ACW Riot Act- Tag Team Championships: Four Way Tag

[The_King]

Semi-Main Event
Match Type: Four Way Tag
Stipulation: ACW Tag Team Championships
Time Limit: 40 Minutes (4 RP Cap)
The Bogans v. LWO w/ Wisecrack v. The Rednecks v. RipperCussions​

If you are not in this match, don't post in this thread. If you are in this match, don't spam it up with OOC talk.
Four RP cap with all RPs due by June 6, 2012 at 11:59 P.M. (Eastern). Good luck!

 

[BDC]

Caught on a security camera somewhere near the Mayfield Community Center


Walking the streets seems to calm me; feeling the rabble bustling around and scurrying to whatever end their pathetic lives serve them. Watch them run from meaningless moment to meaningless moment. Somehow, I don’t feel quite so crazy, anymore.

I do this once a day; take a walk. Mostly at night, but, at times, I venture out into the light; like today. Damn sun’s like a spotlight and it’s always aimed at me. It’s like some ill-fated stage production and I’m the comic relief. Was that last guy who passed me laughing at me? Better not be. I remember the last guy who cracked a cackle in my presence and at my expense. Didn’t end well for him. Pathetic loser.

When I arrived in Phoenix, I couldn’t even go out. I had hid in my own little circus; in the tents, far away from the ‘maddening crowd’. The rasslin’ show gave me the reason I needed to get out. Oh, the lights, the crowd, the competition…the pyro! HA! It all became rather intoxicating. Therapy, my psychologist called it. All I knew was that it made me feel good and I couldn’t get enough.

Suddenly, some bum collides with me.

BUM: Watch where yer goin’, ya idiot!

As he walked on, I stopped with my face still away from him.

Wisecrack: Who are ya callin’ idiot? Idiot…

That got his attention, didn’t it? HA! I can hear him come to a screeching halt behind me.

BUM: I’m callin’ yous a idiot! You wanna call me idiot one more time and maybe I teach yous some manners!!

I can FEEL him walking toward me. I got senses like Daredevil, baby. I can close my eyes and know where he is. I can smell him, hear him ….feel him.

Wisecrack smiles; Idiot…

I hear his fists slam together.

BUM: Ok, that’s it.

Yes, OH, YES! That’s it! Come to papa!!

BUM: Gonna break yur scrawny ass in two!!

I crack my knuckles. Time stops cold as the BUM stomps toward me. Damn, I could hear him coming from a mile off, the oaf! My eyes are closed and I can tell how many steps he has left.

ONE, TWO

Wisecrack: BUCKLE MY SHOE

I’m tapping my foot impatiently now.

THREE, FOUR

Wisecrack: OPEN THE DOOR

In my mind’s eye, I can see the door open and a light flooding in.

FIVE, SIX

Wisecrack: PICK UP STICKS

Without opening my eyes, I reach to my left. There is a trash can, just like I could see in my head. And, there, leaning on it, is a very big stick.

SEVEN, EIGHT

Wisecrack: MAKE THEM WAIT!

He’s almost there and the big stick is in my hand.

NINE, TEN

I spin as my eyes open wildly open. The swing of the stick was never anticipated by this goon. And, by the reaction of the crowd, they weren’t expecting a little lunacy to invade their mundane world today. Well, get used to it! The world gets crazier every day! As the stick connects with the BUM’s head, I can see the tough guy exterior fade and the blood begin to flow from the wound.

As the BUM fell to the ground, I simply walked off. They were calling the police, but they didn’t dare detain me. Like this oaf learned, I may be small, but if ya think that means I’ma pushover…

I smile: Better think…again…
​

 

[Ben]

Drinking, eating, fighting and hunting. The Bradley Boys favorite things in no particular order. Today they've caught a flight back home to go on a nice hunting trip to clear there heads before the title fight at Riot Act. They arrive back at there cabin deep in the woods, the grass and weeds are not groomed as they've been away, but still the cabin they grew up in is a welcome site and there happy to be home. The boy make there way up to there porch and immediately take a seat in there 2 favorite rocking chairs as they've done so many times before. Leroy makes his way into the house, through the living room filled with lawn chairs as inside furniture and to the kitchen and into the fridge where he pulls out 2 warm beers as the refrigerator has been long broken. Billy heads to the locked shed behind the cabin, opening the door and kicking the ground around the entrance to check for any critters that may have called it home. In the back hanging on hooks are 2 rifles, the same 2 rifles there daddy had given the boys when they were just 8 years old and have used ever since. Both guys make there way back to the porch, Billy hands Leroy a gun and Leroy hands Billy a beer.

Billy: This hyar beer is warm brother, is thet old fridge busted agin.

Leroy: ah reckon so, but it's fine t'be home an' a warm beer at home is better than a cold beer in th' big city.

Both brother nod there heads in agreement as they toast each other by tapping there cans before slamming the beers and throwing it into the large pile of cans already in the yard.

