WIRE INDEX...

#1: Mr. Faith
#2: Rasta Farian
#3: Alan Soriano
#4: Luke Bolean
#5: Brian J. Blottie
#6: Rasta Farian
#7: The Mystery Man
#8: Dudley Do Wrong
#9: The Revenger
#10: Red Leaf
#11: The Flying Scotsman
==
==
MR. FAITH

[The camera crew is driving along a basically deserted road in Baltimore.
On the left and right of the road are dark green and balck woodsy type
areas and the only sign of civalazation is a man in a hooded sweatshirt
and shorts is running down the road. The NACW van pulls up along side of
the man and it is none other than Mr. Faith. He looks like he has been
training very hard for the rumble and his shirt is covered with sweat]

NACW reporter: Mr. Faith sorry to disturb your run but have you read the
latest roleplays yet?

Mr. Faith: No, I haven't I have been running around Baltimore training
for the past three hours. What is the problem?

Reporter: Well Obediah has answered your challenge of having an anything
goes type match and he says he wants a crimson rain match as soon as the
rumble is over. What is your response to that?

MR. Faith:[A smile creeps over the sweaty and exhausted face of Mr.
Faith] A Crimson Rain match. HMMMMMMMMM. I think that can be arranged But
my does he tempt me to annihalate him in such a match. I am already going
to win this rooki rumble, why does he want to end his career in the NACW
so soon at my hands. I don't think this amishmen is ready for what I can
do. Yes he did beat me but I was not reasy for that mtch and I put no
effort in training or any prepartion in that match. This rumble will be
an example of the true power that I hold and I will unleash it on the
petty fools that dare enter the ring with me. I will have a field day
with these men. I am ready for any type of assault that these men have
planned for me.[He takes a second to catch his breath] I feel that this
rumble will be a proving ground for me to show what type of talent Shawn
Coats has brought in with me and what a force I am in the ring. This
match should not be taken lightly be any of the comers because when that
bell sounds, it doesn't just sound the beginning of the match it sounds
the beginning of the end of their lives as I, Mr. Faith shall seek
vengeance on those who oppose me in that ring! He who dares to take a
swing at me shall feel the wrath of my power the Holy Driver! When I
hoist you up and your head slams against that mat the last thing on your
mind should be did I just lose the rumble it should be can I move my arms
and legs. I am prepared to take on all of the participants from Obedaih
to Bob Booreng. I will destroy the opposition and I will take care of
Obediah during our crimson rain match and I my name will be known to all!
My Crimson rain match will not be much of a wrestling match. It will not
be a match for the light-hearted because every single drop of blood that
is in Obediah's body will be used as a sacrific to God himself and he
will be sorry he ever heard of the name Faith. I swear to each and every
man in that rumble make sure you really want to go into that rumble
because if you have the slightest fear than run because I will judge
every one of you and my punishment will on you will be swift, painful and
never forgotten!

[He takes the hood of his sweat shirt and covers his head with it and
runs off into the distance as the screen fades to black]
==
==
RASTA FARIAN

(The camera slowly focuses in on a lonely Jamaican, sitting on a bench at
the end of a pier in Kingston, Jamaica.  In Rasta's hands are a fishing
pole, and a small poster that says "WE WANT YOU FOR THE NACW!!!".  Rasta
is looking at both, deep in thought. A parrot is singing Bob Marley songs
in the background.)

(An NACW reporter slowly aproaches with his cameraman)

reporter:  Excuse me, are you , um (searches through the pockets in his
shorts, finding a small piece of paper), Rasta Farian?

Rasta Farian:  Ya mon, whatcha want?

reporter:I've been sent here to bring you to the NACW headquarters for
offical entrance in to the fed!

Rasta: Finally, a way to get off this damned island......what do I gotta
do, mon?

reporter:It seems that your first match is the rookie rumble II..........

Rasta: Fine, mon.  Since I was born on this island, 'dere was only t'ree
t'ings 'dat de Rasta mon could do, fishing, fighting, and fu.....

(reporter quickly interrupts): Rasta, not in front of the kids!

Rasta: Whatever you say, mon.  ( catches a fish from out of the water) If
I gotta fight to get off this island, den dat's what I'm gonna do, mon. (
He throws the fish and the pole into the water).  I'm ready, where to I
got to go, mon? 

reporter: Vancouver, Bristish Columbia.

