Post by C. Connolly on Apr 8, 2011 10:19:27 GMT -5
Eggs Are So Healthy
(After arriving in Casablanca earlier in the day, Tsukino Meiou found a limousine service waiting for him. On his way out of the airport, Meiou couldn't hold his silence any longer.)
Meiou: Forgive me for being nosy but I did not order this service. Can you tell me who did?
Driver: I promised not to say anything until we arrive at Salle Mohammed V, Mr. Meiou.
Meiou: I do have ways of extracting information from you if you choose not to talk. I'm going to ask nicely only one more time and if you give me the right answer, you and I will have a pleasent ride. If you give me a wrong answer, I'm going to introduce you to a friend of mine who loves nothing more than to bring pain to those who aren't straight with me.
(Meiou pulls open one side of his black leather jacket to reveal his ever deadly Japanese style sickle known as a kama.)
Meiou: Once again, who ordered this limo?
Driver: Someone who has you figured out, Mr. Meiou.
(The driver presses a button on a control pannel as Meiou realizes something is wrong and begins to lunge at the driver. A thick steel plate slides up in front of the glass. Unless Meiou's sickle also doubles as a lightsaber or a blowtorch, he's not going to get through to the driver. That doesn't stop Meiou from trying as he starts punching the steel plate.)
Meiou: STOP THE CAR NOW OR KISS YOUR ASS GOODBYE!
(The driver's voice is heard over the speakers in the back of the limo.)
Driver: I think it's time for you to kiss your own ass goodbye, Mr. Meiou.
(Another button pushed and white smoke starts leaking into the back of the limo. This only causes Meiou to stop hitting the steel plate and attempting to break out of the limo by punching the windows. The glass isn't even cracking.)
Meiou: LET ME OUT NOW OR I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL AND DRINK YOUR BLOOD!
Driver: I love my job, Mr. Meiou. Do you love your job? It's been nice chatting with you but I see you're getting a bit groggy, Mr.Meiou. We will be arriving at the Salle Mohammad V shortly. Some fresh air should bring you back to good health.
Meiou: Fuck you!
(Meiou is getting weak from breathing in the smoke and appears to be sweating profusely. At least he won't have to hear "Mr. Meiou" being said again by the limo driver as he passes out. Unfortunately this is only the beginning of his nightmare. As he begins to wake he finds himself what feels like a giant capule of some kind surrounded by what feels like smaller capsules. Meiou grabs one of these smaller capsules and finds out that these smaller ones are easily crushable and has a gooey inside. The camera then shows Roshan Nocturne driving a forklift that has a giant orange plastic easter egg tied down to a pallet.)
Meiou: What the hell! Whoever is out there better know who they're fucking with!
Roshan: Don't worry, Meiou, it's only me. You thought you were clever with that glowing orange slop you dumped on Tanabashi and I? Well, I assume you've learned by now that two can play that game.
(Meiou is speechless as he knows that whatever happens next isn't going to be pretty by any means. By now Roshan is driving the forklift on to the entrance stage as "Shame on the Night" by Jorn is playing. She stops just before the entrance way slants downward and begins to unstrap the giant plastic egg. With a hard kick the egg is sent down the entrance way. It curves to the right before pulling strongly to the left. It just barely hits the corner of the security railing and spins as it rolls into the ring steps causing it to come to a complete stop. The two halfs of the giant plastic egg come apart to reveal that it was eggs that filled the remaining space. They are now broken and all over Meiou and the floor. Thousands of fragments of egg shell are stuck to Meiou as he uses the ring steps to pull himself up.)
Ken: If you're just tuning in, Roshan Nocturne just scrambled Meiou and what must be at least 500 eggs. My partner, Chris Carter, is cracked up at the moment. Chris, are you going to be okay?
(The camera briefly shows Ken Stevenson and Chris Carter. Chris has his headset off and looks like he could be the first man to literally laugh his ass off. The fans, regardless of what country they're from, always know how to make embarassing situations like this worse for Meiou.)
