PG-13
“Life in the Fast Lane” by the Eagles hits and the audience E-X-P-L-O-D-E-S!
Howley: Oh my God! That HAS to be one the biggest reactions I’ve heard here on Classic TV. Can’t ignore that one.
Moss: Yeah. I’m… what did you say? Seriously. This is ridiculous in all the right ways. Hahaha
But Vito? Oh man. He has a look behind his eyes that could put him on death row of looks could kill. His foul mood has been exacerbated by the bandage on his head that’s facilitated by medical tape. A gift from Shujin Yama at Classic Wrestling TV: Episode 17.
Howley: Why does Vito look like he wants to punt the cutest animal that pops up first in your mind?!
Moss: Possum. I don’t know why but that’s the first thing that popped into my mind there.
Howley: Are you serious? Do you realize how ugly and otherworldly those things look?
Moss: They’re just misunderstood and cute in their own way.
Howley: Like me!
Moss: Anyway. Vito does look pretty upset. And if anyone has forgotten why that might be? All they need to do is turn to the events that unfolded at Episode 17. Shujin Yama, the former Premier American Champion, as of Capital Clash, staked a claim, and perhaps a rightful one, at Vito’s Real World’s Championship. But he did it in a way that left Vito bloodied and on the floor.
Howley: Yeah, it was GREAT! Especially the part where Yama grabbed the Real World’s Championship and held it in the air! Take that METRO!!
With body language and facial expressions indicative of someone on the warpath, Vito makes a beeline for the ring as this show barely opens in earnest.
With a mic tucked into the waist band of his black Lucky Brand jeans, he pulls it out and… well, you might know what’s coming.
Vito Valentino: SHUUUUUUUUJIIIIIIIN!!!! YAAAAAAMAAA!!! Get your oversized ASS out of here right now!! ‘Cause we gonna do this my way. You crossed a line that ought not to be crossed last week, bub! You attacked me like a damn COWARD.
Metro turns to the camera real quick.
Vito Valentino: To all the parents out there watching with their youngins? I’mma apologize in advance ‘cause this baby’s gonna have some course language that might not be suitable for all ages. And it’s not comin’ from the heart of a role model. It’s comin’ from the heart of one pissed off Italian New Yorker.
The crowd pops for this.
Vito Valentino: And I hafta say, things might get a little violent tonight. So put my METROpolitan Kids to bed and spare them the brutal images you’re all about to see. Know what I mean?
Again, the audience lauds their hero with applause and hooping and hollering for wanting revenge on the evil Shujin Yama. A confrontation everyone has been waiting for since Episode One.
Vito Valentino: So I’m gonna say it again. One last time before I come back there and go lookin’ for your diaper wearin’, no good crusty friggin’ ASS!! COME ON YAMA!! COME GET YOUR RECEIPT YOU SON OF A B—H!!!
Despite Vito’s warning of the course language he was about to spit out, the crowd is 100% behind him. Identifying with a man who was attacked from behind by a giant bully, no doubt.
GONG!
The familiar sound rings out around the Classic Arena, as the Japanese National Anthem begins to play.
Howley: He’s here, Moss! This is about to get messy!
Moss: This is a powder keg waiting to explode! I have a feeling this is going to go south quick.
Out on the stage, steps Sensei Abe Lincoln, dressed in his trademark tuxedo and bowler hat. Above his head he flies the Japanese flag instantly drawing a chorus of BOOOOOOs from the Classic Fans.
But… there is no Shujin Yama.
Vito shouts down toward where Lincoln stands, still waving his flag high.
Sensei Abe Lincoln: I am here for receipts, Vito-San. But in true American way… taxes get added afterwards.
Vito Valentino: What the heck are you babbling about, Mr. Miyagi? I came here to fight! So you better get that big tub of lard out here in the next three seconds, or ol’ METRO is gonna have no choice but to take everything out on–
Vito picks up on movement before he finishes his sentence, but it’s too late. Shujin Yana railroads him from behind, bowling the Real World’s Champion over with his tremendous bulk. Vito flies across the ring, and desperately scrambles to his feet. But Yama is right there on him, unloading with a series of surprisingly quick open-hand slaps that backs the champ into the corner. Taking a few steps back, Yama then dashes forward, driving his hip right into Vito’s midsection and dropping METRO to the mat.
Moss: This is disgusting. Why would a damn 500lbs man need to attack a man he outweighs by more than 200lbs?! This is senseless! At least give the man, OUR champion, a fighting chance!!
Howley: Maybe Vito shouldn’t have run his mouth the way he did. I have every reason to believe Yama wanted to play this on the up and up.
Moss: Shut it, ‘Bird! There is NO excuse for this blatant disrespect!
With Vito turned over, Yama retreats to the corner where he begins measuring his target up for something devastating and absolutely world-ending. Lunging forward, Yama jumps for a Sumo-Sized leg drop…BUT VITO MOVES!!
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
Yama cringes at the landing of his butt meeting canvas, jarring his massive frame from the missed leg drop attempt. Vito is up again, where he removed the Real World’s Championship from his waist and places it in the corner. Vito then seizes an opportunity to grab at Yama’s legs for his Metro Avenue Deathlock.
Moss: No way!!!
Howley: No way is he going to get Yama in that.
The fans are losing their minds as Vito spits out some trash talk. He even throws his sunglasses right into Yama’s head! Grapevining Yama’s legs with great strength, Vito goes to turn him over when…
WHAM!!! SALT TO THE EYES FROM SENSEI ABE!!
Moss: NO!!!
Howley: YES!!
Vito is blinded by the salt, and drops to his knees as he quickly tries to wipe at his eyes. Yama is slowly getting to his feet, and Vito can sense it. Just as Yama approaches Vito, he turns around and NAILS him with some blinded southpaw shots that rock the gargantuan!
“RAAAAAAAAH!”
Still trying to wipe away the salt from his eyes, he gives Yama just enough of a window to throw a savate kick that sends Vito to the mat, at this point, the security team has EMPTIED from the locker room before either man disrupts the opening to this show any further than they already have. About ten security guars enter the ring, all backing Yama up into the corner of the ring, while a few surround Vito who is trying to get up after the stiff savate kick, now bleeding from the forehead as the impact from the savate kick tore open the stitches and washed away the bandage and adhesive.
