Post by Press1269 on Feb 14, 2020 21:15:18 GMT
The announce team has disappeared for a brief intermission, and when the cameras shift over to the ring, there is a custom desk with the PAW Logo on the front, along with a comfortable looking chair positioned on one side of the squared circle. On the other side is a plush sofa, a few decorative potted plants, and a sign made up of hundreds of light bulbs that read 'The Box Office'. The lights dim in the arena as Joe Walsh's 'Turn to Stone' comes across the speakers, and the sign in the ring flashes to life, along with a montage on the screen above the ramp way of tickets being tacked off of a roll. The fans jeer and boo in disgust as they already know what to expect from the cocksure owner of the sign and song. The lights focus on the entrance to the ramp as Cross Recoba comes through the curtain, wearing a neatly pressed Armani suit, with a brown leather brief case in one hand, and a cane in the other. He brushes his shag haircut off his eyes and looks at the crowd, instinctively clutching the crucifix necklace that hangs from his neck. He walks to the ring with purpose, albeit slower because of the use of his cane, only looking away from the ring to answer hecklers in the crowd. He makes his way up the steps and onto the apron, and smiles at his disapproving audience before stepping through the ropes. He steps over to the desk and sets his briefcase down, grabbing up one of the three microphones sitting upon the surface. The lights remain dim everywhere else in the arena, except for directly over the ring where Cross Recoba prepares to address the PAW Universe.
CROSS RECOBA: Alright, alright...pipe down trailer trash. I have serious business to attend to out here.
The fans boo the snob unmercifully, jeering him with taunts and jibes. He simply smiles, seeming to incense the crowd even more, and cinches up on the handle of his cane before bringing the mic back up to his lips.
CROSS RECOBA: Really? Is that any way to treat someone as courageous as I am? Someone as brave? I mean, I'm a God damn hero for doing this. If Lady Munin hadn't agreed to allow me to host my own show, you people would be robbed of the chance to look upon someone who has actually done something with their life beyond go out and be a fat, cretinous, ignorant slob! Well, THAT, and she didn't have much of a choice after my lawyers got off the phone with her lawyers. You see, I had to retain legal council due to my guests here tonight. Those two men are animals, plain and simple, and I don't care how much you idiot's adore them, or egg them on, I promise you, there will be no violence brought to my person here tonight, or this company WILL pay through the nose. THAT, is a personal guarantee.
The fans shower Recoba in boo's once more, and he shakes his head in disgust at the outcry of disdain. He comes to sit upon the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that allowed him to still hold the mic up to his lips.
CROSS RECOBA: My guests here tonight, are the type of men who will go back on a deal the minute they have possession of the money. They are the type of men who don't care about the spirit of competition, nor do they abide by any sort of code. I don't think there's anyone here who would agree that they are gentleman, as you're just as likely to see them hanging out at a biker bar as you are to see them spitting sanctimonious filth across the PAW airwaves. These men have received zero consequences for their actions, nor do they exhibit any conscious after brutally and savagely ending a fellow wrestlers career. They are so neanderthal, in fact, that they remind me of a modern day Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble. Ladies and Gentleman, without any further ado, I give you the newly crowned PAW Heavyweight Champion, Press, and his loud mouthed partner, Flaming Youth! I give you The BombTrax!!
The lights go dim as "Strangle Hold" by Ted Nugent begins to blare across the arena, while red strobe lights flicker all around the building, finally settling on the entry way. When the song enters the breakdown, Press strides out from behind the curtain, the PAW Heavyweight Championship thrown casually over his shoulder. He stops at the top of the ramp and gazes intently out at the crowd, who go wild at first sight of him. When the first lines bellow out, Youth appears, flashing around in front of Press, and spins a few times reaching out at the crowd who cheer in adulation. He comes to a teetering stop facing the ring, a coy grin on his face, as he looks back at his massive partner who merely nods his approval. Youth takes off into a sprint for the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope, and popping up with his hands over his head. Press stalks up to the ring, rising up on the ring apron, and then stepping over the top rope with one fist pumped over his head. Youth takes one of the turnbuckle without furniture blocking it in a single bound, and plays up to the crowd, as Press steps to the center of the ring and thrusts the PAW championship high into the air.