THAT WAS EGG-CITING *CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAPCLAPCLAP*
THAT WAS EGG-CITING *CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAPCLAPCLAP*
THAT WAS EGG-CITING *CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAPCLAPCLAP*
(Meiou doesn't even react to this chant as he is leaning against the ring steps and ring post while allowing his mind to descramble after being spun and thrown again inside a giant plastic egg. The camera switches to Roshan who now has a microphone)
Roshan: Meiou, I know it still early for Easter but I don't think you would mine if I dyed my eggs now.
(Meiou's brain is working enough to figure what comes next but is too late as he falls forward in effort to grab one half of the giant plastic egg to use as a shield. Dark blue liquid falls on top of Meiou just as he reaches the bottom half of the plastic egg. Roshan gets back in the forklift and drives off as Meiou pulls himself up with the plastic egg shell. Chris Carter is finally able to commentate on the situation)
Chris: Ken, what do we call this situation? Scrambled eggs and Meiou? Blue eggs and Meiou, named after Green Eggs and Ham?
Ken: A giant mess is what I would call this.
(A fan suggests "Meiou omlette".)
Chris: That's a great idea. I'm calling this a Meiou omlette.
Ken: (to the fan) Don't egg him on!
(Chris Carter looks like he is about to lose it again as Ken realizes what he just said.)
Ken: I'm being told that we're going to a commercial break as a clean up crew will clean the mess that Roshan Nocturne made of Meiou
(The last thing we see before going to commercial is Meiou walking up the aisle covered in raw eggs, egg shells, and what we can assume to be blue dye of some kind.)
Doctors Rule!
PWE newcomer, Brian Savage, is sitting on the butcher paper in the medical room backstage.
Doctor: I can’t let you go on, Brian. You still have a concussion, it’s just not safe. Josten really did a number on you. Sorry.
Brian: Doc, there’s gotta be something you can do! It’s only my second week. I want to do this. I need to do this.
Doctor: Sorry, Brian. Maybe next week, maybe not. You should be back for 68, though. Hang in there, okay?
Brian leans over to the doctor and whispers in his ear. The doctor has a shocked look on his face. He doesn’t move as Brian pulls away.
Brian: So…?
Doctor: Yeah. You know what? After some… uh… thought, you can go ahead. All clear.
Brian jumps up off the table and heads to the gorilla position.
Brian: Thanks, Doc.
The doctor seems unsure what to do now.
Ken (O.S.): What? What did Savage just say to the doctor?
Brian Savage vs. Fairview Reed
DING! DING! DING!
The match begins with the typical basic grapple holds and goes back and forth early. Both combatants playing to the crowd with Savage having the slight edge in fan-favoritism due to the beating he withstood at the hands of the Universal Champion. But after a ducked clothesline, Reed gets a big pop from the crowd for landing a huge Fisherman Suplex on Savage - landing him on his head hard.
Ken: He calls that the ‘Fisher of Men’ suplex, and he’s the first participant to pull out a Signature Move.
Elvis: Speaking of ‘pulling out’, the othe--
Ken: And I'd rather not get pulled into your political controversial schtick if we can keep it that way.
The momentum of the match shifts back and forth and the crowd seems to be enjoying the opener. The Northern hits an elbow to the stomach, winding Savage. With Brian down on one knee the Sin City Saint bounds off the ropes and comes up from behind looking for the strong lariat.
Ken: Northern Lariat!
Elvis: Uh-oh, baby!
Ken: But that was a vicious German Suplex that Savage just used as a reversal!
Brian climbs to the top rope and shows off a bit for the crowd before jumping off with a swanton dive, followed but a last-second flipping leg drop.
Ken: Going Savage! He’s really in the driver’s seat now!
Elvis: What’s he, I say what's he doing now?
Savage is on his knees slamming the mat hard with both hands and screaming ‘Get up!’ at his opponent. Before long the whole crowd is chanting (and clapping) with him.
GET UP! GET UP! GET UP! GET UP! GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!
After a few seconds, Reed gets to his feet and turns around to face Savage who springs into action and absolutely plants Fairview into the mat with a Savage Driver, then quickly scrambles over for the pinfall, hooking the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING! DING! DING!