Billy: So whut does yer hankerin' t'hunt today brother. Th' lan's aroun' hyar has so menny animals, we got ourselves a country buffet.

Leroy: Wal we got possums an' rabbits thet we kin shoot right fum th' po'ch.

Billy: Yo' a lazy as a houn'dog fool, howsabout we hoof it up into th' hills out back an' git us some deer.

The boys seem to be at a impasse as both of them want to hunt, but they each have different game in mind. Each of them sit back in there rocking chair as they each think about how they are going to settle this problem.

Billy: O'tye brota I'v git a compromise. Less git th' truck th' boat, an' less hoof it gato' huntin'

Leroy jumps out of his chair and let's out a huge "Hell Yea" as it seems he's quite happy with this suggestion.

Leroy: Fella thass a fine idea ain't been gato' hunter in awhile. Wish ah w'd of thunk of it.

Billy: Yo' knows it brother, ah's full of fine ideas, gotta remember I've got mo'e skooin' thet yo' did, cuss it all t' tarnation. ah made it all th' way up t'grade 7.

Leroy: Yo' may be smarter than me brother, but yo' gotta remember ah got th' fine looks. Rather be hansum than smart.

Billy: Brother yo' as homely as a upside houn'dogs ass on a hot day. None of them gals at th' Arbys doesn't evah talk t'yo' they jest be hankerin' mah number

The boys laugh as they embrace in a hug, as there's no hard feeling as a little bit of jabbing back and forth has always been good fun for both of them.

Leroy: Yo' jest a regular comedian, as enny fool kin plainly see. On account o' yo' so smart an' purdy how bout yo' git th' boat an' truck ready, when mah homely dumb old but use th' outhouse.

Billy: ah gotcha old fella, jest make sho'nuff yer dumb se'f doesn't fall in thet thar hole in th' poop house.

Billy makes his way over to the old truck parked behing the house and attaches the boat. A few minutes later Leroy makes his way out of the outhouse with toliet paper still stuck to his shoe, as both boys jump in the truck and head to the lake.
​

 

[BDC]

The figures of the tiny white screen play out a drama for the ages as three men huddle around; drawn onto the edge of their seats. As the final scene shows a hand reaching out of the water and the credits roll, the tallest and thinnest of the three gets up and turns the television set off. As the silhouetted figure claps his hands the lights suddenly come up. It reveals a very puzzled cracked clown, known to the masses as Wisecrack; leader of the Lunatic World Order. His two associates, El Loko and Maddog, look confused.

Wisecrack: Well, that didn’t help at all. I mean, we set through THE BEVERLY HILLBILLIES, BLAZING SADDLES, THE WIZARD OF OZ, BROKEBACK MOUNTIAN and, lastly, DELIVERENCE and we’re not any closer to being ready for this menagerie of freaks, cowboys and rednecks come RIOT ACT!

El Loko rants something in his incoherent Spanish.

Wisecrack: Yeah, sorry about THE WIZARD OF OZ. Had nothing to do with our competition, I just LOVE Judy Garland. Although, I’m sure Jack Ripper just loves show tunes.

After a quick laugh, Wisecrack slams his hand on the television set.

Wisecrack: This is our first real competition since Mercy and Indiana had to take that little….injury timeout! HA! Poor saps. I kinda miss the big greased up lugs.

The manager of the LWO tag team walks passed the door and opens it. There in the hall is John McHenry trying to explain something to a police officer. Out of reaction, Wisecrack dives in behind the door and listens.

John McHenry: I am certain that none of our wrestlers had anything to do with the attack, officer.

The officer: I wouldna come in here and asked if I didn’t have eye witnesses attesting to the fact that the assailant was seen diving through your front doors. Now, this hasn’t been the first altercation that can be traced back to your little show here. I know you just inherited this little side show, but just try and keep a handle on this zoo, ok?

John McHenry: Certainly, officer.

The policeman rolls his eyes and leaves; totally unconvinced.

As soon as McHenry sees that the officer is gone…

John McHenry: WISECRACK!!!!

The cracked clown winces as the new owner and General Manager plods up to the door; pushing it open. Wisecrack pulls close to the wall behind the door as McHenry sticks his head in and looks over to the Hispanic Horrors.

John McHenry: Where’s Wisecrack?

They both look behind the door as Wisecrack waves them off. The look back at McHenry and shrug!

John McHenry: Well, when you see him, tell him I want to see him, ok?

El Loko and Maddog look back at the clown behind the door who is shooting them double thumbs up! They look over at McHenry and mimic their manager.

John McHenry rolls his eyes: Great…

He turns away and disappears down the hall.

John McHenry: Now, where is BANKS!??! Anybody seen BANKS???

Wisecrack lets out a long relieved breath.

Wisecrack: Whew! That was a close one. I mean, it’s not like I had anything to do with that attack, right?

El Loko and Maddog look at each other puzzled and, then, look back with vacant smiles and double double thumbs up!

