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[What you wouldn't know if you didn't know any better is that if you miss the I-15 exit off of Interstate 95 from Reno into Las Vegas, you miss the strip completely. If you missed the strip, and you didn't know you missed the strip, you might even end up on Fremont Street, a smuttier, smokier version of the fabled strip in Vegas.]
[And, if your name was Frank Dylan James, and you were driving the rusted out hulk of a '72 Ford Pickup down Freemont Street thinking that it was indeed said strip, you wouldn't know any better.] [Frank idled his beast slowly down the road, gawking at the slovenly, cheap looking hookers on either side of him, straining his eyes to make out words in the blinking lights above buildings. His eyes were wide with speculation and maybe a bit of awe.] [Or more likely, confusion.] [He stopped the truck gingerly in the middle of the road, rolled down the window and the sounds of ZZ Top's "Jesus Just Left Chicago" permeated the street around him. He hung himself bodily out of the window and looked around. A few of the uglier "working" girls crowd around, gaping at Frank's unwashed mound of hair, scraggily beard, and snaggled teeth. The majority of the girls took one look at the massive man hanging halfway out of the cab of his truck and high-tailed it the other direction.] [All but one, actually.] [What can you say, a girl's gotta eat, right?] FDJ: "Hey! You! Git yer saggin' titty-havin' ass over here!" [The girl, well, the middle-aged woman, does her best to look "sexy" as she approaches Frank. She's dressed in a very tight, very short dress that does little for the unsightly pouch at her middle or the cottage-cheese infestation running up her thighs. The bottom of the dress does not cover her ass.] "What's yer name sweetheart?" [Frank ogles her, wide-eyed and crazy. Just like normal.] FDJ: "Mah name's Frank, what's yers?" [Frank spits when he talks, she takes it all in vain.] "They call me Lil' Debbie!" [The Redneck Riot Scene looks abashed.] FDJ: "Why?" Debbie: "Cuz I'm soft, I taste like candy, an' I love bein' filled with cream!" [There's lust, and there's love, and there's this drool-inducing nonsense. One has to wonder if anyone has ever popped a hard-on after hearing that all too cliche pickup line from the hooker, but one look at Frank licking his chops would tell you that yes, at least once, it has worked.] FDJ: "Hell woman! Git yer ass in this here truck an let's see about paintin' this goddamn town red!" Debbie: "Hold on there, big boy, it's gonna cost ya twenty to get all this for the night!" [That's right, in the land of high-class, thousand dollar an hour hookers, Frank Dylan James is right in the middle of picking up a used up, blown out, twenty dollar a night skank. Las Vegas is indeed the land of opportunity.] FDJ: "GAWDAMMIT!" [He grabs her by the face.] FDJ: "Ah said GIT! IN! THE! TRUCK!" [The Hillbilly Jesus pulled Lil' Debbie bodily into his truck. She fought him, a little bit, but you could tell by the snail-trail she left across the seat when she slid over to the door that she liked it. Her terrible makeup job was smeared, and her already messy hair was even more tousled now, but she had the look of present and future satisfaction on her face that could only be brought on by either lots of penis or money in her future, and to be honest, she probably doesn't care which.] FDJ: "Thar's some cash in th' glove box, take whatever you thank it's worth fer you an me to have us some "relations" while I'm in town!" [Greedily, Lil' Debbie popped open the glove-box, and much to her surprise a lump of crumpled and folded U.S. currency fell into her lap. All that cash between her legs, you can better believe she was in hog heaven.] [Get it? "Hog" Heaven?] Debbie: "There's gotta be a few thousand dollars here!" FDJ: "Yeah, so? This is Vegas, ah'm here ta gamble!" Debbie: "What do you do fer a livin' honey, knock over liquor stores?" FDJ: "Naw, ah'm a rassler." Debbie: "A wrestler? Are you here for that Battleground stuff at the Four Queens?" [Frank does a double-take. Nay, a triple-take. Had he been drinking, he'd have done a spit-take.] FDJ: "What! Thar's some rassle-fightin' out here in ol' Vegas?" [It's the hooker's turn to look confused, why would a wrestler be this close to a wrestling show and not have a clue about it? Who cares though, right? He just unloaded a was of money right onto her money-box after all. But, curiosity always gets the better, right?] Debbie: "Yeah, it's all the talk on the stretch, all the girls are makin' more money with all them wrestlers and their fans in town. They're doin' a show tonight, ya know, if you wanna go." FDJ: "You mean lahk our first date? A rasslin' show? How romantical!" [Whoa, whoa, WHOA! A momentary look of horror flashes on her face as Frank says the "d" word. It passes though, she does kind of like him after all, he's so rugged, so...] [Ugh, this is like writing soft porn.] Debbie: "Yeah, sweetie, sure, a "date." FDJ: "Where's this rasslefightin' at?" Debbie: "It's right up here..." FDJ: "An' then after ah'll get ta diddlin' yer pooter!" [The shot fades as Frank drops the truck into gear and it rumbles on down Fremont toward the Four Queens Casino. This isn't good for anyone, you can bet your wet ass on that one!]
LIVE FROM THE FIFTH FLOOR OF THE FOUR QUEENS' PARKING GARAGE...
SILVER STATE BATTLEGROUND PRESENTS... [Production kicked into high gear this show. The PA was blasting a studio metal song, the official SSB anthem of sorts. They had concealed the elevator entrance with an almost transparent sheet and crazy strobe lights and stuff.] [The crowd was hot tonight too, not the same freebee crowd that didn't know what the hell was going on. Legit Wrestling Fans were in the bleachers and they were hungry for some wrestling action.] [They even managed to get a few more cameras out in the parking lot top. Jay Bridges, reporter for Silver State was calling the action tonight. Color Commentary? We don't need no color commentary, just call the action, no one wants to hear about you stupid little jokes.] [Actually, you won't read any of it either...]