As all of this was going on, Cross Recoba wisely made sure to go ahead and get behind his desk, making sure there was a physical barrier between he and the two men. When the music finally comes to an end, and the lights come back to normal, the arena is abuzz with electricity as both Press and Youth stand side by side, staring at Cross Recoba across the desk. The Fox tentatively indicates the two mics sitting on the edge of the desk, and then takes a seat in his chair, all the while keeping an eye on his two guests.
CROSS RECOBA: Just remember, you're not allowed to touch a single hair on my head!
Press smirked as he plopped down on the far end of the couch, while Youth passed him a mic, taking a seat that put him between Recoba and the big man. Press stared at Recoba with a sidelong glance, shaking his head, and still half-smiling as he brought the mic up to his lips.
PRESS: Relax, Recoba, we didn't come out here to do any further damage. You're safe..........For now.
The crowd let out a few light boo's at that statement, but mostly laughed and continued to jeer Recoba. None of this seemed to fluster the man, as he leaned forward on his elbows, and nodded.
CROSS RECOBA: Alright, then, let's get started. I'm sure that everyone wants to hear about your many celebrations over the past two weeks after winning the PAW Championship.
Press brings the mic up to his lips, and just as he was about to respond, Cross swiftly cuts him off.
CROSS RECOBA: So, Youth, how about that concussion? That sure was some ill timed luck, wasn't it? I mean, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, after all, on account of how much consideration you put into helping your partner over there disfigure and maim other wrestlers. As I recall, way back on WICKED#2, the heel of your boot was the last thing I saw before I was unceremoniously dumped spine first onto a set of steel steps. Couple that with the big oaf's powerbomb clear out of the ring, I might never get to return to wrestling, while you'll be able to come back as soon as next show. What do you think of that?
FLAMING YOUTH: Well, Cross, that's unfortunate that you got hurt doing a high impact sport. Shudder to think that when you come out here week after week that people are out to hurt you, or isn't that the whole purpose of our industry. I can tell you what I'm not going to do, Cross, and that's cry about the fa.....
CROSS RECOBA: DO YOU KNOW, that they are talking about banning CJ O'Donnell's Irish Knowledge Running Knee because of this incident. The Louisiana State Gaming Commission is worried that if allowed to continue, there could be more injuries, but you know what move they haven't said jack shit about? The Press Release Powerbomb! The very move that has put me behind this infernal desk instead of in the ring where I belong. Well, what do you think about that? You smug piece of trash, sitting over there with a belt that you don't deserve. I hope some of these guys in the back are listening, as you're set to defend that strap pretty soon. They had better be paying attention, because it might just save them from having to be in a wheelchair one day!
PRESS: Cross, I think maybe you're just a little upset about the fact that I got to the prize at the end of the tunnel, and you fell short. If you had spent more time training and watching tape rather than exorcising those gums of yours, you might have been the one to make it. But that's not what happened, and that's just tough shit. I can tell you one thing, though, that desk looks like the perfect kind of furniture to put someone's ass through, so keep up that disrespectful tone, and we'll just have to see what happens.
CROSS RECOBA: You see folks, how quick their tune changes? These guys can't do anything without resorting to a threat of violence. The best thing that could happen for Pure Amusement is if someone would come out here and knock you two off your high horse! Maybe it will be CJ O'Donnell. Maybe it will be Stevie Harris! I'm sure he's got plenty to say about the travesty that took place at the St. Patrick's Day Super Show. Hell, I wouldn't care if one of those GZW assholes was the one to do it. Whatever it takes to make sure that we don't have to be beholden to you as the PAW Heavyweight Champion!