Wisecrack just shakes his head: Now where was I? AH! Yes, the big match. I got an idea!! I got a copy of THE COWBOY WAY here somewhere with Woody Harrelson and Kiefer Sutherland. Maybe that’s what we need here. There’s this great scene with a naked dude and a hungry calf that’s just sidesplitting!!

El Loko and Maddog just look at each other and roll their collective eyes.

​

 

[Pete]

Monday

By about 9 pm, the show is in full swing. The big top is not packed to the rafters, but there is a sizeable audience of young couples, kids with their parents or grandparents, and the odd stray soul who just happened to wander in and stayed to watch the show and cheer the sparkling, larger-than-life artists.

In a seat halfway up the central bleacher, Jack Ripper and Darren Pesinger partake in the general excitement, sharing a bag of peanuts as they applaud the consecutive acts. Darren, in particular, is as giddy as a small child, stamping his feet and whooping at the more impressive stunts, as he stuffs handfuls of peanuts into his mouth. By his side, Jack Ripper tries, in vain, to keep the cowboy's excitement in check, looking nervously around to make sure nobody notices the scene Darren is making. Every attempt by the fashion designer to bring his partner to his senses is, however, met with a cheerful rebuttal from the Southerner, who continues to whoop and cheer every new artist that comes in.

At lenght, the ring announcer introduces the first clown act of the night, which is met with a cheer by most people in the audience. Some of the smaller children, however, become wide-eyed, and burrow deeper into their mother's bosom, glancing at the ring uncertainly. One small boy has shut his eyes and covered his ears, and seems to be mouthing something with the apparent purpose of driving the clowns away. As for Darren, he nearly jumps off his seat, pointing excitedly:

Darren Pesinger (pointing and clapping): Lookit 'em! Lookit 'em, Jack!

Patiently, with no more than a resigned eye-roll, Jack takes his partner by the arm:

Jack Ripper: I see them, Darren. Sit down. You're blocking people's view!

Prompted by the fashion designer's touch, Darren crouches halfway to his seat, but it does not take too long before he bolts up again, nearly spilling his peanuts in the process:

Darren Pesinger: Lookit that'un, Jack! Don't he look just like Wiseass?!

He points at the leader of the clowns, who is wearing a ringmaster's uniform, and does indeed bear a resemblance to the ACW's cracked clown. As giddy as a schoolboy, Darren excitedly continues, tugging at his partner's sleeve:

Darren Pesinger: And that'un...looks just like that'un done quit Ay Cee Dub! What's his name, Jack?

Jack Ripper: Zasalamel. And yeah, it does look like him a little bit...

The fashion designer leans forward, now more interested in the clown number. It does not take him long, however, to ascertain that none of the two clowns is either Wisecrack or Zasalamel, and his attention once again turns to keeping Darren in check. Begrudgingly, the cowboy does eventually sit, remaining quiet for the rest of the act, other than to uproariously laugh and slap his knees. Sighing with relief, Ripper similarly gets a little more comfortable, allowing himself to enjoy the show.

After the clowns have left, the ringmaster takes to the ring once again to announce "The Magnificent Fabio And His Fabulous Bears". And no sooner has the mustachioed pseudo-Italian taken to the arena with two or three of his beasts that Pesinger is up on his feet again, pointing:

Darren Pesinger: Lookit those two, Jack! They looks just like 'em two dumb hillbillies!

He motions towards the two front bears, who are now standing on their hind legs, looking visibly displeased. Oblivious to the animals' discomfort, the cowboy continues to rib his partner:

Darren Pesinger: Look...there's Billy...and that smaller one's Leroy! Gawshdurnit! It's like their spittin' image!

Even Jackie can't help but laugh this time; he, too, has seen the resemblance between the lumbering beasts and the two Louisiana rednecks he and Darren faced the previous week. Hearing his partner's guffaw gives Darren a pretext to land a gigantic slap across Jack's back, making him gasp.

Jack Ripper: OW! Darren, sit DOWN!

The Georgian smirks at the fashion designer, who is clutching his arm, a mock-wounded expression on his features:

Darren Pesinger: C'mon...I ain't hit you that hard.

He taps Jack on the shoulder lightly and sits back, his attempt at model behaviour indicating that he is prepared to make amends to his patner and best friend. When "Outback Sally and Her Wonder Kangaroos" come out, however, it is the fashion designer's turn to stand:

Jack Ripper: C'mon Darren. Let's go.

Darren gawks at his partner in disbelief, shifting his gaze uncertainly between him and the young, shapely blonde in khakis now dominating the arena and stammering helplessly:

Darren Pesinger (stammering): But-but-but...

Jack's tone, however, is adamant, as he leans forward in order to be heard:

Jack Ripper: No 'but's, Darren. This show is telling us something. We gotta go.

Darren once again stares at his partner, frowning in undisguised confusion:

Darren Pesinger: Tellin' us somethin'? Tellin' us what?