Rasta: I'm right dere with you, and I'm gonna turns some heads doing it,
mon.  The immortal knowledge through the songs of Bob Marley and my
parrot, Ziggy, will guide me on my way........

reporter:  I sure hope so........

(camera fades out)   
==
==
ALAN SORIANO

(The scene fades into a training gym in San Diego, California...A group
of young wrestlers, all wearing their warmup outfits, stands at the front
door just inside of the gym...A few look out the side windows, and then
one light heavyweight youngster  with green tights runs to the others...)

Guy: HERE HE COMES! 

(About 25-30 youngsters who are here at the Jake Jensen Memorial Training
Facility For Wrestlers, also known as The Pit, wait anxiously for
someones arrival...The  double doors swing open, and a loud cheer is
heard as Alan Soriano enters with his sparring partner and head trainer
of the facility, Trenton Smith{Johnny Blaze for those who remember
him}...Alan enters wearing an Adidas windbreaker, striped pull away
pants, and a backwards Metallica hat, along with a pair of Oakley
shades...He carries on one shoulder a workout bag, and on the other, the
coveted NACW Worlds Title...Alan walks in to a heros welcome..He recieves
and gives many hugs from the young wrestlers there, and receives
handshakes and hugs from guys who work there, distinguished by their "THE
PIT" tanktops...Paul Zachary{aka Tremor..Remember him?}comes up and lays
a big bear hug on his friend...Erick Madrigal shakes his hand and
smiles..Both have on their staff tank tops: Madrigal the weight coach and
Zachary, if you can believe it, the DIET coach...{Ever since leaving
wrestling, Zachary went from 565 to 381, and has become an expert on
diet}..After all the hooplah dies down, Ross Howard comes out of the
crowd, in workout clothes himself, sporting a nifty NACW logo'ed Teal and
Black sweatsuit...He shakes hands with Alan and holds a mic up to him...)

Alan: Hey Ross: I thought you wanted to work out...Nobody said anything
about an interview, man..

Ross:(Embarrassed) Well..I..

Alan: Ross..Come on, when have I EVER rejected an interview, huh? HUH?!!!

(Both men laugh...Howard carries the mobile mic around as Soriano goes to
a table to set his stuff down and get ready to workout...)

Ross: So Alan, how are you enjoying your fame thus far?

Alan: (Removing hat and sunglasses and setting them on the table..) Well
Ross, its amazing how many people have come out of the woodwork to
congratulate me on this win. I mean, just yesterday, a representative of 
Un Interesting Wrestling calls me up..

Ross: And...?

Alan: And what? I have caller id...I blocked the mother fucking
call!!!..That bitch ass always thought of me as a mid carder, and now
that I am a success, he wants a piece of the action...Well, I am not
gonna have any of that! And you know who I heard from?

Ross: Whom?

Alan: Jack Daniels..His real name is Brandon Bayles...He called to
congratulate me as well...I accepted his call, just outta pure
curiosity...

Ross: And?

Alan:(Removing his windbreaker to reveal a tight black tanktop) Well, the
guy needs money to get more booze...After Myakka, nobody ever wanted the
sunuva bitch...And I guess Coats doesent pay him enough to arrive to the
ring drunk..He wanted to know if I had any odd jobs...I told him he could
do one odd job and that was to lose to Guapo Miguel. Now, that is an odd
job if I ever heard of it...

(Both men laugh)

Alan: Just kidding, Guapo man. Hes gonna be here in about an hour or so
to visit with Paul about his diet...

(Alan pulls away the pants to reveal a pair of long black wrestling
tights..They are faded, and you can barely make out the "A-Dawg" in white
lettering down one side..)

Ross: But in all seriousness, besides the humor..How do you like success?

Alan: Frankly Ross, I dont think its gonna change me..Dont get me wrong,
I am so stoked to have this belt, you cannot believe it. But, I have to
watch myself. That I keep myself in prime condition. I think its harder
when you are a champion, because now the best of the best will be gunning
after you. Great example is Saturday...

(Alan starts to walk over to some weight scales on the wall...He weighs
himself on one of them...)

Alan: 255...Awesome!

(A smile crosses his face..He walks towards the facilitys centerpiece,
the wrestling ring...Ross walks beside him holding the mic...)