US - Soviet Relations for a $1,000 Alex [John Mellencamp's "R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A." begins to pump out from the brand new audio system. Mr. NAFTA, the American born, political economic, cruiserweight force dashed out from the back with no tariffs for Mexico and Canada!] [He rallies the crowd in the classic U-S-A chant but the Russian choir almost drowns out their patriotic chants. Comrade PANE pushes aside the curtain and enters with microphone in hand.] Comrade PANE: "Mr. NAFTA, you do not frighten me." "Your ideologic drivel is no match for the upheaval and dismantling of your crumbling economy. Your president, he agrees with me and he is starting the process." [The crowd boos back, don't you talk shit about Obama, this is a blue state!] [... for the time being.] Comrade PANE: "But... I must finish it for him by destroying you and your attempts at creating the Amero." "FOR SOVIET UNIOOOOOOOON" [PANE rushed the ring and is met by boots from the masked Mr. NAFTA. But his attempts are feeble and The Communist Crushed pushed him across the ring and decapitates him with a clothesline, shades of last week.] [Comrade PANE laughs at his miserable attempt at outsmarting him and the motherland and goes to town with harsh stomps and even worse Russian swearing. The referee attempts to warn him but PANE throws back his fist ready to destroy any one who gets in his way.] [Mr. NAFTA attempts to get back in the fight but Comrade PANE throws him into the ropes and hits him with a hard knee to the stomach, nearly opening him up like a Pinata. The cruiserweight fell to his knees and Comrade PANE! lifted his massive, hands up and then around Mr. NAFTA's head!] [Blood came pouring out of his eyes as PANE continued his vice like grip.] [Oh The Horror!] [Oh The Humanity!] [Won't someone save him?!] "ULTIMO MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADEN!" [The crazy guitar noises, courtesy of Joe Satriani's "Surfing with the Alien", confuses Comrade PANE and so did that yell... But regardless, PANE held his vice grip until the massive sport themed luchador came barreling down to the ring.] [The bell sounded for the DQ finish as Ultimo Madden and Comrade PANE began trading punches back and forth. The fans knew their savior and began to chant for Madden, and their support helped him deliver the heavy handed punch to knock Pane into next week!] [Madden reached into his trunks and pulled out an Xbox controller and gave Comrade a whip with the chord before wrapping it around his throat and thrashing him about.] [Comrade PANE eventually broke free from the chord and made an exit out. But Ultimo Madden followed him out of the ring, swining the Xbox controller around like a mace!] Winner: Comrade PANE via run in DQ by Ultimo Madden. ------------------------------------- [Jeffrey finds himself in the same predicament as he did last week. Same venue, same locker room. It is all too routine for him. Couldn't SSB branch out to another casino, at least? Well, it isn't time for pondering, that's for sure. He has more important things to worry about. Jeffrey sits on the locker room bench with his ring attire on. He is going through his duffel bag on the floor... Well, it appeared to be, anyways. He zips his duffel bag up and takes a deep breath. His arms rest over his knees.] Jeffrey Watts: "I hope I haven't estranged my current agenda this week, but I found it perfectly warranted. Where I live in Austin, Texas, we never take personal or professional attacks lying down. Cory Reznor should have known that." [Watts rubs his chin, bringing himself up ever so slowly and stretching.] Jeffrey Watts: "I apologize to the people out there who look to me to be a role model for them. Unlike Blue Collar PA, I don't mind signing their autographs or telling them that with proper mind strength, you can overcome all obstacles. Now, that's not a shot on him at all. In fact, I love Blue Collar PA's work ethic and his will to get the crowd on their feet." [Jeffrey rubs the corner of his left eye. Obviously, it was bothering him or he drinked too heavily after midnight. Thomas Youngblood probably encouraged it to hype up all of the matches.] Jeffrey Watts- Just for one second, put yourselves in my shoes. What would you do if someone came out threatening your life and career? Would you take the low road and calmly debunk the situation?... Or would you step up to the challenge and bring out your arsenal? Sort of an easy stance to take, am I right? [Jeffrey shakes his head with a more serious tone. It seems like he almost let's a tear proceed down the corner of his eyes. A legit hero, to say the least.] Jeffrey Watts: "This week isn't for the kids who were bullied and went to tell the teacher because it was the "best way to handle it". This week is for the kids who were bullied and threatened but turned around and smacked him in the face for underestimating them... This is for the one who didn't turn the other cheek and decided to turn things around on the opposition tenfold. All of you are in my heart!" [The intensity obviously rising and a few audible cheers can be heard. The "locker room" had to be no more than 20 feet away. Probably, in the break area for the Poker Room. The focus became more potent in Jeffrey's next words.] Jeffery Watts: "Cory, here it is. This is the moment you have been waiting for. Take the easy target and destroy me. I am not running and I am not hiding." "Just ask yourself one question... Are you really street smart? Are you really what you say you are... Or are you a fluke?" [Jeffrey grins before going back to adjusting his gold and purple striped singlet. He needed to be ready, that's for sure.] -------------------------------------