But even so, maybe the ten security guards should’ve surrounded Vito because all of a sudden he’s up and yells out to the crowd.
Vito Valentino: YOU’RE ASS IS MINE, SHOOJ!!!
With rage quickly taking over, Vito grabs a bottle of water that a security guard has with him and splashes his eyes, emptying the rest of its contents over his bald head.
Moss: This is insane!! Wait, what’s he…
Without a moment’s notice, Vito runs to the opposite turnbuckles from where Yama is being held, and then charges full speed ahead, leaping halfway there and landing on all 10 security guards and Yama with a METRO splash!!
Howley: ASSAULT!! ASSAULT!! ASSAULT!!
The fans are eating every bit of this up as the security guards, all TEN of them, fall from the impact of the METRO Splash! Yama is still in the corner though, to which Vito motions for him to come at him.
Yama looks out at the fans who at this point are all solidly screaming for their Real World’s Champion.
“METRO! METRO! METRO!”
Yama acts like he’s going to go through the ropes when Sensei Abe acts like he’s going to come up from behind and deliver a low blow. But unfortunately for Abe, he’s not aware Yama has already begun charging like Bald Bull — Mike Tyson’s Punch Out! now available on the Nintendo Entertainment System — when Vito leap frogs the massive Yama, who then PLOWS through his own manager!
“OHHHHHHH!!!”
Moss: SENSEI ABE IS LAID OUT BY SHUJIN YAMA!!! WHAT IMPACT!!!
Several replays are shown from the accidental collision that rockets Sensei Abe to the corner turnbuckle and up and over the top rope. Yama, in shock that he did that, doesn’t have time to react to Vito spinning him around, going for a BODYSLAM!!
Vito scoops him up, but Yama proves to be too heavy and Vito falls back with Yama on top of him.
“BOOOOOOOO!!”
Moss: My God, what was Vito thinking trying to bodyslam Shujin Yama!?!
Howley: Adrenaline took over and made Vito even more stupid than he already is. Now can we get some level of CONTROL?! I’d like to have a proper opening for this show already!
Moss: Wait a minute, Yama is not done!
An equally incensed Shujin Yama grabs Vito’s hand and begins dragging him to the right corner turnbuckle closest to the aisle. The fans begin to freak out as Vito seems to be prone for the Banzai Drop.
Howley: Oh Vito’s about to have the worst day of his life!
Once again, Yama grabs the Real World’s Championship from the corner he dragged Vito to and raises it into the air!
But then he places it across Vito’s chest.
Moss: Oh no! Someone stop Shujin! He’s going to crush every one of Vito’s ribs!
Howley: But most importantly, his pink and black heart!! Hahaha!!
Vito’s spider-sense must’ve taken over, though, as he takes his championship, stands up from the mat, and BASHES Shujin across the back with it sending him down hard to the apron and then to the outside!
“RAAAAAAAH!!”
Vito is screaming and yelling all sorts of trash talk at Yuma as he falls to the outside amongst the security team and a still unmoving Sensei Abe.
Raising the Real World’s Championship into the air for the fans, “Life in the Fast Lane” by the Eagles starts to play as Vito ascends to the corner turnbuckle, feeling victorious in this impromptu FIGHT.
But even with his music playing, Vito, who wipes away the blood pouring out of his forehead from the earlier savate kick, snaps his Real World’s Championship over around his waist and charges full speed ahead towards the ropes. About three feet from the ropes, Vito leaps from the ring and no-hand dives OVER the top rope onto the sea of humanity on the outside of the ring!!
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”
Vito stands up from the bodies, and looks ahead at Shujin Yama, who has also stood up from the bodies.
MORE security guards empty from the back and rush the scene trying to separate Shujin Yama from the bleeding Vito Valentino.
“VITO! VITO! VITO!”
Moss: I’m at a loss for words!! These guys want to tear each other apart!! Vito with some measure of revenge this week, but Yama is still up and willing to try and rip apart Vito!! These two are on a collision course for absolute destruction!!
Unlucky In Love
The camera opens inside of a truck stop just outside of it’s showering area. The door to a stall kicks open, releasing lot lizards and steam into the air. As the steam clears,The Undercover Lover appears proudly tightening his trademark bathrobe.
“You might be asking yourself ‘why’s the Lover’s bathing at an off-ramp 18-wheeler hub?’ Well, to tell you the truth the Lover’s down on his luck because he just can’t get the rub. Zero wins means zero yens to line the Lover’s satin komono pockets. It feels like only yesterday that Lover’s career was taking off like a red rocket. Then something happened that turned the Lover from king to beggar. He lost to Bobby twice when bucking his six pack up to Dean’s mean kegger. It’s like ever since Lover came back from that toaster nearly turning him into a peg legger, he’s felt like he’s missed a step…like he’s become-“
Lover shakes off the notion as he whips his blonde mane around, as if washing the would-be rhyme out of his hair in the process. He makes his way out of the shower area and into the truck stop lobby. He peruses the different snacks on the counter as he pockets some change from the give a penny take a penny tray, all the while no one pays any mind to his half nude visage and petty theft antics.
“I’m saddened to report that around here the Lover’s become a reg ever since he was evicted from the hotel charging him an arm and leg. Lover couldn’t even manage to shack up with his main squeezes: Judy, Barb, or Meg. He’s been stranded at this truck stop living off of-“
Lover stops himself once more as a half empty glass jar of pickled eggs come into his line of sight. He begins to convulse violently as his eyes follow the floating ovals bobbing up and down in the brine. He snaps himself out of it, turning from the counter and clutching his chest as he tries to regain his composure before waving off the waking nightmare and heading for the wall refrigerators.
“Even Lover’s epic rhyming’s become stilted. I’m barely making it through this seg. Lover’s lack of rhythm’s left the ladies jilted. All they want to do is neg. Meanwhile good ol’ UL’s in limbo being haunted by-“
Lover catches glimpse of a packet of Oscar Meyer honey smoked selects out of the corner of his eye. He stops himself from fully turning to face it, as if they’ill magically dematerialize if he ignores their existence. He slams the fridge shut, trembling the tempered glass as he does so, grabs a sixer of warm Miller Banquets off of an aisle end cap and storms back to the counter with his robe wafting dangerously in the breeze. As he approaches the counter he drops the brewskis down and slaps the purloined pennies on the counter. He glances over his shoulder to find that the camera’s still filming. He turns, leans on his elbow against the counter while facing the camera reluctantly with a leer so intense it furrows the brow of his mask.