Alan: Now, Shaun McWhirter..Havent heard from you in a while, man. Been
havin a bit too much of the ol' Scottish Whiskey there me laddie? Well,
in any case, all kidding aside, you are a great fighter, and worthy of
this title shot. But Shaun, let me tell you about something I call post
win letdown. Some guys win a belt and think "Life is Great!" and don't do
a lick anymore after that...And, the next challenge they are faced with,
they get pummuled into meat by some up and comer who just flat out worked
harder than they did....Well, Shaun, Im sorry my Scottish friend, but
that just ain't gonna happen this Saturday...Excuse me for a second
Ross...

(Alan reaches the ring and enters...Trenton SMith steps in...)

Trenton: Who wants to step in with the champ?

(A youngster, the light heavyweight who was mentioned earlier, steps
in...Alan steps up and shakes his hand...)

Alan: ALlright kid, lets go..

(Trenton calls for the bell, and Zachary rings it at ringside....The
young man dances around..Then locks up...He gets thrown into the ropes by
Alan, then lands a nice dropkick....ALan gets up, dusts off...)

Alan: Very quick I must say...

(The young man looks scared...Then the lockup and the young man nails a
bodyslam...Alan stays down for a considerable ammount of time to the
shock of all in the area..)

Ross: Gee..is he..hurt?

(Trenton checks on the World Champion, who is seen winking as the
youngster hapilly climbs onto the top turnbuckle...Trenton smiles and
starts a count...The youngster turns and attempts a moonsault...Alan
easily moves, and then quickly turns the kid over and hooks the rookie in
his Triple F leglock....The kid taps immediately...Alan smiles as he
pulls the young man up..)

Alan: Dont feel bad, kid...But remember..A MATCH CAN CHANGE AT ANY
TIME...Keep
wary...Okay?

(The young man leaves the ring, as does Alan..He rejoins Ross...)

Ross: What happened? Looked a bit rusty...

Alan: Nah Ross...It was all to show the kid...I do this about 25 times a
day...It keeps me in shape, and keeps me quick...Now, McWhirter is more
skilled than this youngster, but the point is that I dont see McWhirter
doing anything to keep in shape...Shaun, my advice to you man, is that
you better get in shape, or Ill make you wish you never took this shot...

Ross: Finally, before we cut off, any last words?

Alan: NACW, the revolution has begun...And, mark my words, as long as I
am champion, it will continue...First, with McWhirter, and then with
anyone else who dare step in...The time of the ANnihilator is here...See
you Sunday, Shaun...

(The scene fades to black as Alan heads over to a table to show all the
young wrestlers the one, the only, NACW World title....WIth the promise
they might hold it one day...Alan used to be one of these kids...Now, hes
champion...Makes you think, dont it?)
==
==
LUKE BOLEAN

        [ Fade In... ]

[ We open up to a scene outside a chapel, somewhere in Fresno, CA. The
weather is good, but there is still a slight hint of cold in the air. The
trees are just coming into bud, and there are lines of them along side
each side of the chapel. The chapel itself is made out of dark grey
stone, and we are looking at the front door. There are 2 benches, one on
either side of the big, brown, iron studded door. A few birds are flying
about over the roof of the chapel. We see a man walk in front of the
camera. This man is dressed in suit. The suit is black, and so are the
pants. We can see a white collar over the jacket's collar. The man walks
closer to the chapel, and stops. He turns round, and we see that it is
'The Stylist' Luke Bolean. He has shaven since yesterday, when we last
saw him. His hair has also been cut. Bolean has a look of concentration
on his face. He looks at the Camera and Begins to speak. ]

[ Luke Bolean ] - Yes. That is just one word in the English dictonary, in
a compilation of thousands upon thousands of words. I can relate to that
one solarity word. The word that is 'yes'. I can because I am just a drop
in the ocean. 2 ocean's at that. The ocean of wrestlers, and the ocean of
people. We can dismiss people on the ground that everybody is one of
those. Let's talk about the group of wrestlers.

        When you wrestle, what do you do and who do you do it for? That is a
very interesting question, and I am sure that everybody has different
reasons that they will give as the answer to the aforementioned question.
But what is my answer? To the first part of the question, I answer that I
go out to try and win my wrestling matches. I don't showboat anymore. I
am a wrestler, and a wrestler primarily, not a dancer. That's why you see
me wrestle, and not dance in one of the many LA clubs.