PRESS: ENOUGH!
The Big man came up off the sofa along with Youth, and they moved to stand right in front of the desk that Recoba was sitting at. The Fox scooted his chair back into the corner, grabbing his cane and holding it out in front of him as Press leaned over the desk to get in his face.
PRESS: As far as I'm concerned, this bullshit show of yours is over. As for who's first in line to try and take this belt off of me, I don't really give a crap. Far as I'm concerned you can line up the whole fucking roster in a neat little row, and I'll bulldoze them down like a game of dominoes. But I'll be God damned if I'm going to listen to one more word of your snarky mouth while you hide behind that crippled act.
The fans erupt in cheers, and just when it looks like Press and Youth are about to pull the desk out of the way, static blares through the speakers, and the big screen above the ramp comes to life. Both Press and Youth turn, along with Recoba and the audience, to see Stevie Harris' scornful grin beaming in full HD. Press abandons the desk altogether, and comes to stand center of the ring, looking up at his last opponent with a scowl on his face.
STEVIE HARRIS: Look at the false God, reveling in all his glory. The belt looks good on you Press, but so did my noose around your neck. As far as Pure Amusement is concerned, that noose is an illegal weapon and your using it as a weapon, as impressive as it was to see a man in the gallows use it to his advantage – your using it should make your victory count for nothing. Like my friends and family who have taken to protesting this here Amusement Park, I too shall protest this. I REFUSE to step into the arena of combat until such reparations have been made. Moo-nin isn’t about to fire her enforcer, I know that. All we ask is that a FAIR contest take place. One free of that thug assaulting hard working fans who paid their fair price to come see the show. A match free of the influence of 4Loco, sending his security to escort my supporters away. A match free from that God Damn oaf kicking me in the face while I am holding a steel chair to protect myself. A fair contest was not had, Press Jones. You have muddied the waters of Purity and it’s time to cleanse the ring of your sins…
Before Stevie can finish his sentence, the big screen begins to flicker, and then his voice is replaced by 'Beast' (feat. Busta Rhymes, KXNG Crooked & Tech N9ne) performed by Rob Bailey & The Hustle Standard. Stevie's confused expression is the last thing to be seen of him as the big screen flickers out, and out from the back steps CJ O'Donnell, already dressed for his contest later in the night. The Distinguished is already shaking his head, mic in hand, when he looks down to the ring where Press and Youth both take note of this new interruption. He offers a grim smirk, before bringing the mic up to his lips.
CJ O'DONNELL: Gentlemen, if memory serves me right, I was the one who walked out of the Super Show as the number one contender for the PAW Championship. It was not Stevie Harris. It was not Calvin Harris. It was not Trixie. It was not Johnny Raike. Hell, it wasn't even Alex Cross. It was me, Caleb James O'Donnell. So, Press, the question is no longer whom you will face first, but when.
Caleb pauses for a moment, and points at Press in the ring. A smirk appears across his face.
CJ O'DONNELL: Do not worry your little heart, Press, as I will let you wear that championship until I see fit to take it from around your waist. Now you can come out here and stick out your chest, act like you're a badass, but we all know the truth. Press, you are scared. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You think this is your swan song. You are about to hang those tights up soon, but you just had to prove to yourself that you could still bring it. You may have the size and strength over me, but this is not going to be a five minute showdown. Oh no, my friend, when we meet for that PAW Heavyweight Championship, I am going to prove that the bigger they are the harder they fall.
Johnny Raike appears from out the curtain, cutting CJ off from any further comments, The slow beat of Placebo's "Pure Morning" matching the pace of the Thigh High Thriller's gait as he saunters onto the stage, getting all but into O'donnell's personal zone. The Beautiful Nightmare is in his usual and shiny black trench coat. His right hand holds his whiffle ball bat, sans tacks at the moment. He holds a mic in his left
JOHNNY RAIKE: You know CJ, I like my boys with a bit of a brogue. I could even probably stand to hear more of it at a later time, but right now I figure if we're holding an open court on the state of this company, what does and doesn't constitute behavior unbecoming of a champion, who should and shouldn't be disqualified, and what not, I thought we could stand to hear from a champion.