David and Goliath [Yonson came lumbering out to "Sleep now in the fire" by Rage Against The Machine, He stepped over the ring ropes with ease, ignoring the fans.] ["Unbound (The Wild Ride)" by Avenged Sevenfold blared over the sound system, and Gowan came charging out to his wild music, slapping the hands of the fans, and charging around the ring several times before hopping up on to the ring apron and pointing with authority at the big man in the ring.] [Yonson stood unimpressed, and even motioned for the much smaller man to "bring it on", Oh and it was brought, the referee rang the bell right as Gowan leapt in to the chest of the Yonson feet first with a beautiful spring board drop kick, little did Yonson know, but this move was supposed to hurt, like a lawn dart thrown against a wall, Gowan found himself on the mat, Yonson being a gentleman, found it in his heart to help Gowan to his feet, with a few handfuls of hair, Gowan tried some semi fruitless punching on the mid section of The Yonson, who unbeknownst to all, had a thorax of iron.] [The Yonson picked up Gowan intending to end this match quickly, but Gowan using quick thinking, and the kind of "get too it" that has made this country great, rolled Yonson against him own momentum in to a schoolboyish pin, and while the one count he got may have made the fans cheer, seeing him catapaulted by the large beast of a man did not, Gowan though possesing unbridled energy found his feet despite this and sprang to the top rope, waiting for the Yonson to gain his feet, and once he did, Yonson found himself back on the mat, a tumbling redwood amongst.. on the mat anyways, the result of flying head scissors, sensing imminent victory, Gowan, now finding his own gentlemenly urges got The Yonson to his feet, kicking him repeatedly in the legs before hitting the Giant Killer, a dropkick to the knee, and correctly named in this situation. The Yonson howled and then was met with a springboard bulldog.] [A cover followed, gaining a two count, the crowd felt let down, but Gowan nimble like a cat leapt to his feet and quickly executed by far the most beautiful 360 degree twisting moonsault that won bets in las vegas from its height.] [Understandably Yonson couldn't kick out.] Winner: Larry Gowan via twisting moonsault [The Crowd celebrated their new hero.] ------------------------------------- [Jane walks to the ring as Evanescence’s “Only One” slides from the sound system. The fans, remembering how Jane had acted at the last show and not particularly liking her song of choice, begin to boo as she walks along.] Jane: “Shut up! Shut up!” [She waves one arm at the fans to signal for them to stop booing her as she holds a microphone in her other hand. When her attempt to control the crowd proves unsuccessful, she hooks a thumb back toward herself.] Jane: “My microphone! I speak…” [The young woman stabs a finger back at the crowd.] Jane: “You listen!” [The booing tapers off as the audience decides to settle in and observe what the lady wrestler has to say.] Jane: “Since our last show here in Las Vegas, I have been making it known to the roster of the Silver State Battleground that I intend to form a sort of coalition, alliance, stable, whatever you might want to call it. So far these entreaties have been strictly unofficial.” [She points a finger at the floor of the ring to emphasize her next words.] Jane: “As of today, I am making it official.” [The fans shift uneasily, already beginning to feel a bit bored of what the woman in the ring is going on about.] “The thing is, no one else seems to have any good taste. Unbeknownst to me, the management went out and scraped some muck off the pavement and decided to call it a ‘roster’. I tell you, they’re a bunch of short-sighted fools who think it’s all about collecting a damn pay cheque. There’s more to wrestling than just wrestling your match and then waltzing out of the ring.” [She throws her hands up in mock surrender, as if washing her hands clean of any guilt.] “I’ve been trying to teach them. I’ve been trying to present myself as a good example to the rest of the roster. But I’ve already reached the limits of my patience. The silence is just… well, it’s killing me.” [She runs a hand through her ponytail as Jane clearly begins to feel her frustration building to a front.] Jane: “I have been generous. I have offered to elevate some of you rookies. I have offered to give you newbies some semblance of stability by allowing you to align yourselves with me. But you’ve rejected my offers. You’ve passed up my extremely kind proposals, allowed my words to pass through one ear and out the other.” [She begins pacing the ring, gesturing wildly and constantly glancing about as if expecting some roster member to finally step forth from somewhere to answer for the allegations she’s laying down.] Jane: “Do you scum hate and loathe me so much that you’ve all begun to conspire against me? Are you so afraid of me that you think an anti-Jane stable is the only way any one of you will possibly survive your stay in the Silver State Battleground? Is that it?” [She bites her lower lip and shakes her head in disappointment.] “Consider this a Memorandum of Understanding. Speak up, choose your side, or I’ll sweep you under the rug with all the other trash.” [The crowd can’t hide its revulsion any longer. They begin to boo Jane once more, with even more gusto and enthusiasm than before.] “Forget this, forget all of you. I’m getting a drink.” [Jane drops the microphone in the ring and briskly begins to walk off. Her theme hastily starts up again as she presumably goes off in search of a drink.] ------------------------------------- [Desolate. The best word to describe the location being shown on the projection screen above the entrance. As the crowd lingers in silence, aimlessly delaying any emotion, or conversation, while awaiting the hyped-up mid-card attraction. Lightning flashes quickly in the background, the clap of thunder echoing throughout the rooftop. During the minor occurrence of light we can see silhouette of a man standing under a burnt out street lamp. Once again the lightning flashes, this time much more incandescent than before, giving us a view of the man's face. It's Cory Reznor, leaning against the light post and gazing towards the street. With yet another quick bolt we are presented with a determined glint in his eyes as he begins to speak.] Cory: "To tell you the truth, Jeff..." [With a brief pause, he runs his index finger and thumb over his chin, releasing a slow sigh and continues with the sound of dissatisfaction in his words.] Cory: "Whether or not your little escapade was in fact all in jest, or you really are just trying to hide the fact that deep down inside, you know that our educational backgrounds truly mean nothing, once we set foot in that ring and the sound of the bell jolts through one ear and out the other, leaving you empty inside for the next fifteen minutes as you tear into your opponent...nothing matters except who is stronger, faster, smarter, and less predictable. The fact that I may have fallen for this could-be prank, only shows that you can act rather well. Does it show that im less intelligent than you originally concluded? No." [Cory slowly paces away from his nesting spot under the light. As he makes his way down a wet sidewalk the camera man pans along slowly. A new form of light enters into the picture as Reznor draws near another street light and stops in a spot just bright enough to show his facial features.] Cory: "I honestly hope you really are at one-hundred percent tonight, because anything less would be an insult to me, and an insult to this business. I am fully prepared to back