“I’m no ham and egger! I’m the Lover! Don’t forget! Just because the chips are down right now doesn’t mean I live in regret. So if you’re bawling your Susie Homemaker eyes out on your apron, don’t you fret! Because the Lover’s goin’ nowhere ‘til what he wants is what he gets. I’ve cut every corner to get attention, even attacked legends with a sock. If you believe I’m coming back looking for redemption, then your outlook’s a load of crock. I’ll be back shining in infamy’s limelight faster than Bobby Dean can inhale a leg of lamb. Photosynthesis will be my new diet regimen. Only losers live off eggs and ham! So I say this with no hyperbole, exaggeration, or oxymoron: whoever wants a piece of Lover has got the green light from this point hereon. As for now? We all know Lover’s no good to the ladies when he’s got his sneer on. So excuse The Lover while he heads out back with a six pack and gets his beer on.”
Lot lizards flank Lover at both sides and take a Banquet each and lead the Lover toward the front exit.
“Now unless he plans on cutting feed, hitting record and throwing on slow jams; might Lover suggest our cameraman throw back to the regularly scheduled program. OH HAVE MERCY!”
Jay Evans vs Desert Eagle
We are here at ringside for our opening contest of the evening, as Desert Eagle and Jay Evans are already in the ring!
Robbins: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to your opening contest scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, From Shreveport, Louisiana weighing in tonight at 217 pounds, he is the Money Maker…JAAAAY EVAAAANS!
The crowd jeers the newcomer, who brashly taunts them as a sign of disrespect.
Robbins: And his opponent, hailing from Washington, D.C. and weighing in tonight at 250 pounds, he is the Lone Star…DESERRRRT EEEEEAGLEEEE!
Desert Eagle flexes his patriotic muscles, drawing even louder jeers from the crowd who seem less than thrilled with his antics. With that, the ref calls for the bell to kick this match off!
DING! DING!
The two men lock up, with Eagle clearly taking the advantage as he slams Evans down to the canvas before flexing for the crowd, who boo him. Eagle pays them no mind as he goes back on the attack with some hard boots to show Evan just what American freedom feels like!
Moss: What a power play by Desert Eagle!
Howley: Looks like Evans is gonna have to figure out a new strategy, and quick!
Evans manages to get back to his feet eventually, fending off the might of the Eagle with a drop toe hold that brings him down to the canvas! Evans stays on the attack, looking to keep the Eagle grounded with some stomps of his own before hitting a leg drop! Evans with the cover…BUT EAGLE KICKS OUT BEFORE THE COUNT OF ONE!
Moss: Eagle kicking out of that with authority!
Howley: I’m tellin’ ya Money Maker, you really need to change your game plan here!
The thing about the distance from commentary to the ring, however, is that Evans is unable to hear Howley’s pleas as he runs the ropes, looking for a drop kick to the now-standing Eagle…who drops the Money Maker hard with a clothesline! Bringing the rapper back to his feet, the Lone Star calls for the end and locks his arms around the waist!
Moss: Oh my, he’s locked in that bearhug tight!
Howley: Desert Eagle has the right to Bear Arms, and he is exercising that right against the Money Maker here tonight!
Evans is fighting as hard as he can, but is overcome by the strength of those 25-inch anacondas as he starts to fade. The ref raises his arm, but Evans never responds before the ref calls for the bell!
DING! DING! DING!
Eagle drops the Money Maker down to the canvas as the ref raises his arm in victory.
Robbins: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner as a result of a submission, the Lone Star…DESERRRRT EEEEEEEEAGLEEEEEEE!
The crowd boos the Lone Star, who flexes despite their disapproval before we cut back to commentary.
Moss: What a win for the Desert Eagle here tonight, over Jay Evans!
Howley: Evans was looking to fight power with power and it cost him against the Lone Star!
Kicking It Off In Classic
Something appears to be wrong with the broadcast, as the beautiful crystal clear HD image is replaced by grainy, slightly undercranked footage of two men approaching each other from either side of a warm, white dojo. On the left, a fit blond man wearing a bright lime gi drops into a classic martial arts pose, his left foot and arm forward, with his right leg back and right arm close to his chest. On the right side a slightly taller man in a royal purple gi with brown hair adopts a deep squat, his hands held out flat as blades. Both men leap into the air, kicking and screaming “Hai-Ya!”
Roddy: “Fans of Classic Wrestling, I’m Ken Roddy, and the tall guy over there is my best friend, Joe Jitsu. We’ve traveled the world –
Jitsu: “The whole world!”
Roddy: – to become masters of all of the martial arts. Together we have vowed to use our mastery of these ancient ways only to do good – “
Jitsu: “So good!”
Roddy: “- and strike down evil wherever it dares show its wicked face.”
Ken’s enthusiastic smile drops as he addresses the audience at home.
Roddy: “Now Classic, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ve got a very bad case of the no-goods right now.”
Jitsu: “The worst!”
Roddy: “You have malicious magicians, awful Australians, and even horrendous homunculi!”
Jitsu: “Garish golems, Ken!”
Roddy: “It seems to us that there’s a lot of work to be done, and we’re just the men to do it.”
Both men flash bright smiles, when suddenly the screen fills with smoke! As it starts to dissipate, Ken and Joe find themselves surrounded by a half dozen black clad ninjas.
Joe Jitsu’s face drops.
Jitsu: “Not again!”
Both men fly into action, as we get tight shots of fists being thrown, chops being chopped, and kicks snapping onto the edges of the screen, matched with separate shots of ninjas energetically flipping head over heels and onto the floor of the dojo.
Ken and Joe survey the result of their efforts, preparing themselves to finish off their foes, when the image is replaced with a still frame with the text “Footage Missing”. It returns to our grainy heroes, their hair slightly askance but looking otherwise no worse for the wear.
Ken speaks with a forceful, booming voice.
Roddy: “That was an epic battle, friends -”
Jitsu: “SO EPIC!”
Roddy: “ – and that’s just the beginning. We’ll see you all in Classic Wrestling as soon as we can get there. Tell him who we are, Joe!”
