(NOTE: I wanted to do a more on screen episode. What better episode than at a pay per view? I hope you enjoy it!)
The crowd was cheering loudly at the hardcore clinic they were witnessing, live on pay per view. Chairs were dented, tables were broken and shattered remnants of florescent light tubes were scattered around ringside and in the ring. The commentators were silent for dramatic effect, and the fact that Binx the Clown couldn’t think of anything sarcastic to say.
Dressed in a green sports top and tights, a sweaty Shannon Shooter and her arch rival, and real life cousin, Emily “The Cold Heart Bitch” Shooter, had wrestled the last 15 minutes just as they said they would—hard, fast and looking good while doing it. Well, with the exception of Emily’s missing nose ring that Shannon ripped out during the peak of the match.
“Binx, I don’t know how you cannot give these girls, no these women long overdue credit. They are taking it to each other without backing down. I can see both of these women breaking the glass ceiling in professional wrestling,” NLW’s play by play commentator, Tim Dale, commented into his live head set.
Taking a breath, Binx replied with his typical heel response, “Tim there is no glass ceiling. That is just a lie women like these overactive piles of PMS in the ring, like to say when they realize they can’t hang with the big boys. They should be like the Black Halo and valet for the real wrestlers.” The clown said that with so much conviction that he almost believed himself.
Tim Dale heard in his headphones the three words that made his voice raise in anticipation, ‘taking it home’. His eyes widen as Binx ranted, Tim always loved watching the finish to a Shannon Shooter match. Without even realizing it he spoke, “Here comes the Artic Crab… on Emily Shooter! Shannon is doing her cousins own move on her!”
In the ring he was right. Shannon had a Singapore cane right behind her cousin’s knee cap and leaned back with a single leg crab. She cupped her hands together as she could hear her cousin selling the pain like a true professional. Finally the bell rings when Emily tapped out. Almost immediately her adrenaline subsided and she fell into the canvas exhausted. The crowd gave her a standing ovation.
The camera scene panned back to the announce team in the announce table a few yards away from the entrance ramp. Tim Dale, in a casual blue dress shirt, spoke to the camera directly, while Binx made faces. “That was a top notch match won by a top notch wrestler. I think Shannon Shooter will be breaking barriers very soon,”
“Yeah, the barriers to the buffet!” Binx laughed.
Tim rolled his eyes, “Folks we’ve been watching a great pay per view thus far but we are just gearing up! Pig Vomit said they will end the careers of their heated rivals Genocide and Brimstone tonight in a dumpster match.”
Binx hissed at Tim, “Those piggies don’t like losing their tag team titles. Especially to a duo who can’t even think of a name!”
“Sounds like someone fears of being irrelevant could be becoming a reality. Speaking of reality, it is finally happening tonight: Jihad “The Devil” Sullivan vs. Onyx the Corpse one on one.”
“One on one? Hasn’t that always been the case?”
“No, you clown. The Violent New Breed always came in and tried to kill… or un-kill… the Undead Priest.”
Binx just laughed, “You do know that someone will be leaving in a body bag? The Corpse worked his voodoo powers on Jim E. James and got his wish granted. Tonight’s main event will not only be one on one and for the NLW World Heavyweight championship, but it will be in a Who’s Your Daddy match! That means Jihad will admit that he’s nothing more than the Corpse’s bitch!”
“Neither man will admit they’re a bitch,” Tim yelled in surprise. He didn’t know the main event had a last minute change. “But first we have to take it to the back. “The Prince of Pranks” Eddie Stiles has an important announcement. This is NLW Declaration of Violence!”
A flash of static was submitted on the camera scene, followed by the focusing of the camera. A man with wig and ski cap, with a pair of sunglasses that are missing a lens, is shown with a wide grin. Behind him was a man with a black hair wig, with a bit of a drunken stagger. In the camera the nameplate reads ‘Eddie Stiles & Louie Heart’.
“Hi, I’m Eddie and this is Louie. We’re the Douchebags,”
Off camera, Jim E. James spat out his Irish coffee and his eyes gone wide. He knew he should have been more involved with someone like Eddie being the mouthpiece.
“Now that we are the new team of the block we’d like to show you our cock—iness.” He paused intentiouly. “Whoever wins the tag team straps tonight, whether it be Pig Vomit or Genny and Brimy, we are throwing down the gauntlet,”
Louie stepped in, “Wait, I thought you said we were going to get two on two. I don’t want to wrestle like a marathon.”
Eddie shook his head, “A gauntlet is a challenge,”
“Yes it is. A long challenge with typically six dudes,”
Edie ignored him, “And after we win the NLW tag team championships we’re going to party! So all you women start taking numbers now. Because we’re the Douchebags, and we’re there for you in heavy loads,”
The camera man said clear and Jim E. James was red faced, well redder than normal. He walked up to the two juninival humor men and a smile came to him. “Pretty funny, douchebag,” and then he walked away.
Greg was fully dressed in character now. His new wife, the busty blond Trisha, put on the final details of his makeup. She was making three dimensional horns on his forehead. Tonight he would finally dethrone Billy. He was excited to finally be the head of the roster on screen now, but he felt Billy has taught him so much, even more than his estrange father Kevin.
“Everything okay, sweetie?” Trisha asked in her thick Georgian accent.
Greg simply nodded, “Tonight is going to hurt like Hell, in every sense of the word. I’m just grateful it’s not another dog collar match.”
Trish gave a smirk, “It always can be later tonight, sugar,”
That gave Greg a reason to smile. “You got to go through Hell,” Greg paused and pulled Trisha closer, his hand firmly on her fleshy ass, “To get to the Promise Land,”
Trish shook her head, “Nu-uh. Business in the front,” she removed his hands, “And no party in the back.”
The drugs are in full swing now. Nick walks around in a drugged haze. His hand is bandaged from the snapping turtle bite last week and he took, what Binx the Clown told him, was good Vicodin. Although he thought Vicodin was white and not blue, he took the pills anyway. Now, halfway through the show and eating the bottle like it was candy, he was walking around with misplaced steps. He swayed after one step and heard a voice, calling him Jason Turtle. But he wasn’t the Turtleman! He followed the voice. Without actually knowing he walked onto the set of a live interview of Jason Turtle!
The interviewer, who Nick couldn’t recognize yelled, “Fade Gordy!? You shouldn’t be here. You’re under doctors’ orders not to be here,”
Jason stayed in character, “Do you need Snipper to break your other hand?”
“Snipper?” Nick asked in a haze, “Snapper. Snip snap, patty wack give a dog a bone,” Nick laughed.
“I think we should stop now,” warned the interviewer.
“I think that’s what Kurt Gobang said before he fucked Courtney Love for the first time,” Nick giggled at himself, “You said fuck on live television. Jimmy is going to be piiissed.”
Sure enough Jim E. James bull rushed the set, “Cut the camera off. Go to the ring now!”