        However, I am not so common in my answer to the second part of the
question. Who do I do it for? Many wrestlers would answer their families,
if they have one. Others would answer for themselves, and to make their
own money. But I am a different kettle of fish, so to speak. I wrestle
for one man, and one man only. That man is...that man is GOD.

        Now people with shallow minds may say that that is stupid. I beg to
differ. Without God, there would be nothing. Ever since Adam and Eve, we
have had to live with the fact that God is the person who created us. If
you don't like it, feel free to oppose my view. 'However, I do feel that
I will get farther if and when I let God into my life. With him, My
Wrestling carrear can get further. God will protect me from Injuries like
the one that I have recently suffered, and he will guide me in the ring
during matches.

        I'm sure many people in the wrestling world...Internet 'Smarts', if you
will...are going to go out there and compare me to Dustin Runnels, a
Texan who also found God...or so we thought. Dustin was only playing
under cover to bring back Goldust. But I do not wish to comment any more
on the current situation with Mr. Runnels. That is a WWF matter, and this
is NACW. And this is the buisness of 'The Stylist' Luke Bolean and this
is the buisness of God as well.

[ Bolean Coughs. He then walks slowly over to the bench outside the
chapel. He sits down on it, puts his elbows on his knees, hands on his
chin and begins to speak again. ]

[ Luke Bolean ] - Before I go into the chapel for a quick prayer, I would
like to saw a few final comments. I would like all the NACW wrestlers to
come out and accept The Lord your God as your Master, and Jesus Christ as
your Saviour. He is the Way, the Path and The Light and he will guide you
in everything if you accept his love and let him into your life. Until
then...I am content with the Master. God bless all you viewers out there.

[ Bolean points at the Sky, and then crosses his heart. He then goes into
the chapel, and closes the door behind him. ]

        [ Fade to Black... ]
==
==
BRIAN J. BLOTTIE

*A camera is at the door of "The True Living Legend's" estate.  This is
where the scene begins.  The door is open, and the camerman walks into
the frontroom.  The pictures normally seen on the walls are strewn about
all over the place.  Several have been destroyed.  The carpet is pulled
up in places. Glassware is broken everywhere.  As the camera wanders
through the house it doesn't get any better.  The dining room is in
shambles, food covering the walls in large chunks.  The kitchen is the
same.  A trail of blood is shown in the lens of the camera, and the
camera follows it*

Cameraman: Hello?  HELLO?!  

*The cameraman puts the camera on the kitchen counter, and pulls out a
walkie talkie.  He begins to speak into it*

Cameraman: Yeah, Fred?  You better call 911.  I don't know what's going
on in here, but this place is torn up, and I've found a trail of blood
leading somewhere.  I'm gonna try finding Blottie.  Let's just hope we're
not too late...

Fred?: Ok, just be careful, Mike.  We don't know what's going on in
there, and Blottie seems to have lost his mind.  Ten-four.

*The cameraman picks up the camera, and follows the blood.  It leads into
a closet in what appears to be a bedroom.  As the camera peeks inside,
movement is seen from in the corner.  The light attached to the camera is
turned on, revealing Brian J. Blottie, leaning in the corner.  Blood is
dried on his forehead, and more blood flows freely from cuts on his arms
and chest.  He wears no shirt, and the same pants from Sunday.  He
doesn't look good. Blottie coughs, spitting out a little blood, and then
smiles at the camera*

Blottie: I thought you'd come.  Wait, scratch that.  I KNEW you'd come. 
Coats was always good about watching out for his athletes.  

Cameraman: Yeah... he wants us to tell you that he wants you to see a
psychologist.  He thinks he'll help.  The NACW will pay for all
charges...

*The cameraman hands Blottie a card, and Blottie takes it.  Blottie looks
down, looks back up, and smiles weakly*

Blottie: Tell Shawn thanks for me.  I think I'll take him up on that.  

*Blottie puts the card in his back pocket, then turns back to the camera*

Blottie: Why'd he send a camera crew to deliver a business card?

Cameraman: Well, he wanted taped proof that you got it, and also wanted
to see first-hand how you were doing.

