Renae Gutierrez, 25, mother of four, looks out on Main Street from the balcony of the second floor of the Santa Clarita Motel feeling more than a little helpless. She had been doing her rounds, changing the linens in each room when she had opened room 212 and had seen a sight she had never seen before. . . There in the room before her was a boy, standing with his pants around his ankles, bent over in an effort to pull said pants up, his cornhole winking at her, his balls hanging out there for all to see. At first she had thought some child was playing a trick on her—had perhaps heard the squealing wheels of her cart and decided to give her a nice show—but upon further inspection she had noticed the hairy ass—no child could possibly have had a hairy ass like that.
The man had turned, and she saw the horns. This man had been wearing some sort of a mask with large white horns sticking out of the top, and his shirt was striped black white, black white, black white all the way around. He had said nothing, and for a moment she had stared right back at him, confused as to what to do. She had not been certain he even exsisted—it was far too twisted and strange for her mind to comprehend at first. Her mind had worked overtime, putting the pieces together, and meanwhile the men had kept staring back, his balls dangling in between his legs.
Finally it had come to her.
She had issued an apology, and the little man had seemed unembarrassed by the whole ordeal, in fact seemed to enjoy it, making slow work of pulling up his pants. Matters had been made worse when from the bathroom came an ugly old man—a man covered from the waist up to the neck in tattoos, a mosaic of tattoos inked long ago and slowly beginning to lose all detail. The man had looked up, smiled and said ‘Wanna have a go?’ It had frightened her so much she stormed out of the room and closed the door.
She watches now. . . watching with eyes that see but will forever reflect the image of that midget bent over. . . his hairy ass. . . his balls. . . and that strange mask. . . as that same old man from before walks down the long driveway below her, crossing the parking lot and stopping at the street, where another man who seems to never wear a shirt waits for him. The old man looks around and she thinks to duck behind her cart but remembers that people hardly if ever see the help. People don’t ever see what they don’t want to see. The old man and the skinny man talk for a bit, and she takes great interest in his doings. . .
Dark: Alright, so hold that shit up high like this. Yeah like that.
Dark coughs bitterly and grabs his head. Ever since that Hate Crime his head has felt like a water balloon. Fluid on the brain? Maybe, but Dark doesn’t think too much about it. Best just to ignore that sort of thing and ride it out. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Can’t let the fuckers know I’m getting old. Can’t let them know that The Row is draining on me. . .
Dark: No no no, like this!
Shaking his head Dark grabs the sign and makes his way along the road and hops up and down like a real douche bag, and although it’s exactly like the way Johnny Cox had done it, Johnny nods. Dark then hands the sign viciously back to him, and Johnny Cox grabs it and begins to pick his teeth. Annoyed Dark swats him on the back of the head and motions for him to show him what he’s learned. Grudgingly Johnny treks out 10 yards along the side of the road, much like a child marching to some spot off in the distance for an insistent parent wanting to capture the moment with a photo and begins to wave the sign frantically in the air, clicking his heels and shouting like a murder victim for good measure.
Dark: That’s better. Now you stay out here.
Johnny: Can’t I—
Dark: You stay here.
Johnny: But what if Cash Money attacks me out here?
Dark: Good. The people driving by will notice the show and stop on by. Just make sure you’re holding that sign if they come to kick your ass.
Dark: People are gonna wanna see what I’m going to do to IM Hate tonight. That son of a bitch thinks he’s can just parade around this place and start all heaps of shit—but I aint like Tim Ross. I get shit done. Now get to it!
Renae watches the old man walk away from the skinny one after much pointing and what looked like bunny hopping on the part of the skinny one. What curious beings. She does not even try to hide the fact that she is watching. She knows, somewhere in the back of her head, that she is somewhat interested in these fellows. . . That in fact not much goes on around this stupid ole motel, and a couple of fellas like that means something is happening. Something different anyway. . . She brushes the hair out of her face and idly pushes the cart along the balcony, her head turned to watch the man at the corner with the sign.
She flicks on the little transistor radio on her cart and the wheels squeal as The Eagles lament about Hotel California. It obviously aint about The Santa Clarita Motel, Renae thinks. She hums some made up lyrics as the song plays out over the horrid radio:
On a lonely balcony, sweat drips down my face,
Sick smell of disinfectant, of works cold embrace,
Up ahead in the distance, the next room to be screened,
My stomach grows sick and my hope grows thin,
I know I have to clean
There he stood in the doorway;
I saw his mission bells,
And I was thinking to myself,
“This is definitely not Heaven, this is most certainly hell”
She ignores the music for a moment and looks back at the skinny man waving around his sign. If only she could see it, she could forget all about it and just get on with her work. She squints her eyes but can’t make it out. If only she had. . .
Looking down she sees her mother out on the walkway. She too had been gazing out on the man with the sign, and for some reason had just what she needed. Binoculars.
Marta: Venga aqui.
Renae instantly obeys and leaves her cart, making her way down the one flight of stairs outside of the building. The gaps between the steps scare her, and have always scared her—ever since she was a child—but she ignores the fear in light of this new development. She jumps the last three steps and lands with both feet before she trots over to her mother.
Renae: What is it?
Marta: You look.
Renae took the old binoculars from her mother, so old the dust clung to every crevice. Wiping the glass of each eye piece she brings them up to her eyes and sees the world up close, too close. She unwinds the binoculars, bringing them out of focus as she tries to find her way through the two small magnified worlds.
What does it say?
She finds the man waving the sign through the air and begins to focus it. The image sharpens clear and its so violent her head rocks back as if she had just been hit with a blow to the face. She lowers the binoculars for a moment before rising them back up and reading the sign.
THE ROW PRESENTS: TOTAL ANARCHY—TODAY ONLY.
Lowering the binoculars Renae struggles to speak she’s so excited. Something is finally happening. She turns to her mother and her mother looks at her with frightened eyes.
Marta: Ay Dios Mio.
She makes crosses herself and kisses a rosary as the scene fades. . .
The camera feed goes live outside room 201 of the Santa Clarita Motel. The door flings open, and out steps DRW Champion Seth Stratton. He’s wearing an open Tommy Bahama shirt, black silk boxers, the title belt, ray bans, and for some reason his wrestling boots. He holds an ice bucket in his hand and begins to walk towards the lobby, singing a tune under his breath.
Seth: Daniel Boone was a man, he was a big man, but the bear was bigger so he ran like a nigger up a tree..
He arrives in the lobby, and looks around with a confused expression. He eventually locks eyes with the receptionist, a young Hispanic man with gel spiked hair.
Receptionist: Good evening, Mr. Stratton.
Seth eyes him with disdain.
Receptionist: Oh, my apologies. Good evening, Champ.
Seth: It’s evening?
Receptionist: Indeed it is.
Seth: Where’s the ice machine?
Receptionist: We don’t have an ice machine, sir.
Seth: Then why is there an ice bucket in the room?
He holds it up.
Receptionist: Sir, That’s a waste basket.
Seth turns it over and an assortment of condom wrappers and takeout containers fall to the ground.
Seth: Well, shit.
He drops the waste basket and meanders over to the continental breakfast table, which is for some reason still out. He picks something up and takes a quick bite, spitting it out instantly.
Seth: This doughnut tastes like crap.
Receptionist: That’s a bagel, sir.
Seth wipes his tongue with the sleeve of his cool island threads and tosses the bagel on the floor.
Seth: I’m going back to my room. Esmerelda is still on the clock for seventeen more minutes, and I figure that’ll be good for 5-6 more loads of Seth’s Own. I love Viagra. Make sure to wake me up a little earlier tomorrow. Gotta hit the ring. Issue an open challenge.
Receptionist: The show is tonight.
Receptionist: I think it might’ve already started. We had some naked bikers walking through here earlier.
Seth: Why didn’t you tell me?! I’m the champ! Why do you think I’m wearing this spiffy belt?
Receptionist: I just thought you were crazy. We get some real wackos around here.
Seth: Do I have time to put on pants?
Receptionist: I really hope so.
With that, Seth sprints back to his room to prepare. The scene fades.
September Twenty Sixth, Two Thousand and Ten
The Santa Clarita Motel
Santa Clarita, California
6 PM, Wednesday
I’m not certain what it is in buildings that leads one to be called a hotel, and the other a motel. Sure, if you wanna be a technical dick about it: motel comes from motor hotel, motor hotels being hotels which. . . yada yada. . . But after all, whether a motel or a hotel, they both generally serve the same purpose—to give a person their own safe place to sleep for the night (or if you’re like most of The Row, a place to exchange some bodily fluids for a low fee). If you ask a rich bitch, they’ll tell you a motel is any place that doesn’t have heated toilet seats—to them, the sign may say ‘HOTEL,’ but it aint a fact unless one can go to bed at night, not having to worry about putting up with a cold toilet seat during their morning constitutional.
If you ask anyone else, they’ll give you a similar answer, though with different reasons . . because the truth is MOTELS are generally frowned upon by people with any sort of money. Motels are for those of low class and little money, for people who don’t even have the common decency to know what white wine you should drink with fish. Depends on the particular fish you say? Why you snobby bastard. . .
The truth is that though The Santa Clarita Motel may have been a real shit hole for anyone else to stay in—for The Row, why it is like going on vacation. The rooms have little cute towels and come with little shampoos and little soaps. Sure, there’s not enough money for everyone to have a room, and really, if you ask Dark none of those bastards really deserve them—but it seems in a time where Anarchy roams freely in The Row the rest of the Scumbag Elite has grown a little closer. . . Though they’ll tell you different.
The Row has continued on, despite the odds that have been against them from the very start. No one believed in a federation run by an ex-convict. You can imagine how the people have talked. Somehow Tim Ross managed it, bringing The Row to heights it had never achieved before. The Row actually graced Madison Square Garden, the site of the One Million Mom’s invasion. And though The Row was a brief blip on those Bible thumping Bitches’ radar, The Row has remained in the minds of everyone else, and on their whiskey soaked breaths (The Row is big with the drunkard crowd).
The fire at the Omega Omega house had stained the sky in San Luis Obispo for nearly three days. They say they haven’t seen a fire like that in those parts for nearly thirty years, and that one was started when a commercial gasoline truck jackknifed and toppled over, spilling hundreds of gallons of gas that was quickly ignited by an eighty year old cigarette smoker named Delores Clairborne. She survived it, and was bitter until the day she died twenty years later—as she was done with life and developed was only smoking because she was sure it would killer her sooner. The fire became a topic of discussion at the college, and the frats at the Omega Omega House became overnight celebrities—with all the wrong people. The police were quite interested in the happenings, and to The Row’s luck everyone at the party had gotten so drunk and high on coke and weed and all sorts of other things that they couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. There was never any mention of fireworks, or Seth Stratton.
When the burning ashes were cleared away a basement was found—a sort of dungeon—in which more than four sorority girls were found gagged and tied in a four by four hole in the wall. It is said they were to be used as cum rags during a final hurrah the last day of pledge week.
Sometimes life is okay.
The Row moves on, and the college boys take the fall for a fire they didn’t even start and the real evil is discovered along with false evil. I guess The Row actually did a good thing for the world.
After all the bullshit, what’s wrong with a little vacation? What’s wrong with a stop at the #108th ranked motel out of #110 motels and hotels in Santa Clarita? Not a damn thing.
The roaches scatter when the lights come on, the soap is scummy on the sink. Watch out for that tap water man, it runs brown for the first fifteen seconds. The mini fridge leaks, even though there’s nothing in it. The TV blinks rapidly, and you think someone must have pissed the bed at some time, as there’s the unmistakable odor of piss in the air, hidden under the chemical smell of industrial cleaner. . . You’ve got no cash and don’t really have anywhere to go. Thought you’d hide out in a motel: what a dumb ass. It’s Wednesday, Row Day, and you aint even got access to a computer; you can’t even watch The Row. And even if you did, you really think a place like this has WiFi?
Either way man. . . you’re FUCKED!
One. . .
Two. . .
Three. . .
WELCOME TO THE ROW!
We cut to inside of the banquet hall of the Santa Clarita Motel. The owners of The Santa Clarita Motel—being a pair of snobbish buffoons, bought the place in an effort to appear classy. But everyone knows one cannot buy class. You either have it or you don’t. And this lack of class is on full display in the banquet hall. Just the name of the room, ‘banquet hall,’ inclined them to go as fancy as possible.
The walls are a crimson red, and instead of paneling there are white Roman columns halved up against the walls, spaced nearly ten feet apart. The floors are made of a fake marble that have the added bonus that they do not need to be polished and would never scuff. Some miracle of chemical butchery coated the floors so that such things were impossible, and the owners were sold on the stuff when they watched a video of a salesman walking on a ‘beautiful’ (in their eyes) faux marble floor in metal cleats without leaving a scratch. And believe you me, that fella was trying.
In the center of the room is an ornate chandelier, one that was made for a room much bigger. It throws a bright light when turned on, blasting the cornea in white horror and many a person has to look away upon entering the room.
Under it sits the Death Row ring, and surrounding the ring and sitting in sparsely occupied rows are some fifty odd people come in off of the street. Every once in a while some of the staff from the motel appear in the doorway and look around, smiling at the strange sight (for rarely, if ever, has the banquet room ever been booked—the Roman theme makes it almost impossible to book a wedding), but rarely stay for long. A man in the first row wears a Mariguano replica mask, one of the few knowledgeable wrestling fans in the whole place. A mental handicapped kid sits in the second row, drooling away and looking up at the fractals of light in the fake crystal of the chandelier hanging over the ceiling with great interest. A drunk slinks into the room and takes up an empty seat in the back row, glad to be out of the cold and somewhere with a roof overhead, and takes sips from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag.
We cut to the Death Row commentator’s table, where Waylon Wolf sits with glasses over his eyes and a horrid look on his face, as the bright lights of the chandelier are doing nothing for his hangover. Tommy Ace sits joyfully next to Waylon, taking no effort to hide his enjoyment in Waylon’s pain.
Wolf: Ohhh God. I feel horrible. . . Can’t they turn the brights down on that thing?
Ace: Welcome to Lethal Injection Thirteen folks—here we are coming to you from Santa Clarita from the Santa Clarita Motel. . .
Ace looks down as he reads off the ad from a card in his hand.
Ace: That’s the Santa Clarita Motel, off Main Street. . . Free Color TV, Cinemax. Hourly Rates.
Ace looks up and smiles as he places the card down.
Ace: And what a show we had for you last week, from The Omega Omega House in San Luis Obispo. . .
Ace looks to Wolf and smiles, remembering all the idiocy he had witness Wolf engage in that night. It was the first time he had ever seen that old bastard let loose, and when he did—what a horror-show. A man shouldn’t build up hidden lusts like that for too long, or it fills him till it bursts and all comes out of him in a frightful burst. Ace turns back to the camera and smiles to the loving audience he imagines every time he talks to the camera.
Ace: Yep, it was a real party, one that never ended for Wolf. Not until yesterday, aint that right Wolfy?
Wolf: Shut up! Stop yelling so loud!
Ace: No one is yelling. . . You’re alright. . . Just relax. . .
Wolf grabs his head and frowns as Ace actually reaches out and pats him on the shoulder. It’s alright you ole bastard.
Ace: Well it seems I’ll have to bear the brunt of the show once again ladies and gentlemen. Welcome again ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a lot to talk about here before we kick off the show with some real wrestling—none of that filler shit those other guys put out.
Wolf: Damn right we have a lot to talk about.
Ace: Last Lethal Injection Anarchy made itself known once again to The Row. . . These guys mean business. While everyone else was partying—Wolf included—Cash Money and IM Hate were slowly dismantling Dark’s staff, starting with his own personal rat, Johnny Cox. Then they moved onto Tha Krew, and managed to trap Dark in the shitter.
Wolf: Ha Ha! In the shitter?! Where the hell was I?
Ace: You were. . . um . . . either drunk or passed out. You even remember that keg stand?
Wolf frowns and scratches his head. He looks around, searching for the answer, but he never finds it.
Wolf: What the hell is a keg stand?
Ace: I thought so.
Ace shakes his head.
Ace: Well in the main event that night IM Hate took on Rupture in the number one contender’s tournament, and came out victorious. . . that’s when all hell broke loose. The Omega Omega House caught fire, Dark confronted IM Hate, and they exchanged blows before Cash Money came in. Anarchy overpowered Dark and they all gave him a three man Hate Crime to end the night.
Wolf turns and stares at Ace, his mouth dropping open, as he was drinking so much that night he doesn’t remember any of it. He’s sure he would remember a thing like a fire, but he doesn’t. He swears off of drinking for the moment.
Wolf: Jesus Christ. . .
Ace: Vintage Row, Wolf. . . Vintage Row. Well. . . tonight Dark and Tha Krew will be taking on Anarchy in a six man match in the main event. It will be a brutal match ladies and gentlemen—as there is a lot of hate built up into this one. You’re not gonna wanna miss this one when these two forces collide and blow the fucking roof off this place.
Wolf: I don’t know Ace, you said Dark took a three man Hate Crime last week. There’s no way he’s coming into this one 100%.
Ace: And neither is IM Hate. . . Also slated for the night we have Cort Vang and Mariguano in action tonight in the second round of the number one contender’s tournament. Cort Vang of course defeated Shane Jackson last week, and Mariguano pulled out a win over Major Kendu.
Wolf: This should be a good one, Ace. Cort Vang has been in the title hunt before. He—if you remember put on that scaffold match with Dark for the Death Row belt way back when.
Ace: That is true Wolf—Cort Vang has been in The Row since day one; he is one of the few originals left, and you know that means he’s tough. But Mariguano has proved himself so far in The Row, and beat Major Kendu last Lethal Injection, ending his win streak.
Wolf: This should be a good one!
Ace: Speaking of Kendu, he looks to return to the winner’s circle with a match against Sonny Thompson. Sonny Thompson had a bit of a mishap last Lethal Injection in his match against The Disposal.
Wolf: Mishap?! The Disposal puked all over him!
Ace: Sonny had no way of knowing that was going to happen—but nonetheless it happened. Tonight hopefully he can have himself a full fledged match without flipping out and going bat shit crazy like he did against The Disposal.
Wolf: He talks to a little man named Charlie that only he can see. He’s crazy as crazy can be. There’s no way he’s not gonna flip out.
Ace: Also in action we have Trevor Browning and Schism in more tournament action, and Seth Stratton is said to be in appearance.
Wolf: Well how nice of ‘his majesty’ to grace us with his presence tonight.
