WIRE INDEX:

#1: Jonathan (for Obediah)

#2: Alan Soriano

#3: Chris Kitching

#4: Jason and Eddie Deegan

#5: The Crushin' Russian

#6: Brian J. Blottie

JONATHAN (FOR OBEDIAH)

<scene opens outsid eof the Jesus H. Christ memorial gym in Harmony MN.

Around the building a group of amish people have gathered. They are all

carrying signs, most of them reading "Johnathan go home," or "NACW is the

relm of the satan." The crew walks up to the main entrence throught the

protestes and into the Barn . . . I mean gym. In the room on the right we

see obediah working out with his new martial arts trainor, Nathan Martin.

Just as the crew are about to go in to talk wit00ith Obediah Johnnathat

grabs the reporter, and tells them not to distub Oobediahin the middle of

his training session. Johnathan leads them up to his office.>

Reporter: I see that you are gaining in popularity here in Harmony. (Ha

Ha HA)

Johnathan: Those poor folksa are just upset abou The Amish Anihlators

loss against the Russian. Personaly i think Obediah put up one hell of a

fight. No one else has been able to kick out twice, especialy that peice

of garbage Josh Walters. After some intense training Obediah will be

looking for a re match.

Reporter: Any words for the frount office concerning your recent ban from

ringside?

Johnathan: Well, yes I do have a few words for theos S.O.B's. I thought

that I had made it perfectly clear that Jed would not be coming down to

ringside any longer. I had his "Managers" liscens revoked. The other

thing is I belive that we are being discriminated. All the other

wrestlers can bring out every one,a nd there grandma ringside to pund the

sh*t out of thier opponent for them, but Jjed makes one mistake on the

floor of the arena, and that no talent shock slips an the horse apple, I

get banned from ringside. Pato, what the hell are you up to? I thought we

had a good undrestanding here of what he Amish Anihlator could do foir

this sport.

Rporter: You mentiond doing some training with Obediah. Could you tel us

your future palns for his training program?

Johnatha; Well, Obediah has been on hell of a fast learner, but I just

havent had a chance to get some intense training in for him. I have

decided that after the next PPV, when he faces ketching, I will take him

on a 2-3 month vacation for some intense training. He needs a long period

of time to bring his skills up to the level needed to demolish the

Russian. Obediah has not over loked his loss to him. I think it has even

intensifies his wrath, or as he would say, "Gods Wrath is uppon thou

Russian."

Reporter: This is Clayton Kemitt for NACW signing off <FTB>

ALAN SORIANO

(The scene fades into an In-N Out burger stand in Arcadia, California.

The weather is cloudy, overcast with a slight drizzle. Sitting by himself

underneath one of the metal umbrellas set up over one of the dine out

tables is Alan Soriano, the NACW champ, drinking a large coffee. He has

on a black jean jacket, an open blue flannel and a tucked in t-shirt

underneath, along with black cordoroys, and a pair of work boots. He

brushes his hair impatiently out of his eyes as he checks his watch

impatiently...Then, he spots the NACW cameraman who has been tailing him

all morning for a story. He turns and invites the cameraman over...The

cameraman sits across from the champion)

Cameraman: So Mister Soriano, who are you waiting for?

Alan: Thats none of your business kid!

Cameraman: Okay, just asking..God, what bit you in the ass?

Alan: Eh, my ribs are aching a bit. Alexa is being difficult, which is

why I am here instead of in a nice comfy house. And, since when can you

talk to the World Champ that way?

Cameraman: Im sorry.. Oh man, that sucks..

Alan: You are telling me, kid. But, anyway..she will get over it. She

always does. As for my ribs, well, I need to eat something to take my

medication, and what better food is there than In N Out burger?

Cameraman: I..I wouldent know..Hardees?

Alan: Oh yeah, you are from the east coast...You wouldent know anything

about an In N Out burger...Let me buy ya one kid.

Cameraman: Okay, sure!