Joe, clearly not bestowed with an indoor voice, exclaims for all the world.
Jitsu: “We’re The Black Belts!”
Both men leap into the air with flying thrust kicks, and then freeze in place, but we can still hear them scream their final battle cry.
Both: “HAI-YA!”
Larry Rockfield vs Eddie Spaghetti
The ever nervous Eddie Spaghetti stares across the ring at Larry Rockfield. The smirk on Larry’s face says everything. Not a worry in the world and couldn’t be bothered to even acknowledge his opponent. As the bell rings neither man moves forward. One because he’s timid and the other because he’s aware of that fact.
Howley: Now this right here is a rassler!
Moss: You’re right. He doesn’t look like much but Eddie…
Howley: No you dummy. Larry Rockfield!
No sooner than that, Larry bursts towards Eddie. He tries to avoid the hulking man rushing towards him, but can’t. He is crushed in the corner. Larry drives a shoulder into the midsection of Eddie, who bellows out in pain. Larry lifts up Eddie’s face with his hand and then back elbows him over and over again. The ref eventually steps in to break it up.
Moss: This One doesn’t look like it’s going to be pretty for Eddie.
Howley: Most certainly not. Larry looks like he’s on a mission right now.
Larry upset that the ref broke it up, shoves the ref aside and picks up Eddie for a body slam. Then begins to stomp on the exposed limbs of Eddie. Each stomp harder than the previous. Larry covers Eddie.
Moss: Thank god this is over.
Howley: Shucks I wanted more.
1!
2!
Larry picks up the head of Eddie to break the pin.
Howley: YES! YES! YES!
Larry stands Eddie upright and smacks him playfully on the cheek a few times. Dazed, Eddie throws a thumbs up, but is leveled to the mat by Larry before he even knew what hit him.
Moss: This is just uncalled for.
Howley: This is ENTERTAINMENT!
Eddie is out cold, but that doesn’t matter to Larry who picks up the lifeless body and smirks. The wobbly Eddie has no clue what is coming, but Larry most certainly does. As he lifts him up for….
Moss: Looks like he’s going for his
Howley: Reverse Piledriver!
With a sickening thud, Eddie’s head slams on the mat and his body goes limp.
Howley: Look at him. He looks like cooked spaghetti now.
Moss: I think he’s always looked like that, but your point is made.
Larry cockily pins the downed Eddie, not even hooking a leg.
1!
2!
3!
Robbins: The Winner of this match….
Howley: Via Dismantling…
Robbins: Via Pinfall…. LARRY ROCKFIELD!
Chaotic Wrestling
In the bowels of the Classic Wrestling Arena, we can see Holo Make sitting in a chair. A yellow incandescent light swings back and forth above him as he stares down at the floor.
Marty Murdoch vs Ricky Broadway
Once the bell rings Rick Broadway lunges after the smaller Marty Murdoch. Murdoch manages to roll out of the way. Broadway quickly spins around and goes for a lariat but Murdoch manages to lean backwards and duck out of the way. His face narrowly missed getting taken off.
Moss: This match is starting off quickly. Broadway is looking to decapitate the smaller Murdoch.
Howley: I don’t need to tell you how hard it is to kill a gnat. Them things are fast!
Moss: Are you saying Murdoch is a gnat?
Howley: Yes! He’s small. Annoying. And won’t stay out of my way!
Moss: Do you need a pest control service?
Howley: If it will get rid of Marty…. Maybe.
Marty regains his balance and runs off the ropes. Broadway turns and once again goes for a lariat. Marty slides under, stops his momentum and dropkicks the back of Broadway. Rick falls face first into the ropes and bounces backwards. Marty goes for a schoolboy pin.
1!
2!
Howley: Thank the good lord!
Moss: Broadway is able to kick out easily.
Howley: That’s what I just said…
Moss: That’s not what you said at all…
Broadway kicks out with authority. Marty pleads with the ref, but accepts that it was only a two count. Rick gets to his feet and locks up with Marty. The larger man pushes Marty into the ropes. The two of them spin on the ropes for a moment when Rick gets Marty into the corner. Rick goes for a back elbow but Marty ducks out of the way and shoves Rick into the corner. He begins to throw lefts and rights to the gut of Rick, but they aren’t doing much, until one stray slides up and connects with the chin of Rick. His head flings back as Marty continues with a few more shots to the head.
Howley: Look at him blatantly cheating!
Moss: Do you know what the rules are here?
Howley: Do you!?
Moss: Yes. And that was an open handed hit and is perfectly legal.
Howley: You would say that. All you little people stick together.
Moss: I’m…. We are not getting into this right now.
Marty whips Rick across the ring into the opposite corner. Marty runs towards him and leaps. Rick catches him in midair.
Moss: Looks like Broadway is going for a big slam.
Howley: Hold onto that lil guy tight! Blink and you’ll miss your shot.
Marty is ass over tea kettle when he begins to kick his legs. Rick begins to lose his balance as Marty slides down his back. Marty leaps up and elbows Rick in the back of the head. Then does it a second time.
Howley: This guy just can’t not cheat!
Moss: You’re a professional. Don’t use a double negative.
Howley: Cheating is cheating!
Moss: All legal.
Marty takes a few steps backwards and gets a running start before leaping into the air. Grabbing Rick by the back of the head and driving him face first into the mate.
Moss: A massive Bulldog in the middle of the ring. Looks like Rick might be out cold.
Howley: Dammit be blinked.
Moss: He sure did.
Surprised and shocked Marty shoves Rick onto his back and hooks both legs. Marty’s legs are doing everything they can to keep the larger Rick down.
1!
2!
3!
Robbins: The Winner of this Match Via Pinfall… MARTY MURDOCH!
A Noble Debut
The dapper Otto Price is alone at his podium and waiting for his cue. The Classic-Wrestling faithful have their eyes glued to that eventful corner of the auditorium.
Otto Price: Ladies and gentlemen please allow me to introduce the new addition to our Classic Wrestling family. He calls himself “the Excellence of Extroversion.” THIS…is Nick Noble…
Price opens up some space by stepping aside so that Nick Noble struts into the interview. Noble is impressively dressed in a perfectly fit starlight blue suit. He adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket. His fingers comb his brown, silky, curly hair. He centers a pair of sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. His smile is pearl white, and blinding.