Jack counts on his fingers:

Jack Ripper: Think about it. Clowns...then bears who look like rednecks....and now kangaroos. It's telling us to get our heads in the game. And I'm gonna do just that.

He starts to head towards the exit, but Darren, still seated, stops him short:

Darren Pesinger: Hey, where you goin'?

The fashion designner does not show one trace of indecision as he replies:

Jack Ripper: Home to get some rest. Are you coming?

The Southerner hesitates for another second, still ogling the young blonde at centre stage. Seeing that his partner is unwavering, however, he slowly gets up from his seat, grumbling:

Darren Pesinger (grumpily): I paid good money for this durn'd ticket...

Jack Ripper: You'll catch the rest some other time. Let's go.

And without another word, the two turn around and begin to make their way through the rows of bleachers, towards the big top's exit.

 

[BDC]

Ya know, there are times when this shit ain’t funny.

I’ve managed to ditch McHenry most of the night. Guy has a major stick up his butt. Always raining on my parade. And he’s only been boss for a few days! The cops have less a sense of humor too. Another thing I miss about Phoenix.

But ya play with the stacked deck you’re given. Ya know, glass isn’t half full or half empty…it’s smashed up against the wall! But the glass makes a great weapon.

I give the boys a Rubics Cube and go for a walk sans makeup. That will keep them busy for days. They won’t solve it, but it will take them that long to tear the thing apart and eat it. Most of these idiots haven’t seen me in my ala natural. Add to that a maintenance uniform I stole from the utility closet and I’m virtually invisible out here.

“Yeah, I got this.â€￾

I turn the corner and It’s that Banks guy on the phone again. He seems to live on that thing. Wonder who he’s talking to all the time. He was bugging me for like a week about being his manager. I don’t know. He’s good. Got a great look. Will probably go a long way. Seems to be well connected. A loose cannon, sure, but a little too sane for my liking. Might be fun. We’ve been passing notes back and forth on Twitter. GAWD, I love Twitter!

He sees me and recognizes me (strange) and throws a finger up.

Brandon Banks: Yo, bud, I gotta go. 'Cracks is here and we need to talk. Got it. Later.

He puts up the phone and smiles.

Brandon Banks: SO? Ya thought about it?

I smile: Yeah, and I think I'll have to hold my judgment till AFTER the match tonight. People are talking in the back, BB. Sayin' ya can't hang. Now, I, of course, don't believe them. But, if you do, it could start affecting you.

Brandon Banks, a bit angered: What the hell? CAN'T HANG? Who's sayin' that?

I put a comforting hand on his shoulder: McHenry, for one. He'll probably try to sideline you by putting you on guard duty or something. Plex has been talking to.

Brandon Banks: Yeah, yeah! Haters Hate and Talkers talk. Gonna shove my super kick down that fat slob's throat!!

I act reassured: That's the intensity I wanted to see. Unleash the anger, BB, and we will talk after the match.

As I walk away from Banks, I find myself sliding out back. Not long and I’m in front of a nondescript warehouse which has become a hidaway of the splintered one himself, Multiplex. I wonder what his name REALLY is. Not that it matters. He’s also asked me to represent him and accept him into the LWO family. Ya know, he may just be TOO crazy for our bunch. But he may be easier to work with than Banks. I really don’t know. I like them both, but they will never coexist in the Lunatic World Order. So a decision must be made.

“How much is the bet?â€￾

“You ask that question every single hand. It's always the same! 50 is the bet. 50 is the call!â€￾

I crack the door. I can’t see them, but their obviously playing poker. All I can think of is those damn dogs on black velvet. Not that that has ANY thing to do with this. Just the way my cracked mind works.

“What are you after here, Winston?â€￾ I ask myself.

I mean, the PWA is dying and I’ve never really had a faction of my own. I really think it’s high time to burn this puppy down around us. And, to do that, I’m gonna need some help. I got a big match tonight and it would be nice to have those tag titles. But my boys and me can handle the competition tonight. No, this is for future reference. A grand plan. Tonight we bury the Rippercussions, the rednecks, the freaks and the geeks. Then, we begin to bring the HELL down on this wonderful little program.

And, to do that, we need a little firepower…ok, here goes nothing!

“Playing with yourself?â€￾

And the rest, they say, is History….​

 

[Ben]

Announcer: Ladies and Gentleman Boys and Girls Welcome to the 6th Annual Trader Jim's Wing Eating Bonanza
Traders Jim in Myrtle Grove, Louisianan. It's the hot spot in the city for drinking and eating and meeting with friends. In a town where most of the buildings are run down and old, his place is a palace. Everything in the place is new from the light fixtures, to the tables, to the handles on the toilet. Some families in the area don't even have a TV, Trader Joes has 20 top of the line HD TV's. All of this is way this is the busiest restaurant in town, even if it's owned by a non local. The biggest event of the year is the Wing Eating Contest, which is now going into it's 6th year the announcer begins to announce the 4 competitors for the day as the crowd gathers around the stage.

Announcer: Introducing First, a man that I've heard is quite well know around town...Elroy "Tiny" Dabow.