(The cameraman sets his camera down...Screen fades to black...Then a

quick fade in: Alan and the young cameraman are just devouring a double

double each, which is double meat, double cheese...Alan finishes his

burger, and swallows his food..)

Alan: God damn, its been a while! You like this, kid?

Cameraman:(WIth his mouth full) Oh yeah! Best burger I have ever had!

(Alan pops open a container of Tylenol, and swallows two..He follows it

with a Coke chaser, and throws his head back in one gulp.)

Cameraman: Thats your medication?

Alan: Damn straight. There is no way Im even gonna get myself near those

pain pills! After what happened to Pillman and countless others, forget

it! Tylenol may not make me feel as good as those other things, but they

help kill the pain enough so that I can function. And, thats all I need.

Cameraman: So Alan. You grateful for these two weeks off?

Alan: Actually, no. I am grateful for only a few thigns in life. But, I

feel this has been coming to me for quite a while. After being in close

to every single main event, actually, I might have been in EVERY single

main event this company has had, I think I deserve some time off. Same

with Blottie, Classon. We have been working our asses off, and its time

for some of the up and comers to get in the spotlight.

Cameraman: Speaking of up and comers, the two guys that caused this rib

injury, or at least worsened your already tender ribs, Johnny Blaze and

Johnny Coast. Any comments about them?

Alan: Well, the only thing wrong with these two is that they appear to

still be stuck in high school! Going to skate parks, getting 15 year olds

to cling on them: Hell, Coast doesent have his LEARNERS PERMIT! I swear,

thse two guys are gonna get a reality check pretty soon! And, I am not

too high and mighty to give it to them: Just because I am the World Champ

doesent eman I cant smack around a couple of low card no talent wannabe

bums if they deserve it! In fact, I am gonna make a challenge: Coast,

Blaze: You want a shot at me? You are both gonna get it! Blaze, Coast, I

challenge you to a tag team match! You two pieces of California skater

trash against myself and anyone who wants to join me! In fact, I can take

you both on myself! But hey, Im sure there is someone in the NACW who

would want a shot at these two punks just as much as me! So, anyone in

the NACW, you wanna team up with me, just say so and we will all rumble

on the 16th!

Cameraman: What about Billy Classon?

Alan: You know, he was a good partner..And in my reviews of the tape, I

guess I was being an asshole in there...But you know what? I guess he and

I dont mix, and we never will.

Cameraman: What are your thoughts on Russell?

Alan: Russell. Halelujah! He can walk! Its a miracle! Now, Russell, after

I totally slam Brian Blotties ass at World Tour, I am looking for ward to

you coming up and wanting *your* belt back. Well, I got news for ya

Russell. Its my belt now, and its gonna be my belt for a long time to

come, so get used to it, gimpy, your time has come and gone. You were a

legend, now I am at the top! And nobody is gonna knock me off!!!

Cameraman: Not even Blottie?

Alan: Did you hear what I just said? Blottie, Ill give him credit where

it is due! He is a true up and comer in this sport. He has beaten some

big names to get this shot. But, Im sorry. There is just no way that he

will beat me. Now, I look at Blottie and I see a guy with quite a bit of

potential, meaning he can be something. And, I do respect his abilities.

I expect a good fight. But, when the smoke clears, when all of the dust

has settled, when the war has been fought, I will end up on top. Because,

this belt means more to me than any title I have ever won in my career.

It means too much to have some guy come up in his first shot and beat me

for it. Blottie, no disrespect intended to you, but you are just an

overconfident, ignorant, piece of Detroit Michigan trash! And, the guy

who is gonna set you straight, the guy who will knock all of the wind out

of your sails and make you realize that you are indeed, truly, a piece of

dog shit on the sole of the sport of professional wrestling, and that you

dont know jack, is gonna be me. The true champion of the people. The true

ICON in this very sport, the one who is on top of the world and will

remain there for a good damn long time, The Annihilator, Alan Soriano!