We cut to Ace and Wolf, who sit at their commentators table, looking fresh and ready to go. . . Wolf however, seems well into his hangover.
Ace: Well here we go ladies and gentlemen.
Wolf: Let's do this shit!
Escape the Fate – There’s No Sympathy for the dead begins to play, and we cut to the main entrance of the banquet hall, where Schism appears and runs straight out to the ring.
Ace: Well here he is ladies and gentlemen, Schism, and as usual, this guy is not wasting any time.
Wolf: You know, I don’t even know if there are even lyrics to that song, as Fracture is usually out and in the ring before it ever gets a chance to get going.
Ace: Why even bother with music at all?
Schism reaches the ring and the crowd has just finally got into the idea of cheering; they rise and start up their applause and personal approval of the masked man Schism. They continue with small meager cheers as Schism enters the ring, jumping over the bottom rope and rolling forward to his feet.
Ace: Schism looking ready for his match tonight, Wolf.
Wolf: That he is. Everyone is serious about this tournament, and why not? A shot at the Death Row belt is at stake here, and with the Death Row title being the only belt in the Row—it means that much more.
Ace: Good point Wolf. You know it’s good to have you back.
Wolf: Don’t get all sweet on me—you’ll lead me to drinking.
Schism then stomps his way over to the corner and pulls himself up on the middle turnbuckle. He raises his arms up for a brief moment and before flipping backward into the center of the ring much to the delight of the fans.
Ace: You know, I'll never tire of that.
Wolf: Well that makes one of us. . .
Schism lands on his feet (quite naturally I might add) and takes a few steps forward and raises his arms once again and the crowd pops.
Ace: Schism preparing for this match here, and there is a lot on the line.
Wolf: If you don’t know that by now, consult a doctor. You might be completely retarded.
The opulent horns of Rule Britannica begin to sound out through the banquet hall, and the crowd lets out a mixed reaction. Some are actually confused by it, as they don’t recognize the tune at all, whereas others recognize it and are entirely offended by it, because AMURICA is the place to be, and if you don't speak AMURICA, why--you're a piece of shit.
Ace: Strange reaction here for Trevor Browning.
Wolf: You know every time Rule Britannica plays I don’t know whether to shit, scream, or stand up cause the queen is 'bout to come out. And it’s always just Trevor Browning.
We cut to the main entrance of the hall once again, and Trevor Browning appears in the doorway, with a bright smile on his face. ‘So this is an American banquet hall,’ he says to himself as he enters the room, looking around like a child filled with wonder.
Ace: Trevor Browning of course is from England, and is here in America to live a better life.
Wolf: And he’s in The Row? Good luck with that kid.
Ace: Regardless of what Wolf thinks, Trevor Browning has had some success here in The Row. He did suffer a loss last Lethal Injection to newcomer Jasper Quinn, but tonight it’s a different story. The chance to take on Seth Stratton for Death Row gold is on the line, and I think Trevor will be ready and raring to go tonight.
Trevor Browning makes his way to the ring, extending his arms out for high fives, and many of those in the crowd ignore him. Trevor passes the old man in the first row and the old man waves his cane in an authoritative manner and Trevor bends down to shake the old man’s hand. The old man brings his cane down and raps Trevor on the knuckles, laughing in his immense whiskers as he does so.
Wolf: A man after my own heart! That’s right, don’t take no guff from these young bastards!
Ace: That old man better watch out. He’s lucky he’s doing that to Trevor Browning, who’s generally a nice guy. I’d like to see him do that to anyone in Anarchy. I don’t generally believe in euthanasia, but in that particular case, I’d love to see IM Hate croak that bitch.
Wolf: I ought to croak you. All you young bastards think you own the world—but guess what—you don’t!
Trevor rises with a start after that, and brings his hand to his mouth and sucks on a few fingers as the crowd around the old man let out a laugh. The old man begins to shout something incoherently and suddenly he has himself a coughing fit so violent it rattles his bones and frightens all those around him--in fact, they noticeably move a couple of seats away from, fearing that death might catch.
Ace: Jesus Christ that old guy looks like he's going to die!
Trevor ignores the old man and makes his way to the steel steps. Trevor reaches the steps and then makes his way out onto the apron. For the first time he looks to Schism, who’s working his arms and kicking his feet to facilitate the blood flow. Trevor Browning smiles at him.
Ace: Trevor Browning is so nice, he’s even smiling at the guy who’s about to beat the shit out of him.
Trevor Browning makes his way out to the center of the apron and then takes his left leg and swings it over the middle rope into the ring. Trevor Browning then swings his head under the top rope and enters the ring with a briskness that only a ring veteran can pull off. But he’s not a veteran, so please excuse that shitty analogy. Trevor Browning walks into the center of the ring and then raises his arms, receiving a mixed reaction from the crowd.
Ace: And here come Charlene… Hello beautiful!
Wolf: You fornicate with that yet?
Ace: Why no. . . she’s saving it for a special occasion.
Wolf: You fool. . . you fool.
Charlene saunters her way into the ring, winking to the guys in the crowd from the apron before stepping over the bottom rope and entering the ring. Her hips sway as she makes her way to the center of the ring, and once there, she brings the mic up to her lips to start the ring announcement.
Charlene: Hello sugahs. . . I’m well acquainted with motels. . I know them in. . . and out. . .
Charlene illustrates this by making a ring with her thumb and forefinger and then passing the shaft of the microphone through it, back and forth, back and forth before bring it up to her mouth.
Charlene: The following contest is a number one contender tournament match, has a thirty minute time limit, and is for one fall. Introducing first, from Albuquerque, New Mexico, weighing in at a measly one hundred and eighty five pounds—how sad—he is one half of the team Fracture. . . Schism!
Schism raises up his arms and the crowd lets out a small pop before he lowers them and returns to his calisthenics.
Charlene: And his opponent. . . all the way from Exeter, England, weighing in at two hundred and eighty-five pound, he is Trevor BROWNNNNINNG!
Trevor Browning raises up his arms and some of the fans cheer, while others boo. The old man in the first row can be seen shaking his fist and Trevor Browning, still upset he had the audacity to try and shake his hand.
Ace: This one is about under way, who do you like in this one Wolf?
Wolf: I don’t care.
Ace: Aww Wolf. . .
El Toro raises his arm and strikes the air, signaling for the bell. The ring hand complies and strikes the bell three times, starting the match.
Ace: And here we go!
Schism and Trevor circle one another around the ring, the small crowd in the banquet room buzzing in anticipation of some action. The old man in the first row raises up a cane and waves it around in a threatening manner. Schism and Trevor then lock up in the center of the ring.
Ace: Lock up now in the center of the ring.
Wolf: Trevor Browning should excel here in the technical game.
Trevor Browning quickly gains the upper hand, grabbing Schism by the wrist and raising the arm out over his head while turning his own body, twisting the arm.
Wolf: Told yah!
Ace: Yes. . . nice Wolf—wrist lock by Trevor Browning here. Schism in a bit of discomfort ladies and gentlemen.
Schism sells the wrist lock, crying out a bit in pain before slapping his arm. Schism then rolls forward and kips upward, turning and grabbing Trevor by the wrist, twisting the arm.
Ace: And a wrist lock by Schism now, after getting out of the wrist lock applied by Trevor Browning. Wrist lock by Schism now.
Schism wrenches on the arm, stomping his feet once as he does so, and Trevor Browning cries out in pain. Schism wrenches the arm once more, twisting the arm in further, and El Toro checks with Browning. Browning drops to one knee and shakes his head.
Ace: Browning in trouble. . .
Wolf: Who would of thought Schism would know how to properly apply a wrist lock.
Schism looks around at the crowd in satisfaction, as Browning sells the wrist lock.
Ace: You've got to adapt and grow if you wanna survive The Row.
Wolf: You writing a song?
Ace: No why?
Browning then rises up from his knee and drapes his free arm across Browning’s throat, knocking him clean to the mat.
Ace: Oh--Lariat by Browning! And Schism is down on the mat now!
The crowd lets out a small pop as Schism sells the lariat on the mat. Trevor Browning gets to his feet and bends at the waist, grabbing Schism around the head. Trevor then drops down to one knee as he wraps on arm around Schism’s throat, and tightens the hold.
Ace: Rear headlock applied now by Trevor Browning, the man from Exeter.
Wolf: I heard the wrestling in England is so bad wrestlers are willing to brave the Atlantic Ocean to come here.
Schism kicks his feet as Trevor Browning tightens the hold around his head. El Toro bends down and checks on Schism, but Schism shakes his head.
Ace: Brave the Atlantic?
Wolf: Yeah they all come over on a boat, like cattle or something--and not many survive the trip. . .
Schism then pulls his legs under him and slowly gets to his feet.
Ace: You can't be serious?
Wolf: Oh yeah, I read it in a wrestling magazine. . .
Schism reaches his feet and elbows Trevor Browning in the gut once, twice, three times before moving backward up against the ropes. Schism and Trevor bounce up against the ropes and Schism uses his free arm to push Trevor Browning off of him.
Ace: Trevor into the ropes!
Wolf: Aint that like English? Always running from their problems. . .
Ace: You sure you aint drinking?
Trevor Browning turns as he hits the ropes, his back bouncing off of them and sending him back to the center of the ring.
Wolf: I'm sure.
Trevor Browning reaches Schism and Schism hurdles him, spreading his legs so Trevor can pass underneath.
Ace: Leap frog by Schism! He's a quick one folks, you've got to keep your eyes on him.
Wolf: The girls in high school said the same thing of Ace. . .
Trevor hits the ropes on the other side of the ring and heads back toward the center of the ring. Schism falls to the mat on his back and lifts his legs up and Trevor Browning reaches him. Schism uses his legs to push Trevor Browning up flipping into the air once and landing behind him on the mat.
Ace: SHIT! He got some real air with that one!
Wolf: Monkey flip by Schism, and Trevor Browning is in need of some tea and crumpets.
Schism makes his way over to Trevor and stands over him, kicking his arms in against his body. Schism then takes off toward the ropes to the side of Trevor Browning.
Ace: Here he goes, looking for something dangerous--no doubt.
Wolf: You'll never see an old man do something like that, I'll guarantee you of that.
Schism reaches the ropes and jumps up to the top rope, where he balances himself for a moment before jumping off backward flipping through the air and landing on the fallen Trevor Browning belly first.
Ace: Spring board moonsault by Schism! What a move Wolf!
Wolf: I know it--and these fans know it. Listen to these retards!
The crowd lets out an enormous pop as Schism hooks Trevor’s leg, pinning his upper back to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat to go for the count as the crowd buzzes.
Ace: We've got a pin! 1. . . 2--kickout. Trevor Browning kicks out, keeping his hopes alive.
Wolf: He has no hope. America is going to eat this guy alive!
Schism gets up and checks with El Toro as the crowd die down and gets two midget fingers in his face. Schism then turns to the fallen Trevor Browning and bends at the waist, grabbing him by the hair. Schism pulls upward, bringing Trevor Browning to his feet as well. Once to his feet, Schism kicks him in the gut and Trevor Browning bends over at the waist.
Ace: Kick to the gut by Schism. . .
Schism the hooks Trevor Browning around the head in the crux of his arm and then takes Trevor’s free hand and throws it over his head. Schism then grabs Trevor Browning by the tights and lifts him vertically up into the air. Schism falls backwards, sending Trevor to the mat with him.
Ace: Vertical Suplex by Schism!
Wolf: Perfect form Ace, just perfect form. Schism is a second generation wrestler--and it shows. He was probably sitting on his daddy's knee, already internalizing the world of wrestling.
Ace: And listen to these fans!
The crowd pops the vertical suplex and Schism gets to his feet and plays it up for the crowd. Trevor Browning slowly gets to his feet and Schism turns toward and shortens the gap. Schism reaches Trevor Browning and greets him with a stiff right, followed by a left.
Ace: Schism still on the offensive. . .
Schism grabs Trevor Browning by the arm and pulls, going for the Irish Whip.
Ace: Irish whip—no, reversal.
Trevor Browning turns, and grabs Schism around the wrist and tosses him into the ropes instead.
Ace: Schism into the ropes. . .
Schism hits the ropes on the other side of the ring, turning so that his back hits the ropes, propelling him into the center of the ring. Schism reaches Trevor Browning and leaves his feet, hooking Trevor Browning around the head between his thighs before coming back down to the mat, bringing Trevor Browning head first into the mat.
Ace: Flying Head Scissors!
Wolf: The speed of Schism is just too much for Trevor Browning. . . Maybe that mask is frightening him too. They aint got Halloween over in England do they?
Ace: I believe they do. . .
Wolf takes his first sip of liquor, and the booze burns deep down his chest. Trevor Browning sells the flying head scissors on the mat and Schism gets up to celebrate for a moment. He then makes his way to the corner of the ring and pulls himself up to the top turnbuckle.
Ace: Schism headed toward the corner now--I think he's going to climb to the top rope!
Wolf: I think you're absolutely right. What else would he be doing?
Schism crouches on the top turnbuckle facing the ring, and then straightens up to the standing position.
Ace: Schism is going to take to the air!
Wolf: Look out Trevor! I think your mom is calling you!
Ace: You bastard!! His mother is dead!
Schism holds his arms out to steady himself before he jumps off. In the air, Schism goes into the seated position, his legs out, and just before he lands on Trevor Browning, Trevor Browning rolls out of the way and Schism lands on nothing but mat.
Ace: Schism comes up empty! Trevor Brown rolls out of the way!
Schism sells the botched leg drop, grabbing his ass as Trevor Browning still sells on the mat a few feet away from him. El Toro looks around at both men and then the crowd before starting up the count. He raises his arms each time he counts upward.
Ace: Both men slow to get up.
Wolf: You know, Toro is actually working out. I thought the little bastard wouldn't be able to comprehend even the simplest of tasks--like refereeing.
Ace: Hey it's a tough job!
Uno. . . Trevor Browning breathes heavily on the mat, laying on his back, looking up at the great chandelier in the banquet room. Schism too lays motionless on his side. Dos. . . Neither men move. Tres. . . Schism starts to show signs of life, moving onto his belly. Cuatro. . . Trevor Browning grabs the middle rope and tries to pull himself up to his feet. Cinco. . . The crowd buzzes as Trevor Browning gets to his knees, Schism getting to his knees as well. Seis. . . Schism hops up and charges Trevor Browning who comes up out from the ropes himself.
Ace: Both men to their feet now! Look out--
Trevor Browning goes for the lariat, and Schism ducks it, turning around and throwing several rights which all connect to the jaw of Trevor Browning. Trevor rocks back from each blow and then Schism steps up to him, hopping up and hooking his legs around his head for the huricannrana, but Trevor grabs his by the thighs and snaps him down to the mat.
Ace: Powerbomb by Trevor Browning!
Wolf: Schism is in a bad way here folks. . .
Trevor Browning drops to the mat as Schism sells the powerbomb, the crowd applauding the massive sound of the bump. Trevor Browning then hooks Schism by the leg, pulling them toward his head, using Schism’s own weight to fold him up and pin his shoulders to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat and goes for the count as the crowd begins to cheer in anticipation of the pinfall.
Ace: We've got ourselves a pin! 1. . . 2--kick out. Not enough there.
Wolf: Trevor Browning going for the win out of desperation--if anything. I mean we're talking about Schism here.
Ace: Schism--not Fracture. He's not use to wrestling alone--
Trevor Browning doesn’t even bother to check with El Toro and rises up to his feet. Once there Trevor Browning sells the pain in his back for a moment, by reaching back to his smaller back before stomping the fallen Schism on the mat.
Ace: Trevor Browning with the stomps now--
Trevor stomps him once, twice, three times, before bending at the waist and bringing Schism to his feet. Trevor then grabs Schism by the wrist and tosses him into the turnbuckle.
Ace: Schism into the corner!
Wolf: Look out you bastard! Hey Ace--What's that?!
Wolf sneaks a snip from his flask as Schism turns and his back collides with the turnbuckle in the corner of the ring.
Wolf: Oh nothing. . .
Schism sells the collision and Trevor Browning charges him in the corner. Trevor Browning reaches Schism and drapes out an arm, bringing it across the upper chest of Schism.
Ace: Clothesline by Browning!
Schism sells the clothesline, stumbling out of the corner dazed. Trevor Browning then turns after the clothesline and charges after Schism, hooking him by the head as he passes and slamming him head first into the mat.
Ace: Bulldog by Browning!
Wolf: See how he did that? Linked those two moves together perfectly. This Trevor Browning kid aint half bad!
Schism sells the bulldog on the mat, reaching up to grab his face as the crowd pops.
Ace: You know I think Trevor is actually winning over some fans here tonight!
Wolf: Fuck him!
Trevor Browning pumps his fans and the crowd continues to applaud him, and a big smile spreads to his face. Schism continues to sell the bulldog and Trevor Browning makes his way over to him, with a little strut in his step. Trevor Browning then bends down and grabs Schism by the mask, pulling him to his feet.
Ace: Both men to their feet now--Browning looking for more offense. . .
Trevor Browning works a left right combination before bending over to the side and getting Schism up on his shoulders. Trevor Browning holds Schism there up on his shoulders, spinning around slowly so everyone in the banquet wall can see the hold.
Ace: Trevor Browning wasting precious time here.
Wolf: Yeah, if you've got an opponent in the hold, you're gonna wanna get down to the business and not show off for the crowd. Before you know it--
Trevor goes to swing Schism down head first to the mat, but Schism slides out of the hold and lands on his feet.
Wolf: See that's exactly what happened right there.
Schism then spins around hitting Trevor in the side of the head with his heel. Trevor goes stiff and falls to the mat as Schism drops to one knee, shaking his head and selling previous injuries.
Ace: What a heel kick by Schism! Trevor Browning did not see that one coming!
Schism shakes the cobwebs out and gets to his feet, making his way over to Trevor Browning. He goes to bring Trevor Browning to his feet, but Trevor rises on his own with a stiff right to the gut. The blow causes Schism to bend at the waist and then Trevor uses his left hand to measure up Schism and throws yet another right with such force that it knocks Schism straight to the mat.
Ace: Hard right by Browning and Schism is on the mat.
Wolf: Oh no he aint!
Schism quickly gets to his feet again and again Trevor Browning reaches back and plants a hard right on his jaw, knocking him clean to the mat.
Ace: And another hard right from Browning as Schism tries to get to his feet.
Wolf: And he's up again! He don't know when to quit!
Schism gets to his feet and charges Trevor Browning. Trevor Browning side steps him, pushing him on the small of the back as he passes, encouraging his route to the ropes.