The first competitor makes his way to his seat to start the competion, and even though his nickname is Tiny that's obviously not the case as he weighs in at well over 400LBS as he makes his way out he gets a few cheers from some of his family, but it doesn't seem he's a fan favorite.

Announcer: Introducing next all the way from Detroit, Michigan Evan "The Boss" Anderson

The Next competitor makes his way out, dressed to the nine in Detroit Sports Gear, wearing a Tigers Hat, and Redwings jersey. A loud chorus of boos breaks out from the locals as they don't take to kindly to city folks. Anderson grabs the mic from the announcer as he has something to state.

Anderson: Your State Sucks, The Saints Suck and your all a bunch of hillbillies who can kiss my white ass.

The Boos are even louder now, and now the people in attendance are actually throwing items at the man. He runs to his seat, but is greated by 2 local men that don't seem to happy with his comments. They grab him before he can sit down and escort him out of the restaurant.

Announcer: Next up is a local celeberity, Myrtle Groove's very own Billy Bradley.

A large pop breaks out from the crowd, they love there hometown boy, and Billy is eating it up, high fiving fans as he makes his way to the seat. He's dressed up for the contest, wearing a new pair of dark jeans, snake skin boots, and a black silk shirt with a brand new bolo tie.

Announcer: Next up is our defending champion, the one and only Leroy Bradley.

Another huge ovation from the crowd, at least triple the commotion that Billy Bradley received. Unlike Billy though he seems to be all buisness as he doesn't stop to talk to fans and just makes his way to his seat. Unlike Billy he's dressed very casually, he already has a big on and is wearing a white tank top, and some cut off shorts.

Announcer: Leroy would you like to say a few words, we have a few minutes to spare until one of our competitors come back from outside.

Leroy hesitates for a second but decides to address the crowd.

Leroy: ah's th' five time....five time...five time...five time.....five time CHAMPION an' soon t'be 6 time.

Leroy hands the mic back to the announcer as he makes his way back to his seat as the crowd chants his name. The announcer looks around for the man from Detroit but doesn't see him, he notices the two men that escorted him outside come back in without the man from Detroit and it's at that point that the announcer knows that he's not coming back.

Announcer: Well folks looks like we are going to have a 3 man competition here, Rules are simple, you've got 3 minutes to eat as many wings as you can whoever has the most at the end is our champ. So let's get this party started.

The waitress brings out the first plates and gives them to each of the competitors. Leroy and Billy who are sitting on each end of the table with Tiny in the middle look across at each other as the announcer start the countdown.

Announcer: 3...

Billy: Yo' gwine down brother.

Announcer: 2....

Leroy: ah doesn't reckon so...unless yo' got some secret weapon, as enny fool kin plainly see.

Announcer: 1.....

Billy: Oh yo'll see brother

Announcer: EAT

Billy lets out a slight chuckle and then makes turns his attention to his plate, Leroy get's to a slow start as his brother's comment set him back a bit, Tiny jumps off to a early lead as we reach the 1 minute mark.

Announcer: We got a close one here....Tiny with 35, Billy with 33, and Leroy with 28 taking up the rear.

Leroy picks up the pace as he knows he's behind, he's not just putting the whole wing in his mouth and literally sucking all the meat off of them, as they near the 2 minute mark Billy and Leroy are neck and neck as Tiny seems to be slowing down, and a few seconds later he throws in the napkins stopping at 55 wings.

Announcer: Tiny is out!! Were down to the Bradley Boys here with just 40 seconds left we are neck and neck with Leroy at 60 and Billy at 58.

Both the men are eating at a frantic pace now, as the waitress bring out 2 more plates of food. Billy goes in right away quickly taking down multiple wings, Leroy gets his plate and takes down a few wings right away and then suddenly stops, as something at right. With this competiton you can pick your sauce and he always eats mild as his body just can't take spicy food, the last plate was not mild and he could tell cause his mouth was on fire, he was given the inferno wings. He takes a look over at his brother Billy who is eating and chuckling at him.

Billy: Told yo' ah was a-gonna win brother...how thet fo' a secret weapon.

Before Leroy can even respond he just up out of his chair and makes his way to the bar to get something to drink, as he can't take any more of the hot sauce. As a result of getting up though he's been disqualified something he realizes as soon as he finishes his drink to soothe his pain.

Announcer: Your winner @ 74 wings and NEW CHAMPION BILLY BRADLEY
​

 

[Ben]

The scene opens deep in the swamp of Louisianan on the Bayou. The Bradley boys Leroy and Billy are backing up there old truck into the boat launch to start there day of hunting. Billy backs up the truck while Leroy jumps up to guide the boat into the water. Once the trailer is completely submerged in the water Leroy unlatches it from the trailers, and jumps in the boat starting the motor and backing the boat up into the lake.

Billy: Yo' got thet boat off thet thar trailer fella.