myself up when we go toe to toe. Bring your so-called "god" with you if you wish, but I must warn you...nothing will save you from the chaos I will bring down upon you in that ring, win or lose. I never intended to scare you when I told you I wanted to show you the true meaning of pain and suffering, Jeffrey. As I stated before, I only wanted to warn you of what was to come. In the professional leagues, you technically have more experience than I do. I guess, if you think about it, that makes me the newcomer...right?" [His empty gaze turns upwards towards the lens as he tries his best to smile.] Cory: "The time has come, Watts. Voices or no voices, gods or no gods, we will see who the better man is this week. YOU will see how brutal I can be. The world will see why I was brought into this company with no formal training, and the Silver State Battleground will see who deserves to be at the top of this company. I'll see you in the ring." [Upon finishing his speech, Cory walks into a nearby door. The camera zooms out slowly as more thunder and lightning bombard the nighttime sky, leaving the once silent crowd in an uproar of contemplative whispers.] -------------------------------------
Street Smarts versus The Books ["One Thing" by Finger Eleven actually sounded halfway decent this week, it was cued up to a heavy passage and Jeffery Watts was ready to go, in the worst way possible. The week had been stressful for him. Last weak, Psivage made some threats but this week... Man, Oh man, things got real, quick and in a hurry.] [And things were going to get even more real as "The Forsaken" Cory Reznor came out to the metalcore melody of Five Finger Death Punch's "Salvation". The crowd knew who they were rooting for in this match from the instant that Cory came out to the ring with his baggy pants and spiked hair. His cut appearance said he wasn't there to wrestle or fight. He was there to break Watts and at the very least, maim him.] [With that in mind, Watts met Reznor right at ring edge with a baseball slide, taking the backyard wrestler off of his game for a moment. Jeffery attempted to go for a vertical suplex on the hard outside but Cory sent a few closed fists right to the ribs. The match hadn't started and he was going to brutalize him before the match was even going to start. Cory, led Watts to the side of the partisan, the rampway behind him and six metal wires holding him on the fifth floor. Reznor began to unload with hammer like strikes and forearms against the throat. Watts managed to get by after Cory took an especially wild punch at Jeffery. Watts full on tackled Reznor into the a parking curb, much to the crowd's delight as they were getting closer and closer to them. Reznor took control of the situation, as it was his expertise and led him towards the match, laying Watts out on the apron with a harsh face slam.] [Cory rolled him into the ring and went for the pin.] [It would have been over, that is, unless the referee noticed that Cory had extra leverage with his feet on the ropes. Renzor shook it off and hoisted Jeffery up but Watts followed around and managed a traditional half nelson suplex. Reznor was barely impressed as he got off the canvas, dodging Watts attempt at a round house kick. Cory grabbed Jeffery as he spun around and German suplexed him hard into the canvas. The bridged pin only got him a one as Watts flipped out the back and synched in a nice cobra clutch.] [Reznor rolled over to the side and got hold of the ropes, forcing Watts to break the hold. Cory took his time getting back up and even taunting the crowd some. Jeffery charged but got a back elbow followed by a springboard leg lariat. Cory was taking it to Watts, schooling the formally taught student in almost every way possible.] [He even went as far as to do the old school flow over and slap to the back of the head, just adding insult to injury, before synching in a kneeling front face lock. Watts slapped the matt a few times, trying to find his position to get out of the hold but Cory wrenched in the hold just a little more tight.] [The crowd began to stomp their feet, practically shaking the entire fifth floor as Watts found the momentum and broke free from the hold, unloading knife edge chops across Reznor's chiseled pecks. Tomorrow those things were going to welt for sure, this was increasing is stiffness for sure. Cory blocked and smacked Watts square in the chest as hard as he could. The noise could probably be heard all across Fremont Street's cheesy giant enclosure.] [Watts replied the smack with a chop of his own, giving the same sickening thud. They traded back and forth until Cory was forced into the turnbuckle and irish whipped to the other side. Jeffery came in with a splash and followed it up with a bulldog. The lateral press wasn't good enough and Reznor kicked out barely before the two. He shoved Jeffery and Watts came in for the knee to the gut followed by the flipping piledriver dubbed "The Demon Driver".] [But just like the bulldog, Jeffery managed to kick out right before the two. Cory grabbed him by his hair but Watts nailed him with a desperation 3/4th turn neckbreaker.] [At the eight count and much yelling from the crowd both men were up. Cory took a clothesline attempt at Jeffery but he ducked the attempt, causing to have Renzor spin right into a back body drop. The count was only a two, but it must have seemed longer due to the stalling and sheardrop of the move. Jeffery got to his feet first but Cory quickly loaded him on his shoulder and spun him around for the stunner] [He nailed it and the match was over.] [But once again, it wasn't. The referee stopped the count at two with Watt's foot on the rope, by shear miracle it seemed. Reznor threaten the referee's life before hoisting Watts back up and into the ropes for something special. But Jeffery ducked the move and managed to snap off a roll up hurricana for the pin.] Winner: Jeffery Watts via roll up hurricana [Watts released the hold after the final pin fall and rolled to his corner. The referee raised his arm in victory as Reznor silently swore up and down in the middle of the ring. Jeffery walked to him and offered his hand for some sportsmen like competition.] [Cory Reznor grinned and spat in Jeffery's face before leaving the ring.] ------------------------------------- "Right foot move...one two stomp." [...what the fuck...] "Left foot move...one two stomp." [...like for real...] "Now swing those hips...one two stomp." [...people are starting to get scared...] "Cha cha cha...one two stomp." [The camera shows us Blue Collar PA. He is with a bunch of willing participants from the audience at the SSB show. They are dancing, well at least trying to. There is