There’s not much reaction from the crowd. They’re ignorant to the mythical Nick Noble, but that’s what this interview is for.
Otto Price: Mr. Noble – we welcome you to the greatest wrestling promotion this side of the Milky Way, and we are extremely happy to have someone of your caliber gracing our locker room.
Noble leans toward the microphone.
Nick Noble: The Price is RIGHT, Otto, and on God I must tell you that it feels DANG good to be with Classic Wrestling. When you think of the terms “professional” and “wrestling” then the promotion that should be shouted from atop the highest worldly peak should be this company’s name. Praise be to Classic Wrestling! You see, Otto, I’ve come a long way to be here. It’s been 25 years, 3 months, and 4 days since Momma Noble wrestled with the Gods and gave birth to the greatest gift this universe has ever seen. I came through the light and immediately put Doc in a headlock. I slapped the nurse, kissed her on the lips, and then wrapped my umbilical cord around my waist and dubbed thyself THE champion of all natural births. It’s been since that very moment that the world has been on notice. I’ve won every tournament I’ve participated in, and any championship I’ve fought for. I don’t do participation trophies, Otto; no siree. With that said, Otto, I deserve to be here, and I will be the greatest real world’s champion this sport has EVER seen. ON GOD.
Noble slaps his biceps, and laughs arrogantly.
Otto Price: Mr. Noble…
Nick leans back in for an interruption.
Nick Noble: Call me Nick. Mr. Noble is my father.
Otto Price: Excuse me. Nick, you’re well aware that Classic-Wrestling is filled to the brim with the greatest professional athletes in the world. You said it yourself that you are a born fighter, and you deserve to be here. We must know the answer to a question now that you’ve broken the ice. The fans in attendance and everyone watching at home needs to know: what does it mean to be the Excellence of Extroversion?
Noble takes a moment to reflect with a half smirk.
Nick Noble: What does it mean to be the Excellence of Extroversion?
He strokes his polished, shaved chin, as he contemplates. A lightbulb goes off, and Nick points at Otto, and then the crowd.
Nick Noble: I’ll tell you what it means to be the Excellence of Extroversion. Do you see what I see? Otto, my friends in attendance, and all my friends around the world, THIS is a fitted, excursionist, Peter Millar suit. Do you know how much these cost, Otto?
He gives Otto a brief moment to think of a price, but Nick interrupts.
Nick Noble: They’re expensive, Otto, and that’s the point. I’m a high dollar-collar poppin’-hollar from the mountain SON OF A GUN. My carry-on is a silver RIMOWA. I fly first class, I’ve got natural sass, and I’m often a pain in the a-you get the point. Do you see these Herme’s blaise loafers? POLISHED. Do you see this Hermes tie? It’s got a tiger on it, Otto. A TIGER. I won’t even go into an abnormal detail about how remarkably stunning my briefs are, or the amount of karats covering my entire body. I am a man of class, and distinction. Most importantly – I have a lot of fun while doing it, and so will everyone else. If this little segment of showmanship didn’t describe to you what it means for me to be what I am then let’s get down to BRASS TACKS. Let’s not get it confused. I want everyone in attendance to understand that I’m a man of the PEOPLE. With that being said…everyone is invited to my party. Extroverts and introverts alike!
Otto attempts to pull the microphone back for another question, but Nick continues.
Nick Noble: Now, imagine the party when I become THE GREATEST Real World’s Champion! It’ll be a celebration! FOR THE PEOPLE! MY PEOPLE! I’m not here for the sole selfish reason to win, win, and win. I’m also here as a representation of the American dream. I’m here to show each and every milk-chuggin youngster on the planet that they, too, can reach the apex level that I’m on. However, winning will be what I do because I don’t lose. They, too, can peel themselves from the leather desk chair and scale that mountain. They, too, can rid themselves of their distasteful culture to drip with designer fashion, be equipped with athleticism, and REEK of inconceivable confidence and motivation. I will be Classic-Wrestling’s epitome of what it means to be the best, the example of greatness, and the Wheaties representation of the Classic-Wrestling HERO. Because that’s my nature, and that’s my drive. That’s my birthright. ON GOD!
He tops that off with another signature arrogant cackle and then immediately exits the interview. Otto is left alone and watching the classic superstar strut away in a blaze of undeserved glory. Price turns to the camera.
Otto Price: Well, there you have it folks! Nick Noble, the Excellence of Extroversion, has arrived and his sights are set directly on what every Classic Wrestling superstar wants most: The Real Worlds Championship. Moss, Thunderbird, back to you!
Chick Grillbreast vs Derek Miracle – Weight Lifting Contest
We cut over to Otto Price who is standing at his podium.
Otto Price: Welcome back Classic Wrestling fans, right now we’ve got a special treat for all of you! What was originally a war of words, has become a war of the weights! We’re all set for the LIFT OFF between Derek Miracle and Chick Grillbreast! I’m going to head outside where we have everything set up, meanwhile here’s a quick reminder of how we got here!
The video cuts to a clip from last weeks show. We see Derek Miracle approach Chicks locker room, followed by the accusations and suspicions he would toss at Chick. An enraged Grillbreast is seen slamming lockers after Derek leaves.
We move back to the studio and we are in fact outside. It’s dark but there are spotlights covering an entire area that’s roped off in the parking lot. Outside about 3 dozen fans line the ropes, hoping to get some good views of the dudes!
Derek Miracle stands shirtless with sweatpants on. Using some kind of stretching device to work on his biceps. Flexing and pulling, he leaves many of the female fans smiling for his attention.
In the middle of the square is a couple sets of free weights along with one bench with a series of weights to be added. From the right side of the screen walks Chick Grillbreast. He’s wearing some very short shorts, and a muscle shirt that has supports thinner than a spaghetti strap shirt. Immediately he’s upset.
Grillbreast: This is it!? This is the best that Classic Wrestling could afford!?
OSV: HEY NOW!
Gruff Myers – Classic Wrestling Commissioner – walks in and puts his finger near the chest of Chick.
Gruff: Listen here! We’re not here to see who has the prettiest weight set….oh no! We’re here to determine who the stronger man is!
The fans around the square hoot and holler.
Gruff: In fact I don’t want any funny business going on. So i’m appointing a special judge for this contest… Thunderbird… Get on out here!