Ace: Schism into the ropes.
Schism turns as he reaches the ropes and turns, his back hitting the ropes and propelling him back into the center of the ring, where Trevor Browning awaits him. Trevor Browning reaches out for Schism but Schism baseball slides through his legs.
Ace: Fron--No, baseball slide by Schism through the legs of Browning.
Schism then comes up behind Trevor Browning and hooks him around the head, forcing him to bend backwards.
Ace: Rear chin lock by Schism. . . NO!
Trevor Browning flails for a bit and then turns, forcing himself back to the standing position, and as he finishes his turn he grabs Schism by the head, linking the evasion and the headlock together.
Ace: Head lock by Browning.
Trevor Browning then grabs Schism’s free hand and tosses it over his head before grabbing him by the tights and lifting him up vertically.
Ace: Vert-i-cal Su--NO! Reversal by Schism!
Schism then uses his weight to get out of the vertical suplex, landing behind Trevor Browning on his feet. Schism then quickly grabs Trevor Browning around the gut.
Ace: Waist lock by Schism on Browning, Browning into the ropes. . .
Trevor Browning charges the ropes and as he reaches them he hooks the top rope with his arms and throws his body backwards, forcing Schism backwards.
Ace: Down goes Schism--no!
Schism rolls backwards onto his feet, and charges Trevor Browning. Trevor Browning turns around just in time and lowers his body as Schism reaches him, lifting him up over the top rope.
Ace: Backbody drop by Browning--NO! Schism lands!
Wolf: Browning don't know it!
Schism lands on the apron behind Trevor Browning and Trevor Browning stumbles out into the center of the ring. Trevor Browning then turns around and Schism pulls himself to the top rope before leaping off. Schism flies through the air and then hooks Trevor Browning around the head before bending down and around, using his legs to send Trevor Browning off his feet and to the mat.
Ace: Hurricanranna by Schism!
Schism gets up to his knees as the crowd lets out a massive round of applause for all of the chain wrestling.
Wolf: Yeah, nice job there Ace. . . you bastard.
Ace: Pardon while I catch my breath folks--these guys are going at it full speed.
Schism scrambles over to Trevor Browning, who still sells the hurricanrana. Schism hooks Trevor Browning by the legs and pulls upward, using Trevor Browning’s weight and his own to pin Trevor Browning to the mat. The crowd buzzes in anticipation of the pinfall as El Toro slides to the mat for the pin.
Ace: Pin! 1. . . 2—kick out.
Wolf: And Trevor Browning’s hopes are still alive with that kick out there.
Schism gets to his knees and checks with El Toro, who raises up an arm with two fingers extended. Schism looks around at the crowd as the crowd dies down, tired of cheering for the moment. The old man in the first row can be seen coughing his head off, making slow work of evacuating some piece of hardened phlegm.
Ace: Just two there Schism. . . and meanwhile that old man seems to be coughing up a lung.
Wolf: He’s a resilient tough bastard—just like me.
Schism then makes his way over to Trevor Browning and stomps him in the chest, once, twice, three times, before kicking his sprawled out arms in toward his body. Schism then takes off toward the ropes and returns, and as he reaches the fallen Trevor he leaps up into the air and comes down with an elbow aimed right at the heart of Trevor Browning.
Ace: Elbow drop by Schism!
Wolf: He had some momentum built up in that one Ace.
Trevor Browning sells the elbow drop, reaching up to grab the area where the elbow came down, and Schism quickly makes his way over to him, grabbing a hand full of hair. Schism pulls upward and Trevor Browning rises with him. Schism then punches him, once, twice, before grabbing Trevor by the wrist and tossing him into the corner.
Ace: Schism taking control here—Trevor Browning into the corner now.
Trevor Browning turns and his back collides with the turnbuckle, his face contorting into one of pain as he collides. Trevor Browning slumps in the corner and Schism looks around at the crowd and raises up his arms before her charges Trevor Browning. Schism picks up a tremendous amount of speed and then leaps up into the air as he reaches Trevor Browning, placing two feet to the face of Trevor Browning.
Ace: Drop kick by Schism! And Browning is in a bad way!
Wolf: Real bad way gov’nuh!
The crowd pops as Trevor Browning stumbles out of the corner of the ring until he reaches the center of the ring, where he kicks his legs backward out from under him and falls comically face first to the mat.
Ace: You can’t say that Wolf!
Wolf: I can say whatever the hell I want. It’s in my contract.
Ace: How nice for you. . . Listen to these fans.
A few people in the banquet hall let out some applause as Schism makes his way over to Trevor Browning, confident the match is his. Schism reaches Trevor Browning and drops to his knees before covering Trevor Browning, hooking the leg and pinning him to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat a split second later, with all the grace of a veteran referee to make the count. The crowd begins to rise up and cheer in anticipation of a potential pin fall.
Ace: We’ve got a pin! 1. . .2. . . Kick out! That one was close Wolf!
Wolf: But not close enough. . . Though Schism seems to think he’s already got it won.
Schism checks briefly with El Toro and El Toro throws up two fingers, but Schism insists it was three. He extends three digits in El Toro’s face and El Toro emphatically shakes his head and holds out two fingers. He stomps his feet like and snorts like a bull, and Schism, finding it to be a lose cause turns back to Trevor Browning, who’s still selling on the mat. Schism makes his way to Trevor and reaches him, grabbing him by the mask and pulling him to his feet.
Ace: Trevor pulling Schism to his feet now.
Wolf: Surely just to drop him again.
Schism gets to his feet with the aid of Trevor Browning and Trevor keeps his left hand out on the head of Schism, keeping the right distance to apply the most force behind a punch and Trevor throws a stiff right, knocking Schism back up against the ropes.
Ace: Hard right by Trevor Browning, using those smart fists of him.
Wolf: Learned in some tavern now doubt. And for dessert he had some spotted dick.
Ace: Spotted what?
Wolf: You heard me… They eat spotted dick in England.
Trevor pursues Schism and then takes one arm and tosses it over the top rope, and then the other. With the abdomen exposed, Trevor Browning bends over and begins throwing lefts and rights, tattooing the ribs.
Ace: Trevor Browning keeping up with the offense.
Wolf: And he’s got Schism trapped up against the ropes with nowhere to go. That’s smart there Ace, sometimes you’ve got to cut off the ring, and Trevor Browning is doing that here.
Schism sells each blow, rocking up against the ropes after each one. After a stiff left Trevor Browning follows it up with a stiff right, causing Schism to stumble forward away from the ropes.
Ace: And that last one had a little extra on it! Schism is away from the ropes now.
Trevor Browning then grabs Schism around the wrist and tosses him toward the ropes.
Ace: And well, back we go again!
Trevor Browning charges after Schism, following him as he reaches the ropes. Schism turns and hits his back on the ropes and Trevor Browning reaches him right before Schism rebounds forward and brings up a knee to the gut of Schism.
Ace: What a knee by Trevor Browning!
Wolf: Slowly taking Schism down here, Ace, one knee at a time. Work the body! Work the body!
Schism stumbles forward and Trevor Browning follows from behind and pushes him toward the ropes.
Ace: And here we go again toward the ropes!
Schism turns and hits the ropes and before he can rebound back toward the center of the ring Trevor Browning charges him and brings up another knee to the gut.
Ace: Another knee by Trevor Browning!
Schism flips over the knee and to the mat, and the crowd lets out a pop.
Wolf: Down goes Schism! Down goes Schism!
Trevor Browning turns to Schism and drops to the mat, hooking a leg, pinning Schism to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat after him and goes for the official count.
Ace: We’ve got a pin by Trevor Browning now—this could be it Wolf! 1. . .2. . . NO! KICK OUT! Schism kicks out!
Wolf: Toro thinks it was two, this crowd thinks it was two, we think it was two—everyone thinks it two except for Trevor Browning. . . look at this idiot!
Trevor Browning rises up and extends his arms up in the air in celebration. He walks toward the ropes and leans out over them, thinking he’s won the match. El Toro gets to his feet and rushes over to Trevor Browning, smacking him on the ass.
Ace: El Toro here with the true count!
Wolf: Smacked right on the ass!
Trevor Browning turns around suddenly in surprise, and El Toro leans forward and extends two fingers in his face. Trevor Browning shakes his head and stomps his feet.
Ace: He can’t believe it! Trevor Browning can’t believe it!
Trevor Browning shows El Toro three fingers, and El Toro shakes his head and again throws up two. Trevor Browning then shows El Toro three fingers. El Toro responds with 2 and the crowd chants out TWOOO. Trevor Browning again shows three fingers and the crowd chants THREE. Toro: TWOOOO. Trevor: THREEE. Toro: TWOOOOO. Trevor: THREEE. Toro: TWOOOOO
Ace: They’re fighting over the decision!
Wolf: Hey dipshit—this match is still going on.
Trevor Browning stomps his feet in frustration and then returns to Schism, who is in the process of getting to his feet. Schism reaches his feet and charges Trevor Browning with an arm extended. Schism drives his arm forward but Trevor Browning ducks it, grabbing the very same arm as he slide behind Schism.
Ace: Lariat—NO! Browning ducks it.
Trevor Browning pulls the arm back behind Schism’s head, and then grabs Schism’s other free arm with his own, and does the same. Trevor Browning then lifts Schism up and over his head and to the mat. Schism lands on his neck/upper back.
Ace: Tiger Suplex!
Wolf: That shit looks like it hurt.
Ace: You’re cursing again—you been drinking?
Wolf: No—no. . . .
Schism sells the tiger suplex on the mat, and Trevor Browning get up to his feet, breathing heavily. Trevor Browning then salutes the crowd, getting no response from them for all his trouble, and then makes his way over to Schism. He brings Schism up to his feet by grabbing a handful of mask and then hooks Schism by the head. He then grabs Schism’s free arm and tosses it over his head before grabbing Schism by the tights and lifting him up in the air. As Schism reaches the peak Trevor Browning suddenly drops to the mat, bringing Schism head first into the mat.
Ace: Stalling suplex by Trevor Browning!
Wolf: This kid could be moving on here Ace!
Ace: It certainly look promising for Browning, but don’t you count out Schism yet.
Trevor Browning gets to his feet as the crowd pops the vicious DDT and once again looks for a reaction from the crowd, but they die down just as he climbs the turnbuckle to raise his arms. He jumps down in disappointment and Schism gets up to his knees, crawling on all fours.
Ace: Schism in a bad way—and Trevor Browning still can’t get no love.
Trevor Browning drops to the mat and then hooks his legs around Schism’sback. Trevor Browning then slips one foot in front of Schism’s head and under his chin, locks his hand behind Schism’s head, and chokes him by pressing his shin against Schism’s trachea.
Ace: The Brown Out! The Brown Out!
Wolf: I thought that was when you drink a lot and kinda remember what you did the next day. . . as opposed to a black out—remembering nothing.
Ace: Nope it’s a move by The Row’s very own Trevor Browning!
El Toro bends at the waist and checks on Schism, who is unable to reply, the pressure against his throat his so great.
Ace: I think he’ gonna tap!
Suddenly, the crowd lets out an enormous boo as Cash Money comes charging down to the ring. Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz slide in and both bend at the waist, kicking Trevor Browning at each side of the head.
Ace: Wh-wh-What the fuck are these guys doing here?! Double Super kick from Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz!
Wolf: Anarchy in the building!
Trevor Browning stumbles to the mat, lying motionless there as El Toro raises up and waves his hands in the air. The bell rings out as the crowd starts to be. Shane Jackson takes El Toro and tosses him out of the ring.
Wolf: There goes the little guy!
Ace: They’re after Schism! But why?!
Wolf: Don’t you see? Cash Money is still sore about that match they had with Fracture, during which they made real fools of them with their own Cash belts and all that.
Ace: You’re right!
.Schism slowly gets to his feet and Jason Cruz gets in behind him, and Shane Jackson positions himself front of him.
Ace: GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!
Schism staggers in the ring and Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz each step back and kick Schism in the head at the same time, Jason Cruz kicking him in the back of the head, Shane Jackson kicking him in the front of the head.
Ace: DOUBLE MAFIA KICK! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!
Wolf: Thank God Schism wears a mask already, he’s gonna be permanently ugly after that one!
The crowd lets out a collective shock as Schism falls to the mat motionless. Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz then raise their arms and turn three sixty degrees. IM Michaels smiles from outside of the ring, and make his way to the steel steps. He climbs up the stiars and enter the ring, and Jason and Shane grab Schism by the arms.
Ace: NO! Don’t do it!
The crowd pops as Rupture appears, come to defend his friend and tag team partner from any further damage.
Ace: Thank God, it’s Rupture—the other half of Fracture!
Wolf: Here we go!
Rupture comes running toward, and IM Hate turns and see’s him making his way to the ring. IM Hate positions himself and Rupture slides under the bottom rope and quickly get to his feet. Rupture charges IM Hate and IM Hate extends out a free arm, bringing it across the throat of Rupture. Rupture hits the mat with a loud thud and the crowd pops.
Ace: No! IM Hate was ready for him! Rupture is down too, and he’s like an injured fish in a sea full of sharks.
Wolf: Well, he may have saved Schism. . . but I think he just fucked himself over!
IM Hate motions to Cash Money and they let go of Schism, who falls to the mat face first. Cash Money then grabs Rupture as they had grabbed Schism, each member taking to an arm of Rupture.
Ace: We’ve seen this before! They’re going for the Hate Crime! The Three Man Hate Crime! The very move they did to Dark last week!
Wolf: What? Where was I?
Ace: Drunk Wolf, drunk.
IM Hate smiles evilly and looks out on the crowd, raising up his arms as if to draw even more attention to what he’ about to do. IM Hate then stands over Rupture and places his foot over the back of Rupture’s head.
Ace: And here comes DARK!
The crowd pops once more as Dark comes rushing out of the entrance to the Banquet hall, with Tha Krew behind him. Tha Krew then holds Dark back as IM Hate wave a threatening finger in the air.
Ian Michaels: Hold it right there Dark!
Ian grabs the top ropes, as he slowly climbs up the middle turnbuckle as Cash Money continues to hold the arms of Rapture. Ian is looking directly at Dark and The Krew as he smiles with his sinner like grin and motions to Dark to try him!
Ian Michaels: Let's face it Dark, you cannot afford to lose this talentless fuck. I on the other hand could really give two shits about him. But see, you are now a promoter. And as a promoter, you need talent in order to book the shit you call a wrestling show. I'm a wrestler, one who likes to create mayhem and destruction along his path of glory and fame. I have succeed, you are failing even as I speak!
Ace: Ian should really watch how he talks to Dark... He'll end up pissing him off beyond control and they will meet later tonight!
Ian Michaels: You see, these two jokes you had wrestling in this tournament to see who would face me has been disrupted, and will not happen. Sad, not! So I am going to announce now, that due to no winner, I will be moving onto the finals. Don't like it? Get over it, I am running shit!
Wolf: Hey Ace, I dare you to tell Ian he needs to watch how he speaks to the boss!
Ace: Nah, I will pass!
Ian Michaels: I promised I would hurt someone tonight and I have done just that. And it just is now starting! So I dare you showcase some balls and attempt to stop me Dark! Oh wait, that would require you to showcase something you have never had!
Dark shakes his head as he starts towards the ring. Ian finishes climbs to the top and turns around jamming his foot into the back of the head of Rapture. Cash Money both hit the canvas and roll out and Ian rolls through the middle and bottom ropes exiting the ring as Dark and The Krew slide in.
Ace: Anarchy is exiting through the crowd Wolf, they won't nothing to do with the boss!
Wolf: Or they are opting to wait until the match tonight!
Dark is screaming for Ian to come back to ring as Ian turns around and points to wrist and screams.
Ian Michaels: TICK TOCK TICK TOCK YOU DICK!
Ace: Uncalled for!
We cut to Waylon Wolf and Tommy Ace sitting at their commentator’s table. The banquet hall is still buzzing after the attack by Anarchy.
Ace: Anarchy has made their presence know once again!
Wolf: Fuck em. Can’t we all just team up on em now?
Ace: That’s not a bad idea Wolf.
Ace looks to Wolf and smiles. Wolf smiles back and then reaches into his breast pocket for his flask. He brings it up to his lips and takes a nip from it. He sighs with the burn and puts it away, right in front of Ace.
Ace: I thought you quit?
Wolf: Never say never baby! Whooo!
Ace: Well we’re scheduled for Major Kendu and Sonny Thompson next. . .
‘Tattoo’ by Van Halen begins to play over the audio system in the banquet hall.
Ace: That’s Seth Stratton’s music! He’s not booked for tonight, is he?
Wolf: Nope. . . but it seems our champ is taking a break from fucking college coeds to grace us with his presence.
Ace: Wonderful, just wonderful. I wonder what he’s got to say now?
We cut to the entrance of the banquet hall, where Seth Stratton appears. He looks out on the fans with a smile on his face, as in his head they are all going wild. He ignores the boos and shines up his Death Row belt, strapped snug around his waist.
Ace: Well here he is ladies and gentlemen, the Head Motherfucker, Seth Stratton. I don’t know what he has to say, but I’m sure these people here aren’t going to like it.
Wolf: What makes you say that?
Ace: He’s Seth Stratton Wolf. . . What do you mean?
Wolf: I dunno. You can’t assume to know what he’s going to say.
Ace: We’ll see.
Seth Stratton makes his way down the exact center of the aisle, making sure to be out of reach of the fans, though they are for the most part, uninterested in touching The Sultan of Sweet. Seth reaches the ring and the climbs gingerly up the steps with all the grace of a cat. He reaches the apron and turns to taunt the crowd before walking out to its center. He runs his feet along the apron as if to scrape off all the nonexistent dirt on his boots and then steps through the ropes.
Ace: The Sultan of Sweet ladies and gentlemen. This guy cheats at anything and everything. You know I hear he once tried to fix a game of BINGO?
Wolf: Bingo?! Now there’s a game.
Ace: Yeah you old folks just eat that shit up.
Seth Stratton enters the ring and raises his arms for all the cheers in his head. The crowd meanwhile boos him, and Seth smiles and illustrates a backhand from his illustrious tennis career. Seth then makes his way over to the ropes and leans over to the top, yacking at Charlene.
Ace: Seth asking for a mic here. . . if there are any children watching this, you might wanna cover your ears. . .
Seth receives the mic and then walks to the center of the ring. He pauses for a moment, for effect, with the mic half raised up by his mouth as the crowd continues to shower down boos.
Seth Stratton: Santa Clarita. . .