Johnny undoes his coat revealing his usual acid green “Want Me” shorts, though they are obscured by his Titans of the Midway championship belt.
JOHNNY RAIKE: Now, I'm not up here to side with anyone, I'm not up here to make threats. I'm not going to argue and try and change facts. Stevie can have his victims parade around the arena. Really hoping Munin is looking into a legal solution for that. Seriously, those are victims. What that man in the ring is doing to people is not cool, and I have to believe I'm not employed by a company that would enable the psychological torture that is the brain washing Stevie – I'm drifting off points we can address later.
Johnny takes a breath and shakes his hair, returning to the mic after a moment to collect.
JOHNNY RAIKE: Stevie, you aren't the champion. CJ, you aren't the champion yet, and I'm not telling you who I think will take that match. But you are the number one contender, and Press is the Pure Amusement Wrestling Heavyweight Champion. I saw that match, I have no problem with calling that man my champion. But, I will be calling myself champion in due time, gentlemen. Well, if we loosely define the term. Being Pure Amusement champion isn't about when you get it, though virgin territory always has that special feel. But, of course, first timers? They can be a real bad lay. But they get better. And I'm going to get that belt, sweeties. And I'm gonna teach it tricks.
Johnny drops his mic hand, flashing a big knowing smile and bragging eyes. He pulls out his bejeweled flask and takes a sip, turning to face O'Donnell, who gets right up into his face. The two exchange quiet words, nose to nose, and it's obvious that O'Donnell doesn't appreciate the interruption.
CROSS RECOBA: You know what gentleman, before things get out of hand, and we all forget why this is such a hot topic, I think we need to keep our eyes on the cause of all this. We're all in agreement, in one way or another.. No matter what, this man needs to lose that belt.
All eyes turn to look back at Cross Recoba, including The BombTrax, as he has hastily already made his way out of the ring, and starts down the steps to the floor. He holds the briefcase he had brought to the ring with him over his head, and a smug smile crosses his lips.
CROSS RECOBA: In this briefcase is $50,000, and it goes to the first man who can dethrone this behemoth.
Press and Youth both stalk to the edge of the ring, Press even reaching over the top rope for a swipe at Recoba, who wisely hobbles back against the announce desk out of reach. CJ O'Donnell, seeing the momentary distraction, drops his mic and bolts for the ring, abandoning his stare down with Johnny Raike, who shrugs, and steps over to the curtain separating the stage from the gorilla position. He reaches behind the curtain, and produces from out of nowhere a lawn chair, and a glass of ice with an umbrella hanging from the rim. He sets up the chair and takes a seat on top of the stage, pouring the contents from his bejeweled flask into the cup, just about the time that O'Donnell belly slides into the ring. The Irishman pops up, and rushes at the duo, leaving his feet and driving his knee into Youth's shoulder blades, sending him tumbling from the ring.
Press spins around at this new threat, and upon seeing O'Donnell, swings his meaty fist at The Distinguished's head. CJ ducks the blow, using his speed to slide in behind Press, and hops onto his back, getting him in an illegal choke hold. Press struggles wildly at first, stumbling to the center of the ring, and reaching behind him to try and break the hold. He's unable to get a handhold on his assailant, so instead he rushes backwards towards the desk, slamming O'Donnell's spine against the wood. CJ releases the hold, and has just enough time to bring his arms up as Press spins around and starts swinging. O'Donnell takes a few hard shots that knock him off the desk and into the ropes, to which Press takes him by the wrist, and flings him to the far side.