a fat one wearing a fanny pack, there is a skinny one with a basketball jersey. These are your parents, your brother and your sister.] [These are people that you know and you know what...they all are addicted. Addicted to Blue Collar PA and all that comes with him. That's all the Chuck Norris, that's all the Protein shakes, that's everything.] [Blue Collar takes a towel and wipes the back of his neck and then notices the SSB crew with their cameras trained in on him.] [He simply nods his head.] Blue Collar PA: "Ladies and Gentlemen get ready to experience something that you can only get here in the Silver State Battleground. It's the Blue Collar Experience. It's an interactive experience. I teach you how to dance, and all that jazz." [He takes the top off a water bottle and downs a long gulp.] Blue Collar PA: "Can you imagine your mom out here shaking it? Can you imagine your dad out here shaking it? Grandmom, Aunt Milly...whatever! Bring 'em on out. I'll pick a few people every night and we'll shake it." [He nods his head, he likes the idea.] Blue Collar PA: "Just another thing that blue...can do for you." [A small laugh and we're out.] -------------------------------------
Lunatics Unite! [Psivage was in the ring, ready to fight. He had to make up for last week and Phoenix was just the man to take out to impress management and the fans.] [However everything changed the second Phoenix came out from behind the curtains to "Immortal." He entered the ring and looked at Psivage. If looks could kill, right?] [Psivage attempted to double Phoenix over but got a nice thrust to the throat. He doubled over and Phoenix lifted his leg right into his face. His opponent was no stranger to pain, physical or mental and bounced right back up, unloading a series of knife edge chops to the two-toned colored man. Phoenix blocked the last chop and headbutted Psivage right into the bridge of the noise.] [He checked for blood, but there was nothing. Not until Phoenix rammed his head into the turnbuckle and followed up with a high angle back drop. Psivage must have bit his cheek or his lip because crimson began leaking out from his mouth, under the mask of course. But Phoenix wasn't about to stop his offense, the same that had got the admiration of the AWA faithful and some of the other wrestlers with that "Phoenix" surname. And Psivage wasn't about to be walked all over.] [Both man sprang up and Psivage locked in the front face lock. Phoenix lifted him up for Northern Light suplex but Psivage locked in the hold a bit tighter, causing Phoenix to ram him into the opposing turnbuckle. Psivage didn't let go of the guillotine choke, despite hearing a pop from his own body after collision into the not-so comfortable padding. Phoenix rammed him into the turnbuckle again. But Psivage kept in synched in. On the third try, he had to give it up. Phoenix, however, continued ramming Phoenix into the turnbuckle. His shoulder into Psivage's ribs. The veteran crumbled in the corner and practically on top of Phoenix. Phoenix knew that it was over and violently flung Psivage into the ropes.] [He bounced back and Phoenix hit the Zhar-Ptitsa on Psivage, his variation of the rotating sidewalk slam.] Winner: Phoenix via Zhar-Ptitsa ["Immortal" reprised and Phoenix stood over his latest "kill"] ------------------------------------- [The camera seizes on Anthony Phoenix wearing a collared grey shirt with a embroidered phoenix on one side. He is standing in front of silver and black SSB background. Slowly he looks up and notices the camera is on him, he smiles and starts to address the crowd and the fans that are watching at home.] Anthony Phoenix: "Now you all probably are wondering what in the hell I’m doing here? Well for those of you that have been following me since I came into the WWA, I had an encounter with a person by the name of Phoenix. It was but a verbal match but just not any verbal match as I kept on coming to the AWA to confront him. Now at that time he and I were heading towards a feud of sort but as the AWA went so did he…now he’s returned with the SSB and as you know me I don’t take anything that was said to me lightly. I’m here to say that he needs to put his money where his mouth is." [The camera starts to pan closer to Anthony’s face.] Anthony Phoenix: "So Phoenix? You game? How about you and I finally put to rest who is the best Phoenix here…you the damn raving lunatic or me the extreme wrestling machine. The ball is in your court boy, just know this I’ll keep coming to the show till I hear that one syllable with three letters: Y-E-S!!!" [Anthony smiles and nods as the camera fades out.] ------------------------------------- [How the SSB people talked the Canyon Club people into letting them use their club as a backstage "hangout" for the wrestlers and various hangers on from the Battleground during their shows is a mystery among mysteries. Don't even get me started on how they managed to get the Four Queens Casino itself to let them hold shows inside the parking garage.] [Scheduling snafu, or something, I'm told.] [That business as usual is going on inside the club while wrestlers mill around, tape up their elbows and knees, and make with their pre-match ritual drinking, well, that's not a big surprise, wrestlers can do their thing pretty much anywhere. Hell, this is one of the nicer places that most of the SSB roster has ever been able to call their home. Also, there's two bars within a hundred feet of each other, and if you weren't sure, wrestlers like to drink.] [Ask Frank Dylan James, he'll tell you.] [Speaking of Frank, his legitimacy as a wrestler has gotten both him and his 'date,' Lil' Debbie, into the SSB show proper for free, and as special guests to boot. What this means, is that Frank has his run of the backstage area and might even do a cameo or a promo or something later in the show, we'll see what happens, right? And speaking of the West Virginia Whack Job, you can find him and Debbie cozied up to one of the bars as we speak. Let's listen in, kay?] FDJ: "Now ya see whar Ah got alladat money from? These rasslin' types love me! Lookit here, we got ourselfs a free tab!" [And it's true, in front of Frank are several empty bottles of Pabst: Blue Ribbon, and in front of Debbie are an equal amount of empty shot glasses, she loves her hooch, that Debbie!] Debbie: [slurring] "Ya sure is got dat right!" [Lil' Debbie is as un-ladylike as you could be. Also, she isn't wearing anything under the sleazy dress that she hooks the corner in, so any decent camera angle is marred by her stretched and sagged girly bits. Sitting here, watching the two of them, it's actually kind of gross.] [A bit down from Frank, behind him, a rather attractive woman