The crowd lets out a meager pop. . . The fools. Seth smiles deviously.
Seth: What a shit hole. . .
The crowd turns to boos, more thunderous than their cheers.
Ace: Seth Stratton taking a cheap shot at the locals here. . .
Wolf: Fuck Santa Clarita. He’s right. Who ever heard of this place anyway? Not me. . .
Ace: That doesn’t mean it aint of worth.
Wolf: Sure it does.
Seth: Well. . . we’ve got this little tournament going down, and all these peeons are looking for a shot to go toe to toe with me, The Sultan of Sweet.
Seth pauses for the crowd to boo, and they oblige him, letting out their disdain for him with throaty boos.
Seth: And meanwhile, I’ve been left to sit around and twiddle my thumbs. . . Now I’m a fighting champion, so what do you say I have myself a little warm up match here. Got to keep in shape you see!
The crowd pops at the idea of another match. Seth Stratton starts to walk around the ring, using his hands to frame his words like a professional speaker.
Seth: So what do you say? Who’s got the nuts? Hmmm? Anybody?
Seth stands in the center of the ring with his arms extended, waiting for anyone to come out. Bye Boom Boom by Cold World starts up, and the fans rise to the music.
Ace: That’s. . . that’s Johnny’s music! The fool!
Johnny Cox comes charging down to the ring and slides in. Johnny Cox gets to his feet and charges Seth Stratton, who drops the mic with an amplified THUD and spins, hitting Johnny Cox in the gut with a spinning back hand.
Ace: Back hand by Seth Stratton! You know what that means!
Seth Stratton then takes to the ropes, bouncing off and coming toward Johnny Cox on the mat and bringing down an elbow against the back of his head.
Ace: MATCH POINT!
Wolf: Well that was quick. Johnny sure is retarded.
Johnny Cox hits the mat on his belly and quickly rolls out of the ring. He lands on the banquet floor and sells, as Seth Stratton gets to his feet and laughs. He looks around for the microphone and then picks it up, his laughing picked up by the microphone.
Seth: Really? Is that it? That the best The Row has got?
Ace: You know, at this rate, he may not even need to cheat anymore.
Wolf: Well, fortunately for The Row, not everyone here is as pathetic as Johnny Cox.
We cut to Johnny Cox, who’s bleeding profusely from the forehead, despite having been elbowed on the back of the head.
Ace: And of course he’s busted open!
Wolf: I told you he was retarded. He bladed his damn forehead. What a fool.
Seth: Really is that the best this place has got?
Seth Stratton looks around at the crowd, who boos him profusely. Seth then notices the old man in the first row, sitting with his cane placed over his knees.
Seth: How bout you? How bout old man river?!
Ace: NO! Seth NO!
Wolf: What a punk! He’s picking on a geriatric!
The old man raises his cane and extends it in Seth’s face, yelling something inaudible. The crowd around him cheers, so he must have said something pretty damn awesome.
Seth: Why don’t you come here and prove it then? I’ll even hold the ropes open for you.
The old man starts to rise but the fans around him hold him down and try to dissuade them.
Ace: Jesus Christ, this old bastard actually wants to do it! He looks a hundred years old Wolf! Almost as old as you!
Wolf: Oh shut the fuck up.
Seth: Come on grandpa. Don’t let em stop you!
The old man rises up with his cane, his bones making noise as they straighten up in their joints. The old man turns and shakes his cane like a weapon at the crowd, and they back off.
Ace: He’s actually trying to get into the ring! We’ve got to stop it!
Wolf: It’s his funeral! Fuck it!
The old man reaches the ring and climbs slowly up the steps. It takes him so long Seth Stratton gets antsy.
Seth: Come on now, come on. Your time is precious these days!
Ace: He’s got that right. If he gets into that ring his time will be limited, that’s for sure. Seth could kill this old man!
Wolf: As long as it isn’t me, I don’t care.
The old man makes his way to the apron, his breathing heavy. He stops once he reaches its center to cough profusely, each cough rattling his old bones.
Ace: Don’t die… don’t die… don’t die… don’t die…
Wolf: What are you praying? He’s just breakin up some mucus!
The old man spits and then straightens up, his eyes clearing. The old man then steps through the ropes and Seth Stratton backs away from him as the old man takes his cane and follows after him, yelling something.
Ace: This is one crotchety old man!
Seth: We’ve got a live one here folks!
The old man swings his cane like a sword in front of him, and Seth Stratton dodges them, moving backwards.
Seth: Toro! Toro!
The old man then swings the cane down and it hits Seth Stratton square in the head. Seth Stratton sells the strike, staggering back and grabbing his head.
Seth: You son of a bitch!
Ace: Oh no!
Wolf: Seth is gonna get him some!
Ace: Don’t do it!
Seth Stratton drops the microphone in anger and starts to charge the old man, but the old man suddenly staggers backwards, clutching at his heart. The old man’s eyes pop out wide and his mouth spreads, showing his ugly yellowed teeth.
Ace: What?! What’s going on here!
The old man drops to a knee, clutching his chest and then falls face forward to the mat.
Ace: Jesus Christ he’s had a heart attack!
Seth Stratton looks around at the crowd, and then decides it’s best to just high tail it. Seth Stratton exits the ring as Dark comes rushing down to the ring. Dark passes Seth Stratton and slides under the ring.
Ace: We need help! Some one call 9-1-1!
Wolf: Fuck that! The last time the cops showed up at a Lethal Injection Tim Ross got arrested!
Ace: Wolf no, we need help! A man’s life is at stake!
Wolf: That fucker is dead. Better him than me.
Dark reaches the old man on the mat and turns him over. The man breathes shallowly, his hands curled into two gnarled claws. Dark turns a motions back to the back.
Ace: Come on, somebody!
The crowd buzzes, not knowing what to do, as Dark can be seen talking to the old man, taking one of his gnarled hands in his own.
Ace: We’ve, we’ve got to cut away. I’m sorry folks but we’ll be back. . .
FADE TO BLACK.
We cut to Tommy Ace and Waylon Wolf at their post as always. Both seem a tad somber, Tommy Ace wearing a frown instead of his usual shit eating grin.
Ace: Well folks. . . I don't know what to tell you. We had a bit of a situation here, and I can tell you, there was nothing fake about that.
Wolf: You sure? That old bastard was probably faking it.
Ace: Ignore Wolf, fans. Yes I can tell you that this man had a geniune heart attack here just now. Seth Stratton was going to go after the old man--something I still can't believe--and the old man apparently had himself a heart attack. We'll be keeping with this story as the week passes on, but we here he is in critical condition.
Wolf: What did he expect? There's no way The Row is gonna take the fall for this shit if the old man croaks.
Ace: For the sake of human life. . . let's hope he doesn't. Our thoughts and prayers are with that crazy old man, and we hope he pulls through.
Wolf: I hope he goes to Hell and enjoys it!
Ace turns and smacks Wolf on the shoulder, but Wolf ignores him, taking the opportunity to have himself a nip. The truth is the old man's heart attack has frightened Wolf, and reminded him that he himself is getting up there in years.
Wolf: Oh fuck him. As I said before. . . Better him than me!
Ace: Get well soon sir. We're really pulling for you.
Wolf: No. . . we aren't. . .
Wolf: Come on! Let's get this show on the road!
Tommy Ace shakes his head, and we fade.
The opening guitar rape of ‘Needles’ sounds out over the speakers in the banquet hall, and the crowd rises up to boo. The Mariguano fan in the home made Mariguano mask boos loudest of all.
Wolf: I fucking hate this music!
Wolf reaches up and grabs his head, his eyes squinted shut as if to keep the music out. Ace looks at Wolf and laughs, before gazing around at the banquet hall.
Ace: It seems those in the banquet hall feel the same way, Wolf.
Wolf: Rightfully so—this is awful!
We cut back to the entrance of the banquet hall, where the doors suddenly swing open and Major Kendu appears, his bag of tricks draped over his shoulder. Kendu looks around at the crowd, who continue to boo the horrid music. Kendu lets out a smile, as the music somehow soothes his soul, and his soul alone. In fact, it reminds him of the landfill back home—to be perfectly honest.
Ace: Kendu being a psychologist and all—I think his entrance music may be a bit of psychological warfare—you know get to your opponent before you even got to wrestle him.
Wolf: If so—that’s pretty damn smart.
Kendu looks around at the layout of the banquet hall and laughs at its tackiness. That’s right—even a man in possession of a landfill finds this place atrocious. Kendu makes his way to the ring then, taking a short trip past the fans, walking calm on the shitty ‘marble floors.’ Kendu reaches the steps and then climbs up to the apron.
Ace: Kendu looking as heartless as always here.
Wolf: Pardon me Ace. A little hair of the dog.
Wolf takes a sip from his flask at the commentator’s table as Kendu looks out on the crowd and scowls, takes his bag of tricks and places it over the top rope in the corner of the ring. Kendu then walks his way to the center of the apron and steps over the middle rope and swings his head under the top rope.
Wolf: So really. . . the mystery continues. Is this guy Asian or not?
Ace: Does he look Asian to you?
Wolf: I don’t know. Which ones were the Japanese again?
Ace: I’m not going to get into this discussion with you right now, Wolf.
Kendu walks to the center of the ring and raises his arms for a second, his action bringing a burst of even more vehement boos from the few people gathered around the ring.
Ace: Kendu is ready ladies and gentlemen, are you ready? Are you ready Wolf?
Wolf: Ready for another taste!
All Along the Watch Tower begins to play through the banquet hall, and the crowd rises up with a mild pop. We cut to the entrance of the banquet hall, where Sonny Thompson steps through the doorway. Having just ridden his Harley all up and down the parking lot, he’s ready for a fight, and looking around he sees plenty of targets.
Ace: Well here comes Sonny Thompson, who as we mentioned earlier in the show has yet to have a legitimate match.
Wolf: The Disposal doesn’t belong in The Row. He can’t fight, all he does is eat, and he fucking pukes on people. I’m surprised Sonny Thompson hasn’t killed the bastard himself.
Ace: Sonny is a dirty bastard as it is. Look he hasn’t even changed out of those barf clothes. He sleeps on the ground—in the gutter—fucking anywhere. He reeks of body odor, semen, mud, and oil. What kind you do with a guy like that except hose him the fuck down?
Wolf: That reminds me—we should get that bastard deloused. He’s gotta be teeming with all kinds of bugs!
Ignoring the cheers from the fans, strange since he doesn’t give two shits about him, Sonny makes his way to the ring. Charlie, the six inch figment of Sonny’s warped mind appears on his shoulder, and he stops before the ring to talk to it.
Ace: And did we mention he’s crazy to boot?
Wolf: What is that thing he see’s anyway?
Ace: No one is exactly sure. . . Some dude named Charlie. So it goes. He insists it’s from Agent Orange—there aint no way. . . Less of course Sonny claims to be seventy years old!
They seem in the middle of a heated discussion, and Kendu grows impatient and makes is way over to the ropes. Kendu leans over the top rope and motions for Sonny to enter the ring. Sonny shakes his head and looks around, as Charlie has suddenly disappeared—his friend of friends. Sonny frowns for a moment, his mouth disappearing somewhere down in the gruff of his beard.
Ace: I have no idea what Charlie just Sonny, but it must not have been good.
Wolf: Jesus Christ he’s fucked. Even his alter-personality doesn’t like him.
Ace: Charlie is an hallucination—nothing more.
Sonny makes his way to the ring, climbing up the steel steps, walks out to the center of the apron, and then enters the ring. He looks around at the crowd and goes without a taunt, as he’s quite unfamiliar with the process. He makes his way to the corner and takes off his sunglasses and placing them on the steel steps in the corner.
Ace: Charlene is late in her arrival. . . I hope she’s okay. . .
Wolf: Damn bitch has missed her cue!
Wolf takes a swig of his flask as the crowd sits around wondering what the problem is. Their idle chit-chat fills the room, and both competitors stare at one another, while El Toro makes his way to Sonny and checks him for weapons. Toro does the same wit Kendu.
Ace: I don’t know where Charlene is—
Wolf: Fuck that, Toro checking Kendu for weapons. How retarded is that? All of Kendu’s weapons are in that stupid bag of his.
Charlene comes running down to the ring, pulling an arm through a strap after appearing in one of the many doorways into the banquet hall (fire regulations, you see). She smiles and the men in the crowd let out some whistles as she reaches the steps, climbs them, and then enters the ring.
Ace: There’s my girl!
Wolf: The fucking slut! She was doing business!
Charlene gets a microphone from a ring hand and then brings it to her lips, both Sonny and Kendu looking more than a little annoyed for having to wait.
Charlene: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is for one fall and has a thirty minute time limit. Introducing first, from
Major Kendu ignores the announcement, cracking the last few stubborn vertebrae in his neck. The crowd boos, and Kendu turns to look around at them as if their opinion matters very little.
Charlene: And his opponent, from Oakland California, weighting in at two hundred and sixty five pounds, he is The Anchor. . . SONNY. . . THOMPSONNNNN!
The crowd lets out a weak applause for Sonny as he turns to spit out of the ring. Had the owners seen that sort of thing, they would have been pissed, but as it is those two fruitcakes were probably blowing one another right about now.
Ace: Well this one is about underway here folks. Get ready for a real brawl.
Wolf: Yeah these fellas are going to go blow for blow.
El Toro stands between Major Kendu and Sonny Thompson and raises an arm, striking the air and signaling for the bell. The crowd lets out a weak pop as the bell rings, officially starting the match.
Sonny Thompson says something inaudible to Major Kendu, sticks out his hand and points and finger in Kendu's face. Kendu reaches up with his right hand swats the hand out of his face.
Ace: And we’re off with the match—but both men seem to be jabbering with one another.
Wolf: Kendu working the mind games already—he’s a psychologist, you know that?
Ace: Yes. . . Kendu makes sure everyone knows that upon meeting him. It’s annoying.
Sonny Thompson and Major Kendu then come chest to chest, face to face, jabbering bullshit at one another. They're faces contort as they fling hateful insults at one another, and finally Kendu has enough. He reaches back with his right and then swings it forward, connecting with the jaw of Sonny Thompson.
Ace: Hard right by Kendu!
Wolf: Sonny has taken a couple hundred of those in his lifetime.
Sonny Thompson rocks back with the blow and Major Kendu follows it up with yet another right. The blow connects and Sonny sells the right, shaking his head after the shot. Kendu then throws another right and Sonny Thompson shakes it off and grabs Kendu by the head before leaning back and striking him in the head with his own forehead.
Ace: Head butt by Thompson.
Major Kendu falls straight to the matt and Sonny Thompson sells the effects of the headbutt for a moment. Shaking his head clear he makes his way over to Kendu and grabs him by the hair, forcing him up to his feet. Sonny Thompson then pushes Kendu in the corner and goes to work on his gut, throwing hard rights and lefts
Ace: Thompson working Kendu in the gut.
Wolf: And he’s trapped in the corner, Kendu is. There’s no place anyone wants to be. You can’t move, you can’t go anywhere, you can’t evade shit—you’re literally trapped, like a mouse—and Sonny’s the cat right now!
Major Kendu sells each blow, and Sonny Thompson then steps back to admire his handiwork. Kendu bends slightly in the corner, breathing slowly as if the process pains him.
Ace: Some Tom and Jerry action eh, Wolf?
Wolf: I wouldn’t say that—why do you have to go and ruin a damn good analogy like that? You’re a fucking imbecile you know that?
Ace: Yeah—no wait, NO. No. . .
Sonny Thompson steps forward and grabs Major Kendu around the throat with both hands and then picks him up and turns, tossing him toward the center of the mat. Kendu comes down with a large slam.
Ace: Look at the pure strength of Sonny Thompson!
Wolf: He just tossed Kendu around like a ragdoll!
Ace: Sonny not only just looks strong—he is strong! I’d like to see him go toe to toe with Goliath—that is if The Goliath were still around.
Wolf: Don’t you mention that bitch around here—he’s a drop out. Old news. Dead fish. Probably bloated sitting on the couch right now, watching 300 every damn night.
Sonny Thompson smiles for the unresponsive crowd and then stomps his way over to Kendu, who still sells the choke toss in the center of the ring. Kendu sits on his ass, his left arm bent behind him, placed over the small of his back. Sonny Thompson reaches Kendu and hooks his around the head briefly before bringing up a left hand and bringing it savagely down on the top of Kendu's head.
Ace: Hard left by Sonny Thompson!
Wolf: Damn right! Sounds like a perfect excuse to take another shot!
Kendu slumps to the mat and Sonny Thompson drops to his knees. He then covers Kendu, hooking one leg, using his weight to pin him to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat to perform his duties as sworn official of The Row.
Ace: We’ve got a pin 1--kick out.
Wolf: That was quicker than Tommy Ace in bed!
Ace: Hey, who’d you hear that from? Was it Sandy?!
Sonny Thompson rises up to his knees before he gets to his feet, one foot at a time. Kendu rises to his feet around the same time. The two men face off immediately, circling around one another.
Wolf: I was kidding. . .
Ace: Oh—well so was I. . . . Both men up to their feet now—
Wolf: Way to change the subject, Ace.
Kendu and Sonny Thompson go to lock up, but Kendu rises up a leg, kicking Sonny Thompson in the gut. Thompson bends over from the blow and Kendu then hooks Sonny around the head between his legs, and falls backward, pulling Sonny vertical as he does so.
Ace: Pulldown piledriver!
Wolf: Just like planting a guy in a landfill . .
The crowd pops as Sonny slumps to the mat, selling the pulldown piledriver. Kendu gets up to his knees before getting to his feet. Kendu then makes his way over to the fallen Sonny and stomps him in the chest once, twice, three times before bending at the waist and pulling Sonny to his feet.
Ace: And Kendu is not done, he's looking to unleash some more punishment here, Wolf.
Wolf: At this point, I don't care. Just show me where the nearest bar is, and I'll be good.
Ace: You can't leave the show! We just started!
Wolf: Oh no worries there little bitch, my flask isn't empty. . . yet.
Kendu reaches back, forming an edge with his right hand before bringing it forward across the chest of Sonny Thompson. The shot rings out and the crowd lets out a meager pop.
Ace: Hard chop by Kendu! Did you hear that one!
Wolf: Everyone in San Clarita heard that one, Ace.
Sonny steps back and sells the chop, grimacing in pain. Kendu takes a step forward to make up for the ground lost and again brings back his right hand, forming an edge by keeping his hand flat, and then brings it savagely forward across the chest of Sonny. Again the crowd applauds the chop.
Ace: And yet another hard chop from Kendu!
Sonny backs up against the ropes and Major Kendu chops him once more before pushing him up against the ropes and tossing him in the opposite direction.
Ace: Irish whip, Sonny into the ropes now. .
Sonny hits the ropes on the other side of the ring, turning his back so that the ropes propel him from whence he came, and as Sonny reaches Major Kendu, Kendu lowers at the waist and lifts upward, sending Sonny Thompson over him and to the mat.
Ace: Back body drop by Kendu!
Wolf: Sonny got some serious air with that one.
Kendu then scrambles over to Sonny Thompson, selling the body drop on the mat. He hooks the leg, pulling upward and pinning him to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat a second later and goes for the count, the fans rising up in anticipation of the possible pinfall.
Ace: We've got another pin by Kendu! 1. . . 2-- kick out by Sonny. Not enough there.
Wolf: Kendu didn't like the fact Sonny kicked out of that one. I think he just wants to go home--and I feel the same way.
Kendu gets up to his feet angrily, and lets his anger out on Sonny Thompson by stomping him once, twice, three times, before kicking his own feet out from under him and coming down with his head to the head of Sonny Thompson.
Ace: Falling headbutt by Kendu on Sonny Thompson.
Wolf: Returning the favor after that headbutt from Sonny earlier.
Kendu then grabs Sonny by the leg and pins him to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat a split second later.
Ace: Another pin by attempt 1. . .2. . . kick out!
Wolf: And here's where frustration sets in. Pardon me while I have me another drink.
Kendu gets up and checks with El Toro, who shows him two fat midget fingers. Kendu gets pissed and threatens the little man with a nice little spot in his landfill, all for him. Sonny Thompson slowly gets to his feet, and Kendu is done with the midget for now, and turns to face off with Sonny.
Ace: Sonny is up now, both men facing off once again.
Kendu throws a left, rocking Sonny back, then another, and another, each blow landing successfully and taking Sonny Back a step until he is up against the ropes.
Ace: Several lefts from Kendu, working Sonny into the ropes.
Wolf: Sonny likes getting punched in the face--this is fun for him. I can assure you of that.
Ace: You think Charlie is on his shoulder right now? Watch out Sonny! Watch out!
Kendu pushes Sonny up against the ropes, and then grabs him by the wrist, tossing him toward the opposite side of the ring. Sonny hits the ropes on one side of the ring, trning his back so they propel him back toward the center of the ring. Sonny reaches Kendu and Kendu bends at the waist, preparing to lift Sonny up and over to the mat.
Ace: Another back-body drop—no!
Sonny stops on a dime and and raises up a kick, kicking Kendu in the chest. Kendu sells kick, straightening up.
Ace: Kick here by Sonny after the attempted back body drop by Kendu.
Kendu then suddenly rises up extending an arm toward Sonny Thompson’s throat.
Ace: Lariat—no! Sonny ducks.
Sonny ducks grabbing the arm, as he passes. He then grabs Sonny’s other arm pulling them back and over his head. Sonny then lifts Kendu up and quickly pulls downward, slamming him to the mat.
Ace: Look at that power! Sonny once again putting on a display of strength with that move.
Wolf: A double under hook slam? What the hell what that?
Kendu sells the move on the mat, his face twisted into one of pain as he reaches back and touches the small of his back. Sonny looks around at the crowd for a moment before he makes his way over to him and grabs a hand full of hair pulling Kendu to his feet. Sonny reaches back and throws a hard left, and Kendu sells the blow, stumbling back into the corner.
Ace: Kendu into the corner now after that hard left from Sonny.
Wolf: You know Sonny's got a fist like a sledgehammer--he hits you with that thing and your brain bounces around in your skull. It's no fun.
Sonny makes his way to Kendu, and as he reaches him, Sonny grabs Kendu by the wrist and pulls him toward the turnbuckle.
Ace: Irish whip by Sonny-no! Reversed by Kendu. . .
Kendu reverses, turning and pulling Sonny through, whipping him into the turnbuckle instead. Sonny collides with the corner with force, and before he has a chance to sell Kendu charges him. Kendu reaches Sonny and Sonny comes out of the corner with an elbow to the head of Kendu.
Ace: Hard elbow by Sonny Thompson to the head of Major Kendu!
Kendu staggers back toward the center of the ring. He turns as Sonny Thompson taunts him from the corner. Sonny then kicks Kendu in the gut, causing him to bend at the waist. Sonny then grabs Kendu by around the waist, and lifts him up quickly before snapping him down to the mat.
Ace: Gut wrench powerbomb by Sonny Thompson!
Wolf: He just folded Kendu up with that motherfucker.
The crowd pops as Kendu sells the gut wrench powerbomb. Sonny then scrambles over to Kendu and hooks one leg, going for the pin. El Toro, ready as always, drops to his knees and goes for the count.
Ace: We’ve got a pin by Sonny Thompson! 1. . .2--kick out. Not enough there.
Wolf: Is Kendu Asian? Have we figured this shit out yet?
Ace: Wolf—we’re not going to get into this, okay?
Sonny Thompson gets up, grabbing Kendu by the hair and bringing him to his feet with him. Suddenly Kendu reaches up and grabs Sonny by the right arm, extending the arm and using one of his hands to push against the elbow.
Wolf: That Kendu is a crazy bastard!
Ace: Armbar by Kendu now on Sonny.
Sonny bends down at the waist, and the drops to a knee. He turns and uses his free hand to punch Kendu in the face, once, twice, three times before he’s back to his feet and the hold is broken. Sonny the grabs Kendu’s arm and lifts him up from the bent position up to his shoulder.
Ace: Pump Handle—No!
Kendu slides off of Sonny’s shoulder and lands on both of his feet and grabs Sonny by the arm dropping to the mat in an armbar.
Ace: Kendu again going for that arm bar. . .
Wolf: And Sonny is trying to get to the ropes!
Sonny slides his way toward the ropes as Kendu tries to wrench the hold, the crowd buzzing at the attempted submission.
Ace: That he is Wolf, that he is!
Sonny reaches the ropes and grabs the bottom rope with his free hand. El Toro rises up and makes the count as Kendu refuses to break the hold. Uno. . . Dos. . . Tres. . . Kendu breaks the hold.
Ace: Sonny able to get to the ropes, but Kendu did not want to break the hold there. He's going to have to watch out, El Toro has no qualms with throwing him out of this one.
Wolf: I wish I could throw you out Ace. But I can't. So I just drink now.
El Toro warns Kendu, but Kendu ignores him as Sonny sells on the mat. Kendu stomps a fallen Sonny once, and Sonny sells the stomp. Kendu then bends at the waist and grabs Sonny by his long hair and pulls him to his feet. Once there, Kendu kicks him once again in the gut.
Ace: More offense here by Kendu--look out Sonny!
Kendu then grabs Sonny by the head and tosses him face first into the corner. Sonny collides with the corner and sells the blow turning into the corner, and dropping to his knees. Kendu then stomps Sonny once in the chest, then grabs Sonny by the hair once again, pulling him out of the corner.
Ace: Kendu doing work here.
Wolf: I'm doing work on this here flask, I'm gonna need another. FUCK THA WIFE!
Kendu then grabs Sonny from behind, and then bends his knees lifting Sonny up and over to the mat.
Ace: Belly to back suplex by Kendu! What strength, Wolf, to lift Sonny up and over like that!
Wolf: Awww Sonny was helpin' you know that. . .
Sonny sells the suplex on the mat, getting up on his side and shaking his head. Kendu then forces Sonny's shoulders to the mat and covers him, hooking the leg as El Toro slides to the mat for the count.
Ace: There's a cover here, 1. . .2--kick out.
Both men slowly get to their feet, Kendu reaching his first and then stalking over Sonny Thompson as he crawls his way to the ropes and pulls himself up. Kendu then grabs a bent over Sonny and tosses him into the nearest corner, and Sonny goes between the top and middle turnbuckle, his shoulder colliding with the ring post.
Ace: Oh my God! Sonny just collided with the ring post!
Wolf: That's one way to burn out a shoulder.
Sonny sells the collision, falling backwards to the mat and grabbing his shoulder as the crowd applauds the bump. El Toro bends down and checks on Sonny, and Kendu stands over Sonny, laughing.
Ace: And Kendu is enjoying Sonny's pain!
Wolf: Of course he is. Kendu is from Michigan. There's nothing to do there but laugh at the pain of others.
El Toro asks Sonny if he would like to give up, and Sonny shakes his head. His face is contorted into a grimace, his hand up near his shoulder, still selling the collision.
Ace: Sonny refusing to give up here, though he's obviously in some pain here.
Wolf: Nothing a shot or two couldn't fix!
Kendu gets to his feet, bounces off the ropes and comes down across Sonny's throat with his leg.
Ace: Leg drop by Kendu on Sonny.
Kendu then grabs Sonny by the hair, who's still selling the leg drop on the mat, and pulls upward, bringing him to his feet. Kendu then grabs Sonny around the waist, lifting him horizontally before dropping him down back first against Kendu's bent knee.
Ace: What a back breaker!
Sonny sells the back breaker, El Toro bending at the waist to check on him. Kendu slowly gets to his feet behind him and walks his way to the front of Sonny Thompson. Kendu then bends over and again grabs Sonny by the hair, pulling upward and bringing him to his feet. Kendu then reaches back and throws a hard right, the blow knocking Sonny to one knee.
Ace: Kendu keeping up with the offense, you can tell he really wants a win here tonight after losing to Mariguano.
Wolf: You know, I don't even think Kendu cares about Death Row gold--all he wants is to have a trophy room full of 'trophies.'
Sonny returns the blow with a hard right of his own, the blow knocking Kendu back a step. Kendu returns the right with a right of his own, the blow connecting and rocking Sonny back on his knees. Sonny returns the blow with a right of his own, to the gut of Kendu.
Ace: Both men exchanging blows here
Wolf: We've got ourselves a fucking fist fight!
Kendu rocks back from the blow but comes back with a kick to the chest of Sonny Thompson. Kendu kicks Sonny in the gut a second time and then takes off toward the ropes.
Ace: Kendu off the ropes. . .
Kendu returns to the center of the ring and Sonny gets up to his feet and extends a foot, the foot hitting Kendu in the face and knocking him clean to the mat. The crowd pops as Kendu sells on the mat.
Ace: Big Boot from Sonny Thompson!
Sonny sells his previous injuries, reaching up to grab his head and stumble around the ring. Sonny hits the ropes and catches himself, before stepping over the top rope to the apron. Sonny then walks over to the corner turnbuckle and pulls himself up to the top turnbuckle.
Ace: Sonny going for some high risk here!
Wolf: This may be a bad idea, this guy can't fly. Not unless he's getting high!
Sonny perches on the top rope as Kendu slowly gets to his feet. Kendu reaches his feet and turns to face Sonny as he jumps off the top rope, raising both arms over his head. Sonny comes down but Kendu sees him, kicking him in the gut as he lands.
Ace: Sonny was going for the double axe handle there, but Kendu saw it in time!
Sonny sells the kick, stumbling back up against the ropes. Sonny bends at the waist and sells the kick, as Kendu makes his way over to him. Kendu reaches Sonny and then throws a right, which rocks Sonny back up against the ropes.
Ace: Hard right by Kendu, and Sonny is trapped up against the ropes once again!
Kendu then reaches back and chops Sonny across the chest, the blow ringing out through the small banquet hall. The crowd lets out a meager pop at the blow, and the Kendu grabs Sonny by the wrist, pulling him toward the ropes at the other side of the ring.
Ace: Irish whip by Kendu--no, reversal by Sonny.
Sonny turns, and pulls, whipping Kendu into the ropes instead. Kendu hits the ropes on the other side of the ring and as he returns to Sonny, Sonny grabs him around the waist from the side and spins him through the air before slamming him to the mat.
Ace: Twilt-o-Whirl slam by Sonny Thompson! This one is back and forth, back and forth so far!
The crowd pops at the loud bump as Sonny Thompson hooks the leg, pinning Kendu to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat to make the count, his small hand rising and striking the mat.
Ace: 1. . . 2. . . NO! Kick out by Kendu! Kendu kicks out!
Wolf: And if you're playing a long a home--that means it's time for another shot!
El Toro rises up and extends an arm with two fingers extended as Sonny Thompson slowly gets to his feet. He grabs Kendu by the hair and brings him to his feet. Sonny Thompson then whips Kendu into the ropes.
Ace: Irish whip--Kendu into the ropes.
Kendu returns to the center of the ring and jumps up into the air for a lariat, but Sonny ducks, and instead Kendu tramples over the little El Toro.
Ace: Toro is down! The little guy just got demolished by Kendu!
Wolf: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-I'm sorry, that's just so funny.
El Toro sells on the mat, as Sonny Thompson goes to check on him. Kendu however, could give two fucks, instead turning to his bag of tricks and opening it.
Ace: Sonny you fool! Don't check on Toro! Watch your opponent!
Wolf: Am I the only one who knows there are weapons in that bag?
Ace: No--everyone knows--everyone but Sonny!
Kendu smiles as he pulls out a stun gun, and he raises it up in the air. The crowd pops as Kendu starts it up, a trickle of electricity emitting from it. Kendu then gets to his feet and Sonny turns around facing Kendu, and gets a gut full of stun gun.
Ace: OH MY GOD!
Sonny sells the stun gun, almost comically, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head and his arms and legs shooting out and shaking as if the bolts were shooting through his whole body.
Ace: The stun gun! The stun gun!
Sonny crumbles to the mat and Kendu covers him before concealing the weapon. El Toro stirs, and looking up sees the cover. He slowly makes the count.
Ace: 1. . . NO! 2. . . NO! . . . 3!! He's done it! God damn it Kendu has done it!
Wolf: Time for a celebratory drink!
El Toro raises up and signals for the bell, and the bell rings out, signaling the end of the match.
In some lounge area of the hotel, we see all three members of Anarchy gathered inside. Cash Money members Shane and Jason are both seated next to one another with their eyes focused directly on Ian Michaels who stands in front of them.
Ian Michaels: We've already created Anarchy tonight and destroyed some sad saps. But this is not enough boys. In just a bit, we have Dark and his cronies to contend with. Now, I know what you might be thinking. We destroyed all three last week, but we only gave them a small dose of what they will experience tonight... Minus so much shit!
Ace: The boss is not going to like that comment!
Ace: You were too drunk to remember last Lethal Injection you old bastard!
As Ian turns towards the door and points. His moment of silence is broken with a few slight giggles and whatnot from all three men.
Ian Michaels: Tonight, we take control of Death Row for good and end the reign of Dark atop of the cesspool! His fifteen minutes ticked away thirty seconds in his new position. The fame we once had at Row is now a joke. We are wrestling at Frat houses and shitty bed bug infested hotels. What was once great is now, no pun intended, SHIT! So tonight, we showcase no mercy whatsoever... We forcefully take control of Death Row and send Dark and his boys away for good!
Cash Money: YEAH!
Ian Michaels: Nice to hear you so excited boys!
Ian looks up at the clock on the wall.
Ian Michaels: Tick tock goes the old clock Dark! Your time is up, and as the new Warden of Death Row, I am calling for your execution to no longer be held off, but to be in just a few minutes. I will be the one giving you that healthy dose of LETHAL INJECTION!
Cash Money laughs, as Ian heads out the door and Cash Money quickly jumps from their chairs and follow him.
Wolf: GOD DAMMIT! WHERE IS MY WHISKEY BOY!
Ace: God dammit Wolf, we have a show to do, BE PROFESSIONAL!
Wolf: I'mma fuck you up you green horn bastard. Now go fetch me a bottle before I turn you into my cell mate bitch!
We cut to Ace and Waylon Wolf, sitting at their table as always. The nips from his flask have started to take their toll, and Waylon Wolf is sitting with his head bobbing up and down, almost as if he is slipping in out of consciousness. Ace turns to look at him and shake a weary head before he looks back to the camera. Someone has got to hold up The Row.
Ace: Well we've heard from Anarchy here tonight, but still nothing from the Boss.
Wolf: He's probably out getting drunk, where he should be. Everyone should get drunk. The Row: where everyone gets drunk!
Ace: More like The Row: where Waylon Wolf pisses his LEGACY away.
Wolf: The Row: This is HOW your start a LEGACY.
Ace: I see what you did there. . .
Crucified by All begins to play out through the banquet hall, and the fans rise to welcome one of the longest survivors in The Row, Cort Vang.
Ace: Well here we go with tournament action, ladies and gentlemen. This one of course is in the second round, both men coming off of victories against Major Kendu and Shane Jackson.
Wolf: Sphheaking of Shane Jackson, let's hope Anarchy stays out of this one.
Ace: Wolf! Don't pain the devil on the wall! These bastards have already taken out Fracture, we don't need any more losses!
We cut to the entrance of the banquet hall, where Cort Vang appears without thermos or the usual fast paced energy of past Lethal Injections. He looks out on the crowd and extends both arms in mockery of the crucifixion.
Ace: Why's he gotta do that anyway?
Wolf: Because he's Cort Vang--he's an asshole!
Cort Vang then makes his way down to the ring, ignoring the fans on both sides of him reaching out for a high-five. Cort Vang reaches the ring and climbs up the steel steps.
Ace: Cort looking ready here, Wolf.
Wolf: And I'm ready. . . for another drink!
Cort Vang enters the ring, and looks around at the crowd. He raises his arms up in mockery of the crucifixion and the crowd suddenly pops as Mariguano comes charging out to the ring.
Ace: And here comes Mariguano! He's not wasting any time! He wants him a piece of Cort Vang!
Cort Vang looks around and turns just in time to see Mariguano jump up to the apron, then pull himself to the top rope before jumping off and hitting him square in the jaw with both feet extended.
Ace: Spring board dropkick by Mariguano!
Wolf: And listen to these douchebags!
The crowd pops as Cort Vang hits the mat and the bell rings out, officially signaling the start of the match.
Ace: And this one is now officially underway! Here we go!
Cort Vang sells on the mat as the crowd continues to cheer, and quickly Mariguano gets to his feet and starts to stomp the fallen Cort Vang. He stomps him twice before bending at the waist and bringing Cort Vang to his feet. Mariguano then extends out his right arm and comes forward, striking Cort Vang and sending him up to the ropes.
Ace: Lariat here by Mariguano--not enough to take Cort down but he's up in the ropes.
Wolf: Working that rope a dope? Mexicans even know who Muhammad Ali is? They're all about that Pacquaio.
Ace: Pacquaio is Filipino you fool.
Wolf: What's the difference?
Mariguano then pushes Cort Vang up into the ropes before pulling toward the opposite side of the ring and pushing Cort on the small of the back as he passes him.
Ace: Irish whip here by Mariguano on Cort.
Cort Vang hits the ropes on the other side of the ring and as he returns Mariguano extends out an arm.
Ace: Clothesline, no--Cort ducks!
Cort hits the ropes on the other side of the ring and then returns bringing up his legs and sticking his feet together, hitting Cort Vang low in the groin area, sending him to the mat.
Ace: Drop kick from Cort Vang!
The crowd pops as Mariguano sells on the mat sitting up on his ass. Mariguano makes a face and rolls out of the ring gingerly, as Cort Vang gets to his feet and stalks him from inside of the ring.
Ace: I think that one got him in the family jewels!
Wolf: In the cahones!
Cort Vang follows after Mariguano, extending the ring under the middle rope. Cort Vang lands outside of the ring, within feet of the fans around the ring and they start to cheer--for if they really wanted to they could extend out their hands a touch two members of the Scumbag Elite--The Row. Talk about bragging rights man. . .
Ace: This one is going outside!
Mariguano staggers outside and and Cort Vang measures him up before swinging a right leg through to the back of Mariguano's leg.
Ace: What--What a kick by Cort Vang! Jesus Christ!
Wolf: More effective than a bong hit.
Mariguano sells the kick, stumbling forward and around the ring. Mariguano stops in front of a few fans and bends over to catch his breath, and they go crazy, as fans often do in their abundant stupidity. Cort Vang then makes his way over to Mariguano and grabs him by the wrist, twisting the arm before pulling through in an attempt to throw Mariugano into the crowd.
Ace: Irish whip, no! Reversed by Mariguano! And there goes Cort Vang into the crowd!
Cort Vang collides with a fat man in the first row, and the two spill over, the fat man falling backward and sprawling around, sending more fans and chairs to the ground in his wake. The crowd pops as Cort Vang sells on the ground, the fans standing around him as he breaths heavily and grabs the small of his back.
Ace: That's the Row for you, up close and personal!
Wolf: Lalalalala you know, I think I'm drunkkkk?
Ace: Is that a question or a statement, Wolf?
Wolf: You know, I don't know.
Cort Vang gets up to his feet and Mariguano charges him, and as Mariguano reaches him Cort Vang bends at the waist and lifts Mariguano up and over him, sending him into yet another grouping of fans.
Ace: And there goes Mariguano! What's with the count here?
Wolf: El Toro letting this one go, obviously.
Mariguano gets up to his feet in the mass of fans, and Cort Vang follows after him. Mariguano throws a right, but Cort Vang blocks it, and then throws a stiff right kick to the head of Mariguano.
Ace: And they're fighting in the fans now! Only in the fuckin' Row!
Wolf: Weee whiskeyyyyyy!
Mariguano staggers back from the stiff kick and Cort Vang grabs him by the mask and then tosses him toward the steel steps. Mariguano turns and collides back first into the steel steps, the collision causing the two parts to separate. The crowd pops.
Ace: Into the steel steps now! These guys are all over the place.
Wolf: Tear this mutha to the ground!
Mariguano sells the collision on the ground, his face twisted into a grimace. Cort Vang plays it up for the crowd for a moment before grabbing Mariguano by the mask and pulling him to his feet. Cort Vang then tosses him into the ring and follows after him.
Ace: This one back in the ring, thank God!
Wolf: Fuck it, Toro is letting this one go. Why not fight out in the parking lot?
Cort Vang scrambles after Mariguano and hooks the leg, pinning him to the mat. El Toro then slides to the mat after him and goes for the official count, the fans rising up in anticipation of the potential pinfall.
Ace: We've got ourselves a pin!
Wolf: We've got ourselves some gin!
Ace: 1. . .2--Kick out.
Cort Vang checks with El Toro, who rises up and extends two fat midget fingers. The crowd dies down and Cort Vang gets up to his feet and then makes his way over to Mariguano. He lifts Mariguano up into the seated position, then walks around to face Mariguano.
Ace: What's he going for here?
Wolf: I don't know, but something tells me that beaner aint gonna like it.
Wolf hiccups over his headset as Cort Vang steps back, measuring up a kick. Cort Vang then brings his right foot forward violently, using his hips to pull through as the foot connects with Mariguano's head, sending him to the mat. The crowd lets out an OHHHHHHHHHHHH as Mariguano sells on the mat, motionless.
Ace: WHAT A KICK! JESUS CHRIST!
Wolf: That shit sounded like a 50. cal going off! Whooeh! AMURICAA!
Cort Vang looks around at the crowd as the applause comes trickling out. Mariguano rolls around on the mat, grabbing his head, and El Toro bends at the waist to check on him. Mariguano turns over onto his belly and shakes his head, still selling the kick. He reaches out for the bottom rope and misses, then gets up to his knees and crawls into the corner. He rests his head on the middle turnbuckle as Cort Vang stalks behind him.
Ace: That kick really fucked up Mariguano. Look at him.
Wolf: You know who's also fffhucked up? ME!!!!!
Ace: Good God. . .
Cort Vang stomps Mariguano in the center of the back, and Mariguano sells the blow, coming forward and slumping in the corner of the ring. Mariguano turns and slumps in the corner of the ring, facing Cort Vang. Cort Vang then comes forward, grabbing Mariguano by the mask and pulling him to his feet out of the corner in the center of the ring.
Cort Vang then turns, still grabbing Mariguano's mask and slams him head first into the top turnbuckle.
Mariguano collides with the turnbuckle and comes bending backwards out of the corner. Cort Vang then bends at the waist and hooks Mariguano around the shoulder and between the legs, lifting him up and turning him, as if for a power slam. Cort Vang then hooks Mariguano's legs over the top rope in the corner of the ring.
Ace: Cort Vang has just tied up Mariguano in the corner.
He's got an upside down look of Cort Vang.
Well shit. . . I dunno.
Wolf hiccups again as Cort Vang starts to kick Mariguano in the face, once, twice, three times before making his way to the opposite side of the ring. Cort Vang then raises his arms up in mockery of the crucifix before charges Mariguano in the corner of the ring and slides to the mat with both feet extending, bringing them into the face of Mariguano.
Ace: Baseball slide by Cort Vang!
The crowd goes OHHHHHHH as Mariguano unhooks his legs from the top rope and falls forward to the mat. Mariguano sells the baseball slide, rolling out of the ring as Cort Vang raises up his arms and soaks up the applause from the crowd.
Ace: What a move!
I don't know who's more dizzy rrrrhight nhoww. Meh or Mhhhariguano.
A DRW chant starts up, and Cort Vang bows for all of the crowd. Cort Vang then makes his way to the ropes and steps out to the ground, where Mariguano is still selling the baseball slide. Cort Vang bends at the waist and grabs Mariguano by the hair and tosses him into the ring.
Ace: Back in the ring now.
Cort Vang slides in after Mariguano, who gets up to his knees in the center of the ring. Cort Vang grabs Mariguano by the the head and strikes downward, punching him once in the head before stepping back and planting another hard kick to the head of Mariguano.
Ace: Jesus Christ another stiff kick from Cort Vang!
Mariguano sells the kick, falling straight to the mat as the crowd applaudes the hard blow. Cort Vang then drops to the mat after Mariguano and covers him, hooking the leg. El Toro slides to the mat a split second later and goes for the count.
Ace: Here's the pin. . . 1. . .2. . . kick out!
Cort Vang checks with El Toro and gets two fingers in his face. Cort Vang then gets to his feet and grabs Mariguano by the mask, pulling him to his feet. Cort Vang punches him, once, twice, three times before pushing him up against the ropes and tossing him into the ropes on the other side of the ring.
Ace: Irish whip now by Cort, no! Reversal by Mariguano.
Mariguano turns and pulls through, sending Cort into the ropes instead.
Ace: Cort into the ropes now.
Cort Vang hits the ropes with his back and then returns to the center of the ring, where Mariguano bends over at the waist to lift him up for a back body drop. Cort Vang kicks Mariguano in the chest, causing him to stagger back, and then Cort Vang turns to run off the ropes he had just rebounded off of.
Ace: Cort Vang into the ropes again after interrupting that attempted back body drop by Mariguano.
Cort Vang turns and hits his back on the ropes and returns to the center of the ring, where Mariguano stops selling and suddenly charges Cort Vang, extending out at arm and hitting him across the chest.
Ace: Lariat by Mariguano!
Cort Vang falls backwards to the mat, and the crowd lets out a pop at the first bit of real offensive Mariguano has had all night. Mariguano turns and stomps Cort Vang several times in the chest, Cort selling each one by squirming around after each stomp.
Ace: Mariguano stomping away now at the fallen Cort.
Mariguano then charges the ropes, jumps up to the middle turnbuckle, and then jumps off, flipping backwards once through the air and landing directly on the fallen Cort Vang.
Ace: Spring board moonsault!
Mariguano rises up quickly, breathing heavy, and grabs Cort Vang bringing him to his feet. Mariguano then places Cort Vang's head between his legs (no homo) and lifts him up, folding Cort up around his head before snapping him down violently to the mat. The crowd lets out a pop.
Ace: Snap powerbomb by Mariguano!
Cort Vang sells the powerbomb on the mat, his arms and legs sprawled out as he stares up at the grand chandelier of the banquet hall. Mariguano raises his arms and the crowd lets out a pop before he drops to his knees and then covers Cort Vang, hooking the leg. The obediant Toro hits the mat and goes for the count.
Ace: And here's the pin. 1. . . 2 kick out.
Mariguano gets up to his knees and looks to Toro, who shows him two fingers. Mariguano then gets to his feet and stomps Cort Vang, once, twice, three times before bending over and bringing him to his feet. Mariguano then grabs Cort Vang by the wrist and tosses him into the ropes.
Ace: Irish whip.
Cort Vang hits the ropes on the other side of the ring, turning and hitting them with his back so that they propel him back toward the center of the ring. Cort Vang reaches Mariguano and Mariguano grabs him around the waist and spins him through the air before bringing his back down against his bent knee.
Mariguano then drops to the mat, hooking Cort Vang's leg, pinning him to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat after him and goes for the count.
Ace: And another pin attempt here by Mariguano! He's trying to get this one over with. 1. . .2. . no! Close but no cigar!
Mariguano gets to his feet and makes his way over to Cort Vang, who's still selling on the mat. Mariguano grabs Cort Vang and brings him to his feet, once there, he drops down, bringing Cort Vang onto his shoulders.
Ace: Fireman's carry here by Mariguano. . .
Mariguano makes his way over to the corner, with Cort Vang still on his shoulders and then throws him down to the mat by the corner.
Ace: Cort get's planted!
Mariguano then makes his way to the corner, and pulls himself up to the top turnbuckle, where he jumps off backwards, flipping through the air and landing on Cort Vang.
Ace: Moonsault by Mariguano!
Mariguano stays on Cort Vang, and El Toro drops to the mat to make the count.
Ace: We've got a pin. . . 1. . . 2. . . no! Kick out by Cort Vang.
Wolf: Mariguano best give up right now. . . What's he gonna do?
Cort Vang sells the moonsault on the mat as Mariguano slowly gets up to his feet. The crowd buzzes. Mariguano walks about the ring, his arms raised, as Cort Vang continues to sell on the mat, lying on his belly. Cort Vang slowly gets up to the seated position and Mariguano grabs him by the head and brings him up the rest of the way.
Ace: Both men to their feet now.
Mariguano then lifts Cort Vang up from behind and places him in the seated position on the top turnbuckle.
Ace: Cort Vang being set up here.
Mariguano climbs up after him, reaching the top rope and then bringing down strikes to the head of Cort Vang. He punches him once, twice, three times before the crowd catches on and starts counting FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN. Mariguano then back flips off the top rope, landing in the center of the ring on his feet.
Ace: Mariguano bringing down the hard rights to Cort Vang! What a backflip!
Wolf: Shouldn't those people have been counting in Spanish?
Cort Vang sells on the top rope, falling forward and resting on the post. Mariguano then charges Cort Vang and kicks Cort Vang in the back of the neck, using the top rope to lift himself up. Cort Vang falls backward, his legs still hooked on the top rope.
Ace: Kick to the small of the back, and Cort Vang is hung up in the ropes!
Cort Vang hangs upside down, and Mariguano makes his way to the opposite corner before charging him and drop kicking him in the gut.
Ace: Drop kick now from Mariguano!
Cort Vang unhooks his legs and falls to the mat as Mariguano raises his arms up for the crowd. Cort rolls into the center of the ring, still selling the dropkick as Mariguano makes his way to the corner. Mariguano exits the ring and stands on the apron near the corner. Mariguano then pulls himself up and over the top rope, and he lands on the middle rope one the other side of the ring before jumping off backwards, flipping through the air and landing on Cort Vang.
Ace: Another springboard moonsault here from Mariguano!
Mariguano hooks Cort's legs, pulling upward and pinning his shoulders to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat after him and goes for the count.
Ace: And we've got a pin here. . . 1. . . 2. . . NO! Kick out by Cort Vang.
El Toro rises up and extends two fingers as Cort Vang sells the moonsault, rolling onto his belly. Mariguano is slow to get up himself. Mariguano gets to his knees first, and then Cort Vang gets to his feet. Mariguano bends down and lifts Cort Vang up onto his shoulders for yet another fireman's carry, but Cort Vang slides off, hooking Mariguano around the waist from behind, pulling him down and pinning him to the mat.
Ace: Reversal! We've got a pin by Cort! 1. . . 2. . . kick out.
Cort Vang rolls backward to his feet after the kick out as El Toro rises up and extends two fingers. Mariguano quickly gets to his feet and kicks Cort Vang once in the head, causing him to drop down to his knees.
Ace: Cort Vang almost stole one there ladies and gentlemen.
Mariguano then makes his way over to Cort Vang but Cort Vang rises up and kicks Mariguano in the gut, causing Mariguano to stumble forward grabbing his gut.
Ace: OH MY GOD! What a kick by Cort Vang.
The crowd OHHHS as Mariguano stumbles forward before turning and falling flat to the mat on his back. Cort Vang makes his way over to Mariguano, dropping to one knee before he can regain his strength and stand on his own. Cort Vang then brings Mariguano to his feet and again he measures up a stiff kick, planting Mariguano in the face. The crowd OHHS as Mariguano stumbles back and off the ropes. As he returns Cort Vang measures up another kick, planting Mariguano again in the face, but this time knocking him to the mat.
Ace: Are you kidding me with those kicks?
Wolf: Cort's as serious as a heart attack.
Cort Vang breathes heavy and makes his way over to Mariguano, who lies on the mat. Cort Vang then bends at the waist, lifting Mariguano to his feet with a pull of the mask. Cort Vang then grabs Mariguano by the wrist, pulling him toward the opposite corner of the ring.
Ace: Irish whip into the corner--No!
Mariguano jumps up to the top rope as he reaches the corner, and then jumps backwards for yet another moonsault. Cort Vang ducks underneath, making his way to the corner as Mariguano lands on the mat with both knees. Cort Vang then turns and seeing Mariguano up on his knees charges him and jumps up into the air, bringing both feet forward to the face of Mariguano, knocking him backwards to the mat.
Ace: Drop kick by Cort Vang out of the corner!
Cort Vang scrambles over Mariguano as the crowd applauds the last drop kick. Cort Vang then hooks Mariguano by the leg and El Toro drops to the mat for the count.
Ace: We've got a pin. This could be it! Cort could advance right here! 1. . . 2. . . NO! How did he kick out of that.
Cort Vang sits up and shakes his head as El Toro rises up and raises two fingers. Mariguano sells the drop kick, lying motionless on the mat on his back. Cort Vang then gets to his feet and grabs Mariguano by the mask, lifting him to his feet. Cort Vang then hooks Mariguano's head under his arm and lifts him up vertically in the air before bringing him over his shoulder and down to the mat, Mariguano's jaw coming down against his shoulder.
Ace: DEATH IS WELCOME! DEATH IS WELCOME!
Cort Vang then scrambles over Mariguano and hooks the leg as El Toro drops to the mat for the count.
Ace: This is it! 1. . . 2. . . 3! Cort Vang wins!
Wolf: Big whoop.
Ace: It is! Cort is that much closer to the championship once again!
Cort Vang raises up and El Toro points to him, signaling him the winner as the bell rings out through the banquet hall. The crowd rises up to cheer as Cort Vang celebrates in the ring.
Ace: Look out Seth Stratton! Cort Vang is coming for you!
Wolf: He coming for you nigga!
Wolf: What?! Tha Krew says that shit all the time!
Cort Vang exits the ring as Mariguano continues to sell the Death is Welcome in the ring. El Toro bends over to check on him.
Ace: Mariguano is in a bad way here ladies and gentlemen.
Wolf: Nothing a bong hit couldn't fix. . .
We cut to Waylon Wolf and Tommy Ace at the commentator's table, Wolf well into drunkeness. He reels around in his chair looking like a drunken baby, babbling gaga and goo goo. What a shame, is it not? Tommy Ace feels show, and shows his shame in front of the camera for everyone to see.
Ace: Wolf is babbling like a baby, and that can only mean the show has been going on long enough for Wolf to get absolutely shitfaced, and you know what that means. It's main event time.
Wolf: GAhhhh! Ffffhuck that wife!
Ace: There you have it folks, the best from Waylon Wolf for you. Up next we've got our main event--the boss will be taking on Anarchy. Anarchy of course has already dispatched of Fracture--Dark just came out too late for that one.
Wolf: Yhhhou hearrrr me?
Ace: Yes. . . yes. . . Dark and IM Hate have already had themselves a little show down earlier here tonight, and hopefully it will all come to a head here in this match. It's Anarchy vs. The Row, with Tha Boss stepping into the ring for the first time since taking over!
Am I Pyscho by Tech N9ne begins to play and the crowd begins to reign out its boos at the apparent bad guys of the night. They stand with their hatred, as it is human nature to look down on those you feel better than.
Ace: Well here comes the son of a bitch. IM Hate and his two bitch boys.
We cut to the entrance of the banquet hall, where IM Hate emerges in front of Cash Money (Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz). The crowd continues to boo, and IM Hate looks out on them with a smile on his face.
Ace: IM Hate would like you to believe he doesn't like anything, but he sure does seem to be enjoying these fans' hatred for him.
IM Hate stands bent slightly forward, his injuries still haunting him. He ignores them however, and with a slight grimace that is hardly noticeable he steps forward and makes his way to the ring. Cash Money follow behind him, swatting hands away from the uneducated fans who actually wish to touch IM Hate.
Ace: This mother fucker has joined The Row with one purpose--to destroy it. He's dismantled Fracture here tonight, and in the past has attacked FJ Tombs. Guys are dropping left and right ladies and gentlemen, in part due to this piece of shit right here.
IM Hate reaches the ring and stands looking up at El Toro. With a nod of his head Cash Money takes to opposite corners of the ring, Jason Cruz climbing up one set of steps, and Shane Jackson climbing up the other. They both reach the apron and hold the ropes for IM Hate, who climbs up the apron and then steps through the ropes.
Ace: I hope Dark and Tha Krew wipe the smile off of IM Hate's face. Someone's got to put a stop to this bastard, and if The Boss can't do it, who can? Seth Stratton? Mariguano? Cort Vang? Who?
IM Hate walks to the center of the ring and looks around at the boos from the crowd, as Binge and Purge by Clutch begins to play through the banquet hall. The crowd switches from their boos to cheers, just like flipping on a light.
Ace: And here comes the boss!
The music continues to play out through the banquet hall, and IM Hate looks around in the center of the ring. Cash Money take to the corners, prepared for a quick entrance.
Ace: Where the fuck is he? Is he stalling?
The music plays for nearly forty seconds more, the crowd growing restless. IM Hate turns to snarl in El Toro's face but El Toro throws up his arms in innocence. He has no idea what's going on. He tries to tell IM Hate in Spanish, but it's useless, as IM Hate hates any language other than English.
Ace: Dark taking his time here tonight. God I hope he's not drunk. I can't take two drunks tonight.
Ace: Nothing Wolf.
The music continues to play, and finally (fuck, finally) Dark appears in at the entrance to the banquet hall. He pulls open the door and steps through, a cigar in his mouth. He takes a healthy pull on the cigar and lowers it, smiling as the smoke spills out of his mouth. Tha Krew then appear behind him, and Dark walks out a bit and stops.
Ace: Dark gave me a scare there. I thought something happened to him.
Wolf: PUSSY! FUCK DAH WHHHIFFFE!
IM Hate curses his from the ring, and Dark returns them with some of his own colorful language. He storms the ring with Tha Krew in tow but stops as he reaches the ring and laughs at Anarchy for expecting him to rush the ring so recklessly.
Ace: This one is bound to go off ladies and gentlemen. We've had so much build up to this one, I don't think these guys are going to leave until they kill one another.
Dark looks to Charlene and nods. She gets up from a chair and smiles nervously, not even daring to enter the ring.
Ace: Charlene wants no part of this, and I don't blame her!
Charlene: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is your MAINNNN EVENNNT!
The crowd lets out a week pop as the competitors of said match stare down one another.
Charlene: It will be a three man tag, for one fall, with a forty minute time limit! Introducing first, the challengers, weighing in at a combined weight of five hundred a forty five pounds, they are IM Hate, Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz, known collectively as. . . . ANNNARRCHHYY!
The crowd rains down their boos.
Ace: That's right everyone, show em what assholes they really are.
Charlene: And their opponents. . . weighing in at a combined weigh of five hundred and twenty pounds, the team of Dark, Wes Payton, and Leonnn Williammms!
The crowd cheers and Dark and Tha Krew ignore them, their hatred fixed on their opponents for the night. The crowd buzzes as the two teams trash talk one another. Tha Krew then parts, Wes Payton going one way around the ring, and Leon Williams going another way around the ring.
Ace: This one has yet to start. . . we may not even have a match here. This one is looking to be like an absolute brawl. Typical ROW!
Shane Jackson and Wes Payton pair off, Shane Jackson following him as Wes walks around the ring. Jason Cruz and Leon Williams pair off, Leon as he stalks about the ring. IM Hate and Dark continue to stare one another down.
Ace: Look out everybody!
Wes Payton and Leon Williams then slide into the ring and pair off with Cash Money. Wes Payton and Shane Jackson exchange blows, while Leon Williams exchange blows in an opposite corner. The crowd lets out a pop as IM Hate ignores the action behind him and taunts Dark.
Ace: We've got action! We've got action!
IM Hate taunts Dark and Dark ignores him, stepping back and raising up his arms as Wes Payton and Leon Williams continue to fight with Jason Cruz and Shane Jackson. Dark then takes the cigar from his mouth and tosses it at IM Hate, forcing him to swat it out of the air, giving Dark the opening to slide into the ring.
Ace: Here we go! Finally the boss vs. IM HATE!
Dark reaches his feet and throws a right, connecting with IM Hate and rocking him back a foot. IM Hate returns the right, throwing a right of his own and connecting with Dark. Shane Jackson works Wes Payton into the corner and starts stomping him, as Leon Williams and Jason Cruz continue to exchange blows.
Ace: We've got total action here! We've got a real cluster fuck going on! Jesus where is Wolf when I need him! I can't keep track of all of this!
Dark throws yet another right and IM Hate returns with a blatant kick to the nuts. Dark falls to the mat, selling the low blow and then rolls out of the ring to catch his breath.
Ace: Low blow by IM HATE!
IM Hate then turns and shortens the gap, joining Shane Jackson in his beating of Wes Payton. IM Hate and Shane Jackson continue to stop Wes Payton in the corner, each man stomping him down to the seated position. Jason Cruz continues to exchange blows with Leon Williams in an opposite corner.
Ace: Anarchy with the advantage here, the other team is a man down! Dark may be a testicle down as well!
IM Hate and Shane Jackson pull Wes Payton out of the corner of the ring, as little El Toro runs about the ring, trying to make a sense of everything. IM Hate and Shane Jackson ignore the little man, toss Wes Payton into the ropes.
Ace: Irish whip now by IM Hate and Shane Jackson!
Wes Payton hits the ropes on the other side of the ring and returns, and as he reaches Shane Jackson and IM Hate they both go for a simultaneous clothesline.
Ace: Clothesline by both Shane Jackson and IM Hate!
Wes Payton hits the mat with force and then quickly rolls out of the ring.
Ace: And down goes Wes Payton! Only Leon remains.
IM Hate and Shane Jackson then join Jason Cruz and start to stomp Leon Williams in the corner of the ring.
Ace: And now their straight up mugging Leon Willaims! You poor bastard!
IM Hate then directs Cash Money to back out of the corner of the ring. IM Hate then grabs Leon Williams by his prized afro and pulls him out of the corner. IM Hate then directs Cash Money back to Leon Williams and the three of them toss him out of the ring over the top rope.
Ace: Anarchy has cleaned house!
IM Hate raises his arms in celebration, almost as if to say, 'look what I did,' and the crowd boos him for his efforts. Outside of the ring Dark and Tha Krew sell on the ground, looking worse for wear. El Toro storms about the ring and gets up in the face of IM Hate, sticking a threatening finger in his face.
Ace: Dark and his boys are all outside of the ring! This has been all Anarchy so far--but can we get the damn match going now?
El Toro pushes Cash Money into the corner and stomps his feet in front of IM Hate and IM Hate laughs. Dark gets up to his feet outside of the ring and shakes his head, checking on Tha Krew. He looks up and scowls at IM Hate.
Ace: We've got to get this one in order! We'll be right back!
Shane Jackson circles around Wes Payton, and Wes Payton stands still in the ring, turning only to keep Shane Jackson from getting behind him.
Ace: Well we're back here after that short break. We've managed to get everything back to normal here.
Shane Jackson and Wes Payton lock up in the center of the ring both men struggling to gain the upper hand. Wes Payton moves back to the ropes and raises his arms up in the air and Shane Jackson slowly backs away. Shane then turns and makes his way to the other side of the ring before letting out a ‘CASH MONEY!’
Ace: Can we get some action already?
Wes Payton stands still, breathing visibly as Shane Jackson turns around. Both men then lock up in the center of the ring, and Wes Payton quickly gains the upper hand, grabbing Shane Jackson by the arm and twisting it.
Ace: Wrist lock here by Wes Payton, he’s got the upper hand. Wes Payton is deceptive. He can wrestle, he can bust your teeth in, he can do it all. You’ve got to watch his feet and his hands, I think this guy knows some karate.
Wes Payton then lifts Shanes arm up over his head and turning wrenches Shane’s arm again, keeping the hold on his wrist. Shane sells the wrist lock then grabs Wes Payton by the arm and turns, wrenching his arm.
Ace: Shane with the upper hand here…Nope! Look at Wes!
Wes Payton rolls out of it, ending up on his back, then kips himself upward to his feet and then wrenches Shane’s arm and then bends at the knee and kicks Shane in the back of the head with a heel kick. Shane tumbles to the mat and Wes Payton hops up and down after the kick, adjusting the tape on his wrists.
Ace: I told you he knows karate!
Wes Payton taunts the protesters as Shane slowly gets to his feet. Wes Payton helps him the rest of the way with a hair pull and Wes reaches back and hits Shane in the face with a right. The blow knocks him back against the ropes and Wes grabs him, pushing Shane up against the ropes before Irish whipping him to the opposite side of the ring.
Ace: Irish whip by Wes Payton. There goes Shane.
Shane returns off the ropes and Wes Payton goes for a clothesline, but Shane ducks it.
Ace: Clothesline—no! Shane ducks it!
Shane continues to run and bounces off the ropes and as he returns Wes Payton turns and goes for yet another clothesline, which Shane ducks yet again.
Ace: Another attempted clothesline, another duck! This guy is fast!
Shane bounces off the ropes a third time and as he returns he knocks Wes to the mat with a lariat. The Death Row Faithful let out a cheer that hovers just above the drone of the booing protesters.
Ace: Shane Jackson gains the upper hand, and Wes Payton is on the mat.
Shane quickly yells out CASH MONEY before going over to Wes Payton and bringing him to his feet. Shane quickly powerslams Wes Payton to the mat and then runs off the ropes and as he returns jumps up into the air and comes down with an elbow drop across the chest of Wes Payton.
Ace: Shane Jackson is in control! That elbow drop was placed perfectly right across the chest of Wes Payton. And did you see the air Shane Jackson got with that one?
Wes Payton sits up after the elbow drop, selling it, but Shane quickly pushes his back to the mat and goes for the pin. El Toro hits the mat and goes for the count.
Ace: We’ve got a quick pin here by Shane Jackson of Cash Money! 1. . . kick out! Only one there.
El Toro rises to his feet and holds up his arms, signaling it was only a one count. Shane Jackson then picks up Wes Patyon and hooks him under his arm before directing him toward Anarchy's netural corner. Shane extends his off hand and IM Hate slaps it, tagging himself in.
Ace: And here comes IM HATE!
IM Hate enters the ring and then measures up a stiff right, which he plants against the ribs of Wes Payton. Wes Payton sells the blow, stumbling backward as Shane Jackson makes his way out of the ring. IM Hate then extends an arm, knocking Wes Payton to the mat.
Ace: Lariat by IM HATE!
IM Hate then turns toward Dark's corner and flips him off, and it pisses off Dark so much he tries to enter the ring. El Toro charges him and tries to keep him from entering. With El Toro's back turns IM Hate motions to Cash Money and they quickly enter the ring, stomping the shit at out a fallen Wes Payton.
Ace: Hey this shit aint fair! It aint fair I tell yah!
El Toro continues to hold back Dark, who upon seeing the attack tries even harder to enter the ring. El Toro holds him back and Cash Money exits the ring, and IM Hate drops down with a rear headlock. Dark stops fighting El Toro and raises up his arms and El Toro turns back to the ring.
Ace: Anarchy fighting dirty here ladies and gentlemen, and one should never expect anything less from these scumbags. They attack from behind, they take you out, and that's all there is to it. The Row best band together to eradicate this disease before it croaks us.
IM Hate wrenches the hold, and Wes Payton sells it, reaching out toward the corner of the ring. El Toro bends at the waist to check on Wes Payton, who refuses to submit. The crowd buzzes, as IM Hate looks around with all the hatred in his heart shining in his eyes.
Ace: IM Hate suffering from some persistant injuries here after the brawl two Lethal Injections ago, but if he keeps picking his spots, I don't think it will be a problem tonight.
IM Hate then rises up, keeping the rear head lock on Wes Payton. IM Hate reaches his feet, bringing Wes Payton to his feet with him, and then IM Hate falls forward to the mat, bringing Wes Payton down to the mat.
Ace: Wes Payton slammed to the mat with that one.
IM Hate then drops to the mat, hooking Wes Payton by the leg. El Toro slides to the mat after and goes for the count.
Ace: El Toro calling this one straight down the middle folks, here he is going for the count. 1. . .2. . . kick out.
El Toro rises to his feet and holds up his arms, signaling it was only a two count. IM Hate then picks up Wes Payton and hooks him under his arm before directing him toward Cash Money’s neutral corner. IM Hate extends his off hand and Jason slaps it, tagging himself in.
Ace: Jason Cruz in the ring now after that tag. Remember kids, safety first, then teamwork!
IM Hate then drags Wes Payton up against the ropes and Jason Cruz joins him. They then both Irish whip Wes Payton into the ropes and as he returns, both Jason Cruz and IM Hate raise an elbow, both knocking Wes Payton in the face at the same time and knocking him to the mat.
Ace: Anarchy working together here. It’s this type of work that got them through their match with The H-Town Hustlas
IM Hate climbs out of the ring as Jason Cruz quickly drops to his knees and hooks Wes Payton’s leg for the pin.
Ace: We’ve got a pin! 1. . . 2. . . kick out! Wes Payton is down but he is not out!
Jason Cruz gets up as the ref signals the two count with two extended fingers, and quickly brings Wes Payton to his feet, but as he does Wes Payton reaches up and rakes him in the eye.
Ace: Wes Payton with the eye rake, and Shane never saw it coming. They never do, folks, and that’s why it’s such a simple yet effective move.
Wes Payton then grabs Jason Cruz and pulls him toward Tha Krew’s corner, and tags in his partner Leon Williams.
Ace: Here comes afro loving Leon Williams. You know this guy spends more time futzing with his hair than some women.
Leon Williams enters the ring and Wes Payton hooks both of Jason’s arms, holding them behind him. Leon Williams laughs, sizes up Jason and kicks him in the gut. Jason bends over from the blow and Wes Payton punches him the back, and Leon Williams joins in, punching Jason at the same time in the side.
Ace: Both men wailing on Jason Cruz now! Come on ref! Break it up!
El Toro separates Wes Payton and Wes grudgingly climbs out of the ring and stands on the apron. Leon Williams meanwhile continues punching Jason Cruz with lefts and rights, working him into the corner. Leon Williams then unloads, chopping downward on Jason Cruz with repeated rights.
Ace: Leon Williams is going crazy here, just raining down punches on Jason Cruz. And Cruz is stuck in the corner. He has nowhere to go! He’s trapped!
Jason falls to the mat and as he does Leon switches to stomps, and starts stomping Jason mercilessly in the corner. The beating only stops when El Toro interferes and orders Leon Williams to the opposite corner. Jason lies in the corner of the ring as Leon Williams get into it, exchanging words with El Toro.
Ace: That’s right Toro! Hold the line there buddy.
Leon Williams then goes back to Jason Cruz, who’s now on his feet in the corner. Leon Williams then pushes Jason up against the turnbuckle before Irish whipping him into the opposite corner. Jason lands with a thud in the corner, and Leon charges him, his right hand raised over his head. Jason Cruz slides out of the way just as Leon comes down and Leon ends up punching the turnbuckle.
Ace: Leon Williams comes up empty as Jason Cruz moves out of the way! Jason saw it coming and was quick enough to get out of the way.
Leon turns around and Jason takes his turn this time, stomping Leon in the corner of the ring. Jason stomps him several times before hooking Leon under his arm and suplexing him into the center of the ring.
Ace: Massive suplex by Jason Cruz. I’d give it about a 9. There was a slight hitch I noticed, but that’s it.
Jason gets up and taunts the crowd as Leon sells the suplex, reaching back grabbing the small of his back with a look of pain on his face. Jason then picks up Leon Williams, wrenches his arm and then directs him toward the Cash Money corner, extending his off hand for the tag. Shane Jackson makes the tag and enters the ring.
Ace: Another tag from Cash Money, getting the fresh man in. Shane Jackson is ready to do some damage now. He’s had time to rest up and his opponent Leon Williams has been knocked around a bit already.
Both men then direct Leon Williams up against the rope and both Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz Irish whip Leon Williams into the ropes, and as he returns Cash Money collectively clotheslines him to the mat.
Ace: Nice move by both members of Cash Money. They’re working well together tonight, folks. This could spell bad news for Tha Krew and Dark.
Shane Jackson then drops to his knees and goes for the cover.
Ace: Pin by Shane Jackson! 1. . . 2. . . kick out! Leon Williams is still in this one folks. He’s got to make the tag though if Tha Krew and Dark want to have a chance in this one.
Shane Jackson slowly gets up as referee El Toro illustrates the two count, extending two fingers. Shane Jackson lets out a breath of air and brings Leon Williams to his feet but Leon Williams rises and quickly eye gouges Shane Jackson in the eye.
Ace: Yet another eye gouge from a member of Tha Krew!
Shane Jackson makes his way to the corner of the ring, shaking his head and reaching up toward his eyes. Leon Williams then grabs Shane from behind and slams him face first into the turnbuckle. Leon then grabs Shane by the hair and drags him to Tha Krew’s corner and extends his hand. Wes Payton reaches out and makes the tag, entering the ring.
Ace: Wes Payton in the ring now after the tag. Get em Wes! Tear his damn eyes out!
Leon Williams keeps his hold on Shane Jackson and as Wes Payton gets in the ring Leon Williams grabs Shane’s arm and turns him, exposing his ribs. Wes Payton measures up a shot and tattoos Shane Jackson in the ribs with several rights and lefts.
Ace: Wes Payton working the ribs of Shane Jackson. And so far we haven't seen much from either Dark or IM Hate.
Leon Williams breaks the hold and exits the ring, but not before getting a good punch on Shane Jackson. Shane rocks back from the blow and Wes Payton picks up where Leon left off, hooking his arm around Shane’s head.
Ace: Wes Payton in control of Shane Jackson now, he’s got him in the center of the ring.
Wes bends down to one knee and then lifts himself up for leverage, wrenching on Shane’s head. Shane sells the headlock and then pushes Wes toward the ropes and then pushing him off him toward the ropes at the other side of the ring. Wes Payton returns and as he does he shoulder blocks Shane, knocking him to the mat.
Ace: Shoulder block by Wes Payton! All that weight just thundering down on Shane Jackson! Wes Payton could have a career in football with a block like that! Shane Jackson is no lightweight! He’s a big heavy man!
Wes Payton then bounces off the ropes and runs toward, Shane who turns flat on his belly. Wes Payton hops over Shane and bounces off the ropes on the other side of the ring. As Wes returns Shane quickly gets to his feet and leap frogs over Wes Payton.
Ace: Shane showing his quickness here. Both men bouncing around the ring.
Wes Payton comes off the ropes on the other side of the ring and Shane quickly turns and dropkicks Wes Payton to the mat. The Death Row Faithful let out a cheer, and to contest it the protesters let out even louder boos.
Ace: Shane with the drop kick. He really sprung off the mat with that one.
Shane Jackson gets to his feet and yells out CASH MONEY as Wes Payton slowly crawls to his feet, stumbling as he does up against the ropes. Shane Jackson then hooks Wes around the head and tags in Jason Cruz.
Ace: Tag here by Cash Money, and Jason Cruz is in!
Jason Cruz enters the ring and Shane Jackson keeps his hold on Wes Payton. Jason climbs the ropes and jumps off raising his hands over his head and coming down on the back of Wes Payton with a double axe handle.
Ace: Impressive double axe handle by Jason Cruz, right down on the back of Wes Payton. And Wes is hurt, laies and gents. You can see this match is starting to take its toll.
Wes Payton sells the double axe handle, falling to the mat. Jason Cruz looks around at the crowd with his arms out and the Death Row Faithful cheer. The ever present protesters show their strength with a loud boo. Jason Cruz ignores them as Wes Payton slowly gets to his feet. Jason Cruz charges him and then grabs his head and slams him face first into the turnbuckle.
Ace: Wes Payton into the turnbuckle, Jason Cruz in control now. Momentarily. Cash Money in charge, but for how long?
Wes Payton sells the bump, stumbling out into the center of the ring, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Jason Cruz follows behind him, cautiously looking for an opening. Wes Payton continues to sell the bump and Jason Cruz comes up behind him, hooking his head under his arm and slamming him down to the mat.
Ace: Reverse DDT by Jason Cruz! Wes Payton never saw that one coming. And sometimes they’re the ones that hurt the most.
Jason Cruz crawls over to Wes Payton and goes for the pin, Knox scrambling to the mat after him.
Ace: Pin! 1. . . 2. . . NO! Wes Payton has got his foot on the ropes! Smart! That’s smart! This guy knows where he is in the ring at all times!
The referee gets up after seeing Wes Payton’s foot draped over the bottom rope and taps on Jason Cruz to break the pin. Jason Cruz looks up and Knox indicates the rope break and Jason gets up grudgingly. He then grabs Wes by the arm and drags him into the Cash Money corner. He extends a hand and Shane Jackson tags himself in.
Ace: Shane Jackson in now, and Wes Payton is out. Jason Cruz had the presence of mind to drag Wes Payton to their corner. You’re gonna wanna keep your opponent as far away from the potential tag and that’s exactly what they are doing.
Shane Jackson jumps up into the air and comes down with a leg drop across the throat of Wes Payton. He then drops down and goes for the pin.
Ace: Yet another pin! 1. . . 2. . . NO! Kick out by Wes Payton! Shane almost got the pin with that one.
Shane Jackson gets up frustrated and then drags Wes Payton into the center of the ring. Shane Jackson then grabs Wes’ leg and puts his own between Shane’s before turning Wes over into a sharpshooter.
Ace: Cash Out! Cash Out! He calls that move the Cash Out! And Wes Payton may be cashing out if he can’t get to the ropes! And Wes Payton has nowhere to go. Shane Jackson placed him perfectly in the center of the ring!
Wes Payton’s face turns to one of pain as he sells the sharpshooter, his hands reaching out as if to go for the tag. Leon Williams wastes no time and enters the ring, kicking Shane Jackson off of Wes. El Toro quickly turns and orders Leon Williams out of the ring, and he abides.
Ace: Cheap shot by Leon Williams! It’s a good thing he got in there, or this one would be over already!
Shane Jackson moves over toward Leon’s corner and shouts out at him before returning to Wes and stomping him once, twice, three times in the back of the head. Shane then picks up Wes and Irish whips him into the ropes. As Wes Payton hits the ropes Leon Williams makes the blind tag, and as Wes returns Shane jumps into the air and dropkicks him to the mat.
Ace: Wes Payton down after the dropkick. But Leon Williams made the tag! He’s up on the top rope!
Leon Williams perches on the top rope and he jumps off, but Shane catches him in time and jumps up again and drop kicks Leon Williams, the forces colliding against one another. Leon Williams falls back from the drop kick and hits the mat hard.
Ace: Huge drop kick by Shane Jackson! Leon Williams actually jumped into that one!
Leon sells the dropkick, grabbing his jaw and rolling around the ring. Shane Jackson gets up and taunts the crowd, letting out another shout of CASH MONEY.
Ace: He sure likes saying that.
Shane Jackson makes his way over to Leon Williams and then brings him to his feet. Shane Jackson raises his arm before hooking Leon under his arm and whilst grabbing one of Leon’s legs, and Shane falls back, slamming him to the mat. He keeps the hold for the pin.
Ace: Fisherman suplex into the pin by Shane Jackson! 1. . . 2. . . kick out! Leon Williams kicks out after that impressive fisherman suplex.
Shane Jackson gets up frustrated, checking the referee, who extends two fingers in Shane’s face. Shane Jackson then picks up Leon Williams and punches him in the face with a left, then right, and then another left, Leon rocking back from each blow. Shane then grabs Leon Williams by the head, spins him around, and brings him down to the mat, dropping Leon’s neck against his shoulder.
Ace: Neck breaker by Shane Jackson! Leon Williams may have been dying into the ring, but he must be regretting it now!
Shane Jackson then gets up to his feet and stomps Leon Williams, once twice, three times, before bringing Leon to his feet with a tug of the fro. Shane Jackson then drags Leon Williams over to the Anarchy corner and tags in IM Hate.
Ace: And finally IM Hate getting himself in on the action here!
Shane Jackson lifts Leon Williams up by grabbing him around the waist. IM Hate then takes off toward the ropes and returns, extending an arm against the throat of Leon Williams as Shane Jackson slams him to the mat.
Ace: Lariat, spine buster combination there by Anarchy!
Shane Jackson exits the ring as Leon Williams sells on the mat, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head. IM Hate gets up and looks around at the crowd, taking joy in their boos. IM Hate then drops to the mat and grabs Leon Williams around the head. IM Hate lifts his head and looks to Dark, taunting him. LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT HIM YOU OLD BASTARD!
Ace: IM Hate taunting Dark now!
Dark tries to enter the ring but El Toro rushes him and holds him back. IM Hate laughs and then rises up and comes down with an elbow against the back of Leon Williams head. Dark returns to the apron.
Ace: IM Hate really fucking with the head of Dark right now. He's abusing one of his staff--if you will--and there's nothing Dark can do about it! Not without a tag anyway!
IM Hate then lifts Leon Williams and brings him to his feet. Once there, IM Hate grabs Leon Williams by the wrist and tosses him into the ropes.
Ace: Irish whip here by IM Hate... Leon returns.
Leon returns after bouncing off the ropes, and IM Hate lifts him up for a spine buster, but Leon Williams hooks him around the head, bringing IM Hate to the mat head first with him.
Ace: Reversal by Leon Williams!
IM Hate sells the reversal on the mat, as Leon Williams falls to the mat from exhaustion. The crowd pops the offense from Leon and Dark leans over the rope, dying to get in the ring.
Ace: And Dark wants him a piece!
Leon Williams crawls toward Dark but IM Hate quickly gets to his feet and stomps Leon Williams in the small of the back. Leon Williams sells the stomp and crumbles to the mat on his belly as the crowd dies down. IM Hate flips off Dark and laughs in his face as he drags Leon Williams away from his corner.
Ace: But Dark aint gonna get him a piece! Leon Williams was going for the tag there, but IM Hate still had enough energy to get up and stop it. I guess waiting around all this time has really paid off for the bastard!
IM Hate bends down and then brings Leon Williams to his feet. IM Hate then kicks him in the gut, the force of the blow causing Leon Williams to bend at the waist. IM Hate then hooks Leon Williams under his arm and lifts him vertically with the aid of his tights. IM Hate then falls backward, bringing Leon Williams backward to the mat.
Ace: Vertical suplex by IM Hate! And Leon Williams is in a bad way!
IM Hate then drops to the mat, covering Leon Williams. El Toro slides to the mat and goes for the count.
Ace: We've got a pin here! 1. . . 2. . . kick out! Leon Williams kicks out.
IM Hate rises up to the seated position and checks with El Toro. El Toro extends two midget fingers in his face and IM Hate snarls at them. IM Hate rises up and gets up in El Toro's face, who holds his ground.
Ace: IM Hate didn't like the call, but it was a 2 count! What can you do about that?! It was only two you bastard.
IM Hate turns from El Toro and makes his way to Leon Williams. Leon Williams rises up with a punch to the gut of IM Hate, but there's very little on it. IM Hate ignores the blow and brings down a hard right, the blow knocking Leon back to the mat.
Ace: I don't think Leon has got much left here ladies and gentlemen. . . Anarchy. . . could actually win this. . . I hate to say it, but I've got to call it like I see it folks. IM Hate, despite his injuries has found his niche here and he's sticking to it.
IM Hate then grabs Leon by the hair and pulls him to his feet. IM Hate then grabs Leon Williams by the wrist and tosses him into the ropes.
Ace: IM Hate with the Irish whip now, there goes Leon.
Leon hits the ropes on the other side of the ring and returns. IM Hate extends an arm, going for the clothesline.
Ace: Clothesline!--FUCK NO! Leon rolls out of the way.
Leon rolls out of the way and comes up diving toward the corner, slapping Dark's extended hand. The crowd lets out a huge pop as Dark steps through the ropes and enters the ring, ready to kick some ass.
Ace: HE'S IN! DARK'S FINALLY IN THIS ONE! SUCK IT IAN!
Ian Michaels turns and see's Dark. Dark charges him and throws a hard right, connecting. Ian Michaels rocks back from the blow and then throws a left of his own. The two exchange blows for a few seconds before Ian Michaels throws a right, which Dark ducks.
Ace: Dark ducks it. . .
Ian Michaels turns around and Dark hooks him around the belly and tosses him over his head. The crowd pops as Ian Michaels falls to the mat.
Ace: Belly to Belly Suplex by Dark! And IM Hate is down!
Ian Michaels sells the belly to belly suplex as Shane Jackson enters the ring and charges Dark. Dark extends out an arm, knocking Shane Jackson clean to the mat.
Ace: Clothesline by Dark!
The crowd pops as Jason Cruz then enters the ring, and charges Dark. Dark catches him around the waist, lifting him up before slamming him down to the mat in one motion.
Ace: Lifting sit down powerbomb by Dark!
Dark rolls up to his feet and looks around the ring, seeing a fallen Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz rolling out of the ring. The crowd continues to cheer and Dark raises up both fists, pumping them.
Ace: Dark has cleared house! He sure had to wait long enough to do it!
The crowd suddenly deflates as IM Hate charges Dark from behind and drops to his knees before bringing an uppercut to the ole family jewels. The crowd OHHHHH's as Dark's mouth opens wide and his legs squeeze together at the knees. Dark then falls comically to the mat, his hands down grabbing his groin.
Ace: Low blow!
El Toro gets in IM Hates face for the intentional low blow, but IM Hate brushes him off and begins to stomp Dark repeatedly into the mat.
Ace: NO! NO! God damn it NO! IM Hate with the upper hand now!
Dark takes each stomp, selling them by wiggling around on the mat like a worm after each strike. IM Hate then stops to look down at Dark and laugh before grabbing a handful of hair and bringing him to his feet. IM Hate holds Dark and slaps him across the face back and forth.
Ace: He's just mocking the boss now! He's bitch slapping him!
Dark's head turns with each slap and IM Hate laughs before stepping back and measuring up a kick. IM Hate then brings his foot forward and blantantly kicks Dark in the nuts. Again the crowd OHHHHs as Dark falls to the mat.
Ace: And another intentional low blow from IM Hate!
El Toro charges IM Hate and stomps his feet, upset at seeing his boss's balls so harshly treated. El Toro waves an authoritative finger in IM Hate's face and IM Hate brushes El Toro off.
Ace: Good luck with that El Toro. IM Hate has finally got his hands on the boss, and that's all he's concerned about right now. Not a damn thing else! It's play time for IM Hate now!
IM Hate makes his way over to Dark, but Dark rises up, hooking the leg and forcing IM Hate to the mat, pinning his shoulders.
Ace: Quick roll up here by Dark, this could be it!
El Toro slides to the mat to make the count as the crowd rises in cheers.
Ace: 1. . .2. . . kick out! Dark almost snuck a win in there!
IM Hate quickly gets to his feet after the kick out and stomps Dark on his knees, who is in the effort of getting to his feet himself. The stomp connects with the face, forcing Dark back to the mat.
Ace: Hard kick there by IM Hate on Dark.
IM Hate then leaves his feet, coming down with an elbow across the chest of Dark.
Ace: Elbow drop by IM Hate, continuing his offense here.
IM Hate gets back to his feet and stomps Dark on the head, once, twice, three times before bending at the waist and bringing Dark to his feet. Dark rises with punches, pushing up against IM Hate and working him into the corner.
Ace: Dark with the offense now!
Dark throws several rights and lefts, each blow connecting and rocking up against the head of IM Hate. Dark then switches to stomp, working the already tender abdomen of IM Hate.
Ace: Dark stomping the gut of IM Hate, and listen to these fans!
The crowd rises up to cheer as IM Hate takes the stomping. Dark stomps IM Hate one final time in the ribs, and IM Hate grimaces from the pain. Dark then takes to the opposite corner and charges IM Hate, clotheslining him into the corner.
Ace: Clothesline by Dark!
IM Hate collides with the turnbuckle and comes stumbling out of the corner. Dark then turns and charges IM Hate from behind, hooking him behind the head before coming down, bringing IM Hate to the mat face first.
Ace: Dark follows it up with a bulldog! Vintage Dark! We've seen that from him for years now!
The crowd pops as IM Hate sells the bulldog. Dark then straddles his chest, and starts hammering away at his head with lefts and rights.
Ace: Dark with a little ground and pound now!
The blows all connect, and trapped under the weight of Dark, IM Hate has no way of defending himself. Dark continues to punch away, the crowd cheering as IM Hate moves closer and closer toward unconciousness.
Ace: Dark letting all kinds of aggression out on IM Hate now! I don't think he even cares about this match--he just wants to hurt IM Hate!
El Toro makes his way to Dark and tries to pull him off, but Dark continues to swing away. El Toro starts up the count, 1. . .2. . . 3. . . and Shane Jackson enters the ring and stomps Dark in the head, stomping his offense.
Ace: Shane Jackson with the save there! I think he should have let Dark go at IM Hate! Another second and this one would have been over by disqualification--and I don't think Dark would have minded that!
Shane Jackson backs away toward the corner with his hands up in innocence as El Toro charges him. Shane Jackson swings through the rope and exits back to the apron. Back in the ring, Dark slowly gets to his feet and raises his arms for the crowd.
Ace: Well done Boss! Well done!
Dark then bends at the waist and grabs Ian Michaels by the head, bringing him to his feet. Dark reaches back for a right but Ian Michaels blocks it as it comes forward, and then follows up with a head butt to the forehead of Dark.
Ace: Head butt by IM Hate! He really knocked Dark back with that one!
Dark staggers back up against the ropes and comes forward. Dark swings an extended right arm forward but IM Hate ducks it and then grabs Dark by the waist and shoves him to the mat.
Ace: Dark with the lariat, and he missed!
IM Hate then grabs Dark's arms and extends him, before placing a foot on the back of his head.
Ace: He's going for the Hate Crime!
Dark shakes his head and wriggles out of it, turning onto his back. IM Hate then stomps Dark in the chest, and Dark sells the blow, reaching up toward his sternum after the stomp.
Ace: Dark was able to get out of it, but he's not free from danger yet. IM Hate is up and after him!
IM Hate stomps Dark again and again in the chest, each blow bringing a grimace to the face of Dark. IM Hate then drops to the mat to trash talk Dark face to face.
Ace: IM Hate toying with the boss again. I don't know if it's such a good idea to get Dark angry. . . you wouldn't like Dark when he's angry ladies and gentlemen. Trust me on that. Whatever you do, don't ever spill one of his beers. . . You'll have a shiner for at least a week! I know!
IM Hate then makes his way to the corner where Tha Krew are waiting, and flips them off. Both Wes Payton and Leon William try to enter the ring, and El Toro turns and charges them to keep them in the corner.
Ace: IM Hate up to his old tricks again.
IM Hate then motions to Shane Jackson, who reaches in his tights for something. IM Hate then brings Dark to his feet and Irish whips him into the corner.
Ace: What's going on here?!
Dark reaches the corner and from the apron Shane Jackson strikes out with a loaded fist; his hand clenched around some brass knucks. Shane Jackson connects and the crowd OHHHHHS. Dark staggers back and IM Hate hooks him between the legs, pulling him backward toward the mat and pinning him to it.
Ace: NO! Shane Jackson with that weapon! He hit Dark with it! He hit Dark!
El Toro turns and see's the pin, and goes for the count.
Ace: Tha Krew! Get in there! This aint right! 1. . . 2. . .3!!! No! NO!
Tha Krew enter the ring too late, and IM Hate quickly rolls out of the ring and Cash Money drop down to the ground of the banquet hall. IM Hate laughs as the bell rings out and the crowd lets out a huge boo.
Ace: Those bastards! And now they're making a clean run out of here!
IM Hate continues to laugh at Dark, as Tha Krew bend over to check on him. IM Hate raises his arms out and backs away, holding Cash Money back as Tha Krew get up and lean over the top rope to insult IM Hate.
Ace: I can't believe this shit! Anarchy is going to get out of this one scott free!
We zoom in on IM Hate, who can be heard saying YOU'RE NEXT to Tha Krew. The crowd continues to boo, resorting to throwing trash at Anarchy and in the ring.
Ace: Those bastards! You're gonna get yours IM HATE! You're gonna get yours FUCK ANARCHY!
IM Hate continues to taunt Tha Krew.
Ace: I'm sorry, but we're out of time!
We stay on IM Hate, who repeats YOU'RE NEXT before we fade. . .
- Raging Dead