Upon rebounding, O'Donnell is barely able to duck as Press lines his boot up to take off the Irishman's head with a Sudden Stop. He continues on through with his momentum to the other side, and upon his return, leaps into the air knee first to try and catch the big man with Irish Knowledge. Press, much to O'Donnell's surprise, side steps the maneuver, and when he turns around he's met with a clothesline that takes him up and over the top rope to the floor below. O'Donnell lands on his feet, and makes a go of trying to get back in the ring just as PAW security arrives, swarming the two combatants. They pull a savage O'Donnell back to the floor and carry him towards the ramp, as another group hit the ring and hold back Press.
At the top of the ramp, Johnny Raike stands, finishing off the contents in his cup, and claps with a genuine grin spread across his face, while Press and O'Donnell continue to exchange words and stare daggers into one another. The scene fades to commercial.
CROSS RECOBA: Alright, alright...pipe down trailer trash. I have serious business to attend to out here.
The fans boo the snob unmercifully, jeering him with taunts and jibes. He simply smiles, seeming to incense the crowd even more, and cinches up on the handle of his cane before bringing the mic back up to his lips.
CROSS RECOBA: Really? Is that any way to treat someone as courageous as I am? Someone as brave? I mean, I'm a God damn hero for doing this. If Lady Munin hadn't agreed to allow me to host my own show, you people would be robbed of the chance to look upon someone who has actually done something with their life beyond go out and be a fat, cretinous, ignorant slob! Well, THAT, and she didn't have much of a choice after my lawyers got off the phone with her lawyers. You see, I had to retain legal council due to my guests here tonight. Those two men are animals, plain and simple, and I don't care how much you idiot's adore them, or egg them on, I promise you, there will be no violence brought to my person here tonight, or this company WILL pay through the nose. THAT, is a personal guarantee.
The fans shower Recoba in boo's once more, and he shakes his head in disgust at the outcry of disdain. He comes to sit upon the edge of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that allowed him to still hold the mic up to his lips.
CROSS RECOBA: My guests here tonight, are the type of men who will go back on a deal the minute they have possession of the money. They are the type of men who don't care about the spirit of competition, nor do they abide by any sort of code. I don't think there's anyone here who would agree that they are gentleman, as you're just as likely to see them hanging out at a biker bar as you are to see them spitting sanctimonious filth across the PAW airwaves. These men have received zero consequences for their actions, nor do they exhibit any conscious after brutally and savagely ending a fellow wrestlers career. They are so neanderthal, in fact, that they remind me of a modern day Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble. Ladies and Gentleman, without any further ado, I give you the newly crowned PAW Heavyweight Champion, Press, and his loud mouthed partner, Flaming Youth! I give you The BombTrax!!
The lights go dim as "Strangle Hold" by Ted Nugent begins to blare across the arena, while red strobe lights flicker all around the building, finally settling on the entry way. When the song enters the breakdown, Press strides out from behind the curtain, the PAW Heavyweight Championship thrown casually over his shoulder. He stops at the top of the ramp and gazes intently out at the crowd, who go wild at first sight of him. When the first lines bellow out, Youth appears, flashing around in front of Press, and spins a few times reaching out at the crowd who cheer in adulation. He comes to a teetering stop facing the ring, a coy grin on his face, as he looks back at his massive partner who merely nods his approval. Youth takes off into a sprint for the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope, and popping up with his hands over his head. Press stalks up to the ring, rising up on the ring apron, and then stepping over the top rope with one fist pumped over his head. Youth takes one of the turnbuckle without furniture blocking it in a single bound, and plays up to the crowd, as Press steps to the center of the ring and thrusts the PAW championship high into the air.
As all of this was going on, Cross Recoba wisely made sure to go ahead and get behind his desk, making sure there was a physical barrier between he and the two men. When the music finally comes to an end, and the lights come back to normal, the arena is abuzz with electricity as both Press and Youth stand side by side, staring at Cross Recoba across the desk. The Fox tentatively indicates the two mics sitting on the edge of the desk, and then takes a seat in his chair, all the while keeping an eye on his two guests.