Blottie: Heh... how does it look like I'm doing?  I'm a miserable wreck. 
I have all these pent up emotions, all these fears, and inner problems to
deal with, and five million people watching at home get to see them aired
on camera.  They probably think I'm insane... I'm not.  I just have
problems, just like all of them.  Mine happen to be a little bit more...
severe.  
   All I wanted, my entire life, was my father to love me.  But he
didn't. All he did was have spite for me.  And I took that spite and
tried to make it my own.  Tried to emulate him.  In the hopes that I
could get him out of my head.  But I couldn't.  No matter how well I did
in life, no matter how well I did in the ring, I couldn't.  Now I
realize... I was a fool.  I let him control me.  I let him ruin my life. 
And I should be enjoying the life I have.  Life is a beautiful thing. 
Friendship is the other...

*Blottie shifts a little, cringes in pain, then turns back at the camera*

Blottie: Jeremy Rhodes and The Flying Scotsman... two friends.  The
Scotsman wanted to be my friend, but I abused him.  Hurt him.  Took his
trust and twisted it.  Just like my father would have done.  Well... I
want to apologize to him.  And let him know that if he ever wants a
friend... a true friend, and if he can ever trust me again, that I'll be
there for him.  As for Rhodes...
   Rhodes, this Sunday, I am coming to that ring to prove something to
everyone in the NACW.  That just because you're the U.S. Champion, and
I'm a relative newcomer to the NACW, I can still beat you within an inch
of your life and pin you clean.  No outside interference.  No weapons. 
Just me and you, pounding the life out of each other until there's almost
nothing left. And then, when it's all said and done, I want you to
realize... that even though we just almost killed each other, we can go
to the back, laugh about it, and hug each other.  Pat each other on the
back and let the other know that we respect him.  
   I respect you, Jeremy.  You're the NACW United States Champion. 
You're one of the craziest men in the NACW.  But most of all, you're one
hell of a man. Face to face, when we square off, I'm coming in there to
rearrange you're facial features.  But backstage... I'm hoping that you
can emulate that respect I have for you, and we can turn that into a
friendship... a love for each other that few NACW superstars could
understand.  
  
*Blottie gets up, pushes the camera out of the way, and limps towards his
bed. He sits down, and refaces the camera*

Blottie: I want to be brothers with you and The Scotsman, Rhodes.  But
not just any kind of brothers.  I want to be BLOOD brothers.  You
understand blood, don't you Rhodes?  The feeling of it trickling down
your forehead as you let the pain take over every emotion, every feeling
you have.  The taste of it as it hits your lips, the coppery taste
erasing who you are... who you once were.  The smell of it... I think you
know about this the best, Rhodes. The pure exhilaration of smelling the
blood of your opponent... it's almost like sex, isn't it?  I understand
that now.  I understand why you and The Flying Scotsman love spilling the
substance that flows through our veins, that gives us life.  And I want a
piece of it.  I want a piece of you.
   Blood is what I want, Rhodes... yours, mine, and the Scotsman's,
flowing together in a wonderful mix of pain, hate, and love.  This
Sunday, I will get a taste of it.  And hopefully, when me, you, and The
Scotsman get a chance, we can all get a taste of each other's.  Get a
little bit of love going on in our "family", if you know what I mean.

*Blottie lays back in his bed.  He closes his eyes, as the camera looms
above him.  A siren is heard approaching*

Cameraman: Ummm... I think the ambulance we sent for is here for you...

Blottie: Ok... I guess I'll get on.  As long as I can be out by this
Sunday.  

Cameraman: I'm sure you will...

*Blottie sits up, his eyes fly open, and he seems very intent.  He stares
into the camera, a look of determination appearing therein*

Blottie: I WILL be out this Sunday.  The "Lobo" will know it, and so will
the fans of the NACW.  A new Blottie is coming out.  No more
backfighting, no more cheap shots, no more  around.  Just me and
my opponent... our blood... and the thrill of competition.  You will know
what a "True Living Legend" is. And you will know that I am the ONLY one.
 Until next time...