(Just then, a 1999 Lexus 4X4 pulls up into the parking lot, and out steps

the Commisioner of the NACW, Patrick Gottsegen. He alarms the car, and

motions towards Alan to go over..)

Alan: Well, I have to leave. Important meeting with the Commish. But,

Cali Connection, the time will come when I get the chance to break more

than just your ribs. And Blottie, might as well quit now, cuz you are no

match for the Champion, you're a triple A ballplayer trying to match up

with the big boys. And, I am gonna knock you back down to A ball,

Blottie. Mark My Words.

(Alan walks over to his 1999 Mustang, steps in as Patrick steps into the

passenger side, and they drive off. FTB on the back of the sweet car..)

CHRIS KITCHING

(Three NACW reporters and a few camera crews are awaiting Chris "The

Deal" Kitching to arrive for his interview segment. Suddenly, Chris

enters, without his lovely valet, Vanessa)

Reporter #1: Hello, Mr. Kitching, and thank you very much for joining us

tonight for a brief Q & A.

Chris: Well, the pleasure is all yours. Here I am, in the middle of

training for my match next week against Rasta Farian, and you dumbasses

have the nerve to interrupt me and ask me if I would like to join you for

a short Q & A session. Well, it's a good thing I am the people's NACW

Television champ, or else I would leave your asses high and dry. Let's

just get this damn thing started and over with.

Reporter #1: Ok. Well, Chris, where is Vanessa?

Chris: Is that important right now? Shouldn't you guys be asking

questions regarding "The Deal," not Vanessa? If you really want to know,

she is back in Canada. For what reason she is there, I don't know, but

she will be at my side on May 9th in Austin, Texas for Sunday Night Slam

Masters.

Reporter #2: Speaking of Sunday Night Slam Masters, you will face Rasta

Farian, any words for him?

Chris: No. Rasta Farian doesn't even belong in the same ring, let alone

the same federation as Chris "The Deal" Kitching. I haven't seen that

piece of garbage around here for a while, so I am guessing he packed his

bags and headed for high ground. You see, I don't run away from anyone.

I am ready for Sunday Night Slam Masters, and obviously, Rasta Farian is

not. He can come to Austin straight, or he can come to Austin after a

few tokes, it really doesn't matter because the fact of the matter is, I

will come out on top, once again. No one has the charisma, no one has

the skill, and no one has the guts to take me out. I am on the top, and

everyone realizes that, so that must be the reason they are all sticking

back. But hell, that's fine with me, because like I said, match by

match, I will climb that ladder and then when I get there, I'll look down

at you all from the top, because that is where I'll be. But I'm not

gonna look past my match on May 9th. I am focused for that night and I

am looking forward to beating the hell out of Rasta from pillar to post.

As for him, well, I wouldn't mind hearing from the son of a bitch, if he

has the balls to come out of hiding.

Reporter #3: Chris, after your match, what will "The Deal" do?

Chris: Well, like I said, I am not looking past my match, so open your

damn ears. I think I might take a week off, or else I'll take on another

sorry ass NACW wrestler. As you know, I am the TV champ, so it is my

duty, no, no, wait...It is my pleasure to wipe out anyone who gets in my

way. But as for directly after my match, I say I'll be back in the

dressing rooms, celebrating another easy title defense. As for now, I am

getting out of here...

(Chris exits the Q & A session and leaves the NACW crew behind)

JASON AND EDDIE DEEGAN

[The scene opens up to an empty field, a huge grass patch in what seems

like the middle of no where. It's semi-dead looking grass, seen by the

fact that it's growing yellow. The sun is beating overhead, amongst a few

feathery clouds, in a sky that's bright blue. It's very windy, as well,

blowing the grass all over the place. The only thing other than the grass

in the entire scene is a bit of a sidewalk off to the left.]