CROSS RECOBA: Just remember, you're not allowed to touch a single hair on my head!
Press smirked as he plopped down on the far end of the couch, while Youth passed him a mic, taking a seat that put him between Recoba and the big man. Press stared at Recoba with a sidelong glance, shaking his head, and still half-smiling as he brought the mic up to his lips.
PRESS: Relax, Recoba, we didn't come out here to do any further damage. You're safe..........For now.
The crowd let out a few light boo's at that statement, but mostly laughed and continued to jeer Recoba. None of this seemed to fluster the man, as he leaned forward on his elbows, and nodded.
CROSS RECOBA: Alright, then, let's get started. I'm sure that everyone wants to hear about your many celebrations over the past two weeks after winning the PAW Championship.
Press brings the mic up to his lips, and just as he was about to respond, Cross swiftly cuts him off.
CROSS RECOBA: So, Youth, how about that concussion? That sure was some ill timed luck, wasn't it? I mean, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, after all, on account of how much consideration you put into helping your partner over there disfigure and maim other wrestlers. As I recall, way back on WICKED#2, the heel of your boot was the last thing I saw before I was unceremoniously dumped spine first onto a set of steel steps. Couple that with the big oaf's powerbomb clear out of the ring, I might never get to return to wrestling, while you'll be able to come back as soon as next show. What do you think of that?
FLAMING YOUTH: Well, Cross, that's unfortunate that you got hurt doing a high impact sport. Shudder to think that when you come out here week after week that people are out to hurt you, or isn't that the whole purpose of our industry. I can tell you what I'm not going to do, Cross, and that's cry about the fa.....
CROSS RECOBA: DO YOU KNOW, that they are talking about banning CJ O'Donnell's Irish Knowledge Running Knee because of this incident. The Louisiana State Gaming Commission is worried that if allowed to continue, there could be more injuries, but you know what move they haven't said jack shit about? The Press Release Powerbomb! The very move that has put me behind this infernal desk instead of in the ring where I belong. Well, what do you think about that? You smug piece of trash, sitting over there with a belt that you don't deserve. I hope some of these guys in the back are listening, as you're set to defend that strap pretty soon. They had better be paying attention, because it might just save them from having to be in a wheelchair one day!
PRESS: Cross, I think maybe you're just a little upset about the fact that I got to the prize at the end of the tunnel, and you fell short. If you had spent more time training and watching tape rather than exorcising those gums of yours, you might have been the one to make it. But that's not what happened, and that's just tough shit. I can tell you one thing, though, that desk looks like the perfect kind of furniture to put someone's ass through, so keep up that disrespectful tone, and we'll just have to see what happens.
CROSS RECOBA: You see folks, how quick their tune changes? These guys can't do anything without resorting to a threat of violence. The best thing that could happen for Pure Amusement is if someone would come out here and knock you two off your high horse! Maybe it will be CJ O'Donnell. Maybe it will be Stevie Harris! I'm sure he's got plenty to say about the travesty that took place at the St. Patrick's Day Super Show. Hell, I wouldn't care if one of those GZW assholes was the one to do it. Whatever it takes to make sure that we don't have to be beholden to you as the PAW Heavyweight Champion!
PRESS: ENOUGH!
The Big man came up off the sofa along with Youth, and they moved to stand right in front of the desk that Recoba was sitting at. The Fox scooted his chair back into the corner, grabbing his cane and holding it out in front of him as Press leaned over the desk to get in his face.
PRESS: As far as I'm concerned, this bullshit show of yours is over. As for who's first in line to try and take this belt off of me, I don't really give a crap. Far as I'm concerned you can line up the whole fucking roster in a neat little row, and I'll bulldoze them down like a game of dominoes. But I'll be God damned if I'm going to listen to one more word of your snarky mouth while you hide behind that crippled act.