approaches the bar. She's dressed to wrestle apparently, otherwise there's no good reason for her to be in a black sports bra and shorts. In one hand she holds an unlit cigar, in the other, a golden cigar-cutter.] "Black Russian, and make it a double." [Frank does a spit-take, spewing beer all over Lil' Debbie's face.] FDJ: "Ah know that dag'gumed voice!" [Dark brown hair is tight tightly back in a ponytail, and wicked green eyes scan the area around her for anything unusual. They land on Frank's back. Slowly recognition develops on her face as her drink is delivered.] "Oh. My. God." [Frank turns around to face his former nemesis, Jane Katze.] FDJ: "JANEY! AH MISSED YOU SO DANG MUCH DAAAAAAAAAHLIN!" [Jane had thought that she was finished with the Hillbilly Jesus back when the West Coast Wrestling Association closed. The look of shock on her face melts to pure disgust as she takes in Lil' Debbie and the entire scene. Jane clips the end of her cigar and places it between thin lips as she grabs her drink and makes off in the other direction.] FDJ: "Now you jes' wait a secon' thar Janey, I wanna interduce ya to somebody!" [Morbidly curious, Jane halts mid-stride.] FDJ: "This here's Lil' Debbie, my new ol' lady! They call'er that cuz-" [Jane cuts him off.] Jane: "I couldn't possibly care less." [Frank scratches his head, further messing up the mangled mass of hair.] FDJ: "Raht, well, whatever." [He turns to Debbie and motions toward Jane.] FDJ: "Deb, this here's Janey Cats, mah ex-ol-lady." [EXCLAMATION POINT!] Jane: "Excuse me?!" FDJ: "What, Didjoo fart?" Jane: "I most certainly did not! And I most certainly was never anything resembling your "old lady," whatever the hell that means!" [Frank is oblivious.] FDJ: "Yeah, we use'ta roll aroun' on the mat up thar in Californey!" [Jane's face is visibly reddening. Lil' Debbie could seemingly care less, she smiles and pretends to be interested.] FDJ: "She use'ta love it when ah'd give'r the ol' purple nurple, too!" Jane: [confused] "The what?" [Frank cocked an eyebrow, shrugged, and reached out with a grubby hand and twisted Jane's nipple as hard as he could through her sports bra.] FDJ: "PURPLE NURPLE~!" [Jane was shocked, her face a mass of rage, her entire body trembled for a split second before she let the anger get the best of her.] Jane: "Why you dirty, ugly, snaggle-toothed, misogynistic, animal of a man!" [Frank smiled a toothy smile.] FDJ: "Thanks!" [!SMASH!] [Jane flipped, she smashed her Black Russian right across Frank's face.] Jane: "THAT WASN'T A COMPLIMENT YOU DOLT!" [Bleeding, Frank was confused. Again.] FDJ: "What'd I do?" [Jane grabbed him by the hair and leveled a brutally stiff elbow right into his knobby nose. Not satisfied by any means she ran him down the length of the bar and slammed his face through a mirror on the wall, shattering glass everywhere and pretty much obliterating Frank's face. She bared teeth as she began to yell down at his motionless body.] Jane: "You keep your God damned hands off of me you stinking pervert!" [She grabs a half-empty bottle of Pabst and throws it down onto him.] Jane: "I swear to GOD if you ever touch me again I'll have you neutered!" [And for the exclamation point, she raises one powerful leg and stomps down on Frank's family jewels in a most excruciating of nut-shots. Spittle flew from her lips as she screamed at the man who'd embarrassed her by taking her Golden Gate Title away back in WCWA. Slowly her head turned and her attention landed on Lil' Debbie.] Jane: "And you..." [She stilled herself.] Jane: "Ugh!" [With Frank moaning in pain on the floor beneath her, and Debbie cowering in fear a few stools down from her, Jane made herself regain some of her composure and walk away before any more of a scene could be made.] -------------------------------------
Crowd Favorites Match [Eiffel 65 began to rave through the parking garage and the fans got up to their feet and began to dancing up a storm as Blue Collar PA came out with the electric slide combination with his Sweatin' Too The Newbie's track playing over and over again in his head, along with "Blue". It was noisy in his head.] [But a modest noise, for a modest man.] [A very more ego-centric man came out "Dope Boys." He was ready to go and give it his all. Both men had winning streaks to uphold and neither men could come out smelling like daisies after this one.] [However the bell didn't sound. In fact the referee and time keeper had a discussion as both PA and Garner wondered what the hell was going on until the faint sound of Johnny Cash's "Fulsom Prison Blues" began to emerge from the fourth floor of the parking garage and then the entrance ramp into the fifth floor.] [In a beat up old parking garage with his faithful girlfriend Lil' Debbie in the passenger seat holding her ears came the barefoot, rebel born, human crash test dummy and spot junkie, Frank Dylan James. "Fulsom Prison Blues" kept playing until he rolled into the ring. Both PA and Garner didn't like the idea of a third wrestler coming into this match, especially one that looks like he just had a fight with a window pane or something.] [But the bell sounded anyways. Frank exploded from his corner into Ian Garner with a flurry of punches and knees. PA swung him around and didn't even get the common courtesy of set up punch and was decked to the ground with a big huge punch. The crowd liking a fight began to cheer and get rowdy just as James started the match. He jerked Garner up and whipped him into the ropes but before he could capitalize with some Southern Hospitality, Ian plowed him with a running knee to the mush followed by a release Northern light suplex. PA quickly came up behind Garner and hit him with a full nelson suplex with bridge. Dylan broke up the pinfall and proceeded to clobber PA with a hard forearm and a shove to the outside.] [The two brawled, Frank lifted up the padding on the outside and gave Blue Collar PA a wicked neck breaker on the rough concrete. The crowd didn't care for their Dance Instructor to be creamed like that but James wasn't one who honestly gave a good god-damn. Frank hoisted PA back up who unloaded with a few jabs and a dance move before James smacked him in the mouth and locked up with him.] [Well, just for Garner to due a damn near suicide dive into the both of them. If he put anymore speed into it he would have been splattered all across the roadway on the other side of the parking garage, Jay Bridges was left silent as the crowd gave a rapturous roar of applause for the move.] [Garner shoved PA back into the ring and went to town with suplex after suplex. PA reversed a stall suplex into a german suplex and gave Ian a trip around the ring with a few Germans and