The fans all get very excited when their favorite legend moves into view. He flexes his own guns for the crowd to see as they oooh and ahhh. Gruff takes a step back and Thunderbird steps in between both men.
Howley: Alright gents! This is a classic Lift Off, you should already know the rules but just in case you’re thicker than last Sunday’s newspaper let me refresh ya. First off there will be no fighting. This is not a wrestling match! Secondly, in order for the rep to count, your arms must be fully extended. No bend in those elbows! Finally, let’s all remember, no matter what happens…THUNDERBIRD is the strongest man in Classic Wrestling!
The fans go nuts for the last one, as Chick shoots an angry look at the legend. Derek laughs it off.
Howley: Alright Chick you’re up first! This is one shot each. We’re not doing the best of three here! You can warm up with free weights if you’d like but the only one that counts is the bench!
Already pumping two large free weights Chick confidently tosses them aside. They clang loudly as they bounce off the pavement. Thunderbird checks the weights on each end of the bars to make sure they are secure and to count the weight.
Howley: We’ve racked up 300 lbs. Whoever is able to do the most reps is going to be declared our winner!
Chick lays down on the bench and Thunderbird spots for him. Check rolls his shoulders before getting his hands in place. Derek Miracle is slowly lifting some free weights while he watches on intently.
With a guttural growl, Chick slips the bar off it’s stand. Instantly both ends bend downward slightly. With deep breaths, Chick starts counting off the reps out loud.
Chick: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE!
After five his words turn to more of a whisper. Thunderbird starts counting out loud now.
Howley: SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!
Chick is starting to slow down. Each rep is taking a considerable amount of energy at this point.
Howley: ELEVEN! TWELVE! THIRTEEN! FOURTEEN…..FIFTEEN!
Chick reracks the bench bar and sits up quickly. All the blood in his head and neck have turned his face a bright red. With bloodshot eyes and flexing muscles, he screams out loud, letting the last of his testosterone (and a little spittle) fly.
Derek nods impressed before setting his mind to beating Chick. As Grillbreast moves, Miracle takes a seat on the bench before leaning back and straightening himself out.
Howley: Alright, we ready to go?
With a confident nod Derek gets his set underway. He pumps his arms up and down furiously. His pace is slightly faster than that of Chick Grillbreast.
Howley: FOUR! FIVE! SIX!
Derek Miracle doesn’t appear to be slowing, Chick slowly moves from having his arms crossed over his chest to being surprised. After three more reps, he starts to worry.
Howley: EIGHT! NINE! TEN!
Derek slows down a bit, but is still pumping the weights up while controlling his breathing. He closes his eyes and begins to to push with everything he’s got.
Howley: TWELVE! THIRTEEEN! FOURTEEN!
Derek brings the bar down across his chest and with a heavy heave, he’s able to get it up again.
Howley: FIFTEEN! THATS A TIE! ONE MORE AND YOU WIN DEREK!
Chick meanwhile looks panicked. He tries to argue with Thunderbird about one of the reps not counting. No Dice.
Howley: C’mon you can do it….
The crowd starts chanting loudly… DEREK! DEREK! DEREK!
He feeds off of them and begins to push the bar up off his chest.
Howley: SIXT…HEY!
Chick Grillbreast pushes Thunderbird aside and presses down on the bar with all his weight. Is moves back down against the chest of Derek Miracle. Precariously close to his neck! The fans boo loudly. One has to be restrained from jumping over the roped-off area.
The two men struggle mightily with the bar. Miracle trying to get it off of him, and Grillbreast trying to take out his opponent in this contest.
Finally Thunderbird is able to pry Grillbreast off of Miracle and help him set the bar back up. Thunderbird immediately tries to check on Derek and make sure he’s ok. With Joel’s help, he’s able to sit up and get his breathing back to a normal pace.
WHAM!
From out of nowhere comes Chick Grillbreast. This time he’s got one of the freeweights and uses it to crack Derek Miracle in the back. Miracle falls forward off the bench and onto his stomach on the ground. Grillbreast throws the free weight away and begins to rain stomps down on Derek Miracle.
Grillbreast: I’m bigger than you and you know it!
Thunderbird back up and in for the save, he’s able to grab Grillbreast around the waist and pull him off of Miracle long enough for Security to swarm the scene and break everyone up. Commissioner Gruff Myers is out there coordinating and directing orders.
We fade out as the chaos ends.
Scott Hunter vs Bobby Dean
We’re back at ringside as we see Bobby Dean and Scott Hunter ready and raring to go!
Moss: Boy howdy are we in for a treat now, folks! Bobby Dean takes on Scott Hunter after quite the war of words this past week!
Howley: I got all my money on Scott Hunter, Pat! I’m gonna be a rich man!
Moss: Howley, we don’t condone gambling here in Classic Wrestling!
Howley: It was a metaphor, Moss!
Robbins: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Miami, Florida weighing in tonight at 245 pounds, he is…SCOTT HUNTERRRRRR!
The crowd shows a good deal of appreciation for Hunter, who continues to warm up for the match to come.
Robbins: And his opponent, coming to us tonight from the Third Stall on the Right by way of the Nearest Men’s Room, weighing in at a whopping 369…and a half pounds…BEAUTIFUL! BOBBY! DEEEEEEEEEAN!
An appropriately proportioned pop from the crowd for Bobby Dean, who is being cheered on from ringside by Lunchbox Larry as the ref calls for the bell to start the match!
DING! DING!
We kick things off with Hunter clearly looking for some sort of advantage over the sheer girth of the Beautiful One, dodging a wide right hand by Dean to go right to work on the legs! A swift kick here and there does the trick, as Dean drops to a knee to take a breather.
Moss: Bobby Dean already looking a little worse for wear after the early goings!
Howley: Don’t say that, Pat! I’m sure he’s got plenty of gas in the tank…
Howley’s statement is interrupted by the sound of a loud crash as Hunter takes Dean down hard with a kick to the head!
Howley: …Like I said, I think Bobby’s starting to look a little gassed tonight! Go get ‘em, Scotty!
Hunter stays on the prowl, attacking hard and fast with several more stomps focused on the legs of the big man, who slowly but surely gets back to his feet. Bobby stares Hunter down as he charges at him, but Hunter is able to evade the attack…using Bobby’s own momentum against him, as the Beautiful One collides with the turnbuckle!
