La Palma Veterans Hospital
Well well well. It’s Monday, and October is now well upon us. Hints of Fall are in the air, and the leaves are just now starting to turn gold and yellow and red. The children are already talking about Halloween; the Omega Omega Fraternity is already talking about a Halloween Bash featuring The Row. . . even with that whole burning down the house thing. Whoops.
All throughout the country, people are tuning in to watch a different show. All throughout the country men and women (okay mostly men) are taking in a different product of wrestling, one very different from The Row in every way. That’s all fine and dandy, but there are those who are also turning in for the alternative. For them bastards that are dirty and disgusting and just don’t give a fuck.
They’re here for The Row.
Where can The Row go? When scumming it at the bottom, the only way to go is up. That is of course if you believe failure is not an option. For The Row, failure is not an option, though there are individuals throughout who see things differently. Namely. . .
Anarchy has come to The Row, whether The Row likes it or not. And for the first time the scum and wretch have a formidable enemy: themselves. Ian Michaels and his cronies Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz make up these foes, for they are bound by a similar desire, a desire to destroy The Row from within.
The One Million Mom’s couldn’t do it.
No Legacy could do it.
Hell not even the state of New York could do it.
After a rather shady event in Santa Clarita, California, The Row left that shit hole of a motel down three men. Rupture and Schism of Fracture had fallen to the hands of Anarchy. Trevor Browning also suffered a similar fate as Trevor happened to be the other poor schmuck in the ring during the attack on Fracture.
Seth Stratton, finding a need to limber up and gain some attention with this tournament going on all around him decided to show his face at the banquet Hall that night and issued an open challenge. Johnny Cox was the first to take up the challenge, and after he was quickly dispatched Seth turned his eyes on the crowd, and always a champion of fair fights decided to call out an old man sitting in the first row.
To our shock and horror, the old man accepted the challenge and actually got into the ring. A heart attack later and he was in the hospital. . . But as it turns out, the old bastard just doesn’t know when to quit. He has officially signed with The Row, and is still looking for that match against Seth Stratton.
Later that night the Boss, with the aid of Tha Krew took on Anarchy in a six man match. IM Hate and Cash Money managed to keep Dark out of the match most of the night, until the end, when Dark finally got himself a shot. But after the use of the brass knucks by Shane Jackson nothing has been resolved, and Dark and Tha Krew come back even more livid after the shameless tactics.
The Row is on the line, and there aint anyone who’s gonna come save us. We’ll have to do it all on our own. . .
The La Palma Veteran’s Hospital has accepted us with open arms. Turns out couple fellas there actually know The Row’s fresh meat: Tom Gaskins.
Your nurse is a bitch. . . Your prostate is the size of a watermelon, and you still never got over the war. Sometimes Charlie peeks up from the foot of the bed, between your feet. The mind is slipping and often you wake to the smell of your own shit in the bed. . . Death is coming for you, and I can hear him stalking down the hall—or is it that nurse of yours?
Either way man. . .
One. . .
Two. . .
Three. . .
We cut to the outside of the La Palma Veteran’s hospital, a desperate looking affair once painted white but now a dull grey. The lawns outside are pristine: fresh and green and springy with youth. On the inside of the joint however, are all sorts of derelicts and fading old men who were once young but will never be again.
We fade and open up on the inside of the hospital, in room A110, the large hall the is most often used to house the weekly BINGO game. It’s a big deal around the hospital, and all the men are wheeled (if necessary) out or brought into the room, where some 30 odd tables are set out in rows for a good ole wholesome game of bingo.
But today, it houses a wrestling ring. The Death Row ring sits proudly in the center of the room, the stained walls surrounding it telling the tales of a thousand old men with loose bowels and leaky bladders.
The room itself reeks of old people, and under the smell is the distinct smell of urine. Around the ring groupings of large men sit around looking off in the distance, or otherwise drooling or shitting themselves, while more men are brought in every second. Their nurses stand nearby, the only young things in the whole building.
We cut to the commentators table, where Waylon Wolf sits along side Tommy Ace. Wolf is already drinking, as the sight of all these old people are enough to remind him of his own age. He’s getting up there folks—with grandkids and everything. He looks around nervously, seeing his future in each old man, and to try and erase the images he drinks and drinks. Tommy Ace watches him, in despair, knowing he can’t really do anything about it.
Ace: Welcome ladies and gentlemen. . .
Wolf: To a fucking funeral home!
Wolf: Oh pardon me. I meant a cemetery.
Ace: You could be here one day.
Wolf drops the flask and turns to look evilly at Tommy. The stare is enough to make Tommy lean back away from Wolf with an uneasy look on his face.
Wolf: Don’t you say that.
Ace: Look I just—
Wolf: Don’t you fucking say that!
Wolf starts to unleash flabby fists on Ace, and Ace raises his arms up to defend him.
Wolf: Don’t. . . you. . . fucking say. . . that!
Wolf says, striking Tommy with each word.
Ace: Okay okay! I got you I got you. I’m sorry!
Wolf: That’s right you little shit. I’ve been through enough shit in my life—and I do not intend to take any more! Now stop gawking at me and do your job!
Ace turns to look at Wolf, as if to say ‘why don’t you?’ but instead he turns back to the camera and smiles.
Ace: Yes, well welcome to another episode of Lethal Injection ladies and Gentlemen! Here we are with Lethal Injection XV!
Wolf: Jesus Christ, has it really been that many?
Ace: You know it, Wolf. And we plan to bring you many many more. . . Well let’s get down to business, shall we?
Wolf: If we must. . .
Wolf takes a nip from his flask.
Ace: Well, we’re coming off our last Lethal Injection, where Anarchy once again came to fuck shit up. This time they took out the team of Fracture and Trevor Browning—who’s expected to return next Lethal Injection. . . the jury is still out on Fracture however.
Wolf: Jesus Christ. How many guys that leave?
Ace: Not many. . . but they’re the toughest bastards in The Row. Cream aint the only thing that rises to the top—scum does too!
Ace laughs at his own analogy and gets no love from Wolf.
Ace: Well. . . IM Hate of course is in action here later tonight, taking on Cort Vang in the final match of the tournament. It looks like IM Hate just may get what he wants here, ladies and gentlemen—and that’s a shot at the Death Row title.
Wolf: I don’t know if he’s gonna like it when he gets there. Seth Stratton can cheat his way out of anything.
Ace: That’s true Wolf—but don’t forget about Cort Vang. He’s been in the title picture before, and he’s looking to get back there where he deserves. He’ll take on all of Anarchy if necessary.
Wolf: Yeah if I were Dark I’d put my foot down right now and ban those fuckers from the ring for tonight.
Ace: Can’t do that, as Cash Money will also be in action tonight, against Tha Krew.
Wolf: They were in that main event, weren’t they? Where was I?
Ace: You were drunk, babbling like a baby. You didn’t see the match because you were passed out. . . You see Tha Krew and Cash Money did face off in the main event—they were both apart of that six man tag, including IM Hate and Dark, and well it’s all boiling over to here tonight. Cash Money and Tha Krew.
Wolf: You know, I’ll drink to that.
Wolf takes another nip.
Ace: Well okay. . . In other news—in case you missed it, the old man who tried to wrestle Seth Stratton has actually signed with The Row!
Wolf: For one night? What?
Ace: No I think he’s here for good.
Wolf: Ha. . . good luck with that shit.
Ace: I don’t know why Dark has done this… but Tom Gaskins is getting his match tonight against Seth Stratton. . . and apparently they know him around here!
Wolf: Yeah, this seems like his sort of scene. The old bastard. Dark is obviously trying to do this guy a favor by killing him in the ring here tonight. Have you seen that guy move?
Ace: Yes, Seth Stratton will have the strength, speed, and size advantage here tonight—and something tells me that’s how he likes it.
Wolf: Well, we all know Seth Stratton is allergic to fair matches, but this one is a real doozy. If it’s anything like the last time this old fart got in the ring, all it will take is a fucking heart attack and we’ll be done with it.
Ace: Don’t you say that! Last thing we need is another dead wrestler. . .
Ace smiles and the camera and pretends not to notice Waylon Wolf taking yet another sip from his flask—starting early this time. Poor Waylon, The Row may survive, but I don’t think Waylon will. His liver will explode first. . . Just like Mickey Mantle.
Fucking Mickey Mantle.
Ace: Well, without further ado, lets get down to this shit, what do you say ladies and gentlemen?!
Wolf: Hell yeah, it’s about time you joined in.
Wolf hands Ace the flask, but Ace shakes his head at it and pushes it away, as if Wolf were offering him some deer pussy or something.
Ace: No thanks. . . I mean the show. . .
Wolf: Oh. . .
Wolf takes a healthy plug from his flask, enjoying the burn as it travels down his chest and into his belly.
Wolf: Oh yeah, go ahead. Let’s do this!
Ace: Well here we go ladies and gentlemen, for our first match of the night. We aren't wasting any time here!
Wolf: So it goes with The Row. We don't fuck around--we get down to the wrestling.
Ace: And what great wrestling it is, Wolf!
The subtle Hispanic sounds of Vince Neil's "The Edge' begins to play over the stolen audio system, and the old men muster up a weak round of applause.
Ace: It's 4:20!
Wolf: No it's not... It's Six Forty-Seven. . .
Ace: Nevermind, Wolf... Just nevermind.
We cut to the entrance of the bingo room, where Mariguano appears in the entry way with a Mexican flag draped over his back like a cape. The temp of the song picks up and Mariguano raises up the flag for all to see.
Ace: Mariguano proud of his heritage--and why not? A lot of great wrestlers have come out of Mexico.
Wolf: I don't think Mariguano is one of them.
Ace: Sure he is, he's a former champion!
Mariguano plays it up for the old men, pumping his fist in the air to the beat. The old men in the crowd clap along to the beat, as its one of the few things they can still do. The metal guitar slide prompts the high flyer to make his way to the ring.
Ace: Here he comes folks, and this one is going to be a doozie.
Wolf: Especially if I drink throughout!
Mariguano circles around the ring, trying to rile up the crowd, to no avail. The old men in the first row simply stare at him, some drooling, some shitting their pants. Mariguano then turns to the ring and climbs up to the apron, where he grabs the top rope and jumps up and over the top rope.
Ace: Certainly an agile, high flyer, is Mariguano. Sonny Thompson is going to have a lot on his hands tonight.
Wolf: That's what you think...
All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix begins to play over the stereo system, and we cut to the entrance, where Sonny Thompson appears, wearing his usual bikers vest and a pair of sun glasses. Sonny looks out on the crowd and smiles, evilly.
Ace: What biker gang was it, that Sonny rolled with?
Wolf: The Goat Rapists.
Ace: The Goat Rapists? Well you know, it aint considered goat rape if it's on your property!
Sonny Thompson then makes his way down the aisle, walking slowly. He looks to his left and right, spying the geriatrics as he passes. He reaches the ring and removes his glasses, handing them off to a ring hand before climbing the steel steps, makes his way to the center of the apron, and steps over the top rope, entering the ring.
Ace: This one is about under way folks, who do you like in this one, Wolf?
Wolf: Isn't it obvious? The big biker bitch.
Ace: Don't let Sonny hear you call him that. . .
Charlene wiggles her ass up into the ring, the old men not old enough to still take delight in a young lady. If their junk actually worked, they'd go after her, but as it is they can't get it up. Charlene reaches the center of the ring, and raises the mic, smiling.
Charlene: Ladies and gentlemen. . . . the following match is for one fall and is a DEATHHHH MATCH!
Ace: Oh hell yeah. Let's do this shit.
Charlene: Introducing first, from Guadalajara, Mexico. . . hey cutie. . . Weighing in at a svelte two hundred and twenty five pounds, he is El Misterioso. . . MARRRRRIGUANNNOOOO!
Mariguano drops to one knee and raises his Mexican flag over his head, as the old men let out a few rounds of applause.
Charlene: And his opponent. . . from Oakland, California. . . weighing in at two hundred and sixty five pounds, he is The Anchor. . . Sonnnnyyy THOMPSONNNN!
Sonny ignores the announcement, staring hate right into Mariguano.
Ace: Sonny with forty pounds on Mariguano--he's gonna want to use that.