Billy doesn't receive a answer from Leroy just a blank stare followed by a duel F YOU as he gives Billy both of his middle fingers. Billy shrugs it off and pulls the truck away from the boat launch into a patch of gravel where he parks the truck and gets out. Billy keeping with his current trend, seems to be a bit overdressed for a fishing trip. Wearing a fancy blue polo shirt, along with a real pair of shorts as opposed to the cutoffs he usually wears. He's also wearing a championship belt, but it's not wrestling related, it's the belt he won from winning the local wing eating competition just a few days before. As he walk up to the boat he takes a few seconds to stop a shine up the belt with a white cloth he had hanging in his back pocket.

Leroy: Purdy fella yo' need t'helter-skelter yer ass up, we ain't got all day hyar.

Billy seems genuinely surprised that Leroy is talking to him again as it's been nothing but silence for the past 3 days.

Billy: Yo' done witcher li'l baby fit, yo' finally talkin' t'me?

Leroy: ah still ain't talkin' t'yer cheatin' ass, ah's tellyng yo' t'helter-skelter up, ah ain't got nothin' t'say t'yo'.

Billy: Don't knows whuffo' yo' mad, it was jest a li'l joke at some stoopid li'l eatin' competishun.

Billy makes his way right to the shoreline about a foot or two away from the boat, Leroy also moves closer to his brother getting all the way to the front of the boat and putting his right foot on the bow.

Leroy: Thet thar li'l competishun was impo'tant t'me, an' thar's one thin' yo' doesn't does an' thass crost kin.

Billy: Wal ah's so'ry brother, ah didn't knows it was thet impo'tant t'yo'. No less hoof it fishin'.

Billy reaches out his hand so Leroy can help him into the boat. To to brother connect at the wrist Leroy pulls him aboard, but he not on for long, because before Billy can get one foot into the boat Leroy twist him around and pushes him face first into the water. Leroy let's out a laugh and makes his way to the back of the boat to the motor to speed off, kicking up mud with the rutter as he goes splattering the lake sludge all over Billy who is wet and laying in the shallow part of the lake.

Billy: Leroy yo' son of a bitch, yo' ruined mah noo clo'es.

As Leroy speeds away he circles back around, stopping about 30 feet from the shore and Billy, he once again gives him the 2 finger salute and shouts something from him before speeding off again.

Leroy: ah reckon we now almost even brother.
​

 

[Pete]

Wednesday

It's tea-time on Wednesday afternoon, the week before Riot Act, and Darren Pesinger and Jack Ripper are lounging about their shared apartment on the outskirts of New York City. The cowboy is engrossed in a comedy film, while Jack gives in to one of his many passions, cooking, and prepares dinner for the two of them. So caught up is each man in his own activity that they both fail to hear the doorbell the first time it rings. On the second go-round Jack does hear it, and calmly calls over to the living room:

Jack Ripper: Darren, get the door.

The incensed response comes almost immediately:

Darren Pesinger: Why's it gotta be me?

The Southerner has, however, got up from his seat and gone to the door, which he opens after a moment. Another beat passes, and then Darren's puzzled voice comes from the hallway:

Darren Pesinger: What do *you* want?

Hearing the edge in his partner's voice, Jack comes through, only to find the Southerner standing face to face with former PWA reporter, and current ACW.com Editor-in-Chief, Kerry Buckingham.

Though as surprised as his partner, the fashion designer is considerably better at hiding it, and greets the journalist very evenly, though also firmly:

Jack Ripper: Hello, Kerry...certainly is a surprise. How did you get this address?

Buckingham chuckles lightly, as if the answer was glaringly obvious:

Kerry Buckingham: Don't be silly, darling! John put the full resources of ACW at my disposal. That means personal files on all the superstars, honeybun!

Jack winces, a little ashamed at having missed that obvious fact, and quickly attempts to regain face:

Jack Ripper: Well, still, that's a little bit of invasion of privacy, isn't it?

Kerry, however, does not miss a beat:

Kerry Buckingham: Oh, nonsense, darling. I will go, if you want me to! I was just wondering if you would consent to an interview...

It is Darren's turn to speak up, frowning:

Darren Pesinger: Interview? For what?

Kerry turns to him, using the tone of voice you would use with a six-year-old:

Kerry Buckingham: Profiling, Damon darling. It's this thing where you ask the superstars questions and then you put their answers up on the website...

The reporter's condescending attitude annoys the cowboy, who grumbles:

Darren Pesinger: Darren.

Kerry's eyebrow shoots up in polite puzzlement:

Kerry Buckingham: Pardon?

Darren Pesinger: M'name's Darren. Not Damon. You called me Damon last time, too!

The reporter draws a hand to her bosom, dramatically:

Kerry Buckingham: Oh my goodness! Silly me! I'm *so* sorry, darling! But why don't we sit down for a few minutes and set all that right, hmmm?

