooked spaghetti and melted butter. Then you place saran wrap over the top and make a small slit- you know, never mind.

The siren of a fire truck cuts through the night air. Seth whips his head around.

Seth: Hey, where’d all the Death Row people go? Where’s Dark?

Frat guy: Are you kidding? They all took off right after the main event. They’re gone. It’s a good thing you stayed though, someone’s gonna need to talk to the police about thi- HEY, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

Seth doesn’t respond. He’s already fifty yards away, running as fast as his nimble feet will take him. Is he running in the direction of The Row’s next venue? Maybe he is. Only one thing is for certain. He isn’t taking the rap on another arson charge. He throws both middle fingers in the air, directed at the crowd behind him, as the camera shot fades to black.


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