Wolf: You think?
El Toro strikes the air, and the bell rings, signaling the start of the match.
Ace: And here we go!
Mariguano hops about, juking around Sonny Thompson, who inches toward him slowly, his legs spread apart. Mariguano charges Sonny Thompson, and Sonny reaches out to reach him, but Mariguano slides through Sonny's legs.
Ace: Baseball slide through the legs of Sonny.
Wolf: Now you see him, now you don't, Ace.
Mariguano hops up to his feet behind Sonny Thomspon and then charges the turnbuckle in the corner. He reaches the corner and climbs up the ropes to the top turnbuckle, and Sonny Thompson turns around as Mariguano reaches the top turnbuckle, jumping off backwards and flipping through the air. Mariguano lands clean on Sonny Thompson, knocking him to the mat. The old men in the crowd let out some applause as Mariguano hooks the leg of Sonny Thompson. El Toro slides down to the mat and goes for the count.
Wolf: Quick pin here!
Ace: You damn right! 1. . . 2. . . 3! No just kidding. I had you there for a second didn't I?
Wolf: Not really I have eyes.
Sonny Thompson kicks out of the pin after a 1 count, and El Toro rises up to show the count, extending one finger up in the air. The crowd quiets down after the nearfall, and Mariguano quickly gets to his feet and Sonny Thompson does the same.
Sonny Thompson charges Mariguano and Mariguano bends at the knees, set to catch him. Sonny Thompson reaches him and Mariguano turns so that his side is toward Sonny and Mariguano hooks Sonny's arm and using his hips pulls him up and over to the mat in one clean motion.
Ace: Hip toss!
Sonny Thompson quickly gets to his feet and charges Mariguano a second time, and Mariguano turns once again, and hooks Sonny's arm as he reaches him, pulling him up andover to the mat.
Ace: And another by Mariguano!
Sonny gets to his feet for a third time, and charges Mariguano for a final time. As he reaches Mariguano, Mariguano side steps him and pushes him on the small of the back as he passes, sending him into the ropes.
Ace: Sonny Thompson into the ropes--Mariguano controlling this match here ladies and gentlemen.
Wolf: Very fast paced--very fast paced. Sonny isn't going to last very long if this match keeps up like that.
Sonny Thompson hits the ropes, turning so that his back hits the ropes and returns to the center of the ring. As Sonny reaches Mariguano, Mariguano falls flat to his back and lifts his legs upward, using them to push Sonny Thompson up and over him. Sonny lands on the mat behind Mariguano and the old bastards in the crowd let out some applause.
Ace: Monkey flip by Mariguano! What leg strength!
Wolf: From doing all that day laboring, no doubt!
Ace: Wolf! Mariguano is no day laborer and you know it!
Wolf: Do I? I don't even know what he looks like under that mask--not that it matters. . . they all look a like--
Sonny sells the monkey flip, sitting up on his ass and reaching back to grab the small of his back. His face contorts into a grimace as Mariguano spins on his back and up to his feet.
Wolf: What a fucking show off.
Ace: Hey, if you could pull something off like that, you'd do it too.
Wolf: Hey, if you had any nuts whatsoever, you'd tell me off right now--but alas, you don't. Do you?
Mariguano then charges the ropes Sonny faces and hits them, turning so his back bounces off the ropes, sending him back toward the center of the ring. Mariguano reaches Sonny and leaps up into the air, bringing two feet together and kicking Sonny square in the face with them.
Ace: Dropkick to the face of Sonny Thompson! And down goes Thompson!
Sonny falls back to the mat, selling the drop kick, his hands reaching up to grab his snout. Mariguano then scrambles over to him and drops to his knees, covering Sonny for the pin. El Toro slides to the mat a second later, going for the official count. The veterans in the crowd let out a slight murmur in anticipation of the potential pinfall.
Ace: Mariguano with yet another cover here! 1. . . 2--kick out. Sonny Thompson kicks out.
Wolf: That aint very hard, Ace. I take shits that weigh more than this guy.
Ace: Mariguano is heavier than he looks, Wolf. And besides, he's got speed to boot. He's definitely faster than Sonny Thompson.
Sonny Thompson sells on the mat, shaking his head after the near pinfall, as El Toro gets to his feet and signals the two count for the crowd. Mariguano then gets up to his feet and bends at the waist, grabbing a handful of Sonny's hair. He pulls upward, and Sonny lets out a mild cry of pain as he gets up to his feet. Once there, Mariguano reaches back and throws a hard right, followed by yet another.
Ace: Series of rights here from Mariguano.
Wolf: If he wants to get into a punching contest, I can guarantee you Sonny Thompson is going to win it. Sonny used to take beatings for decades at a time--and well, after you've been hit in the face and realize you aren't made of glass--you're more willing to take a punch in order to give a few.
Ace: The fear certainly dissipates.
Mariguano then pushes Sonny Thompson up against the ropes and grabs him by the wrist and pulls.
Ace: Irish whip here by Mari--reversal by Sonny.
Sonny turns, and grabs Mariguano by the wrist, pulling him through, sending him into the ropes. Mariguano reaches the ropes and jumps up onto the top rope before jumping off backwards, turning mid-air toward Sonny and stretching his body out, giving the most surface area to hit Sonny with.
Ace: Spring board body---no!
Sonny catches Mariguano as he reaches him, Mariguano caught across Sonny's body.
Ace: Sonny caught him!
Wolf: He can catch anything in creation! Call him Roy Hobbs--The Natural!
Ace: I think book references are lost on this crowd, Wolf.
Sonny then lifts Mariguano up and then brings him down, his back coming down across Sonny's bent knee. The force of the collision bends Mariguano awkwardly, and coming off the knee he hits the mat, selling.
Ace: Backbreaker by Sonny Thompson! And that is not at all what Mariguano had in mind when he took flight!
Wolf: You think? Sometimes I think the only requirement for being a wrestling commentator is stupidity. . . and you're King of The Fools.
Ace: And you're Emperor Lush.
Sonny Thomspon shakes his head as if to get the cobwebs out, still bent down on one knee. He then gets up to both feet and makes his way over to Mariguano. As he reaches him Sonny Thompson stomps him once, twice, three times, before bending at the waist and grabbing a handful of mask.
Ace: Thompson stombing away at Mariguano here. Time for some brawling folks.
Wolf: Time for a drink!
Wolf takes a drink from his flask as Thompson pulls upward, bringing Mariguano to his feet. Thompson then pushes Mariguano up into the corner and shortens the gap between them. Thompson reaches Mariguano and then grabs atop of the top rope and pulling forward brings a knee up to the gut of Mariguano.
Ace: Hard knee by Sonny Thompson--and the dope smoking luchadore is caught in the corner!
Wolf: Trapped--just like the dirty rat he is!
Mariguano bends over at the waist as the blow connects. He lets out an OOOOF and Sonny Thompson keeps his hold on the top rope, using his body to trap Mariguano in the corner. Sonny Thompson then pulls himself forward bringing up another knee to the stomach of Mariguano. Mariguano lets out another OOOF and again Sonny brings up another knee.
Ace: Series of knees here by Sonny Thompson--really working Mariguano in the corner now--and Mariguano has got absolutely no where to go.
Wolf: Why doesn't he just fly out of here? That's what dope heads do right?
Ace: I think you've been watching too many marijuana propoganda commercials from the early 50's.
Sonny Thompson releases the top rope and steps backward into the center of the ring, Mariguano staggering out of the corner toward him. Sonny Thompson then grabs Mariguano at his side, and lifts him up in the air before bringing Mariguano down, back first, to the mat.
Ace: Huge sidewalk slam here by Sonny Thompson!
Wolf: Mariguano just shit his pants.
Wolf: Don't you know a fierce bump like that can completely loosen the colon?
Ace: Maybe for you. . .
Sonny Thompson covers Mariguano, hooking the leg and pulling upward, pinning his shoulders to the mat. A split second later El Toro slides to the mat with all the grace of a veteran referee (though he isn't one) for the count, and the veterans in the crowd applaud in anticipation of the potential pin fall.
Ace: Pin by Sonny now, Mariguano's shoulders on the mat.
Wolf: We know what you mean by a--
Ace: 1. . .2. .--kick out! Mariguano kicks out of that one, and that one was close.
El Toro rises up from the mat and extends his arm in the air, signaling the two count with two fingers. Mariguano continues to sell on the mat, making slow work of getting to his feet. Sonny Thompson gets up to his feet, first up to a knee, then one foot, and then the other. Sonny bends at the waist and grabs Mariguano by the mask and brings him to his feet. Once there Sonny grabs Mariguano by the back of the head with one hand and by the tights with the other, and turning, tosses him clear out of the ring through the middle rope.
Ace: Mariguano on the outside now--
Wolf: AND HERE WE GO! Time for this match to live up to its stipulation.
Ace: That's right folks, anything goes here. No count outs, no disqualifications--weapons legal.
Mariguano lands on the hard ground outside, padded only with a thin carpet, while inside the ring Sonny Thompson wipes the long hair from his face and makes his way to the ropes. Sonny Thompson steps over the top rope to the apron. Mariguano gets up to his feet and Sonny Thompson jumps off the apron, raising both hands over his head and bringing them together before bringing them down, collectively, over the head of Mariguano.
Ace: Double axe-handle!
Mariguano falls backward, hitting the ground hard. He sells the double axe-handle, lifting his shoulders in order to turn onto his side to no avail. Sonny Thompson raises up his arms and recieves little, if any reaction from the crowd and then stomps Mariguano in the head once for good measure.
Ace: And Mariguano is in a bad way. There's lots of potential weapons out there in the crowd--go forbid these guys get their hands on a syringe or something.
Wolf: . . .
Sonny Thompson then looks out on the crowd, looking for a potential weapon. After a few moments of searching, he finds his prize and makes his way to a drooling geriatric, so out of it he stares off into the distance. Sonny Thompson makes his way to the man and takes the crutch from his lap, the old man not minding--hell not even noticing. Sonny Thompson raises up the crutch for all the crowd to see, and the veterans boo, finding it inhumane to take a crutch from a cripple.
Ace: He's got himself a crutch! He's going to use that crutch!
Wolf: And that old bastard is going to have to find himself a new way to get around after this.
Sonny keeps the crutch up over his head, waiting for Mariguano to get to his feet. Mariguano does so, but rises up with a kick to the gut of Sonny Thompson, the force of the blow causing Sonny Thompson to bend at the waist, his arms dropping to his waist side. Mariguano then reaches for the crutch and tries to wrench it out of Sonny's hands, but he keeps his hold on it.
Ace: Sonny's got a vice grip folks--and I don't think he ever parts with a potential weapon.
Wolf: This is. . .
Mariguano pulls the crutch and Sonny's arm goes straight as he keeps the hold on it. Sonny then pulls the crutch toward himself,and Mariguano steps backward, pulling himself.
Wolf: This is childish!
Ace: They're fighting over that crutch!
The tug-o-war continues for a bit, the old men in the crowd mumbling to one another about the goings on. Sonny then, instead of pulling, pushes, and Mariguano goes flying back into the first row, colliding with an aging geriatric with a colostomy bag.
Ace: Jesus Christ!
Wolf: This shit just got up close a personal! Time for another drink! Down the fucking hatch!
The colostomy bag sloshes (as its full--you dig?) and the old man crumbles to the ground, along with Mariguano. The other veterans out in the crowd let out a huge boo, and, remembering what it is like to go to battle with a comrade, those around Mariguano start striking him with canes and legs and arms, and whatever they can get a hold of.
Ace: This crowd has turned on Mariguano!
Wolf: You don't take out an old man with a shit bag and get away with it--not in front of these pukes.
Ace: But it wasn't Mariguano's fault! It wasn't intentional!
Wolf: Doesn't matter.
Mariguano rises up his arms as the blows from the old men continue to rain down. Sonny Thompson observes the mugging and laughs, before the idea pops into his head. . . He makes his way over to the old man and grabs hold of his colostomy bag. Mariguano gets up to his feet and quickly evades the old men, who curse him as he gets away, and turning, Mariguano runs face first in the bag, brought forward by Sonny Thompson.
Ace: JESUS NO!
The bag explodes, the urine inside splashing all over Mariguano.