Savage is making a big scene in the ring, working the crowd as Reed gets up, the two men stare each other down in the ring as the audience gets quiet. Savage sticks out a hand for the handshake and Reed accepts. The crowd roars in approval. The Sin City Saint exits ringside, head held high as ‘Tom Sawyer’ explodes over the PA.
Ken: Excellent sophomore performance from the newcomer, Brian Savage.
Brian makes his way backstage, somewhat pleased with the performance. He reaches out and slaps five with a few fans reaching over the guardrail. He's not a household name yet, but at some point in the near future he's hoping to compile enough stock to become one.
After moving over toward the left side of the aisle, his vision becomes blurry. He misses a few hands. Savage points at a sign and then looks up at the EVO*View, seeing himself in a hazy state. He tries to take another step and make headway up the ramp, but collapses before taking an inclined step.
Ken: Oh My God! What happened?
Elvis: I think that doctor mighta been onto somethin, baby.
Ken: Someone needs to get some help out here. That doctor earlier was right and Savage should not have been cleared to wrestle this evening.
Elvis: Leave it to someone like Rodriguez to make him go through with it, even if Savage hadn't said whatever he said to the doctor.
Ken: I think this was strictly Savage manipulating the doctor to let him go on, despite the doctor's best wishes. I know the kid wants to make an impact, but risking your body the show after a concussion, and one of the most brutal ones at that, isn't the way to make yourself reputable around PWE.
Elvis: You make a valid point there, baby. You hate to see something like this happen.
Zebras and paramedics flock to the scene and surround Savage, asking him if he is alright and random questions to assure he knows where he is. He doesn't exactly pass with flying colors, mumbling out answers with 50 percent accuracy. Bernie Roberts flashes the X sign and a gurney is brought out.
Ken: That is one of the downfalls of this business, fans. These performers put their bodies on the line show in and show out to give the best product possible even if they aren't one hundred percent. I can guarantee, or at least I can hope, Brian Savage is not going to complete unless he is one hundred percent medically cleared to.
Elvis: Hope he's alright. Don't want to see a promising career go down the toilet so quickly.
No Heart
"Eric! Hey! Champ!"
He shouldn't be startled when his name is called out of the blue, but he is nonetheless. Stuck between the pomp/grandeur of being Universal Champion and prey being stalked from the shadows, the Citizen Truth can't afford not to be on edge given the size of the bullseye on his large back. To his relief, however, it's only Bob Catholic with mic in hand chasing him down and not a naked man with a samurai sword and a hard-on.
Bob Catholic: Get ready. You're on in five.
Eric Josten: Minutes?
Bob Catholic: Three...two...one...
Josten: Aw you son of a b-
Bob Catholic: Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm joined at this time by the Universal Champion, Eric Josten.
For once the mean look a wrestler adopts when they're being interviewed before a match was pure and not just put on for the camera. Realizing this was Catholic's revenge for the shove-off last week, the giant unbuckles his title and flops it over his shoulder, staring into the middle distance.
Bob Catholic: Eric, tonight's main event sees Blake Gold face R.W. Randolph. What are your thoughts on the match that could very well see you gain an advantage going into your upcoming title defense?
Josten: What do you want me to say that hasn't been said already? Rowdy William Kissenger Randolph Esquire, the Legend of Legends, is adamant he can beat me. He's got a screw loose if he thinks he can beat me. Maybe it should be him on the couch.
Bob Catholic: ...Kissenger?
Josten: Kissinger asses all the time acting like the goodie two-shoes super hero who has everything coming to him. Tell ya something for free, he's sure as hell got what's coming to him. You wait. Very soon, he'll have it coming to him alright, and it'll arrive on a gurney surrounded by EMTs.
Bob Catholic: And Blake Gold?
Josten: I don't know. Goddamnit, always with the questions. I spend so much time trying to figure that guy out that by the time I do I'll be three months removed from the All Star Weekend match and ready to face my opponent at Colossus for my Universal Title. I'm the Champion, Bobby. I'm the All Star. I am PWE. Now if you don't have any more dumb questions I'm gonna go be all I can be, 'kay? 'Kay.