Moss: Oh my, and down goes Bobby after that!
Howley: Hunter’s softening the big man up looking for that Figure Four Leglock!
Sure enough, Hunter goes right back after the legs, stomping the knee as before looking to lock in the dreaded submission hold…but Bobby manages to kick Scott away, sending him reeling toward the ropes in the process!
Moss: Uh oh, looks like Bobby’s turning things around!
Howley: You love to see it, Pat…unless you’re a gambling man, in which case you hate to see it!
Bobby is once again slowly building to a vertical base as Hunter goes back on the attack…but Bobby sends him up and over with a back body drop! He’s breathing awful heavy now, and you know what that means! Hunter is down on the canvas, turning onto his back to get up…but Bobby runs the ropes—well, sorta—and catches Hunter with a seated splash, pinning Scott to the canvas like a technical work of art!
Moss: Earthquake Splash!
Howley: Is this it!?
The ref makes the count and the crowd counts along with it!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Bobby slowly gets back to his feet as the ref calls for the bell!
Robbins: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner…BEAUTIFUL! BOBBY! DEEEEEEEEEAN!
The ref raises Bobby’s arm in victory as Scott rolls out of the ring, still feeing the effect of that Earthquake Splash as we cut to commentary.
Moss: What a win for Bobby Dean tonight, coming up against a very game Hunter in a close encounter!
Howley: Big victory for Bobby for sure, and you gotta wonder where Scott Hunter is gonna go from here!
Mikey Doesn’t Like It
The Classic Wrestling studio lights dim and the opening chords of “Train of Consequences” play, bringing out “All Business” Alex Bruder in dark jeans and an extra tight maroon t-shirt.
Moss: Alex Bruder is heading to the ring, a microphone in his hand. He’s normally a very restrained man, but he has been practically strutting around the locker room since his DQ victory over “Feral” Freddy Kilgore at Capital Clash.
Howley: The man is due some bragging. He didn’t just win the match, he survived an attempted mauling via high heel!
Moss: He brought the shoe into the match! What ever happened to reaping what you sow?
Howley: I would never speak poorly of our officiating crew, Moss. But they can’t call what they don’t see.
The lights come up again, and rather than heading into the ring, Alex circles it, until he finds himself face to face with the President of the Freddy Kilgore fanclub, Mikey Collins and his slightly chubby, balding dad, both in matching Kilgore face paint. He’s already smiling as he brings the microphone to his face, and waits out the boos of the crowd.
Bruder: Look at you two, with your cute little painted faces. Did you see what happened at Capital Clash, buddy? Your hero, the King of the Jungle, the Apex Predator, “Feral” Freddy Kilgore, he squared up with me in the ring. He took my measure, and I took his, and when he looked into his untamed heart, he learned something, kid.
Mikey mean mugs Alex Bruder.
Bruder: He learned he didn’t measure up. But instead of quitting, like a man of honor would, instead of walking out of the ring and taking the loss, he went low. He cracked me across my forehead with his woman’s shoe. Not so much the Call of the Wild as the Call of the High Heel.
Alex pauses briefly, waiting for a laugh that the audience does not give him. Mikey’s steely resolve in his face is waning, however.
Bruder: How’d that make you feel, kid, huh? Seeing your hero look to the crowd to tell him what to do? That he didn’t have the strength of his own convictions to “do the right thing”? To see him buckle under the peer pressure and blood lust of an arena full of Classic Wrestling fans, rather than holding firm and powering through within the boundaries of the rules? Knowing that your hero is such a low life cheat that pond scum looks down on him?
Mikey’s lower lip starts trembling. Despite his robust and well documented health, tears start welling in his eyes.
Bruder: Freddy had a choice: do the right thing, or take the easy way out. You saw his choice.
Little Mikey Collins, with tears now streaming down his face, balls up his fists and starts swinging over the barricade!
Moss: No call for that. No call for that at all.
Howley: For once I agree with you, Moss. His dad really needs to get control of that kid!
Moss: That’s not at all what I meant….Mikey’s father is now shouting at Bruder, and I hope security can get these fans settled.
Bruder’s smile drops, and he pulls out his wallet, extracting five crisp hundred dollar bills. He waves them in front of the agitated father’s face, and then steps away to set them on the ring apron, before coming back with the microphone.
Bruder: You want to take a shot at me because Kilgore broke your kid’s heart? I’m a professional, I don’t punk out amateurs. But you want to spar, you pick that money up and get in the ring.
Moss: Of course he pulls this sort of stunt on a day when Freddy Kilgore isn’t even here! I don’t see any way in which taking him up on this offer would be a good idea.
Howley: You’re talking $500, Moss! That’s more money than I made for my first match.
Setting down the microphone with the timekeeper, Bruder goes into the ring and strips off his t-shirt. The father looks at his sobbing child, and then looks around to the people seated around him, many of them encouraging him to stand up for his boy. After a little bit of hesitation, he gingerly climbs over the barricade, walks over to the money, and stuffs it in his right front pocket. After another moment of hesitation, the man clearly more accustomed to desk and a sofa than combat sports climbs up onto the apron, and awkwardly steps between the ropes, finding himself mere feet away from the man who thought it might be fun to taunt his son and make him cry. Despite his portly shape and silly reproduction of Freddy Kilgore’s face paint, he screams gutturally and charges at Alex Bruder!
Bruder side steps and trips him with a drop toe hold, before rolling him onto his back, yanking up his XL “Papa Wild Thang” t-shirt and delivering rapid fire slaps to his pale gut.
Howley: That went about how I would have thought. Maybe slightly better.
Moss: Bruder is pink bellying his opponent. Not sure we’ve seen that inside a Classic ring before.
Flustered, the older Collins rolls over and clambers to his feet, but is met with a kneelift to his bread basket. Bruder grabs his left wrist, and swiftly locks in the Cobra Clutch.
Moss: This man is fading fast here. He never should have stepped in the ring. Fans, please, no matter how much the wrestlers tell you that it’s going to be okay, never cross the barricades!
Bruder sneers as he stares out of the ring towards little Mikey, stunned, puffy eyed and seemingly all cried out. The camera zooms in close on Bruder, and is able to pick up his voice as he yells at the child.
Bruder: Everybody learns someday, kid. Ain’t no such thing as heroes.