*Blottie gets up, and walks out of his room, towards the enterance.  As
he walks out the door, the ambulance pulls up, and the EMS personel hop
out, opening the back doors.  They try to help Blottie inside, but he
shoves them aside, and gives them a look of disgust.  He climbs inside
and shuts the doors himself, not allowing either of the two into the back
with him.  They argue a little, but then digress and climb in, taking
off.  The camera fades to black*
==
==
RASTA FARIAN

( NACW headquarters. A cameraman slowly walks into a room and sees Rasta 
Farian sitting in front of TV watching an interview with Dudley Do Wrong)

Rasta Farian:  Jamaican??!!!? 420??!  He said before dat 420 meant a "gay
ass  amish beard".  I ain't got no beard, mon, and if you're talking
about weed, if  you want some, I can get it for you.  I don't smoke it
myself, or else it  would have kept me on that damned island for the rest
of my life.  You 'tink  dat just because I'm the Rasta mon that I smoke
lots of weed.  Jeez, mon.  I  haven't passed the bong with ziggy since
last summer's reggae fest.  You gonna  take me in for dat?  I'd like to
see you try.  You weak ass corrupt cops ain't  nothing compared to the
corrupt cops everywhere else.  In Jamaica, you either  pay them, or die,
it's simple.  But we got 'dis chubby white guy who thinks he  is gonna
take ME to justice.  Dudley do the Bong, you've got an ass kicking 
coming at you.

Cameraman:  What do you think about the rest of your competitors?

Rasta: De only mon dat I'm worried about is dat crussian russian. he's de
only  one who knows what it's like to worry about your life everyday. 
Dat and he  ain't no pansy-ass cop like Dudley Smokes it Wrong.  I'm
looking forward to  see what if these guys can stand up to a riot.  A
"reggae riot".

Rasta:  All i got to say is dis:  I shot the sherrif, but I'll kick the
ass of  the deputy do wrong.  Watch out. You don't know what you're
getting into.

(camera fades out)
==
==
THE MYSTERY MAN

[The scene opens inside an old, broken down warehouse. There's items all
over the floor, ranging from a shovel to pieces of broken of glass to a
workout bench. There's old sawdust from the the walls laying all over
too, as the place seems to be falling apart. As the camera pans the room,
a broken window can be seen, probably where all this broken glass comes
from.]

[From the ceiling hangs a punching bag, slwoly swaying back and forth,
suggesting activity in the room. From the far side of the room, metal
clanging can be heard, although the area is not in sight. A couple
seconds afterward, the camera pans around, and standing behind a chair is
a man, who can only be seen from the chest up, in a black mask.]

Man: "Flying Scotsman, you _MUST_ be the poorest excuse for a human being
I've ever met. You're quite simply the most... hold on, I'm trying to
dumb this interview down for you. Seems you can't quite grasp the meaning
of words over two syllables."

"First off, Scotsman, let me introduce. I am the mystery man. Hi. Your
opponent at Slam Masters. We're in round one of the hardcore title
tournament, got that? Now, we're not talking about pornography. We're
talking about wrestling. You know, falls count anywhere, anything legal
matches? Now, Scotsy, I had my doubts. I'll be ring rusty... maybe I'm
giving away too much... and you'll be new NACW blood. But after seeing
some highlights of you, studying video... I'm shocked you're still alive.
Really. First of all, you're one of the _MANY_ NACW stars who's a few
pencils away from a full box. Next, you don't know the difference between
a fork and knife. And finally, you're still caught on BLOTTIE. BLOTTIE is
the first thing you mention in your interview. Good to see your focus is
dead on."

[Making sure not to give _ANYTHING_ away, the mystery man remains
stationary. His voice can't even be distinguished, because he has it
disguised.]

MM: "So you're going into Slam Masters confused, distracted, and flat out
out of your mind. You don't know what the word hardcore means, you don't
know who your opponent actually *is*, and you're still stuck on Brian
Blottie, a young fellow that I've taken a shining to. See, Scotsman,
we're going after a _TITLE BELT_. The shiny thing that signifies you're
the champion, you know? The hardcore division, a beautiful thing. You
take a chair shot to the head, and you get up. You take a DDT onto a slab
of gold, and you _GET UP_. You get dropped through a wooden table, and
you _MUST GET UP_. Over and over. It isn't for anyone. I fully admire the
boss for hopping in this thing, especially since he knows full well who I
am. In fact, more than full well, considering not too long I was dragging
his company above water. Coats knew he owes me, so he sent me in there to
teach the young blood a lesson. Scotsman, if there's one thing you need
to learn, first it's that the lower end is _NOT_ for accepting items, but
spitting out items. Second, it's that you're going to get a rude
awakening around here. Crazy or not, you don't know what hardcore is.
Sunday, be ready to feel the pain."