The giant walks off leaving Catholic with the mic hanging in limbo. Barely a few yards away a figure turns the corner nearly colliding with him, and another sigh escapes the giant's lips after the initial fright.
Amerie Rodriguez: If it isn't the big bad... getting pretty fat wolf.
Josten: How you doing, Little Red Riding Hood.
The HBIC smirks off the reference and places a hand on Josten's arm, turning him around and leading him back up the hallway past Catholic, who motions for the camera to stick with the pair.
Rodriguez: I've been thinking, and God knows when I think the idea is usually spectacular. The Crowning Glory debacle left a sour taste in my mouth... Make a joke about that and you'll job to the White Trash Trucker.
Josten: You aren't helping your case here, bub.
Rodriguez: Let the two sweet teas I had kick in, then I'll be off and running. Anywho, you are getting off too light as we get closer to ASW, and tonight's Main Event probably has you giddier than TMZ if Charlie Sheen overdosed...
The Boss gives herself a chuckle and continues.
Rodriguez: So I'll make my point. Tonight's main event is going to involve you.
Josten: What? The hell it is.
Rodriguez: On the contrary Wolfenstein, you're not wrestling Randolph and BG. You're going to referee them.
Josten: WHAT?? I'm the Universal Champion goddamnit I don't need to-
The caffeine just kicked in.
Rodriguez: You backtalk me again and you really WILL job to the White Trash Trucker. I'm sure his number is stuck somewhere in an old Rolodex over at headquarters. Let me bottom line this since I've got about twenty places to be. If you can get through tonight with both of your opponents and not cause a riot, then we'll be making significant progress toward you being-
The Boss makes quotation gestures.
Rodriguez: -all that you can be.
Josten: ...You're a piece of work, you know that?
Rodriguez: That's what he said. Just put on the stripes tonight and we'll be peachy keen.
Before the Murder Show can reply Rodriguez slaps him on the back and totters off down the hall whistling a Sinatra tune, leaving the cameraman to pan in on a close-up of Josten shaking his head slowly side to side and sneering off into the distance, before gazing down at his title and sighing.
Derek Hardaway vs. 
Derek Hardaway made his way down the aisle, ready for yet another mystery opponent to come out the woodwork. He was ready for anything... except for Shawn Christopher.
SC rushed the ring, and exploded out the gate, taking the fight right to Hardaway. He unloaded with a flurry of rights and lefts, getting the crowd energized directly out of the gate.
Before Hardaway promptly shoved him backward, halfway across the ring, and charged across. He went for a clothesline, but SC ducked, and flipped backward, landing a Pele kick on the top of Hardaway's head. It didn't bring the big man down to his knees, but it teetered him enough for SC to spin around and land a step up enziguri that caused DH to grasp the ropes.
SC advanced forward and switched tactics, landing a European uppercut on the big man. It wasn't the hardest, but the blending of offenses definitely threw DH for a loop. A kick to the ribs got Derek spinning, while SC backed up to center ring, ran ahead, and leapt over the top rope with Dereks head in his hands. The Main Man went throat first across the top rope and backpedaled again.
SC quickly rebounded on the floor, flat foot jumping onto the apron, springboarding onto the top rope and arching his body back. It looked as if he could go for a shooting star press, but he changes direction and opts for a clothesline right on the button. The move has enough force to knock DH back into the ropes and tie his arms between the middle and top.
RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
With a mischievous grin on his face, SC walks over to Hardaway, looked down at him and mouths a few words of encouragement. The only word that can really be made out is "bruh" before SC unloads with a series of knife edges to the chest.
WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO! WOO!
DH is still caught in the ropes when Shawn pelts him with a right hand. DH tries kicking The Icon away, but has no luck. Shawn gets around on his right side and winds up, landing a roaring elbow to the helpless Hardaway. The Main Man takes the shot on the jaw and tries to maneuver his way out of the ropes. SC senses he could be close to achieving this goal and decides to make one final statement. Off the ropes far side, Shawn rushes back, leaps up, and lands a Shining Wizard that takes both competitors over the top rope and onto the floor.