The fans erupt in cheers, and just when it looks like Press and Youth are about to pull the desk out of the way, static blares through the speakers, and the big screen above the ramp comes to life. Both Press and Youth turn, along with Recoba and the audience, to see Stevie Harris' scornful grin beaming in full HD. Press abandons the desk altogether, and comes to stand center of the ring, looking up at his last opponent with a scowl on his face.
STEVIE HARRIS: Look at the false God, reveling in all his glory. The belt looks good on you Press, but so did my noose around your neck. As far as Pure Amusement is concerned, that noose is an illegal weapon and your using it as a weapon, as impressive as it was to see a man in the gallows use it to his advantage – your using it should make your victory count for nothing. Like my friends and family who have taken to protesting this here Amusement Park, I too shall protest this. I REFUSE to step into the arena of combat until such reparations have been made. Moo-nin isn’t about to fire her enforcer, I know that. All we ask is that a FAIR contest take place. One free of that thug assaulting hard working fans who paid their fair price to come see the show. A match free of the influence of 4Loco, sending his security to escort my supporters away. A match free from that God Damn oaf kicking me in the face while I am holding a steel chair to protect myself. A fair contest was not had, Press Jones. You have muddied the waters of Purity and it’s time to cleanse the ring of your sins…
Before Stevie can finish his sentence, the big screen begins to flicker, and then his voice is replaced by 'Beast' (feat. Busta Rhymes, KXNG Crooked & Tech N9ne) performed by Rob Bailey & The Hustle Standard. Stevie's confused expression is the last thing to be seen of him as the big screen flickers out, and out from the back steps CJ O'Donnell, already dressed for his contest later in the night. The Distinguished is already shaking his head, mic in hand, when he looks down to the ring where Press and Youth both take note of this new interruption. He offers a grim smirk, before bringing the mic up to his lips.
CJ O'DONNELL: Gentlemen, if memory serves me right, I was the one who walked out of the Super Show as the number one contender for the PAW Championship. It was not Stevie Harris. It was not Calvin Harris. It was not Trixie. It was not Johnny Raike. Hell, it wasn't even Alex Cross. It was me, Caleb James O'Donnell. So, Press, the question is no longer whom you will face first, but when.
Caleb pauses for a moment, and points at Press in the ring. A smirk appears across his face.
CJ O'DONNELL: Do not worry your little heart, Press, as I will let you wear that championship until I see fit to take it from around your waist. Now you can come out here and stick out your chest, act like you're a badass, but we all know the truth. Press, you are scared. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You think this is your swan song. You are about to hang those tights up soon, but you just had to prove to yourself that you could still bring it. You may have the size and strength over me, but this is not going to be a five minute showdown. Oh no, my friend, when we meet for that PAW Heavyweight Championship, I am going to prove that the bigger they are the harder they fall.
Johnny Raike appears from out the curtain, cutting CJ off from any further comments, The slow beat of Placebo's "Pure Morning" matching the pace of the Thigh High Thriller's gait as he saunters onto the stage, getting all but into O'donnell's personal zone. The Beautiful Nightmare is in his usual and shiny black trench coat. His right hand holds his whiffle ball bat, sans tacks at the moment. He holds a mic in his left
JOHNNY RAIKE: You know CJ, I like my boys with a bit of a brogue. I could even probably stand to hear more of it at a later time, but right now I figure if we're holding an open court on the state of this company, what does and doesn't constitute behavior unbecoming of a champion, who should and shouldn't be disqualified, and what not, I thought we could stand to hear from a champion.
Johnny undoes his coat revealing his usual acid green “Want Me” shorts, though they are obscured by his Titans of the Midway championship belt.
JOHNNY RAIKE: Now, I'm not up here to side with anyone, I'm not up here to make threats. I'm not going to argue and try and change facts. Stevie can have his victims parade around the arena. Really hoping Munin is looking into a legal solution for that. Seriously, those are victims. What that man in the ring is doing to people is not cool, and I have to believe I'm not employed by a company that would enable the psychological torture that is the brain washing Stevie – I'm drifting off points we can address later.