[On that sidewalk is a black pickup truck, parked there, fully loaded

with wrestling gear. Everything from padding to mats to boxing gloves are

in there, and even a couple steel chairs. Sitting on the roof of the

truck is Jason "Icefire" Deegan, in a white tank top, sticking to his

body from sweat, and a pair of gray shorts, kind of ripped up at the

bottom. He's also got on a pair of really old Nike shoes that look like

they've been through hell.]

[All of a sudden, the passenger side opens, and Eddie Deegan steps out,

wincing. He's not looking pretty at all- his hair is soaked and flying

all over, he's got a cut across his forehead, both his arms are all

bruised, and his shirtless body looks like it's been through hell. He

only is wearing a pair of torn up jean shorts, that look to be far too

big for him, and a pair of wrestling boots. He limps over and stands next

to Jason, who tosses him some water, which Eddie chugs.]

Jason: "Here we are, at an isolated area in Florida, training. I figured

we've been getting soft lately. I mean, we _ARE_ the Deegan cousins. We

were the most dominant forces around for a while. Now what? We're losing

to the Scotsman, and even worse, Chris Widmayer. So, I'm taking Eddie's

new found attitude, and I'm beating it right out of him. As you can tell

by simply looking at him."

Eddie: <Talking in complete pain> "We've... been here... all day.

I've... been slammed, been chair shotted, been thrown into the truck...

and I'm hurting. But... I... refuse to keep... losing... to... scrubs.

So... it's all... worth it."

Jason: "Sit down, boy. You deserve it."

[Eddie quickly slides down and leans up against the wheel of the truck.]

Eddie: "Much better. Thanks."

Jason: "Now, I'm not worried about May 9th. That's going to a game.

However, May 29th, I hear we're battling Russell and Classon. If you ever

did a profile on Eddie and myself, each of would say that our worst

opponents were Billy and Justin, respectively. We've fought tons of

battles, matches have gone both ways, and hell, I've lost count of the

records."

Eddie: "The ultimate feud over the lightweight, and later, television

titles. Myself and Billy Classon. Well, boys, we're doing it all again.

This one is for the hardcore NACW fans, and to be honest, I couldn't be

more pysched. But the thing is, this time, I'm not losing."

Jason: "That's right. I'm whipping Eddie into shape. He's losing all the

crap he's gathered. He's going to take pain, he's going to grow an edge.

You might just say he's going to be the whole damn deal after I'm done

with him."

Eddie: "Of course, you, Jason, could use some agility and speed

exercises. You're not exactly the quickest son of a bitch out there,

either."

Jason: "Maybe not, and I'll do whatever you have in mind."

Eddie: "All right, all right..."

Jason: "Now, the PPV is a long way off. We're quite busy. So go back to

the groin, Justin, and worry about that. We're going to worry about

destroying you."

[The scene fades as Jason hops off the roof and motions for Eddie to get

back out there.]

THE CRUSHIN' RUSSIAN

<<The scene opens in the waiting room of the NACW office. The waiting

room has comfy chairs and large fake plants. The Crushin Russian sits in

a chair, very obviously pissed off, and waits for his turn to talk with

theCommish>>

<<NACW camera approaches and the reporter sits down across from the

Crushin Russian>>

<<Camera pans in on the Crushin Russian's face>>

Crushin Russian: [under his breath] I ain't going to jail, I ain't goin

to no American jail, dammit, I aint goin to jail.....

Reporter: Ahem...uh....Mr. Crushin Russian....can I have a few words

with you?

Crushin Russian: F**k you. I'm not listening to you or anyone else in

this damn fed anymore.

Reporter: You're still under contract, buddy.

Crushin Russian: Piss on the contract, bitch. Go kill some

highschoolers American trash.

Reporter: I'M Trash!!!! Who's the one that's about to end up in jail?

Crushin Russian: Not me, f**ker!!!! I ain't going to jail! [picks up a

fake plant]

Reporter: Don't even, you psycho!