"As for the rest of you 'hardcore' folk, just remember, I've been through
this stuff before. I've been trooper plexed by Ray Garcia off the top of
a cage. I've been in wrench wars with a man Dark Flame. Hell, if that
doesn't give my identity away to the _TRUE_ big guns, I don't know what
will. So for all you folk who decided that you're better than me to
replace Jeremy Rhodes, just remember one thing- you're not fit to shine
Rhodes' shoes. That especially goes for you, Trainor. Scotsman, Sunday,
I'm going to scramble whatever you have left up there. Continue with the
pornography, I have to train."

[The scene quickly cuts out.]
==
==
DUDLEY DO WRONG

[Scene opens in a Doctor's office, an ambitious young NACW reporter is
sitting across from a slightly older man in a white lab coat. The
reporter tunrs toward the camera and smiles.]

Reporter: Hello, I'm N.E. Bahdy of NACW TV, and today I'm joined by Dr.
Joseph M. Gihgals of Bellview Hostipal for the Mentally Disturbed. 
[Turns to Dr. Gihgals] Dr. Gihgals, I understand you handle the
outplacement program for much of New York City's civil servants.

Dr. Gihgals: Yes, I am in charge of treating city employees who lose
their jobs, my job is to ensure that former city employees are do not
suffer any serious psychological afflictions due to losing their job.

Bahdy: Do former employees often suffer problems major problems>

Dr. Gihgals: No, that's very rare. 

Bahdy: Well then, I suppose you recall the case of Dudley Do Wrong.  

Dr. Gihgals: Ah, yes.  Our old friend Mr. Do Wrong.  It's hard to forget
someone like him.

Dahdy:  Then you handled his case?

Dr. Gihgals: Personally.  I spent almost three months trying to help him
cope with his down-sizing.

Bahdy:  Obviously he was very.. emotional after being fired, but how was
Dudley before he was fired.

Dr. Gihgals: He was an excellent civil servant, he was very well
adjusted.

Bahdy: Then how did he arrive in his current mental state?

Dr. Gihgals: One day he just snapped.  I guess he just wasn't cut out to
be a Meter Maid.

Bahdy: Meter Maid?  Dudley was a Meter Maid?

Dr. Gihgals: Yes, he was Meter Maid until he snapped and started smashing
illegally parked cars with parking meters.

Bahdy: Are you sure? He wasn't a cop?

Dr. Gihgals: No no, I remember his case completely.  He was a meter maid.

Bahdy: Well how do you explain these reports he filed for the 34th
Precent.  And this official transfer, where he is moved from the 34th, to
the 22nd Precinct? [Holds up documents]

Dr. Gihgals: Could I see those? [Bahdy hands him the papers.  Dr. Gihgals
flips through them.]  Wow.  THIS certainly clears up alot.  Can I hold
onto these?

Bahdy: Uhhhh.... sure....  Doctor tell me.  What treatments did you use
to help Dudley overcome losing his job?

Dr. Gihgals: Doll therapy.

Bahdy: Excuse me?  Did you say Doll Therapy?

Dr. Gihgalls:  Yes.  Doll therapy.

Bahdy: Uh... What exactly does that entail?

Dr. Gihgals: The doctor and the patient use dolls to roleplay and relieve
the patients stress and/or anguish.

Bahdy: Oh.  So you'd use dolls to represent his boss or coworkers or
whoever fired him, and let him confront that?

Dr. Gihgals: Nah.  Mostly we just had tea parties.  We'd serve scones and
crumpets with jam.  

Bahdy: Uhh... uhh....

Dr. Gihgals: I still have tapes of our sessions if you'd like to see.

Bahdy: That would be great. Thanks.

[Dr. Gihgals walks over to a set of drawers, reaches in and pulls out a
tape.  He walks over to the TV suspended in the corner and puts the tape
lets it play.  Dr. Gihgals appears on the TV, wearing a tutu and dancing
the Nutcracker Suite.]

Bahdy:  These... are the sessions you had with Dudley?

Dr. Gihgals: Yes.  Unfortunately, he didn't respond well to doll therapy
so we had to try other alternatives.  There on this tape too, if you'd
like to see them.

Bahdy:... sure... love too.

[The screen turns blue while Dr. Gihgals fast fowards.  He stops the tape
and resumes the playing.  Two monkeys wearing sun dresses appear on
screen beating each other with cumquats.]

Dr. Gihgals: Not quite there yet.