Jack watches in astonishment as his partner nods and motions the reporter to the couch. Well played, Kerry. You had to at least admire her capacity to get her way with people! Seeing that resistance is now futile, the fashion designer heaves a sigh of resignation and once again calls to his partner and their visitor:

Jack Ripper: Coffee?

Kerry Buckingham: Tea with a dash of milk would be lovely, thank you.

The fashion designer sets about serving the drinks - a beer for Darren, and a coffee for himself - then makes his way to the couch, tray in hand, and sits beside his partner. Kerry's interview with him is already in full swing, and Jack joins them mid-question:

Kerry Buckingham: ...is it true, darling, that you two play for the other team?

Jack derives some amusement from watching his partner struggle between the desire to immediately say "no" and the adherence to his new-found plan to get dates by pretending he is gay. After a few moments of painful fumbling and stammering by Darren, however, he takes pity on the Southerner and makes the save:

Jack Ripper: Darren is a little confused about his sexuality. On principle, he is straight. But at the moment, his situation is best described as "undefined".

Kerry nods:

Kerry Buckingham: And yourself?

Jack Ripper: Oh, I'm one hundred percent gay.

Kerry pouts slightly as she takes notes:

Kerry Buckingham: No chance at all...?

Jack shakes his head:

Jack Ripper: None. Sorry.

The reporter looks taken aback for a second, shooting Ripper an appraising look, but quickly recovers:

Kerry Buckingham: Oh, it's perfectly fine, darling. Let's talk about your match next weekend, shall we?

Both men perk up visibly, nodding enthusiastically. The ACW Editor-in-Chief allows herself a smile before asking:

Kerry Buckingham: Your match is a Fatal Four-Way against a former PWA team, the LWO, and two resident ACW teams. How do you rate your chances?

Darren is the first to cut in, with his usual bluster:

Darren Pesinger: We gon' whup ass, of cou...

Jack, however, silences him with a gesture, as he gives Kerry a somewhat more grounded reply:

Jack Ripper: We have a pretty strong chance, but it's anybody's game. We respect all three teams, and we know what they're capable of. We'll have to be at our best out there.

As Darren mocks his politically-correct answer with semi-mean-spirited grimaces, Kerry coolly moves on to her next question:

Kerry Buckingham: And what of these rumours that Starrdom Nation is coming back...?

This takes both men by surprise:

Darren Pesinger: They are...?

Kerry Buckingham: Well, Stevie Starr has certainly hinted as much...

Darren Pesinger: That's awesome! We used to mop the floor with their sorry bee-hinds!

Once again, it takes a gesture from Jack to curb the cowboy's enthusiasm. Having silenced his blustery partner, the fashion designer responds with another noncommittal answer:

Jack Ripper: We have had a great rivalry with Starrdom Nation in the past, and we hope to see it rekindled.

Kerry nods again, seemingly satisfied, and closes her notepad, motioning to get up:

Kerry Buckingham: Thank you, darlings! This is great material! And the tea was splendid, as well!

Then, she turns to Darren, attempting a familiar, reassuring tone:

Kerry Buckingham: And don't worry, Damon, darling. We'll correct that silly mistake. Where was my head, calling you Darren?! Good heavens!

And with this, the reporter daintily turns on her heel and heads for the door. She is quickly escorted there by Jack, as a very surly Southerner is left behind, arms folded over his chest, sulkily muttering:

Darren Pesinger: It IS Darren...

(Permission to use Kerry)

 

[Pete]

Friday

It is early on Friday afternoon as Darren Pesinger parks his battered pick-up truck outside a modern-looking building in downtown Yonkers and steps out into the mild sunlight. As he begins to walk towards the front of the building, he is joined by his partner, Jack Ripper, who rode shotgun on the short ride from their apartment to their current location, and who was in charge of navigation. (As Darren put it, "real men don't need directions").

As the two approach the front door of the building, they notice a small gaggle of fans waiting outside, with posters and other ACW apparatus. Never ones to turn down their supporters, the duo promptly stops to sign autographs and chat with their entourage. Jack signs a few auitographs for male fans, while Darren is predictably the centre of attention for the female crowd. One girl in particular is fawning over the cowboy, as he signs her photograph:

Girl: Oh, *Darren*...you're sooooo *sensitive*...

Never one to waste a chance, the cowboy promptly agrees:

Darren Pesinger: Oh yeah, darlin'...that's me...hella sensitive!

Jack catches wind of this just in time to stop it, dragging his partner away by the arm, to the vocal displeasure of the fangirls in waiting.

Jack Ripper (hissing): What the hell are you doing?

Darren Pesinger: You never tol' me bein' queer got you this many chicks!

The fashion designer rolls his eyes in exasperation:

Jack Ripper: Of *course* it gets you chicks...they think you're safe! But tell me, O wise one...what're you going to do when you want to...you know...and they find out you're not really gay?

Surprisingly, Darren does not miss a beat, retaining full composure as he calmly replies:

Darren Pesinger: When that happens..."you're so special, darlin'...you're the one who turned me!"