capitalized with a dancing roll up. However, James reached into the ring and pulled Blue Collar PA off of Garner killing the count. PA was visibly pissed at this point and punched the taste of Pabst Blue Ribbon right out of Frank's mouth.] [Wrong thing to do to a man who got his faced smashed in and his gonads tested for effect of blunt force trauma. Frank open hand slaps PA's chest and suplexs him out of the ring and to the audience, nearly hitting the front row, unprotected by barricades.] [Garner got up in his haze and Frank booted him in the stomach and gave him a quick Michinoku driver. He wouldn't know that it was actually a move but more just muscling a guy around and overhead. James called it over got on the turnbuckle and dropped a knee right across Ian's chest for the three count.] Winner: FDJ via top rope knee drop [Frank rolled out of the ring, got a beer from his lovely lady, proceeded to kill about half of it and rolled out the way he came.] [Blue Collar PA shook of the cobwebs, was informed the match ended and began dancing with the crowd, in celebration of not being physically hurt by the redneck.] ------------------------------------- [Somewhere in an office suite, complete with water cooler, receptionist and a few more arbitrary rooms sits owner and operator of Silver State Battleground. In fact, he would rather just be called operator as he doesn't own a cent of the money in his corporate bank account and it was all volunteered in some joint enterprise or something] [Either way, the man in his thirties grins at the camera.] Thomas Bloodgood: "Greetings Silver State Battleground fans and employees. I thought I would take time before our main event for the evening to formally introduce myself" "I am Thomas Bloodgood, owner and operator of this federation." [No response from the audience and as it's a pre-recorded vignette, Bloodgood does not react to their non-reaction.] "With that being said, I'll go into something rather important. Next week's edition of 'Between Hell and High Water'." "There's something missing around this area and it's not a proper roof. It's championship gold. Prior to this week, we had none but since moving into the alliance system of the World Wrestling Association, I took a little trip south of the border to Campechen Federacion de Lucha Libre, in Mexico City." "After negotiations and a certain amount of money, I have returned with our heavyweight championship belt." "El Campeonato De La Raza" [This warrants a medium pop. The video is paused awkwardly as this clip was only intended for the website, Bloodgood continued along.] "And in order to establish our first Campeonato De La Raza, Silver State Battleground will host a tag team tournament where the final two teams will fight amongst each other in a fatal four way, to decide our first heavyweight champion." "Brackets will be out on our official webpage after this show concludes." [Bloodgood smiles and the feed ends.] ------------------------------------- [The next match was all scheduled to start... The Main Event of the evening. Boston Bancroft, the Spoiler, versus Jane, the toughest chick to lace up a pair of boots. Or so each of them claimed.] [The "lights" for this show dimmed, although the massive amount of light pollution trailing in from Fremont street kept things mostly lit up. On the framework supporting the curtains seperating the "backstage" from the "arena", a pair of cop lights began to spin, even as the speakers began to blast that familiar air raid siren.] [Faith No More's "War Pigs" cover hit, the most popular guitar riff in the free world blasting through the night air. Bathed in the loglo of the wonderful city of Las Vegas, the curtains looked just as they were- Shabby, cheap and not meant for outdoor use.] [Those curtains were thrown apart, and out from the back, baseball bat in hand, stepped "The Spoiler", Boston Bancroft. A big-ass grin on his lips, sunglasses perched on his nose, that golden bust t-shirt on his chest and wrestling tights on his legs.. As normal.] [Boston headed down to the ring and dove in under the bottom rope, sliding on his belly and thighs. He grinned, looking out over the crowd surrounding the ring, before he came to his feet, and motioned for a mike.] Bridges: "It wouldn't be a show with Boston Bancroft on the card unless he got to speak his mind..." [A mike was handed to him, and Boston took it, smiling brightly.] Boston: "Well... Las Vegas is a hell of a town. I have to give y'all that much." [Woo! Cheap pop!] Boston: "However... I have never in my life encountered a city with this little moral fiber. It's true what people say about Vegas... You're all crack-addicted, alcoholic transvestite leather fetishists who spend all of your money on gambling and whores." [Not so much a pop.] Boston: "In fact... I have never found a city like Las Vegas... With this little actual spiritual MEANING to it. You're all emotionally bankrupt! You're morally dead! All of your souls have long since died a choleric death, and you have no more meaning to this world than the lowest parasites." [Boston raised a single finger.] Boston: "In fact... If the entire city of Las Vegas were wiped off the map... No, if Vegas, Henderson, that Air Force base and everything else within a fifteen mile radius were scoured off the face of the earth... Nobody would shed a tear. No Jedi would feel a great disturbance in the Force... No evangelical will try to raise funds for the survivors... Barack Obama himself would secretly come to the wasteland that was this city just to piss on the ashes." [Boston grinned.] Boston: "And I'd be right there alongside the brother-man." [As the boos rained down on Boston, he turned to face the backstage area.] Boston: "And as for Janey Waney... I'm not entirely sure if you've ever seen any of my work before. So, allow me to introduce myself. [The Path to Glory winner bowed, smiling charmingly.] Boston: "I'm a wrestler who actually matters in the World Wrestling Alliance right now. Although, I am confused about a few things." [Boston would turn, looking away from the backstage area as he did.] Boston: "You label me as a wifebeater, insecure about my masculinity and so smallminded that I will shoot up your house if you dare to beat me..." [A shrug.] Boston: "All well and good, in the world of pro wrestling. You can talk all the empty, hollow pleasantries you want. Your terrible attempt at psychoanalyzing me will get brushed off, just like everything else you do." [He looked down for a moment.] Boston: "I mean, there's nothing I can say in the face of those charges. You seem to think that I have some personal vendetta against you... which is wrong. I came out here and hit you with a chair