Hardaway slumps back against the barricade and doesn't have time to register his whereabouts before getting popped by a right hand from SC. He gets another on the chin and is shoved away. Shawn catches him with a kick to the back of the hamstring before reaching up and pulling The Main Man down with a nasty bulldog across the steel stairs.
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Ken: The one place in the contest where we figured Hardaway could regain an advantage is now where Shawn is looking to continue his onslaught. He's not backing off Hardaway.
Elvis: I know it goes against the creed of Hardaway, but he might want to hightail it out of here. Shawn got the jump and brother hasn't let up since.
Ken: It's not in the DNA of Hardaway to give up or run away from a fight, unless he knows the circumstances are far beyond dire. I think he's going to stick this one out.
Elvis: He's possibly bankin' on Shawn making a critical mistake. In the time I've observed, he's done that on more than one instance.
But Shawn doesn't look to be in a botch mood tonight, winding off another knife edge chop to Hardaway after pulling him up. He even goes so far as to pull The Main Man into the ring by the hair and reach for a steel chair over by the timekeeper's table. He smacks his left hand into the seat and then rolls under the bottom rope.
Ken: Uh oh. Hardaway. This might be his one mistake. I don't think he ever had the intention of coming out here to wrestle Hardaway, but more like give him a taste of what he gave-
WHACK!
RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
In the midst of that arena wide scream, the bell was heard and the match was officially ruled a disqualification victory for Derek Hardaway. Although, Shawn doesn't seem to care. He winds up and brings the chair down across Hardaway a second time.
RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Ken: This was never about the wrestling for Shawn, even if Hardaway came out here and dominated, he was going to resort to this eventually.
WHACK!
Elvis: Hardaway is going to be the Hunchback of Notre Dame after Shawn is through with him.
Ken: I've never seen someone take it straight to Derek Hardaway like this. From the getgo, Shawn was out to prove that he's back and back in a big capacity.
WHACK!
Ken: And he continues to light up the back of Derek Hardaway with those vicious chair shots!
Elvis: Hardaway ain't gonna be risin up either, baby.
Ken: It doesn't look like it at this rate, and with Jacobs who knows where, I don't think anybody is going to come out here and help Hardaway.
Shawn moves the chair vertical and slams the top end of it into the ribs of Hardaway, who lets out a loud groan and rolls back to his back. Shawn observes the weakness, and doesn't let up. He walks around and delivers a pointed and accurate shot to the ribs again. Hardaway grunts and groans, crawling on his arms and legs over toward the ropes. He's trying to book it out of here before he gets seriously injured.
Ken: And I want to know how this feels for a bully like Hardaway to get beaten down in such a demeaning manner.
Elvis: Probably like he got blindsided in an alley fight.
A grazing shot to the back of the head impedes anymore of Hardaway's movements. The Icon violently slams the chair down and throws his arms up in the air.
"The S**t" blasts through the speakers while a few medical personnel reluctantly rush down the aisle to assist The Main Man. Shawn goes to a nearby turnbuckle and hops on the second rope, striking a hang loose gesture, getting the crowd even more pumped up.
Ric Tatum vs. Angelica James
Tatum and James started off eye to eye... well not literally. Then they started trading elbows, then arm drags, until they both went for a dropkick and a stalemate ensued.
Tatum then took control of the match after reversing a jawbreaker attempt. Ric kept control of the match, nearly ending it on two occasions. But the tide turned when Tatum set James up for a top rope suplex, and James fought back, until both went for a kick and knocked each other off the turnbuckle.
Both made it back in the ring before the ten count, and James was worse for ware. Tatum looked to capitalize, but James had a little left in the tank. She tried to fight back, but Tatum caught her with an exploder suplex into the turnbuckles.
Tatum waited for James to get to her feet, and he looked to finish her off with the Action Replay. He threw the lariat, but Angie ducked and caught Tatum with the Repentance. She followed it up with running up the ropes and nailing a shooting star press for the pinfall.
Winner: Angelica James
R.W. Randolph vs. Blake Gold
Will be added when received.
Winner: R.W. Randolph