He finally releases the hold, shoving the man forward and letting him collapse to the mat. The crowd boos as Alex Bruder exits the ring and makes his way behind the curtain.
Premier American Championship: Holo Make vs King Kong Frank ©
Ringside we see Holo Make stretching on the ropes with his enormous frame. King Kong Frank marches around the ring in circles. His large USA flag waving as he goes. Nearby fans shout out the occasional HUSS at him before he rolls into the ring with his Championship around his waist.
Moss: We’re getting a slightly different Frank these days huh Thunderbird!?
Howley: Well he’s not risking life, limb, and insurance claims right now so I’d say that’s an improvement!
Moss: Right you are!
Frank stands in his corner bouncing off each foot ready for a fight. Holo stands tall, unmoved watching his wild opponent carefully.
Robbins: Ladies and Gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for one fall with a 20 minute time limit. It is for the PREMIER AMERICAN CHAMPIONSHIP! In this corner…
The people get angry and wish poor things for Holo Make and the waves he’s made in Classic Wrestling.
Robbins: Weighing in at 374 pounds… he hails from A Lost Island in the Pacific! He is the challengerrrrrr… This is HOLO MAKE!
Booing ensues as the Islander makes his presence known.
Robbins: And his opponent… he hails from The Great Smokey Mountains… weighing in at 295 pounds… He is the PREMIER AMERICAN CHAMPION! This is KING KONG FRANK!
The crowd erupts into cheers as the wildman stares wide eyed around the studio. He can’t believe the reaction he’s getting here. After soaking it in a bit, he turns back to Holo.
The bell rings and neither man moves right away, in fact they nod at one another.
Moss: That’s about as close to a handshake as we’re going to see from these two monsters!
Howley: That’s a combined 669 Pounds in that ring… BETWEEN TWO MEN! Outrageous!
Moss: Classic Wrestling is home to many giants in this sport, and here are two fine specimens!
Both men march out and meet in the middle, 6’9” vs 6’8” are nearly nose to nose. These two alone is a site in and of itself.
Moss: and remember this isn’t the first time these two met!
Howley: Oh I bet Frank remembers, he didn’t come out on top that night, that’s got to be sitting in the back of his head.
Suddenly Frank lets loose a toe curtling scream and lets out a barrage of haymakers on the big pacific islander! Left after right after left after right. Holo at first is unmoved, but as the blows keep coming he can’t help but reel. He lumbers towards the ropes, Frank runs after him but it’s Holo who dumps him over the top rope and to the outside floor.
Moss: That’s no man’s land down there, especially with these two.
Howley: I think Frank lives in No Man’s Land!
Holo steps out onto the apron and raises both arms high into the air. He leaps down with a double ax handle smash on the back of Frank. He sprawls once more.
Moss: Make is not content! He’s picking Frank up and looking around! What’s he going to do? Chip Newman inside the ring is counting. Make goes to send Frank back first into the ring apron but Frank is able to reverse it and Holo is the one who eats the hardest part of the ring!
Frank wastes no time and lifts up Make and rolls him back in. He HUSSES back onto the apron and steps through the ropes. When he gets there he steps up onto the first turnbuckle backwards and dives at Make with an elevated stomp.
Howley: I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that move before!
Moss: Give a wild man like Frank any object, I’m sure he’ll figure out a way to jump off it!
Frank guides Holo to his feet before a big right hand to the mush. The fans “ooooo” at the contact. Holo turns away and then back. Frank smacks him again. Holo does the same but turns back faster this time. Frank doesn’t hesitate, he strikes again. Then quickly follows it with a kick to the gut. He grabs Make by the long hair and slams him headfirst into the turnbuckle…. Then again… Then again…
Moss: Don’t look now Thunderbird, but it seems every one of those head strikes is actually WAKING Holo up!
Howley: It’s a tale as old as time Moss! Never go for the head of a pacific islander, they got heads harder than coconuts!
On the third turnbuckle smash Make’s eyes go wide and turns to Frank in full hulking manner. For a split second even Frank backs up from the impressive display. He goes to punch Holo in the head but Make grabs his fist. He unleashes a headbutt that sends King Kong Frank halfway across the ring. Everyone of the fans stand on contact.
Frank, either too tough, or too dumb to stay down gets up again, his knees shaking a bit from the big headshot. He turns and Make unleashes another one that connects flush. Both men crumble, but Holo lands on top.
Chip slides into position.
ONE!
TWO!
Moss: We’ve got a new… KICKOUT!
The fans let out a collective breath as they all suddenly realize they’ve been holding it in. They cheer out of respect for both men.
Howley: He’s going to have a headache for a few weeks.
Slowly they get to their feet. Holo uses the ropes. Frank on all fours, works his way up.
Howley: Both men have thrown one hundred percent behind every strike. Like two heavyweight boxers the longer this goes, the slower they both get. They know the time to strike is now!
Moss: That’s…that’s surprisingly insightful Thunderbird!
Howley: I used to do this you know.
Holo sees Frank turn around and starts to run at him. He abandons the Heabutt when Frank sees him coming and instead runs past him. He hits the ropes and comes back at the Champion as fast as he can.
Moss: Holo dives! He’s aiming the chest of Frank!
Franks eyes go wide as Make takes flight. His 6’9” Frame glides through the air. The fans stand up….
..Just as Frank gets his Smokey Mountain Spike into the neck of Make in mid air.
Make crashes and Frank makes the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The bell is rung and Ted Nugent serenades the Classic Wrestling studio!
Robbins: Ladies and Gentlemen, Your winner by pinfall… AND STILL PREMIER AMERICAN CHAMPION! KING KONG FRANK!
Frank rolls off Make as the referee hands him the championship. He gazes at the lights before standing up. He leans over and pats Holo on the chest as a sign of respect. He then holds the Premier American Championship high into the air and letting the fans soak in the moment. He then grabs a strap on one end and swings it wildly around the ring.
Moss: King Kong Frank retains on a big night for Classic Wrestling!
Howley: Hard hitting action here on RBTV as always! I can’t wait for next week already!
Moss: Well for my tag team partner Joel “Thunderbird” Howley, I’m Patrick Moss, we’ll catch you next time, right here on RBTV!
The scene fades to the fans all HUSSING along with Frank, including a couple of kids in the front row wearing Frank’s branded T shirts.