[Patrick Gottesgen walks out of his office and into the waiting room]

Commisioner P: [In a booming voice] HELLO, BOYS! Crushin Russian, I

see you have a fetish for horticulture...now put the plant down before I

shove it up your foreign ass...Thanks.

[Puts the plant down]

Commisioner P: Now, we had a meeting. Step into my office.

[In the office]

Commish: I see you've had some trouble with the law lately, my young

friend.

Crushin Russian: This American system is Bullsh*t . I didn't do

anything.

Commish: Uh-huh. We'll see what the courts have to say about that.

What did your lawyer say?

Crushin Russian: He says I could serve up to 3 months for that shit. I

hate you American f**kers.

Commish: Well, what the hell am I going to do with you?

Crushin Russian: Give me some matches! I paid $10,000 bond!

Commish: You are valuable to the NACW so I'll tell you what I'll do.

I'll get the best lawyers money can buy, and we're gonna get you out of

this little bind. The NACW is a first class fed, and we stand up for our

wrestlers.

Crushin Russian: Thanks Commisioner. I'll represent the NACW well....by

beating the piss out of Jeremy Rhodes on May 29th. It wouldn't look very

good to have the US champion sitting behind bars, no would it.

Commish: No, it wouldn't. So behave your dumb ass, and I'll see what I

can do to get you out of this little bind your in.

Crushin Russian: Arright. [walks out of Commisioner's office]

[On his way out, Crushin Russian hits the Reporter with the plant...Fade

to Black]

BRIAN J. BLOTTIE

*Scene opens outside of a place called "Mario's Dry Cleaning". It is a

run-down building which looks like it's closed down, but a sign reading

"Open" is in the window, implying otherwise. The cameraman reaches out

and opens the door, then walks in. The inside is as bad as the outside;

a filthy, broken down shop, with tiles pulled up on the floor, holes and

cracks in the surrounding walls, and an old looking dry cleaning wheel,

with a few articles of clothing hung up on it. An old man is behind the

counter, and by the tone of his skin, you can tell he is pure-bred

Italian. In front of the counter, though his back his turned, is quite

noticeably "The True Living Legend" Brian J. Blottie, as he is wearing

his "Simply Legendary" t-shirt, on the back of which says the words

"Legends Aren't Made, They're Born". We pick up the conversation Blottie

and the old man are having*

Blottie: Now remember, Mario...

*Blottie hands the man a t-shirt and a raggedy-looking pair of black

jeans, the t-shirt reading "System Of A Down"*

Blottie: ... I want them dry-cleaned AND pressed. Not just cleaned, not

just pressed, but both.

*The man, who's name is Mario supposedly, speaks in a heavy Italian

accent*

Mario: Gratzi, Mr. Blottie. I-a will get it done-a right away-a, sir.

*Blottie turns to the camera, and smiles*

Blottie: I see you found the place. I didn't think you would. I mean,

Detroit's a big city, and when I say "lower west side", I don't expect

people who weren't born and bred here to find it.

Cameraman: Hell, the only way I found this place is by asking the locals.

They smiled and pointed the way.

Blottie: Uh oh. Was anyone in the NACW Van?

Cameraman: Just the new guy, Eatmon...

*Blottie snickers*

Blottie: You might want to call an ambulance, Mario. And my driver.

Mario: Right-a, away, sir.

Cameraman: Huh?

*Blottie walks out the door, calmly. The camera follows. As the camera

makes it's way out, you hear a gasp from behind it. Ken Eatmon, NACW's

newest cameraman/reporter-wannabe is laying in a pool of his own blood.

The NACW Van, on the other hand, is still there... the frame of it, that

is. The rest of it is gone, stripped clean*

Blottie: Asking people directions in Detroit... and THIS section of

Detroit, no less. Very bad move, Kenny. Very bad move...

*Blottie turns to the camera*

Blottie: Well, might as well do what we need to do while waiting, huh?