Ace: He's got old man piss all over him!
Wolf: I thought I smelled asparagus.
Ace: That may not of hurt, but I can tell you Mariguano's ego has been hurt after that one. DISGUSTING!
The old men continue to boo, as Mariguano shakes his head and staggers backward, out of repulsion more than pain. Mariguano then regains his balance and Sonny makes he way over to him, shortening the gap. Sonny reaches Mariguano and throws a hard right, followed by a left, each blow taking Mariguano back a step.
Ace: Mariguano taking those blows, making no attempt to block them.
Wolf: You know, they say piss in the eyes is blinding. I wouldn't know, as I've never been into that. . . But I hear you're a fan of the golden showers--aint you Ace?
Ace: That's a lie--well that's what the courts said, but I'm still fighting that one.
Sonny Thompson then grabs Mariguano by the wrist and pulls him toward the steel steps.
Ace: Irish whip by Sonny Thompson--there goes Mariguano!
Mariguano hits the steel steps located at the corner of the ring, the collision causing the two sections of the steel steps to separate. The sound of the hollowed steps rings out through the room, and the veterans in the crowd let out a gasp.
Ace: Did you hear that one Wolf?
Wolf: I sure did--and as Ace likes to point out, I'm a little hard of hearing sometimes. That collision was nasty, I can tell you that much.
Ace: Certainly not fun Wolf.
Mariguano sells the collision on the ground outside of the ring, reaching back to grab the small of his back. Though we cannot see his face, as it is covered by a mask, we hear the cries of pain ring out. Sonny Thompson slowly makes his way over to Mariguano, and upon reaching him he bends at the waist, grabs a handful of mask, and forces Mariguano to his feet.
Ace: Mariguano is up, but I don't think he's all there folks.
Wolf: If he is, he wishes he wasn't. Piss soaked mask for the rest of this match. If I were him, I'd let Sonny pin me just for the chance to get that damn thing off. We all know how secretive fucking luchadores are about their real identity.
Sonny Thompson keeps his hold on Mariguano's mask, and makes his way over to the ring with Mariguano in tow. He brings Mariguano head first down on the apron,the blow causing Mariguano to rise up,and Sonny grabs Mariguano again, tossing him into the ring under the bottom rope.
Ace: Mariguano in the ring now--there's something to be glad of. As there are piss bags in there!
Wolf: Yeah, but look at Sonny here, he's going on a sort of egg hunt--so to speak.
Sonny turns from the ring and makes his way to the crowd. He walks up to an old man donned in his war uniform, complete with past medals won for valor and shit like that, and bends down, pulling the chair out from under the man. He falls straight to the ground on his ass, and turning Sonny Thompson tosses the chair into the ring before follwing after it.
Ace: Sonny's got a chair now! And he's got bad intentions!
Wolf: No Ace... he's just gonna sit on it.
Ace: You sit on it.
Wolf: What is this, an episode of Happy Days?
Ace: Showing your age again, Wolf.
Sonny Thomspon reaches the ring and then gets up onto the apron, where he enters the ring, stepping over the top rope. Inside the ring he retrieves the chair and then turns to the corner, wedging in the corner between the top and middle turnbuckle.
Ace: Thompson wedging that chair in the corner now. . . he's definitely not going to sit on it.
Wolf: We've established that, you fucking hack! You're so awful, you lead a man to drink. . . you know that?
Ace: Don't you pin your alcoholism on me!
Sonny Thompson then turns to Mariguano, who's making slow work of getting to his knees. Mariguano then gets to his feet as Sonny Thompson reaches him, and Sonny greets him with a pair of rights to the face of Mariguano. Mariguano rocks back with each blow,and Sonny Thompson finishes it up with a kick to the gut.
Ace: Kick here by Sonny. . .
Mariguano bends at the waist and Sonny Thompson takes Mariguano's head and places it between his legs. Sonny then grabs Mariguano around the waist and with a bend of the knees pulls Mariguano upward.
At the peak of the lift, Mariguano grabs Sonny Thompson by the head and then falls backwards, bringing Sonny Thompson head first to the mat.
Ace: No! DDT by Mariguano! What a reversal Wolf!
Wolf: Even more amazing when you consider Mariguano is wrestling with a piss soaked mask right now.
Sonny Thompson sells the DDT on the mat, as Mariguano sits up to his ass, breathing heavy. Mariguano shakes his head as Sonny stares up at the lights. Mariguano then gets on all fours and crawls slowly toward the ropes. Once there, he grabs the bottom rope, pulls himself upward, grabs the middle rope, getting up to his feet, and finally gets up completely, straightening up his back with a cracking of the vertebrae.
Ace: Both men feeling the affects of this match here, Wolf.
Wolf: Naturally. This shit has been in the ring, outside of the ring, we've seen crutches, we've seen colostomy bags, we've seen it all. You won't get this sort of stuff with the other guys.
Ace: Vintage Row, Wolf. Vintage Row.
Sonny Thompson gets up to his knees and Mariguano makes his way over to him, kicking him in the head as he reaches him. Sonny takes the blow but continues to rise, getting to his feet. Mariguano throws a right, which connects, followed by a left, which also connects. Sonny rocks back from each blow and then Mariguano grabs Sonny by the wrist, pulling him toward the ropes on the opposite side of the ring.
Ace: Irish whip--no--reversal.
Sonny turns, pulling through, sending Mariguano to the ropes instead. Mariguano hits the ropes, turning so that his back hits them, propelling him back toward the center of the ring. As he reaches Sonny, Sonny raises up a boot.
Ace: Big boot--no, Mariguano ducks!
Mariguano dashes off toward the ropes on the other side of the ring, with plenty of speed now and as he returns to the center of the ring Sonny Thompson turns, and Mariguano leaps up into the air, turning and catching Sonny Thompson's head between his thighs. Mariguano, resting there on Sonny's shoulders then comes down from whence he came, sending Sonny Thompson head first into the mat.
Ace: Flying head scissors here by Mariguano!
Sonny Thompson sells the flying head scissors on the mat, reaching up to grab his head. Mariguano then gets to his feet and points to the chair wedged in the corner, and the old men in the crowd don't do their part; I mean here's about where the crowd pops, but shit, these old bastards are so loose in the head they're lucky to be able to tell the difference between day and night.
Ace: Mariguano pointing to the chair in the corner! You know what that means!
Wolf: He's gonna sit on it?
Ace: Oh shut up. . .
Wolf: Tranny lover!
Ace: HEY I HAD NO IDEA SHE HAD A PENIS!
Wolf: Yeah... you and Eddy Murphy...
Mariguano makes his way over to Sonny Thompson, who is still selling on the mat and bends at the waist, grabs a handful of Thompson's hair and pulls upward, forcing Sonny up to his feet, less of course he wishes to lose some of his precious locks. Once to his feet Mariguano throws a hard right, following it up with a quick left to the face of Sonny Thompson. Mariguano then grabs Sonny Thompson by the wrist, pulling through toward the corner with the wedged chair.
Ace: Irish whip--no reversed!
Sonny Thompson turns, and pulls through, sending Mariguano toward the corner instead, but Mariguano keeps his hold on Thompson's wrist and turning, stops in his tracks, facing Thompson. Mariguano then slides through Thompson's legs, bringing Thompson's arm through with them. Thompson stands bent at the waist, his own arm down between his legs, with Mariguano standing behind him, holding the arm. Mariguano then pulls, forcing Thompson head over heels to the mat. Mariguano then turns his back to Thompson and leaps upward, flipping backwards and onto Thompson.
Ace: Standing moonsault by Mariguano! I don't think we've seen that from him yet.
Wolf: Ahhh who cares. I'm gonna have me a drink. Now you shut up, if you think you're gonna say anything about it. I'm a grown ass man, and I can take care of myself.
Mariguano stays on top of Thompson, hooking his leg and pulling it upward, using his weight and Thompson's own weight to pin his shoulders to the mat. El Toro drops to his knees and goes for the official count.
Ace: Cover! 1. . . 2. . . NO! Kick out by Sonny Thompson--Sonny's still got some life yet!
Wolf: Well he hasn't won a match here yet in The Row, and if he can't even beat a little shit like Mariguano--he may as well get back on his hog and get the fuck out of here.
Ace: Wolf! Mariguano is a former champion.
Wolf: Yeah, in some Mexican league nobody has ever heard of.
Mariguano gets up to his knees and checks with El Toro, who shows only two fingers. Mariguano pounds the mat once in frustration and then reaches down, grabbing Sonny Thompson around the throat. Mariguano tightens the hold, cutting off the windpipe.
Ace: Dragon sleeper applied here by Mariguano after that near pinfall. He wants to win this won Wolf!
Wolf: Of course he does--every wrestler wants to win every match, even if he can't draw dick and can't tie his own damn shoes.
Sonny Thompson reaches out with both hands, his face grimacing as Mariguano continues to cut off the air supply. El Toro circles around both competitors, leaning over to check on Sonny Thompson. El Toro asks him if he would like to submit, and Sonny manages to shake his head slightly.
Ace: Sonny Thompson in a bad way here--he's not going to last long with that dragon sleeper--and boy does Mariguano have that thing locked in.
Wolf: Quite frankly. . . Thompson will be going to sleep. Hence the name.
El Toro continues to check on Sonny as he tries to get to the ropes. Being the heavier man, when he moves Mariguano has no choice to go along for the ride, and Sonny inches his way toward the ropes, Mariguano keeping the hold.
Ace: Sonny making his way to the ropes here.
Ace: What the hell was that?
Wolf: No idea.
El Toro continues to check on Sonny Thompson, as he inches closer and closer to the ropes. Mariguano shakes his head at Sonny's progress. Sonny reaches the ropes, his arm reaching out and grabbing the top rope. El Toro spots the rope break and starts up the count: UNO-DOS-TRES-CUATRO-Mariguano breaks the hold.
Ace: Mariguano getting the best out of that hold there, even after the rope break.
Wolf: A dragon sleeper is no joke. That shit can fuck you up--and I'm surprised Sonny lasted as long as he did.
Ace: He's got a thick neck!
Wolf: And I've got a thick dick!
Wolf: What, you wanna see it?
Sonny Thompson is slow to get up after the dragon sleeper. He reaches up to grab his throat, swallowing hard as Mariguano gets to his feet and raises his arms up for the crowd. The old gentlemen in the crowd let out a weak applause. Mariguano then makes his way to the ropes and steps out onto the apron. Once there, he turns so he is facing the ring, and grabbing a hold of the top rope, he waits for Sonny Thompson, who by now is up on his knees.
Ace: Look out Sonny!
Sonny gets to his feet and charges Mariguano, who pulls himself up to the top rope, and jumps off. Mariguano hooks Sonny around the head mid-air.
Ace: The Dios-Mi DDT! NO!
Sonny catches Mariguano and then charges the corner with the wedged chairs between the top and middle turnbuckle, bringing Mariguano's back into the chair. Sonny lets go of Mariguano as he hits the corner and Mariguano sells the collision, dropping to the mat and reaching back in pain.
Ace: Sonny reverses and sends Mariguano into the corner with that wedged chair!
Wolf: Eh I would have preferred a head first collision.
The old men let out a noise of shock, as Sonny Thompson unwedges the chair and raises it up above his head. Mariguano rises up to his feet and Sonny Thompson swings the chair, aiming for Mariguano's head. Mariguano ducks, making Sonny whiff. Mariguano then charges the ropes and jumps up to the middle rope before jumping backwards, turning and landing on Sonny Thompson just as he turns to face him.
Ace: Body splash by Mariguano after ducking that near chair shot!
Wolf: Damn. . . I wanted to see Sonny take this kids head off!
Sonny sells the body splash and the old men in the crowd let out some mild applause for the aerial. Mariguano then gets to his feet himself, and looks around for the chair. Retrieving it he sets it up and pulls the fallen Sonny Thompson into the seated position.
Ace: Hey! They are gonna sit on it.
Wolf: Ayyyyyeeeeee. Hit that juke box, Fonz. We need some tunes.
Mariguano then turns to the corner and pulls himself up to the top turnbuckle. He turns, facing the ring and perches there for a moment before straightening up in a stance, his arms out to keep his balance. Mariguano then leaps off and extends his arm out, driving it forward as he reaches the seated Sonny Thompson.
Ace: Lariat from the turnbuckle by Mariguano! Down goes Thompson!
Wolf: Did the chair serve any purpose there? I dunno... looks to me that one hurt the chair more than Sonny.
The force of the lariat sends Sonny backwards, flipping out of the chair and landing on his neck/upper back on the mat. The old men in the crowd show their appreciation with some applause, and Mariguano drops to the mat, hooking Sonny's leg and pulling upward, pinning his shoulders to the mat.
Ace: We've got a cover!
El Toro slides to the mat to make the count, the old men buzzing for the potential pin fall.
Ace: 1. . .2. . . NO! Somehow, some way Sonny Thompson kicks out.
Wolf: I smell a drinking game!
Mariguano gets up to his knees and checks with El Toro, who raises up two fingers in his face. Mariguano shakes his head, as he can't believe it, but El Toro is insistent.
Ace: That was only two, sorry kid. You can wish it to be all you want--but no dice!
Wolf: He should be used to hard work.
Mariguano gets up to his feet, still shaking his head.
Ace: That's the last time I'm gonna warn you.
Sonny Thompson sells on the mat. He stares up at the ceiling, breathing heavily, his arms and legs spread out around him.
Wolf: What are you going to do?
Mariguano makes his way to Sonny, and bends at the waist, grabbing Sonny by the hair and bringing him to his feet.
Ace: I'll. . . I'll. . .
Wolf: That's what I thought.
Mariguano throws a hard right, followed by a left, each blow knocking Sonny Thompson back a step. Mariguano then grabs Sonny by the wrist and pulls him toward the ropes.
Ace: Irish whip by--no reversed by Sonny.
Sonny turns, and pulls through, sending Mariguano into the ropes instead. Mariguano hits the ropes and returns. As he reaches Sonny, Sonny extends out an arm.
Ace: Clothesline--no! Ducked by Mariguano.
Mariguano ducks and then heads toward the ropes on the other side of the ring. He reaches the ropes and jumps up to the top rope, where he turns to face the ring with fancy foot work.
Ace: Mariguano may be a tight-rope walker!
Sonny Thompson turns and Mariguano jumps off the top rope and hooks Sonny Thompson around the head as he comes down. Mariguano spins 180 degrees and brings Sonny Thompson down to the mat head first.
Ace: There it is! The first time was not successful, but this time he's managed to pull it off. The Dios Mi DDT!
Wolf: Very fancy. . .
Ace: And you know what that means!
Sonny Thompson sells the tornado DDT on the mat and the old men in the crowd muster up a rather weak pop. Mariguano then gets to his feet and points to the corner.
Ace: It's Bongo Drop time!
Mariguano charges the corner and pulls himself up to the top turnbuckle. He turns facing the ring and then rises to the standing position. Mariguano leaps off, flipping backwards and extending the 'thumbs up' with both hands during the flip and he lands perfectly on Sonny Thompson.
Ace: There it is! The Bongo Drop!
The old men muster yet another weak pop as Mariguano hooks Sonny's leg, pulling upward and pinning him to the mat.
Ace: The cover!
El Toro slides to the mat as the old men in the crowd buzz in anticipation of the end of the match.
Ace: 1. . . 2. . . 3! He's done it! Mariguano wins!
Wolf: The little spic--
El Toro rises up and strikes the air. The bell rings out, signaling the end of the match, and El Toro bends at the waist to raise the arm of Mariguano, still on the mat.
Ace: A victory for Mariguano! He may not have lasted through that tournament, but he's still got some steam, Wolf.
Wolf: He's still got plenty of smoke, you mean.
Mariguano rises to his feet and raises his arms, to a meager pop from the old men as Sonny Thompson rolls out of the ring.
HENRY'S BAIL BONDS, LET US GET TO YOU BEFORE YOUR CELLMATE DOES.
Wolf: Well up next we’ve got tag team action for you folks. Cash Money and Tha Krew go head to head one again for some Anarchy vs. The Row Action.
Ace: Cashhhhh Money.
Wolf: That’s right Ace, Cash Money, who as of late have taken to hanging around that piece of shit IM Hate. The way I see it, Anarchy can go blow each other for all I care.
Ace: I think they’re nice—the belts I mean. Hey if you wanna be a champion, why not just make up a belt?!
Wolf: These guys are certainly arrogant, but tonight they take on Dark's enforcers: Tha Krew.
It Gets Me Through by Ozzy Osbourne begins to play, the old men rising to boo.
Ace: Well here they come. . . the bastards.
Wolf: FUCK DAH WIFE!
The lights dim and Ozzy starts singing, the boos continuing to rain out. Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz come out from behind the curtain, both dressed in fine suits. Each member of Cash Money holds a belt, one they fashioned themselves, as they believe themselves to be the best tag team in the federation.
Ace: Look at those suits Wolf. These guys are rolling on the dough.
Wolf: Well. . . we sure could use some. . . Cash Money showing off their new belts, not that they mean anything to anyone other than themselves, but yes—there they are folks. The Arrogant Ass belts!
Ace: I kinda like the way they think. I think I’m gonna make a commentators belt and appear next Lethal Injection as the Commentating Champion of The Row.
Wolf: What makes you think the title wouldn’t be mine?
Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz strip out of their suits and make their way down the ramp. When they reach the ring they hand off their suits and then climb up into the ring, Shane first, followed by Jason Cruz.
Wolf: They’ve got a much taller order in Tha Krew.
Ace: Tha Krew have been hired to inflict pain. Inflicting pain is their business, and tonight they mean business—expect Tha Krew to come out hot tonight. I don’t know if Cash Money is going to be able to come out of this one with a win.
Wolf: Well they sure are gonna try.
As Shane and Jason get in the ring they raise their belts in the air to a mild pop from the Death Row Faithful and a chorus of boos from the protesters. Jesus in the front row appears particularly agitated.
Wolf: Tha Krew is set to appear next Ace.
Ace: The baddest mother fuckers in the Row. . .
2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted, by Tupac (featuring Snoop Dogg) starts up and the boos continue to rain out, the old men confused by the music.
Wolf: These old bastards showing their distaste for this particular genre of the music, more than Tha Krew I think.
Ace: Well Tha Krew hasn’t come out yet, Wolf. So how could they—
Leon Williams and Wes Payton emerge from behind the curtain, Leon Williams playing with his afro and Wes Payton looking hard, as if chiseled out of stone. Wes Payton quickly removes his sunglasses and we see a pair of cold, staring eyes, staring straight down at the ring.
Wolf: What a look from Wes Payton!
Ace: No wonder he wears sunglasses all the time! If looks could kill Cash Money would be dead right now!
The cameraman draws close to Wes but Wes bats him out of the way and makes his way down the ramp, Leon following behind still futzing with his beloved afro. They ignore the protesters on each side of the ramp, leaning over the barricade to better spew their hate, and as Tha Krew reaches the ring Wes Payton jumps up on the apron and climbs in through the ropes. Leon Williams climbs up the steps and climbs through the top and middle rope after Wes.
Wolf: Tha Krew a formidable opponent tonight—do I have to say ‘Tha’ every time? Is ‘The’ Sufficient?
Ace: And I suppose next you’re gonna say Krew is spelled with a ‘C’, eh Wolf?
Wolf: Well. . . it is. . .
Ace: There you go already!
Wes Payton looks across at Shane Jackson, not moving as Leon Williams hops about behind him, trash talking over Wes’ shoulder at both Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz.
Wolf: Wes Payton not much of the talker…
Ace: That’s what Leon Williams is for!
Charlene climbs into the ring, here ass wiggling. Wiggle wiggle. Giggle giggle.
Charlene: Ladies and gentlemen. . .the following match is for one fall, and has a thirty minute time limit. . . . Introducing first, from Ft. Wayne, Indiana, weighing in at a combined weight of five hundred and thirty pounds, they are Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz. . . Cassssshhhh Monnneeey!!!
Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz raise their belts over their heads. An old man in the first row drifts off to sleep. . . His loud snoring ringing out through the room.
Wolf: Cash Money is boring the fuck out of these people!
Ace: And look at all that drool. . .
Charlene: And their opponents. . . from New York, New York, weighing in at a combined weight of four hundred and ninety eight pounds, they are Wes Payton and Leon Williams. . . . Thhhaaaa Kreeeewwww!
Wes Payton remains stone still, as Leon Williams hops about the ring, stopping as he reaches a corner and jumping up to run an afro pick through his hair. Wes Payton then directs Leon Williams out of the ring and he obeys, climbing out onto the edge of the apron and walking toward their neutral corner. Jason Cruz climbs out of the ring and does the same, as the bell rings.
Wolf: Well we’re off ladies and gentlemen! The first and only tag match of the night!
Ace: All these men in the ring are going to put on a show, I can guarantee you that Wolf.
Shane Jackson circles around Wes Payton, and Wes Payton stands still in the ring, turning only to keep Shane Jackson from getting behind him.
Wolf: Both men feeling one another out here. Wes moving slow and calculated.
Ace: Just eyeing his prey, Wolf, just eyeing his prey.
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!’
Wolf: Shane Jackson saying Cash Money there…
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.
Wolf: Wrist lock here by Wes Payton, he’s got the upper hand.
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Just one of his many talents, including looking just like Wesley Snipes in Blade.
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.
Wolf: Shane with the upper hand here…
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Impressive kick by Wes Payton there!
Ace: I told you he knows karate!
Wolf: Whether a product of karate or not, Seth Jackson just took a wallop behind the ear!
Wes Payton taunts the old men in the crowd 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.
Wolf: Irish whip by Wes Payton. There goes Shane.
Shane returns off the ropes and Wes Payton goes for a clothesline, but Shane ducks it.
Wolf: 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.
Wolf: Another attempted clothesline, another duck!
Ace: This guy is fast, Wolf!
Shane bounces off the ropes a third time and as he returns he knocks Wes to the mat with a lariat.
Wolf: Shane Jackson gains the upper hand, and Wes Payton is on the mat.
Ace: Did you see him flying, he looked like a helicopter tumbling through the air there.
Wolf: What an image, Ace, what an image. A tumbling helicopter.
Ace: That’s what I do, Wolf.
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.
Wolf: Shane Jackson is in control!
Ace: 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?
Wolf: I sure did, this Shane Jackson sure is athletic. Those belts of theirs might not be honored by The Row, but if we ever do get tag belts, these guys are sure to be up there at the top.
Wes Payton sits up after the elbow drop, selling it, but Shane quickly pushes his back to the mat and goes for the pin. Frank Knox hits the mat and goes for the count.
Wolf: We’ve got a quick pin here by Shane Jackson of Cash Money! 1. . . kick out! Only one there.
Frank Knox rises to his feet and holds up his arms, signaling it was only a one count. Shane Jackson then picks up Wes Payton and hooks him under his arm before directing him toward Cash Money’s neutral corner. Shane extends his off hand and Jason slaps it, tagging himself in.
Wolf: Jason Cruz in the ring now after that tag.
Ace: Remember kids, safety first, then teamwork!
Shane Jackson 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 Shane Jackson raise an elbow, both knocking Wes Payton in the face at the same time and knocking him to the mat.
Wolf: Cash Money working together here, Ace. It’s this type of work that got them through their match with The H-Town Hustlas.
Ace: These guys know each other well. They’ve hated each other, and now they are good friends. They’ve been through ups, they’ve been through downs. A team like that is formidable opponent, I don’t care who you are.
Wolf: Very good point, Ace.
Ace: Those are the only kind I make. . .
Shane Jackson climbs out of the ring as Jason Cruz quickly drops to his knees and hooks Wes Payton’s leg for the pin.
Wolf: We’ve got a pin! 1. . . 2. . . kick out! Wes Payton is down but he is not out!
Ace: This is just another day for Wes Payton!
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.
Wolf: Wes Payton with the eye rake, and Shane never saw it coming.
Ace: They never do, Wolf, 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.
Wolf: Here comes afro loving Leon Williams.
Ace: You know this guy spends more time futzing with his hair than some women.
Wolf: You’re one to talk Ace, I’ve seen you in the back. You stare at yourself for a long time…
Ace: You would too if you looked this good.
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.
Wolf: Both men wailing on Jason Cruz now! Come on ref! Break it up!
Ace: That’s smart fighting Wolf! What are you complaining about?!
Wolf: It’s two on one!
Ace: That’s the point!
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.
Wolf: Leon Williams is going crazy here, just raining down punches on Jason Cruz.
Ace: 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.
Wolf: El Toro getting into it with Leon Williams now.
Ace: Whatever you do El Toro, don’t touch his hair! He’ll kill you.
Wolf: You’re probably right about that Ace.
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.
Wolf: Leon Williams comes up empty as Jason Cruz moves out of the way!
Ace: Jason saw it coming and was quick enough to get out of the way Wolf.
Wolf: Thanks for reiterating what I already said, Ace.
Ace: Anytime pal, anytime!
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.
Wolf: Massive suplex by Jason Cruz. You like that one Ace?
Ace: I’d give it about a 9. There was a slight hitch I noticed, but that’s it.
Wolf: Hitch? What hitch? You’re crazy!
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.
Wolf: Another tag from Cash Money, getting the fresh man in.
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Nice move by both members of Cash Money.
Ace: They’re working well together tonight, Wolf. This could spell bad news for Tha Krew.
Shane Jackson then drops to his knees and goes for the cover.
Wolf: Pin by Shane Jackson! 1. . . 2. . . kick out!
Ace: Leon Williams is still in this one Wolf. He’s got to make the tag though if Tha Krew wants to have a chance in this one.
Wolf: That’s right Ace, it’s always important to get the fresh man in.
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.
Wolf: Yet another eye gouge from a member of Tha Krew!
Ace: What can I say, you do what works! And the eyes are virtually unprotected!
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.
Wolf: Wes Payton in the ring now after the tag.
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Wes Payton working the ribs of Shane Jackson.
Ace: That’s gonna make it difficult for Shane Jackson. A rib injury is always a nagging one, making it difficult to breathe, to sleep, to do anything really!
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.
Wolf: Wes Payton in control of Shane Jackson now, he’s got him in the center of the ring.
Ace: God damn these protesters! Won’t they ever shut up, Wolf?
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.
Wolf: Shoulder block by Wes Payton! All that weight just thundering down on Shane Jackson!
Ace: Wes Payton could have a career in football with a block like that! Shane Jackson is no lightweight! He’s a big heavy man!
Wolf: He certainly didn’t look it there!
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.
Wolf: Shane showing his quickness here. Both men bouncing around the ring.
Ace: What’s going on?!
Wolf: A wrestling match you boob!
Wes Payton comes off the ropes on the other side of the ring and Shane quickly turns and dropkicks Wes Payton to the mat.
Wolf: Shane with the drop kick. He really sprung off the mat with that one.
Ace: This guy is athletic; he can do it all, Wolf!
Wolf: Great, great, just feed his already huge ego Ace.
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.
Wolf: 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.
Wolf: Impressive double axe handle by Jason Cruz, right down on the back of Wes Payton.
Ace: And Wes is hurt, Wolf. 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 (who?). 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.
Wolf: Wes Payton into the turnbuckle, Jason Cruz in control now.
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Reverse DDT by Jason Cruz!
Ace: Wes Payton never saw that one coming. And sometimes they’re the ones that hurt the most.
Wolf: That makes little sense. . .
Ace: Look it up. . . I saw it in a science book. . .
Wolf: I highly doubt that.
Jason Cruz crawls over to Wes Payton and goes for the pin, Toro scrambling to the mat after him.
Wolf: Pin! 1. . . 2. . . NO! Wes Payton has got his foot on the ropes!
Ace: 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 Toro 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.
Wolf: Shane Jackson in now, and Wes Payton is out.
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Both teams showing some wrestling IQ here in this Death Row tag match.
Ace: Is that anything like Basketball IQ?
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.
Wolf: 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.
Wolf: 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!
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Cheap shot by Leon Williams!
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Wes Payton down after the dropkick.
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Huge drop kick by Shane Jackson!
Ace: Leon Williams actually jumped into that one!
Wolf: Sure did Ace! And Leon Williams looks dazed!
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.
Wolf: He sure likes saying that.
Ace: Of course, cash and money are his two favorite things.
Wolf: They’re the same thing…
Ace: Don’t tell Shane Jackson 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.
Wolf: Fisherman suplex into the pin by Shane Jackson! 1. . . 2. . . kick out!
Ace: 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.
Wolf: Neck breaker by Shane Jackson! Leon Williams may have been dying into the ring, but he must be regretting it now!
Ace: Shane Jackson is kicking the shit out of Leon Williams right now. There’s no doubt about it, Wolf.
Shane Jackson then motions toward Jason Cruz, who nods in response. Shane Jackson grabs Leon Williams and brings him to his feet, moving him toward Cash Money’s corner. Shane Jackson extends a free hand and Jason Cruz slaps it, tagging himself in.
Wolf: Shane Jackson making the tag. But what’s Jason Cruz doing?
Ace: He’s going for some high risk, Wolf!
Shane Jackson then lowers himself under Leon Williams, lifting him up into the air on his shoulders. Shane Jackson stands with Leon Williams’ legs draped over his shoulders, and Jason Cruz jumps off and dropkicks Leon Williams off of Shane Jackson.
Wolf: Cash Missle! Leon Williams is down!
Jason Cruz climbs over Leon Wiliams and goes for the pin, as Shane Jackson charges Wes Payton on the apron and knocks him off, preventing any hopes of breaking the count. Frank Knox hits the mat.
Wolf: This could be it! 1. . . 2. . . 3! It’s over, It’s over!
Ace: Cash Money did it, just as I suspected all along!
Wolf: After the Cash Missle Jason Cruz went for the pin and then all it took was the 1. . 2. . 3.
Ace: Another loss for Tha Krew. Tim Ross better look out, his enforcers are looking weak!
Leon Williams rolls out of the ring as El Toro raises the arms of Jason Cruz and Shane Jackson simultaneously. Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz then go over to the ropes and the ring hand hands them up their belts. They each grab one and then turn and raise the belts for all the crowd to see.
Wolf: They sure are proud of those things, aren’t they? You’d think they actually believe they’re legit!
Ace: Who’s to say they aren’t? Cash Money claims to be the best tag team in The Row, and so far, no one has been able to prove them wrong.
Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz then lower the belts and exit the ring, breathing heavy. They show off their belts to the camera before turning and walking up the aisle. But then, they stop and suddenly turn.
Ace: What's this?
Shane Jackson and Jason then charge back down to the ring, where Leon Williams is attending to Wes Payton. They both reach the ring and from the crowd comes IM Hate--Ian Michaels.
Ace: IM Hate has been in the crowd all this time? He stick out like a damn sore thumb with all these geriatrics.
Wolf: Fuck this company. It makes no sense.
Ian Michaels charges the ring and he and Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz all slide in the ring at the same time, surrounding Leon Williams, who standing looking to each man with fear floating across his face.
Ace: And Leon Williams is fucked!
Leon Williams charges IM Hate and IM Hate raises out an arm, extending it across the throat of Leon Williams, knocking him clean to the mat.
Wolf: Yeah, he's definitely fucked.
Anarchy stands over Leon Williams, IM Hate laughing and then directing Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz to take hold of Leon Williams' arms.
Ace: We've seen this before! They're going for the Three Man Hate Crime!
Suddenly IM Hate looks up and bolts the ring, and the camera cuts to the aisle, where Dark comes charging down the ring. The old men in the crowd don't know whether to applaud or shit their pants--some do both.
Ace: And here comes the boss!
Wolf: To the fucking rescue!
Dark slides into the ring and Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz finally turn around to see what's up and why their leader had abandoned them, and as they turn Dark brings forward both arms extended, knocking them both to the mat.
Ace: Double clothesline for Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz!
Jason Cruz and Shane Jackson roll out of the ring, as Dark stands pointing at IM Hate. IM Hate can be seen saying something, but the audio can't pick it up. Dark bends down, still looking at IM Hate and he checks on Wes Payton, who's finally coming to. Leon Williams, now that he's got the back up of the Boss suddenly becomes hard, and starts talking shit to IM Hate.
Ace: We've got us a motherfucking show down!
Wolf: IM Hate don't want none of this, he only likes to fight when the other guy doesn't see him coming!
Ace: My God you're right! He's backing away!
IM Hate backs away from the ring, holding back Cash Money. The two continue to jabber away, and Anarchy makes it way toward the fire exit. IM Hate kicks the door open and the alarm goes off, and Anarchy is gone. . .
Ace: They've ditched this shithole!
Wolf: Well there they go, one of the top tag teams in The Row.
Ace: We’ll be right back. But first. . . The Row is brought to you by Tom’s Tool Shack. Need a tool he’s got it. He’s a tool man who knows his tool. So stop being a tool and stop on by!
Wolf: And. . . Sherry’s All Natural Weaves, providing you with all your hair beauty needs on the corner of Custard Avenue and Churchill Street.
Cort Vang, for all of his many flaws, sits inbetween two war veterans in the back room. You know, that backroom nobody tells you about, but everyone eventually wanders into searching for the bathroom.
Cort Vang: -- This is Earl.
Vang points at the scraggly-faced man to his right, hunched over. Drool on his chin, and a smell of babyfood coming from his slight open lips.
Cort Vang: -- And over to the right, we got John.
Right being left. Cort's other sit-buddy was younger, decked out in a white buttoned shirt with camoflauge tie. He was sexy.
Cort Vang: At first glance, the three of us don't got piss in common. Yet here we are, in a Row Arena, -- some sittin' mothers. And you know why we are all relaxed and shit?!--
Vang sits into it, like matter-of-fact badassery.
Cort Vang: Because we were soldiers. -- Armed to the nines in fights. Rather it be over in the Middle East Sandbox or way back in 'Nam, -- or more recently, as a Salvation Army Soldier doin' D-rations with only a bell and a motherfucking bucket. --
Hard cough by Earl. Cort looks over, making sure he's okay because old people do die in The Row.
Cort Vang: Which brings me to tonight, as an ex-Soldier I am up against the most militant of all hateful bitches of the Death Row block. -- IM Hate, Mr. King Stroke Of Disdain himself. -- and his prancy Cash Money thugpuppets. -- Don't think I forgot you, Cruz.
Cort Vang: -- It's come down to this, number one to the Head Motherfucker.-- While I was busting an ass through 'Cash' Jackson and Mariguano, I.M Hate been doing his crazy ass shtuff. -- stuff.--
Cort looks down, split second. Don't know why he lisped, must be all the excitement.
Cort Vang: I'm going to be breezy with this, Ian. You ain't sniffing anywhere near Seth Stratton and that Head Motherfucker strap. Because, although I been laid to waste like a new-fish bitch several weeks in a row in the-- Row.--- well, I ain't sure what I'm sayin' but best believe I motherfucking mean it!
Half-assed crucifix, accidentally popping Earl on the cheek. Didn't matter either way, Earl just closed his eyes again. Having nothing else relevant to say after losing his train of thought, Cort Vang shrugs and stands up moving away from such riveting company.
We cut to Ace and Waylon Wolf, doing their job as always (well except maybe for Wolf). Waylon scowls, as he's experiencing some indigestion from the nips of booze, and although he's been drinking for awhile, he still has not become boisterous.
Ace: Well, Seth Stratton with the win here--I don't think anyone saw it any other way. . . but damn did this old bastard put on a good showing! He certainly lasted longer than I thought he would have.
We cut to one of the now empty hospital rooms in the veterans hospital. Dark lies on the single bed in the center of the room, his legs crossed, his arms folded behind his head. A cigar sticks out of his mouth, lit cherry red at the end. The smoke trails out slowly, and wafts through the room like a ghostly apparation. Tha Krew stand at the foot of the bed, their arms crossed, looking themselves like two ebony bed posts, while Johnny Cox stands in a corner expecting the bed pan.
We cut to Waylon Wolf and Ace, sitting at their commentators table in one corner of the room. Waylon nods off, occassionally snoring, sometimes so loud it wakes him up. Ace stares at Wolf and shakes his head, feeling bad he's had the opportunity to watch him fall so far first hand. Ace then turns to the camera and musters up a fake smile.
Ace: You know I don't understand it--he was fine a few minutes ago, and now, this.
Wolf: FUCK TITS!
Wolf suddenly wakes up, his lids lifting revealing a pair of two glassy blood shot eyes. He looks around confused and then promptly drifts off to sleep again.
Ace: Well, Wolf may be out, but I'm still here folks. And what news we just recieved from Dark. It seems he's finally had enough of Anarchy and their dirty tactics, and has taken to banning Cash Money from ringside here tonight. And all I've got to say it's about damn time. But moving forward, its now time ladies and gentlemen--main event time. And that means we've got the end of our number one contender's tournament, with IM Hate taking on Cort Vang in the final round. This is it folks! This is what every man has been fighting for. A chance at Seth Stratton.
Ace shakes his head.
Ace: Now, if we had fancy equipment, I could show you replays of how both men got here, but I guess I'll just have to tell you about it instead. Cort Vang of course defeated Shane Jackson in the first round, then took on that dope smoking luchadore Mariguano in a heart stopping match, and that has lead him to here. Ian Michaels on the other hand defeated Rupture in the main event at Lethal Injection Thirteen. He then, with the help of his fellow Anarchy members took out the rest of his competition: Schism and Trevor Browning, respectively. Dark has allowed him to move on, why? I don't know. But he has. Sometimes life is a bitch.
Am I Psycho by Techn N9ne begins to play through the bingo room, and the old men reach up simultaneously and cover their ears, the music too much for them. The deaf ones look around confused.
Ace: These veterans in the crowd certainly aren't use to this sort of music. . .And well, here he comes ladies and gentlemen. The man who is trying to take over The Row, and the head of Anarchy--Ian Michaels, also known as IM Hate. Now if that doesn't tell you he's the king of all assholes, I don't know what will. This guy hates everyone and everything.
Am I Pyscho continues to play out through the room and we cut to the entrance of it, where IM Hate pulls the curtain aside and steps into the room. He looks out on the crowd with a scowl on his face, as the old men boo the horrible noise in their heads.
Ace: IM Hate everyone--there's not much more I can say about this bastard.
IM Hate makes his way down the aisle to the ring, looking at each aging man as he passes. One man in particular seems to shit his pants, and IM Hate makes a face as the smell reaches his nose. IM Hate backs away from the old man, shouting explitives in his direction.
Ace: IM Hate giving us a nice display of his particularly douchey side--picking on an old man here. Who apparently just shit his pants.
Wolf: SHIT DA PANTS.
IM Hate turns to toward the ring and shortens the gap. He reaches the ring and pulls himself up to the apron, where he turns to look out on the crowd with disgust before he steps through the ropes, ducking under the top rope.
Ace: IM Hate in the ring now, apparently not at all bothered by the fact that he has to come out here all on his lonesome. That can't be good. He's got something up his sleeze folks, I'm telling you. Watch that bastard, he's a slippery snake.
IM Hate makes his way to the center of the ring and raises his arms, receiving a boo from the crowd for all his troubles. IM Hate then heads toward the ropes and leans over them to yell at the nearest old man, wearing medals won from a previous war.
Ace: His opponent tonight will be Cort Vang--The One Man Misdameanor who--
'Crucified' start up through the room, interrupting Ace. The crowd starts to applaud the end of IM Hate's theme more than anything else. We cut to a shot of some of the veterans in the first row, each one looking older and more decrepit than the next.
Ace: Well here he comes ladies and gentlemen, not wasting any time here. And why should he? Cort Vang has survived The Row longer than any man, including Dark, the boss. He's been through some battles here in The Row, and I'm sure this one will be no different.
We cut to a shot of the entrance, where Cort Vang emerges from behind the curtain. He looks out on the geriatrics uninterested and then raises his arms in mockery of the crucifixition. Always the martyr, aint yah Cort?
Ace: Cort Vang looking good here tonight ladies and gentlemen. As of late he's been working with the Salvation Army. Has he turned a new leaf? Who knows.
Cort Vang slowly makes his way down the aisle, taking great interest in each old man he passes. He's never seen such a collection of old farts, and in a way he's as curious as a cat. Cort reaches the ring and turns his attention to IM Hate, who demands it with a few words of hate directed at Cort Vang.
Ace: This one is going to be a good one folks. I'm telling you--both these guys are looking for a shot at the title, and as such both of them are going to leave it all out on the table. Tell your fucking friends to get on this shit right now, cause this is going to be a match for the record books.
Cort Vang smiles as IM Hate, giving him the exact opposite reaction he was expecting, which only makes IM Hate even more angry. Cort Vang then points to El Toro, and says something inaudible. El Toro nods his head and turns to IM Hate, making an effort of pushing him away.
Ace: I don't know if even a bull like El Toro will be able to hold IM Hate back. If Ian was smart, he'd treat El Toro as kind as you would a child--his fate is in a way in his hands. All it takes is a disqualification--and Ian's hopes of being the Death Row champion are dashed.
Cort Vang then gets up on the apron, using a knee to prop himself up to his feet. Once there he steps through the ropes, ducking under the top rope. Inside the ring Cort Vang raises his arms in mockery of the crucifixion for a final time in IM Hate's direction.
Ace: This one about under way folks, Charlene making here way to the ring for the announcements, and I'd like to just remind you once again, that this is all for a shot at the title. Both men have made their way to the tournament, and finally, after all these weeks we've reached the finals. This is it!
Charlene steps through the ropes and enters the center of the ring, a sly smile on her face. She brings the mic up to her lips to begin when Binge and Purge begins to play out through the room.
Ace: Hey wait a second! That's Dark's music!
The song continues to play, the guitar chugging slowly along like a drunk, and inside the ring IM Hate looks around, the rage already beginning to fill him. We then cut to a shot of the entrance of the bingo room, where Dark has already stepped through the curtain.
Ace: There he is! The boss! But what does he want?
Dark stands holding a mic in his hand, and he raises it up as the veterans in the room quiet down to listen. Binge and Purge then promptly cuts out.
Dark: Hi Ian.
We cut to a shot of Ian inside the ring, who snarls at Dark and calls him a FUCKER. We don't pick him up, but it's funny how easy it is to read someone's lips when they are saying a foul word. Try it.
Dark: Oh. . . what. . . you didn't actually think I'd just trust Cash Money to keep themselves out of this one, now did you?
Dark laughs, and begins walking back and forth like a fucking lecturer.
Dark: Oh no, no. I'm not that stupid Ian. I've been around in the business long enough to know a thing or two about a thing or two. I'm not green like Jasper Quinn or Trevor Browning. I've been through the battles and I've seen it all. . .
Dark smirks, then turns to face Ian, pausing for effect. His eyes dart back and forth as he glances at the crowd, growing closer to death by the second.
Dark: So that's why I'd like to introduce to you. . . YOUR LUMBERJACKS for tonights match!
The crowd lets out a meager cheer as we cut to Ian Michaels, IM Hate, in the ring, stomping about and flipping out like Dark just told him there was no Santa Clause (that's right Ian, he aint real. . .)
Ace: What! Lumberjacks!
The crowd continues to cheer as nearly everyone from The Row's locker room starts to parade out: The Disposal (chomping on a turkey leg) leads the charge, followed by Sonny Thompson, Johnny Cox, Wes Payton, Leon Williams, Jasper Quinn, Trevor Browning, Major Kendu, Mariguano, and at the rear, the old man Tom Gaskins.
Ace: That's just about everybody who's not been associated with Anarchy! We've got everyone out here tonight! It's truly The Row against Anarchy! With IM Hate caught in the whole damn thing.
The men make their way to the ring, and Dark laughs, his laughter picked up by the mic. Inside the ring Ian Michaels looks around at all the men surrounding the ring and curses them, while Cort Vang stands in one corner, smiling at IM Hate's misfortune.
Ace: Dark has finally thrown his weight around! IM Hate is going to have to do this one all on his own! I doubt Cash Money is going to want to take on everyone. . . I love it!
Dark: Have fun. . . Ian.
Dark drops the mic and then turns, exiting the room. Back in the ring Charlene looks around awkwardly.
Ace: How lucky for us! Dark has just made this main event even more interesting!
Charlene: Ladies and gentlemen. . . the following match is your main event!
The veterans let out a round of applause.
Charlene: It is scheduled for one fall and has a fourty-five minute time limit and is also the final match in the number one contender's tournament. . . the winner of this match will be awarded the number one contendership for the Death Row title. . .
Ace: And rightfully so! The best of the best were all fighting for this. . . unfortunately somehow IM Hate managed to slip through.
Charlene: Introducing first, fighting out of Charlotte, North Carolina by way of Jacksonville, Florida. . . weighing in at two hundred and fifty pounds. . . he is The God of Hate and the leader of Anarchy. . . I. . . M. . . HATTTTTTEEEE!
IM Hate ignores the announcement as the veterans in the room let out a few boos. He looks around the ring at all the men on the outside, making a personal list of all the bastards he's gonna have to deal with later, in the future, and then turns his eyes to Cort. He gives him the death glare, and Cort does not die. He returns the gaze without fear.
Ace: These two look like they're ready to kill one another. You put two pitbulls in the ring and shit is gonna happen. Bad shit.
Charlene: And his opponent. . .
IM Hate charges Cort Vang, catching him by surprise, and rams his shoulder in Cort's as he reaches him, knocking him clean to the mat.
Ace: Well it appears IM Hate doesn't want to wait anymore! He wants to start this one off right now! Lumberjacks and ring announcers be damned. . .
El Toro strikes the air and the bell rings out as IM Hate then starts to stomp the fallen Cort Vang indiscriminately, stomping the head, the chest, the side, the belly--anything he can get a good shot at. Cort Vang sells each blow, his face showing pain each time the foot comes down.
Ace: IM Hate letting all his hate out on Cort Vang--and Ian is so full of it this may take all night.
IM Hate then drops to the mat and bites Cort Vang's face before getting up to his feet and grabbing Cort by the head, pulling upward and forcing him to his feet as well.
Ace: I never thought of IM Hate as a biter. . .
IM Hate then shoves Cort Vang into the corner and follows it up with a left, followed by a right. The blows connect, sending Cort Vang's head bouncing backward with each blow. Cort Vang sells the blows, dropping his head and IM Hate then pushes up against him before grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the opposite corner of the ring.
Ace: Irish whip here by IM Hate--there goes Cort.
Cort Vang hits the turnbuckle in the corner of the ring and then IM Hate charges him, shortening the gap between them. IM Hate reaches Cort Vang and jumps up into the air, coming down on him with the momentum built up by the run.
Ace: Body splash by IM Hate in the corner!
Cort Vang stumbles forward out of the corner and IM Hate bounces off the ropes and comes toward Cort Vang, extending out an arm and forcing it forward across Cort Vang's chest, knocking him clean to the mat.
Ace: And a lariat now by IM Hate! Cort Vang is down!
Cort Vang sells the lariat on the mat, but only for a moment, as IM Hate drops to his knees and hooks Cort Vang by the leg, pulling him upward and pinning his shoulders to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat, keeping up with his duties, and goes for the count.
Ace: Quick cover here--1...kick out. Way to early here, folks. Cort Vang has been in the title hunt before--its been just with in his reach--and I don't think he's going to let another opportunity just slip away from him here. Not without fighting first.
El Toro rises up and extends an arm with one finger extended, signalling the one count. IM Hate gets up to his knees, and then pushes himself up to his feet. He turns to look and scowl at El Toro for a moment before bending at the waist and bringing Cort Vang to his feet. Cort Vang rises with a punch to the gut of IM Hate, the force of the blow causing him to bend slightly at the waist.
Ace: I told you! This Cort Vang is a fighter!
Cort Vang throws another right to the gut, and IM Hate sells it, but then quickly reaches up and rakes a thumb across the eye of Cort Vang.
Ace: Intentional eye gouge by IM Hate! The son-of-a-bitch!
El Toro warns IM Hate, the crowd boos, and Cort Vang sells the eye gouge, reaching up to check on his eye. Cort Vang shakes his head and IM Hate kicks him in the gut once, causing Cort to bend at the waist before hooking Cort around the head under his arm and falling backwards, planting Cort head first into the mat.
Ace: DDT! DDT now by IM Hate!
Cort Vang sells the DDT on the mat as IM Hate gets up to his feet and raises his arms. The crowd lets out a few boos here and there and IM Hate then throws his hands at them, as if to say AW THE HELL WITH YOU. Cort Vang gets up to his feet and IM Hate greets him with a left, followed by a right.
Ace: All IM Hate so far here ladies and gentlemen. But don't you count Cort Vang out. This one has only just begun, and it isn't how the chapter begins but how it ends. Will it be IM Hate or Cort?
Cort Vang sells the blows, and then IM Hate grabs Cort Vang by the wrist and pulls his arm up and over his head before turning to and twisting the arm.
Ace: Wrist lock applied here by IM Hate.
IM Hate twists the arm again, causing Cort Vang to grimace with the pain. Cort Vang sells the wrist lock and then grabs IM Hate's wrist with his free arm and twists out of it, while simulatenously twisting the arm of IM Hate.
Ace: And a wrist lock by Cort Vang now!
IM Hate grimaces with the pain, but Cort Vang doesn't give him a chance to really take it in before he spins around and plants IM Hate square in the head with a kick, knocking him clean to the mat. The veterans out some applause.
Ace: FUCK! What a heel kick by Cort Vang! I hope Ian Michaels didn't swallow his own teeth with that one--cause Jesus--YOU HEAR THE SOUND OF THAT ONE?
Cort Vang bows for the applause before making his way to the fallen IM Hate, still selling on the mat. Cort Vang bends atthe waist and grabs IM Hate by the head, pulling upward and forcing him to his feet. Once there Cort Vang steps back and measure up another kick. He bends slightly at the knees and then swings his leg forward, using his hips to power it home.
Ace: Kick--no! Duck by IM Hate.
IM Hate ducks the kick and Cort Vang swings through with the kick, the velocity of the kick cause Cort Vang to spin, and as he finishes it up, facing IM Hate again IM Hate comes forward extending an arm and driving it across Cort Vang, forcing him to the mat with the blow. The sound of Cort Vang hitting the mat rings out through the room as Cort Vang sells on the mat.
Ace: And yet another lariat by IM Hate, catching Cort Vang completely off guard with that one. And from the looks of him, it wasn't a pleasant ride to the mat, I can tell you that much folks.
IM Hate then drops to the mat, strattling Cort Vang, sitting on his chest and forcing him to keep to the mat. IM Hate then grabs Cort Vang behind the head with his left hand and cradles the head forward as IM Hate brings up his right hand, clenched in a fist. IM Hate then brings down the fist repeatedly to the head of Cort Vang one, two, three, four, five times before El Toro forces him off.
Ace: IM Hate just laying into Cort Vang here--this one so far has been a brawl ladies and gentlemen, a straight up brawl. I'd hate to see what happens when those lumberjacks getinvolved.
IM Hate then bends at the waist and slaps his hands around the back of Cort Vang's head, grabbing his cranium and pulling upward. Cort Vang rises up, as his head is still attached after all, and gets to his feet, where IM Hate punches him once, twice, three times with alternating lefts and rights before grabbing him by the wrist and pulling through.
Ace: Irish whip--reversed by Cort Vang.
Cort Vang keeps his hold on IM Hate's wrist and turns and pulls IM Hate toward the ropes. IM Hate hits the ropes, turning as he reaches them and hitting them with his back, the bounce off the ropes sending him back toward the center of the ring. Cort Vang extends an arm out as IM Hate reaches him.
Ace: Clothesline--no, ducked by IM Hate.
IM Hate ducks under the arm and heads toward the ropes on the other side of the ring. He bounces off of them as he did with the previous set, and returns to the center of the ring. As he reaches Cort Vang, Cort extends out his other arm.
Ace: Clothesline--no, ducked by IM Hate once again!
IM Hate hits the ropes on the other side of the ring for a third time and then returns to the center of the ring, and Cort Vang extends out his right arm, as IM Hate does, and the two collide with one another, sending each other to the mat.
Ace: Double clothesline now! And both men are down! My God they both thought the same thing, and after that series off the ropes were back to square one, with neither man finding themselves an advantage.
Both quickly get to their feet as the crowd still applauds the last stalemate. IM Hate charges CortVang and as he reaches him, Cort Vang sidesteps him, and pushes him on the small of the mat, sending him into the ropes once again.
Ace: And there goes IM Hate once again. These two fighting like a couple of crusierweights! A chance for the title is on the line, and as such they are putting it all out there!
IM Hate hits the ropes and then returns to Cort Vang, who waits for him patiently. As IM Hate reaches Cort Vang, Cort hooks him around the arm and attempts to toss him over.
Ace: Hip toss--no--
IM Hate floats over to the other side of Cort Vang and then hooks him under the arm himself, and attempts to toss him over to the mat.
Ace: Hip toss by Hate--no--
Cort Vang blocks the hip toss and then grabs IM Hate by the head, spinning him around before falling to the mat, forcing IM Hate to the mat with him, his head coming across the shoulder of Cort Vang, Cort Vang's headcoming across the shoulder of IM Hate.
Ace: Double neckbreaker! And both men are down after that one! Back to square one once again ladies and gentlemen. . . You know, I hate to say it, but I actually think IM Hate and Cort Vang are evenly matched here, despite the lumberjacks, despite the devious kicks of Cort, despite Cort's tenure here.
Both men sell on the mat, lying on their backs looking up at the lights. El Toro looks at the both of them before lifting both arms up for an emphatic UNO.
Ace: Toro starting up the double count out here. . . and what the hell are we going to then? Give Mariguano the title shot?
El Toro raises up his arms for an emphatic DOS. . . Both IM Hate and Cort Vang still sell the double neckbreaker. Again with El Toro: TRES. . . Cort Vang lifts his shoulder and up on his side, as IM Hate gets up to his knees. And El Toro: CUATRO. . .
Ace: Come on boys! You can do this shit!
Suddenly Cort Vang hops up to his feet and charges IM Hate, who's still on his knees. IM Hate straightens up and sees Cort Vang barrelling down on him just in time to get two feet to the face.
Ace: Drop kick by Cort Vang! Did you hear that shot! Poor Ian--wait, no. . . FUCK YOU IAN!
The crowd lets out some applause as IM Hate falls back to the mat and sells the drop kick. Cort Vang takes a moment to catch his breath before getting to his feet and making his way over to IM Hate, still selling on the mat. He reaches IM Hate and bends at the waist, grabbing him by the head and pulling him to his feet. Once there, Cort Vang keeps his hold on IM Hate's head with one hand and grabs IM Hate by the tights with the other, and turning tosses him clean out of the ring through the top and middle ropes.
Ace: And there goes IM Hate. . . this can't be good for him.
Then men on that particular side happen to be Jasper Quinn, Sonny Thompson, and Major Kendu. They look down on IM Hate, making a circle around him. IM Hate sells on the ground outside of the ring, and then all of them start to stomp IM Hate, repeatedly.
Ace: My God! Cort Vang has. . . he's fed IM Hate to the sharks!
Cort Vang catches his breath in the ring, taking a moment to sell past bumps as Kendu, Thompson, and Quinn continue to stomp away at IM Hate, who has no way of fighting back and can do nothing but roll up into a ball and try and survive the onslaught. The crowd applauds the rather gang like tactics of the lumberjacks.
Ace: Dark has made this everyone against IM Hate! He's getting himself a beating courtesy of Jasper Quinn, Sonny Thompson and Major Kendu. . . and you know Kendu is stomping a little harder, as he was in this tournament at one point.
Cort Vang makes his way to the ropes and leans over, motioning to the men, who stomp their pounding and bring IM Hate to his feet before rolling him into the ring under the top rope.
Ace: And IM Hate certainly looks like he just got jumped. I'm sure tomorrow he's gonna have foot prints all over his body!
Cort Vang drops to the mat and covers IM Hate, pinning him to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat with grace and goes for the official count.
Ace: Cover! 1. . . 2. . . no. . . IM Hate was too close to the ropes! He's got his foot draped over the bottom rope.
El Toro notices the foot and slaps Cort Vang on the shoulder, the act causing Cort to look up. El Toro points to the ropes, where IM Hate's foot is still draped over the bottom rope.
Ace: He should have dragged him into the center of the ring! This thing could be over already. Damn Hate and his presence in the ring. Apparently them lumberjacks out to beat the shit out of him a little more, as IM Hate is still aware of where he is in the ring.
Cort Vang gets off of IM Hate and grabs him by the head, pulling him upward. IM Hate gets to his feet and Cort Vang keeps his hold on his head and directs him toward the turnbuckle. Cort Vang then takes IM Hate's head and rams it down onto the top turnbuckle.
Ace: Cort Vang keeping up with the offense after that kick out. Using the ring as a weapon now. What the hell else is a turnbuckle for?
Cort Vang keeps his hold on IM Hate's head and brings him head first into the turnbuckle again, and again, and again, and a final time, before letting go of the head. IM Hate staggers backward comically after all those collisions with the turnbuckle and then falls to his knees, staying there dazed for a moment before falling face first to the mat.
Ace: And IM Hate is on dream street! I bet he wishes Anarchy was around to help him now. But thanks to the boss they are not! For once it seems like everything is working out for Dark--as his attempts to thwart Anarchy have failed in the past. . . sometimes at the cost of his own well being.
Cort Vang then makes his way to the ropes and steps through them, stepping out onto the apron. Cort Vang then turns, facing the ring, and pulls himself up to the top rope before jumping off the top rope and coming down, landing with both feet on the chest of IM Hate. IM Hate cries out in pain and Cort Vang steps down off of him.
Ace: Springboard double foot stomp by Cort Vang! Vintage Vang there ladies and gentlemen. He used that back when he was called CENSORED DUE TO CONTRACTUAL OBLIGATIONS. That's right, when he was CENSORED DUE TO CONTRACTUAL OBLIGATIONS. Oh wait. . . I can't say that name anymore, can I?
Cort Vang drops to the mat and covers IM Hate, hooking the leg and pulling upward, pinning IM Hate's shoulder to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat and goes for the count.
Ace: And another cover here. . . this could be it! 1. . . 2--no! Kick out. IM Hate is still alive--that shot at the title is still a possibility.
Cort Vang checks with El Toro, who gives him two fingers. Cort Vang shakes his head and then gets to his feet. Once there he stomps IM Hate once, twice, three times, before bending at the waist and grabbing him by the head. Cort Vang pulls upward, forcing IM Hate to get to his feet. IM Hate stands wobbling a bit and Cort Vang reaches back and makes an edge out of his hand, and then brings it forward across the chest of IM Hate. The shot rings out through the room.
Ace: Knife edge chop by Cort Vang, and you could hear that one in Oakland!
IM Hate staggers back from the chop, and then Cort Vang reaches back, bringing his hand forward yet again to the chest of IM Hate. The shot rings out through the room.
Ace: And another chop from Vang! And IM Hate's chest is already red.
IM Hate staggers back up against the ropes and Cort Vang presses up against him before grabbing him by the wrist and pulling toward the ropes on the other side of the ring.
Ace: Irish whip here by Cort Vang--and there goes IM Hate.
IM Hate hits the ropes on the other side of the ring, and then returns toward its center. Cort Vang waits for him, and as IM Hate reaches him he bends at the waist for the back body drop.
Ace: Back body drop--no!
IM Hate grabs Cort Vang by the head and lifts him up before bringing him down head first against his bent knee.
Ace: Knee by IM Hate! What a reversal!
Cort Vang falls back to the mat, and IM Hate falls to his knees mat from exhaustion/pain. His ribs are still nagging him, and though they are not as painful as they were a couple of weeks ago, they still make it difficult to breath, affecting his stamina.
Ace: Cort is down, but so may be IM Hate. He's really feeling this one folks--what a pussy! I thought he had more than this in him. . . but of course you didn't hear that from me.
IM Hate gets up to his feet, breathing heavy. He sells past bumps for a moment and then makes his way over to Cort Vang, who's up on all fours shaking his head, as if to shake the cobwebs out. IM Hate stomps Cort Vang inthe head as he reaches him, and Cort Vang sells it, falling back to the mat.
Ace: IM Hate with the stomp to the head of Cort Vang.
IM Hate shakes his head a final time and then stomps Cort Vang again, and again, each kick harder than the last. Cort Vang sells each blow and finally IM Hate uses his foot to push Cort Vang out of the ring.
Ace: And there goes Cort!
Cort Vang hits the ground outside of the ring. Those around him are Mariguano, Wes Payton and Leon Williams. Mariguano starts to stomp Cort, but Wes Payton shakes his head at him, and Leon Williams bends over to try and bring Cort to his feet.
Ace: Look at this shit! Apparently the boss gave orders not to attack Cort Vang! If this aint one-sided I don't know what is.
Leon Williams helps Cort to his feet and Cort Vang turns to fight but meets no resistance. Wes Payton tells him something that's inaudible, and Cort Vang turns back toward the ring, and takes his time getting up on the apron.
Ace: Cort's taking a breather!
IM Hate looks around, pissed none of the lumberjacks will attack him, and as Cort Vang gets to his feet on the apron IM Hate charges him. IM Hate reaches Cort Vang and throws a hard right.
Cort Vang blocks it and then grabs IM Hates arm and traps it between the top and middle rope, by placing his arm between them and the pulling the middle rope up over the top rope.
Ace: Cort Vang with the block. . . and he's trapped IM Hate in the ropes!
From the apron Cort Vang then uses his head--quite literally and strikes IM Hate in the head with it once, twice, three times, four times, five times, before IM Hate slips his arm through the ropes and falls to the mat.
Ace: Now that's using your head! A series of headbutts to the head of IM Hate--and Hate is down!
Cort Vang then makes his way to the corner and pulls himself up the top turnbuckle. He perches there, waiting as IM Hate makes slow work of getting to his feet. IM Hate then gets to his feet and Cort Vang jumps off, bringing both feet forward, but apart.
Ace: Flying double--NO! OMG NO!
IM Hate catches Cort Vang by the legs and then snaps him down to the mat all in one motion, Cort Vang hitting the mat hard on his back, his head hitting the mat and bouncing up like a ball.
Ace: POWERBOMB REVERSAL BY IM HATE! JESUS FUCKING MOTHER MARY ON FIRE IN A FIELD OF SCREAMING ANGELS!
The crowd lets out some applause, even a few cheers at the huge bump, as Cort Vang sells on the mat, his arms and legs sprawled out, his eyes closed. He breathes heavily, otherwise, we could believe him to very much dead.
Ace: That was so fucking awesome I have no idea what I just said there. . . Awesome wrestling makes me Biblical--so so sue me!
Cort Vang sells the powerbomb on the mat, and IM Hate rises to the seated position, trying to catch his breath. Seeing both men down, El Toro rises up with an emphatic UNO. . . IM Hate continues to catch his breath, as Cort Vang opens his eyes and grimaces in pain. El Toro rises up with an emphatic DOS. . . . IM Hate swings his legs under him and crawls toward Cort Vang, who's lifting his shoulder as if to get up. El Toro is at it again: TRES. . . . IM Hate scrambles over to Cort Vang and covers him by the ropes. El Toro gives up his counting and slides to the mat, for uh, yeah another count.
Ace: Cover by IM Hate after that massive powerbomb! Here we go: 1. . . 2. . . no! Cort Vang has used the ropes! Look there's his foot!
El Toro sits up and notices the foot draped across the rope, and makes his way to Cort's leg, pointing to it for IM Hate to see. Noticing El Toro isn't counting anymore, he looks up and sees the midget pointing emphatically at the rope break. IM Hate snarls and gets to his feet only to leave them again, bringing a knee down across the head of the fallen Cort Vang.
Ace: Knee drop by IM Hate after that near pinfall. I don't think he liked that one very much folks. IM Hate wants the belt--and frankly I don't blame him!
IM Hate then gets to his feet a second time and places a foot on top of Cort Vang's face and then steps up with his other foot before bringing them both down the sides of Cort's face.
Ace: IM Hate with the eye rake via the boots.
Cort Vang sells it, and IM Hate bends over at the waist, grabbing Cort Vang by the head and pulling upward, forcing him to his feet. Cort Vang rises with a punch, but there's not enough on it; it barely dazes IM Hate and he responds by bringing up his right arm, bent at the elbow and then bringing it down on the top of Cort's head.
Ace: Hard elbow here by IM Hate, and that one shook Cort!
Cort staggers back up against the ropes, reaching up and grabbing his head, his face a grimace of pain. Cort shakes his head and charges IM Hate, who catches him around the waist, and using his legs lifts Cort up over his head and down to the mat on his back.
Ace: And Hate follows it up with a belly to belly suplex! These two are leaving it all on the table here folks. I've told you before, and I'm gonna keep telling you.
IM Hate gets to his feet and catches his breath for a moment, his hands resting on his hips. IM Hate suddenly turns his head and makes his way over toward the ropes. He leans over the top rope and says something to Mariguano and then spits at him. The crowd lets out a boo as IM Hate turns back toward Cort Vang, and behind him Mariguano tries to get up on the apron, but the rest of the lumberjacks hold him back. The crowd pops for Mariguano.
Ace: The son of a bitch. I say get him Mariguano! Fuck IM Hate! Let him in there!
IM Hate turns and laughs as the pure group strength of the lumberjacks force Mariguano back to the ground before returning to Cort Vang, who still sells the suplex. IM Hate grabs Cort Vang and helps him to his feet and then pulls him into the center of the ring. Once there, IM Hate punches Cort Vang with a left, then a right, and then goes for the kick but Cort catches it at his side and then strikes IM Hate in the gut.
Ace: Palm strike to the gut of IM Hate!
IM Hate staggers backward and then Cort Vang turns, and spins, whipping his leg through, the momentum bringing his head up toward IM Hate's head and connecting with his jaw, causing IM Hates head to turn. His knees buckle and he then falls to the mat, as even the old men in the crowd manage a short but somewhat impressive MMMYYY WOOOORDD! You know cause they say shit like that: old dudes--or is that old women?
Ace: DRAGON WHIP KICK! Fucking straight out a Bruce Lee movie and right in IM Hate's fucking ugly face. FUCKING A that was BEAUTIFUL!
IM Hate sells the kick on the mat and Cort Vang makes his way over to him, kicking him in the ribs once, twice, three times before leaving his feet, bringing down an elbow to the ribs of IM Hate.
Ace: Cort Vang going postal! Elbow drop!
Cort Vang gets up to his feet and makes his way to the other side of IM Hate, and does the same: he kicks him in the ribs once, twice, three times, and then leaves his feet, jumping up in the air and bringing down an elbow across the ribs. IM Hate cries out in pain, as his already fractured ribs remind him of his weakness.
Ace: And another set of kick and an elbow drop! Cort Vang is targeting those injured ribs of IM Hate. The bastard is so hateful he'll fight one legged if necessary. And we all know a one legged man in an ass kicking contest aint going to go very far.
Cort Vang gets up to his feet again but then staggers backward and hits the ropes, where he hooks himself and hugs the ropes, breathing heavily.
Ace: Wooo. Feeling a little woozy there Cort? Or were you doing an impression of Waylon Wolf after a dozen daiquiris. Daiquiris!
Cort Vang un hooks himself from the ropes, huffing and puffing. He raises his arms and the veterans in the crowd let out some mild applause. Apparently they aren't big on cheering--what with the oxygen masks and all. Cort Vang then shortens the gap between himself and IM Hate and upon reaching him he stomps him once in the sternum. IM Hate sells the stomp and Cort Vang then bends and the waist and grabs IM Hate by his head, pulling him to his feet.
Ace: Cort Vang seems to be in control here now. He's worked IM Hate into putty here on the mat and now it looks like he's bringing him to his feet where Cort is more comfortable.
Wolf: WH-WH-WH-WHat did I misss?
Ace: How nice of you to join us, Wolf..
Wolf: Are Ze Germans here yet?
Ace: What? No...
Cort Vang hate turns IM Hate so that his back is to him and then hooks his arms, one hand pulling each arm back, the arms bent at the elbows. Cort Vang uses his legs to lift IM Hate and up over his head bringing IM Hate down on his upper back/head. The old men applaud the move and Cort Vang keeps the hold, pinning IM Hate there to the mat.
Ace: Tiger suplex by Cort Vang! Holy shit! He's bridged it into a pin!
El Toro slides to the mat a split second later, going for the count.
Ace: There's Toro for the count. . . this is it! 1. . . 2. . . NO! I. . . M. Hate kicks out of it. The son of a bitch kicks out of it. I don't know how he did it, but he did it. And this match will go on until we have ourselves a fucking winner!
Cort Vang gets up to his knees and checks with El Toro, who raises two fingers up in his face. Cort Vang reaches up and grabs his head, as he can't believe it. Cort Vang then gets to his feet and grabs IM Hate by the head. He looks up and turns his head and drops IM Hate turning to curse someone out over the top rope.
Ace: What the hell is this?
We cut to the entrance, where Cash Money stands, taunting Cort Vang.
Ace: These bastards! What the fuck are they doing out here! Get back you fools, get back!
In the ring IM Hate gets up and grabs Cort Vang from behind, rolling him up.
Ace: We've got a pin! 1. . . 2. . . NO! Cort Vang kicks out!
Cort Vang slowly gets up to his feet, as IM Hate does the same, and the two charge one another, exchanging blows, as Cash Money charges the ring like to men attacking the surf--they are quickly absorbed into all of the lumberjacks and knocked to the ground outside of the ring.
Ace: And Cash Money wants them a piece! They don't give a shit!
The lumberjacks around the ring stomp Shane Jackson and Jason Cruz, as the old men in the crowd grow hot with excitement--I'm talking heart palpitations galore. Inside the ring Cort Vang gains the upper hand, kicking IM Hate in the gut before grabbing him by the wrist and pulling, trying to whip him into the ropes.
Ace: Irish whip--no reversal by IM Hate.
IM Hate turns and then pulls through, sending Cort Vang into the ropes instead.
Ace: There goes Cort.
Cort hits the ropes on the other side of the ring and returns toward its center. Cort Vang then rolls forward and as he comes up he brings up an arm, draping it across the chest of Ian Michaels and sending him clean to the mat on his back.
Ace: Rolling Lariat by IM Hate!
IM Hate sells the lariat on the mat and Cort Vang makes his way over to him, stomping him once, twice, three times before bending at the waist to grab him by the head and force him to his feet. Once there Cort Vang steps back, measuring up a kick, and then he brings his leg forward, kicking IM Hate directly in the head.
Ace: What a kick by Cort Vang! I'm surprised he didn't take his head off!
IM Hate sells the kick on the mat in the center of the ring as the lumber jacks take turns beating the shit out of Cash Money.
Ace: I don't know what Cash Money was thinking, showing up like that. . . They're outmanned and outgunned. I guess IM Hate gave them an order and their so stupid they follow it through regardless of the situation. I'd assume they were trying to interrupt this match, but everyone foresaw that shit.
Cort Vang gets to his feet and grabs IM Hate by the hair, lifting him to his feet. Cort then hooks IM Hate's head under his arm and lifts him up vertically in the air before bringing him over his shoulder and down to the mat, IM Hate's jaw coming down against his shoulder.
Ace: Death is Welcome! Death is Welcome!
The old men let out a weak round of applause as Cort Vang drops to the mat and covers IM Hate, hooking the leg and pinning his shoulders to the mat. El Toro slides to the mat to make the official count.
Ace: We've got a pin! Cort Vang with the pin! 1. . . 2. . .3!
El Toro rises up and strikes the air, the bell ringing out to signal the end of the match.
Ace: Cort Vang has done it! He's got himself a shot at Seth Stratton!
Wolf: The mighty IM Hate has fallen!
Ace: Damn right he has, and Cort is back in the title picture!
Cort Vang gets to his feet and raises his arms, and El Toro points to him, signalling him as the winner. The lumberjacks outside continue to beat the shit out of Cash Money, and Cort kicks IM Hate out of the ring so he can get him some too.
Ace: Anarchy is getting beat up by The Row!
Cort Vang raises his arms once again as the lumberjacks turn to give IM Hate his beating.
Ace: We're out of time!
Wolf: Thank God... Let's get some drinks in.
"I NEED CHEESEBURGERS"
- Kentucky Tarzan