because... Well, I wasn't going to do what I did in the AWF. I'm good enough that I deserve better than starting at the bottom, ESPECIALLY in a fed where the top names are a redneck with no charisma and a woman with... Well, no charisma." [A smirk.] Boston: "Nobody besides the powderpuff teenagers who come to see a wrestling show with their zitty boyfriend will ever, EVER buy a piece of Jane merchandise." [A shake of his head.] Boston: "I came out in the main event match and interfered because I wanted the shot at the top that I deserved in the AWF. And now, I'm getting it. Go ahead and claim that you're gonna make me your bitch, Jane. I've never heard that before, in all thirteen years of my career to date." Boston: "Because regardless of what you say or do... I'm main eventing. And it feels daaaaaaamn good." [He grinned brightly.] Boston: "But before I bid you to come out and try to wrap your legs around my head, grind your arms into my body and touch me all over... I'd like to extend an invitation." [A hand extended.] Boston: "At the next SSB show, I'd like to mix things up. I HATE tag wrestling, but for one night only, I'd like to make the Blackest Team In The World. Boston Bancroft, tag teaming with his opponent at Crown of War... Justin Brooks." Boston: "And whether we fight Jane and Blue Collar Pa, Ian Garner and Psivage, or the Sex Symbols... I'd like to work with you, Justin. See what you've got in the tank before we blow the roof off of Crown of War." [Boston would pull his t-shirt off, and lay it over the turnbuckle behind him.] Boston: "No need to respond now, Justin. Think it over, whereever you are, and I'll find out from you before the next SSB show. Now, Jane, I believe you were going to prison rape me, or some other such empty threat?" [Boston tossed the mike out of the ring, and grinned, beckoning the First Lady of the Ring out with a single curled finger.] -------------------------------------
]Main Event [With Boston already in the ring, waiting for the woman he screwed over with out even thinking of buying her dinner. And he got just what he was asking for when "Only One" by Evanescence began pounding through. Jane came out from the back, half violated, half inebriated thanks to the Chicago Brewing Company and all ready to fight.] [Bancroft just stood in his corner and watched as she looked over the crowd and then her opponent. Jane wasn't amused last time she came out and she was even more disgusted by the audience this time. She slid into the ring and looked across to Boston, ready to go at it.] [The bell sounded, Jane and Boston looked at each other, obvious weight difference, obvious height difference and obvious sex difference. Duh. But Jane started thing off with a big ol' slap across Bancroft's face. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last time for that matter. He sucked at his cheek, knowing he'd have to ice it down or nurse it with a little hard liquor. Either way, Boston looked back and grinned. And then proceeded to prove his love equal opportunity discrimination with a fist right back to her.] [Katze stumbled back, gritted her teeth and locked up with the big black man. She stepped in trying to force him into the corner, arching her back while doing so, putting all the force she could but Boston wouldn't budge. He arched her back into the bridged position but Jane showed her flexibility, due to her training or perhaps how limber the booze made her, and released the lock up and flipped over Boston in a cartwheel of sorts.] [Boston looked back at her and with out saying a word told her to "Impress me". Jane once again came at the experienced wrestler but he quickly locked her into a hammerlock. Katze being the well trained Jui-Juitsu and martial artist, bends over and reaches for the leg of Boston through her own. Bancroft smiles to the crowd as she does and they begin to laugh. Jane looks up in a certain amount of horror at what has just happened and promptly ditches technical wrestling for a wicked elbow to the face. Boston stumbles back and she unloads a barrage of stiff kicks to the knee and thigh, forcing the big man down to a knee. Jane bounces into the ropes and snaps a shining wizard across Bancroft's right temple. He faceplants into the ring and Jane goes for the hooked leg.] [She only gets a two count before Boston shakes out the cobwebs and lifts the inside shoulder. Jane grabs him by his shaved dome and forces him into the turnbuckle where she unloads on more kicks. Bancroft grabs her by the leg and trips her down to the ground hard, proceeding to lay the boots into her medium style.] [The crowd begins to boo and cheer, not knowing if they hate Boston more for beating on a lady or Jane for being such a turncoat. You know she was voted AWF's most respected wrestler? Boston didn't care as he tossed her around like a ragdoll, hitting suplex after suplex on Miss Katze. He followed her in on a snap suplex with a pin but Jane kicked out at two, like he did previous. Boston grabbed her by the hair and asked the crowd what he should do. Jane attempted a middle kick to Bancroft's ribs but he caught her and grabbed her in close for a sort of release capture suplex.] [Instead of staying down, Jane sat back up. Boston either accidentally grabbed her in the wrong place or on purpose, because all she could see was red. Just like when Frank introduced her as his ex and proceeded to grab her goods. Boston bounced up and Jane promptly double leg drop kicked him into the turnbuckle. Bancroft landed hard and rightfully so but Jane continued the attack with yet another dropkick, right into Boston's upper chest, obvious a miss for his head.] [She sloppily drug him up with a blatant choke, both illegal in MMA and wrestling and dropped Boston on his head. Bancroft was seeing more stars than Vegas' heavily light polluted skies but before Jane could get the pentagram choke synched in he rolled over and lifted her up into a modified electric chair drop. Jane attempted to roll forward in a victory roll but Boston had maintained control and held her in the tombstone position. He once again smirked at the position, since it always looked like standing 69 position anyways. The crowd again laughed and jeered. Rather than dropping her on her head, he just released Jane who had her head still in Boston's crotch.] [Still seeing red and hearing way too much laughter from the crowd, Jane got back up and blatantly gave Bancroft a soccer like kick right to his family jewels.] [The senior referee called for the bell.] Winner: Boston Bancroft via DQ [Jane shook her head in disgust and left the ring. Allowing Boston to lie in the ring dry heaving as the cameras faded into the SSB distressed logo.] |