Cameraman: What do you mean?! The NACW Van is gone, and Ken is lying

half dead on the ground!

Blottie: Listen, you're in Detroit. There are certain truths around here

you need to get used to. First, if it isn't you lying in your own blood,

than you're damn lucky, and leave it be. No use pissing off those that

this person probably pissed on. Second, if it takes fifteen minutes for

the ambulance to arrive, it's your lucky day. So we might as well cut

the spot and get it over with. So aim the camera, and let's go.

*The cameraman hesitates, then points the camera, at Blottie, who is

standing in front of the dry cleaners. He smiles, adjusts his shirt, and

begins to speak*

Blottie: Mr. Soriano. Our ESTEEMED World Champion, and the so-called

"best" wrestler in the NACW. That's what that title means, correct?

That you are "the best"? Well, if that's what it means, get ready to

cough it up, 'cause you are far from "the best". That title belongs to

one man, and one man only. "The TRUE Living Legend". Oh, wait, that

happens to be me. Well, I'm flattered, to say the least.

*Blottie smiles, walks over to Ken Eatmon, and spits on him*

Blottie: You see this piece of garbage, Alan? He walked into something

he didn't understand. And got beat down into the ground for it. Well, I

guess you and him are a lot alike, because you're doing the same thing

with me. I have shown spurts of brilliance in my other matches, but at

World Tour II, I'm going to show you why I'm the best damn thing this

company has seen since Justin Russell in his heyday.

But before that, I have business to take care of in the Cali

Connection.

You punks come out here and get involved in MY match, during MY moment of

glory, thinking that you're some tough <BLEEP>. Well, I grew up in

Detroit, not on some beach with a golden dildo shoved up my ass, where

all I had to worry about was contracting some disease from one of the

"beautiful" girls I was <BLEEP>. I had to worry about getting killed

everyday I stepped out my door. I had to worry about how bad I was going

to be beaten by the black kids from around my neighborhood. I had to

worry about whether I would survive. But you think you've had it tough.

So tough, that you have to rebel against "the elders". Well, I'm not

you're elder, and you sure as hell aren't tough.

Alan, I heard in the grapevine you wanted me to team up with you to

take on the Connection at a future Slam Masters. Well, just to show you

how much I want to get my hands on those pieces of <BLEEP>, I'll team

with you, one night only, in a tag match. But not just any tag match.

This one is going to be played by MY rules. Cause it's not just a matter

of business. It's not just a matter of revenge. It's a matter of

RESPECT between me and The Cali Connection.

A Matter Of Respect. MY match. Tag team competition. Single

elimination style. The only way to beat the opposing team is by

eliminating both combatants, by pinfall or submission. No DQs, no

count-outs, no mercy. Just four men, two to a team, beating the living

hell out of each other, until just two men stand the victors. And those

two men, no matter how painful it is for me to say it, will be myself and

the talentless moron that is Alan Soriano. Because no matter how little

talent Soriano has, you two rejects from Rancid have even less. So I

guess Soriano will survive. Until the pay-per-view, at least.

*Blottie walks away from Ken, and back to the front of the building*

Blottie: Like I do with my laundry, Alan, I'm taking you to the cleaners

May 28th. But, since you're already washed up, I guess all that's left

for me to do is press you into the mat, making sure that your body melds

into it nicely. Then, after I pin you, and the referee's hand smacks

that mat for the three count, I will take that golden strap, and not hold

it in the air, celebrating with the crowd, but shove it in your face, and

show you, and the world, that I am EXACTLY what I claim to be. "The

True... Living.... Legend". Until next time...

*Blottie steps back from the camera, as the wail of an ambulance is heard

in the distance. Blottie steps over Eatmon, kicking him "accidentally"

on the way over, and makes it to the curb at the same instant that a

long, black limo pulls up. Blottie signals to the driver, opens his own

door, and drives off. The ambulance pulls up behind where Blottie just

left, and the camera FADES TO BLACK*WIRE INDEX: