CCW Turmoil Unleashed

   

 

 

*scene pans backstage to where Baxter is packing his bags as Stacy Clark arrives*

Stacy: Baxter.. Baxter... do you have a moment.

Baxter: Sure, what do you need.

Stacy: I want to address the situation with you and Omega Dragon

Baxter: Ah yes.. Him. This new attitude of his is nothing surprising, he always thought he was superior to us "round eyes".

Stacy: And his comments about you last week

Baxter: Yeah, *laughs* he wants to talk about it was my fault that we lost against trips, yes I was the one pinned, and with someone putting his foot on my chest. but Omega couldn't even kick his foot off, his kicks must be getting weak.

Stacy: *giggles* and about the challenge you made just a few weeks ago, you wanted a hair vs hair match at Wrestlution.

Baxter:
Yeah, that's right, he has always taken pride in his hair and...

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Cooper is seen walking out of the building, with the two short security people in front of him.

Security:
“We really thank you for coming nicely. It’s all often our staff gets horribly crippled dragging wrestlers out.”

Cooper: “Oh, no problem. I’m not a fan of doing undue harm to people.”

Security: “Well, we can’t let you back in for the night. Hope you have somewhere to go.”

Cooper: “Oh, I do. I’m just going to go back in the building now.”

Security: “What? You were banned. You heard it.”

Cooper: “Yeah, I can hear just fine. There’s the whole fact, that you are, in fact, no-name security people, and I am a 7 foot three hundred pound giant.”

Security: “But I thought you were against doing undue harm?”

Cooper: “Which is why I’m asking you kindly to stand aside. There’s a deranged little monkey in there who is going to get himself killed unless I do something about it. Now, we can do this the normal way, you go flying across the parking lot as I dismantle both of you and any reinforcements you call, or you can politely let me back into the building, and your wife doesn’t have to leave you because you’re horribly disfigured.”

Security: “Sorry for troubling you sir.”

Cooper nods, as he goes back in, security doing nothing.

 

The Air vs Poe/Dangelo?

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Like a....like a....
Why are you flipping through the book like a tard?
Ahhhh, here it is. Like a scaulded dog, something something, snickers bar.
What the hell is in that book?
JR's tips to being a good commentator.
How many pages is it?
3, not counting the 59 pages of pictures of his favorite dinners.
*sigh*

 

 

 

Air: “You were banned from the building! Why do you keep showing up!?”

The scene fades in, with much as last week, Air is berating Cooper.

Air: “How did it even become a tag match!?”

Cooper: “I have no idea.”

The referee from the tag match walks by.

Referee: “Hey Coop, thanks for the fruit basket!”

The referee continues on.


Air:
“You bribed the referee!”

Cooper: “Only to make it a tag match.”

Air: “You’ve tainted the match! This calls for another chance for me!”

Cooper:
“Come on now, Air. Stop this.”

Air: “I was jumping on you to break the pin, and he kept counting!”

Cooper:
“You need to hit me harder for it to count.”

Air:
“I HATE YOU!”

Cooper: “I hated VFM for months, but I worked with him. Can’t you learn to do the same?”

Air:
“...do I get to chokeslam and powerbomb you by surprise eventually?”

Cooper looks at Air like he’s insane.


Cooper:
“Sure, why not?”

Air:
“Still hate you. Big stupid Cooper. Thinking I need help to win my matches.”

Cooper:
“You do against two people.”

Air storms off. Cooper shrugs, and continues to follow.

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*Scene opens with K.D. walking back to the dressing room after the tag match*

*Walks in the door with Sean and the Mystery Man clapping*

*K.D. looks with a shocked looked on his face*


K.D: Didn't you see what just happened? We lost the tag match.

Mystery Man: Yeah you lost but you put on a show. You had two top class opponents and lets go back for a second and recall which one of them pinned you? Oh wait, neither of them pinned you. That my friend is something.

*Sean pats K.D. on the back*

Sean: Yeah kid we are awfully proud of you and for a minute we thought you going to take the one.

*K.D. with towel on his lightly head kicks the locker*

K.D: To be so close and not get the win. God damnit!

Mystery Man: No one wins every match. Nate lost, Nick Kage eventually went down. Hell Ive even lost and I know that is shocking.

*All three start laughing*

Mystery Man: Just know this, after this match people will start to really notice you. They will know that you are not a push over.

Sean: The man's right. I was darn well impressed with you tonight.

*Sean turns to the Mystery Man.*

Sean: I must admit I was doubting that you'd have any affect on him but after what we seen tonight I need to appologise to you.

Mystery Man: I've been where K.D is and I've risen to the top billing. I know what it takes to get it done and I'm passing that on to K.D. Only a matter of time before he comes good.

*The shot fades*

 

 

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Regan’s limo pulls into the stadium parking lot and comes to a stop as Regan folds up his newspaper and mentally prepares for another day at the office. He doesn’t even finish folding the obsolete news medium, when a repetitive knocking on the window interrupts. Assuming it’s his driver, Charles, he lets out a sigh and throws the slightly folded newspaper on the empty spot of seat next to him.