[Dr. Gihgals fast fowards, then lets the tape resume again.  This time
Dr. Gihgals appears on screen wearing a cowboy uniform, standing on a
bright lit stage.]

Dr. Gihgals: Here we go.  This is some of the more aggressive treatments
we had to pursue. 

[On screen Dr. Gihgals begins to dance arounf onstage.  He rips off his
shirt revealing his hairy chest.  He continues dancing then rips off his
pants, leaving him wearing only a speedo, he walks left and jumps up on a
metal pole, swinging around it.  He turns his back to then begins to wag
his butt into the camera.  He reaches for his speedo. Dr. Gihgals stops
the tape.]

Dr. Gihgals: Would you like to see more?

Bahdy; NO!!!!... I mean, I think we've seen enough "Doctor".  I'd like to
quickly finish this inter view by asking, do you have any comments about
Dudley, or his upcoming match in the NACW Rookie Rumble?

Dr. Gihgals:  I think that, thanks to our sessions together, Dudley will
be able to face his inner demons and release his inner child.

Bahdy: So you're saying...?

Dr. Gihgals: I expect him to rip those bastards apart like Guapo Miguel
at a Sizzler buffet.

Bahdy: Excuse me?

[Sudddenly, an elderly man in a lab coat bursts in.  His name tag reads:
Hi My name is...
Dr. Gihgals
Touch me and I;ll have you committed]

The real Doctor: What the hell is going on here?  Who the hell are you? 
What are you doing in my office?

Bahdy: Aw, shit.
==
==
THE REVENGER



The Revenger: Well guys... I'm Ready for Sunday, I just can't way to get
there. I trust you I'll win, yeah, or atleast Blood Boy or Red Leaf. I'll
get all the revenge I need for the Rookie Rumble. I'm ready. I've said
that already, but I just want make sure that everyone is aware that
Revenger is going to win. I've said things about Blottie and the Russian
and you better be right that I mean them! Vancouver is only four days
away, and I'm already ready. I've been ready for two or three days now!
Everyone in that rumble just better beware of the Revenger, because
Revenge is so bitterly sweet!


==
==
RED LEAF



Red Leaf: Red Leaf like rats. Red Leaf love them. Red Leaf like mice. Red
Leaf love them. Red Leaf like all rodents, and yes, Red Leaf love them
too, but when it comes to the rookies that piss Red Leaf off... Red Leaf
don't love them.



Red Leaf: Red Leaf just has to tell everyone how much he hates everyone
in Red Leaf's path.



Red Leaf: Red Leaf has now abused animals. Red Leaf is so bitterly sweet!


==
==
THE FLYING SCOTSMAN

[Scotsman is at a newspaper stand.  He picks up the latest NACW Roleplay
Wire, which is 800 pages long.  Scotsman has to get a tow truck to carry
it.]

[He drives it into an alleyway, and starts reading]

Scotsman: "Man, the NACW has been signing a lot of wrestlers lately. 
Must be all that mainstream media that my friend Blottie has been
generating. What a star."

[Scotsman spends 3 hours reading the whole wire]

"Hmm..I wasn't mentioned often.  I guess I just lugged this load of crap
over into this alleyway for no reason at all.  Oh well, thats fine."

[Scotsman throws a match on it, setting it alight.]

"Now as you burn, I say this.  Mystery man, I've compared you to Satan.
Now, I'm going to compare you to the paper.  Do you smell what The Scots
is Cooking?"

[Scotsman starts laughing]

"Ha, my friend Duane taught me that."

"Now Mystery man, I'm sick and tired of not knowing who you are.  I hate
this, and I hate it dearly.  How can I train for a match against a
mystery opponent, huh? I can't."

"Talk about a con.  I know whats happening.  Its all a conspiracy by Mr
Coats, thats what it is.  I'll lose to this mystery man, because he knows
otherwise I would beat the living crap out of him, when we met."

"Oh well, not that I care.  Maybe..just hot-diggedy-do maybe..I'll have
my own surprises, waiting for you two bitches this Sunday."

"I've also been taking me some of these pills."

[Scotsman holds up a jar which reads "SANITY PILLS"]

"Now I'm as sane as the next guy.  The fact that the next guy happens to
be Insane Wayne, is just bad luck."

"So hear this mystery man.  I'm sane, and you're gonna be full of pain,
this Sun..dane."

"Hey it nearly rhymes!"