Johnny takes a breath and shakes his hair, returning to the mic after a moment to collect.
JOHNNY RAIKE: Stevie, you aren't the champion. CJ, you aren't the champion yet, and I'm not telling you who I think will take that match. But you are the number one contender, and Press is the Pure Amusement Wrestling Heavyweight Champion. I saw that match, I have no problem with calling that man my champion. But, I will be calling myself champion in due time, gentlemen. Well, if we loosely define the term. Being Pure Amusement champion isn't about when you get it, though virgin territory always has that special feel. But, of course, first timers? They can be a real bad lay. But they get better. And I'm going to get that belt, sweeties. And I'm gonna teach it tricks.
Johnny drops his mic hand, flashing a big knowing smile and bragging eyes. He pulls out his bejeweled flask and takes a sip, turning to face O'Donnell, who gets right up into his face. The two exchange quiet words, nose to nose, and it's obvious that O'Donnell doesn't appreciate the interruption.
CROSS RECOBA: You know what gentleman, before things get out of hand, and we all forget why this is such a hot topic, I think we need to keep our eyes on the cause of all this. We're all in agreement, in one way or another.. No matter what, this man needs to lose that belt.
All eyes turn to look back at Cross Recoba, including The BombTrax, as he has hastily already made his way out of the ring, and starts down the steps to the floor. He holds the briefcase he had brought to the ring with him over his head, and a smug smile crosses his lips.
CROSS RECOBA: In this briefcase is $50,000, and it goes to the first man who can dethrone this behemoth.
Press and Youth both stalk to the edge of the ring, Press even reaching over the top rope for a swipe at Recoba, who wisely hobbles back against the announce desk out of reach. CJ O'Donnell, seeing the momentary distraction, drops his mic and bolts for the ring, abandoning his stare down with Johnny Raike, who shrugs, and steps over to the curtain separating the stage from the gorilla position. He reaches behind the curtain, and produces from out of nowhere a lawn chair, and a glass of ice with an umbrella hanging from the rim. He sets up the chair and takes a seat on top of the stage, pouring the contents from his bejeweled flask into the cup, just about the time that O'Donnell belly slides into the ring. The Irishman pops up, and rushes at the duo, leaving his feet and driving his knee into Youth's shoulder blades, sending him tumbling from the ring.
Press spins around at this new threat, and upon seeing O'Donnell, swings his meaty fist at The Distinguished's head. CJ ducks the blow, using his speed to slide in behind Press, and hops onto his back, getting him in an illegal choke hold. Press struggles wildly at first, stumbling to the center of the ring, and reaching behind him to try and break the hold. He's unable to get a handhold on his assailant, so instead he rushes backwards towards the desk, slamming O'Donnell's spine against the wood. CJ releases the hold, and has just enough time to bring his arms up as Press spins around and starts swinging. O'Donnell takes a few hard shots that knock him off the desk and into the ropes, to which Press takes him by the wrist, and flings him to the far side.
Upon rebounding, O'Donnell is barely able to duck as Press lines his boot up to take off the Irishman's head with a Sudden Stop. He continues on through with his momentum to the other side, and upon his return, leaps into the air knee first to try and catch the big man with Irish Knowledge. Press, much to O'Donnell's surprise, side steps the maneuver, and when he turns around he's met with a clothesline that takes him up and over the top rope to the floor below. O'Donnell lands on his feet, and makes a go of trying to get back in the ring just as PAW security arrives, swarming the two combatants. They pull a savage O'Donnell back to the floor and carry him towards the ramp, as another group hit the ring and hold back Press.
At the top of the ramp, Johnny Raike stands, finishing off the contents in his cup, and claps with a genuine grin spread across his face, while Press and O'Donnell continue to exchange words and stare daggers into one another. The scene fades to commercial.