REGAN: I told you, Charles, I need at least 5 minutes to assess my life before each show.

Another series of knocks hit the door in police-like fashion.

REGAN: For crying out loud… are you {Regan begins to lower the window and lets out another sigh once it is down}

MORRISON: Excuse me sir… do you have any Grey Poupon?

REGAN: Jesus, Morrison, you really need to get with the times. That might have been funny 20 years ago and coming from me, that should say something.

MORRISON: Why would I want to get with the times? What fun would that be? For instance: putting Vincent and Guy against myself and Parker in a tag match? Way to keep the audience in suspense. Is that your idea of getting with the times?

REGAN: I see where this is going. What, you afraid of getting in the ring with Vincent when his back isn’t turned? By the way, he told me to tell you that he was looking for you and can’t wait to see you in the ring.

MORRISON: That’s sweet… but to answer your question: I’m more afraid of retarded midgets than I am of Valmont.

REGAN: There’s no need to bring Vimes into this.

MORRISON: You can stop trying to 1-up my Grey Poupon intro, Regan… it’s not going to make you “hip”, ya know.

REGAN: Coming from a guy wearing black shorts and face-paint?

MORRISON: Hey, my look is iconic… and I don’t see you getting any calls from fashion moguls, so try to focus and stay on topic here.

REGAN: What is the topic?

MORRISON: The tag match.

REGAN: Right.....… it’s still on.

MORRISON: 'Fraid not.

REGAN: Oh really… and why is that?

MORRISON: Can’t find Parker.

REGAN: Not even your partner can stand talking to you – why am I not surprised. I guess that means you’ll just have to deal with Vincent and Guy all by yourself.

Regan begins to raise his window when Morrison places his hand on the glass – preventing it from rising any further.

REGAN: Doesn’t that hurt your hand?

MORRISON: No… not at all.

REGAN: You’re lying, aren’t you?

MORRISON: …maybe. Would you mind not pushing the button, just in case it does hurt like a sumbitch?

REGAN: Can you seriously not find Parker?

MORRISON: I’d like nothing more than to face Valmont and the Hobo in a fair tag match… otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered thinking up the Grey Poupon line and sure as hell wouldn’t waste my time talking to you.

REGAN: I tell ya what… I’ll stop pushing the button if you admit the Grey Poupon line was lame.

MORRISON: I happen to think it was a pretty good…

Regan pushes even harder on the window button.

MORRISON: Fine… fine… it was weak, but it was either that or “have you seen this boy”, but that came off sounding too child-molesterish to me.

REGAN: {letting go of the button} Fair enough. You can take your hand off the glass now.

MORRISON: No… no I can’t. I think it’s stuck, but never mind that for now. The tag match?

REGAN: Yes, the tag match. I, for one, don’t like seeing handicap matches. If I wanted to see two guys beat on another, I’d watch Kip and Ryder cruise the Sunset Strip for male hookers. Fortunately for you, the OCW fans seem to agree with me. That leaves us with a dilemma.

MORRISON: I believe I have a solution.

REGAN: I bet you do.

MORRISON: How about, Vincent and I choose an opponent for one another. I pick someone to face him, he picks someone to face me. I hear Guy is also hard to get a hold of, so chances are, Parker is burying his body somewhere in Cincinnati.

REGAN: That’s a horrible thought, Morrison.

MORRISON: I know, I feel sorry for the people who live near the grave, because no amount of dirt can cover up that smell. It’s like someone shoved sour kraut up their ass and…

REGAN: I get it, Morrison; he smells bad. Moving on -- even though this would make it twice, that I’ve listened to your suggestions, I’m going to go with it. It actually sounds fair… which is surprising, seeing as it’s coming from you, but I’ll put it past Vincent and see what happens. It’s going to be a tough sale though – he really wants to get you in the ring.

MORRISON: Yeah, what’s new? You better work your magic, Regan, because I’ll be damned if I let Vickie get the advantage over me. If it stays a 2-on-1 situation, I’ll have to find another way to even the odds and that could lead to collateral damage.

REGAN: Speaking of which… how’s your hand?

MORRISON: Not bad. I think I just need to…

Regan signals the driver, who hits the gas and pulls away as Morrison’s hand suddenly detaches from the window. Morrison expresses his pain with a barrage of expletives while wagging his hand in the air. Once the pain subsides, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone.

MORRISON: {talking into phone} Yeah… he bought it. Nah, it’s no longer a tag match.

MORRISON: Nah, I used the Grey Poupon line. Yeah, I know you liked the T2 reference better but…

MORRISON: Naw, he said it was witty…

MORRISON: …maybe.

MORRISON: Fine, you’ll get your $20 bucks, smart-ass.

Morrison hangs up the phone and goes to tend his injured hand.

 

 

 


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