Unable to believe his ears, Ripper can respond only with an incredulous groan, as he continues to drag his partner down the hallways of the office building. Eventually, a tall, dark-haired man comes out of one of the rooms to meet them, holding out a large hand:

Man: Jack, Darren! How are ya! Maury Freedman.

The pair shake hands with the man, who then leads them into what is evidently a radio studio: there are microphones set up in a circle over an equally circular table and, in one of the seats, there is a complex-looking console. Maury gestures for each of his two guests to take a seat, then sits on the chair with the complicated control panel in front of it and flicks a few switches:

Maury Freedman: Hello and welcome back to Mat Matters! I'm Maury Freedman, and I have with me at this time the former PWA Tag Team Champions, and current ACW employees, RipperCussions! How you guys doin'?

Jack takes the mic first, returning the welcome:

Jack Ripper: Heya, Maury. Thanks for having us. We're honoured.[/color]

Maury Freedman: Aw, of course I'd want to have the former PWA Tag Champions on my booth!

Once again taking control of the situation, Jack firmly, but politely, corrects the DJ:

Jack Ripper: Actually, right now, we're with ACW, Maury. The PWA was the past. It was good, but it's over.

Here, Darren takes to the mic for the very first time, for a piece of typically brash bravado:

Darren Pesinger: 'Sides, startin' next Sunday, we's gon' be Ay Cee Dub Tag Champions, too!

Jack instinctively begins to apologise for his partner, but Maury signals for him not to worry, chuckling:

Maury Freedman: I'm sure you will, Darren...stiff competition, though...

Once again, the cowboy responds with almost arrogant confidence:

Darren Pesinger: Who, them clowns and them hillbillies? An' the gator lovers? Pshaw! We's gon' kick their ass, no problem!

Jackie grimaces again, but the DJ still seems amused by Darren's antics:

Maury Freedman: A strong statement of confidence there from Darren Pesinger. But guys, the hot issue, the one everyone is wondering about, is...are you gay? We know you are, Jack, but...

This time, Jack doesn't even give his partner half a chance:

Jack Ripper: No. We're just friends. We share a flat, but we have separate rooms and separate beds. Darren is apparently a litle confused about his sexuality...

The fashion designer pauses to glare briefly at the Southerner before continuing:

Jack Ripper: ..but practically speaking, I'm the only gay one on the team.

Maury Freedman: There you have it, folks - straight from the horse's mouth! All you girls can go back to crushing on Darren Pesinger, because he's not, repeat, NOT gay!

As he hears these words, Darren glowers at his partner, sulking, his little plan to get girls apparently undone. Jack, however, seems at ease with his conscience, and focuses his attention on Maury's next question:

Maury Freedman: What would you say are the main differences between ACW and the PWA?

Jack Ripper: Oh, well, the PWA was a much larger-scale operation...but ACW has that indie charm, and the new management is pretty competent!

Maury Freedman: Oh, yeah...what went on there?

Without hesitation, Jack opts for an evasive answer:

Jack Ripper: That's internal affairs, and I'm not sure they'd be happy about us discussing them on air like this, Maury...

The DJ, who is seemingly incapable of being angry, chuckles again:

Maury Freedman: Fair enough! Well, folks, there ya have it. I'm Maury Freedman, and I'm here with ACW Tag Team sensations, RipperCussions! And we're going to start taking calls! In fact, there's a caller already on the line! What's up?

A teenage male voice immediately comes through the speakers, intoning a chant, complete with handclaps:

Boy: YOU ARE FAG-GOTS! *clap clap clapclap clap*

Flustered for the first time since they came in the studio, Maury hastily presses a button, while trying to cover:

Maury Freedman: RIGHT, and on the other line we have Jake! 'Sup, Jake?

This time, the fan - also clearly a teenager - is much less obnoxious:

Jake: Hey, guys, what's up?! Just wanted to say you're awesome!

The two guests respond with appreciation:

Jack Ripper: Thanks very much! Thanks for the support!

Darren Pesinger: Yeah, we think you're pretty awesome too, buddy!

As the caller hangs up, everyone is in high spirits, which are sadly dampened again by the next call, punctuated by giggles in the background:

Boy: Hey Jack..be honest, dude...how big is Darren's schlong?

Jack Ripper is actually about to take it in stride, but Maury, visibly annoyed now, cuts them off again:

Maury Freedman (annoyed): Well, I think we'd better leave it at that! Thank you guys for coming in! We'll be right back!

And as they shake hands with the DJ and reassure him that it's all right and he has nothing to apologize about, a realisation strikes the fashion designer: they may be "over" with a certain section of the fans, but there's still a lot of work to do to be accepted by all of them. And winning the first ever ACW Tag Team Championships could be the perfect first step.

 

[Pete]

Sunday

It is only a couple of hours before ACW Riot Act as Darren Pesinger stands out in a hallway in the backstage area of the Mayfield Community Center, casually chatting to ACW ring announcer Ashley Sparxxx. The cowboy is clearly making the cute redhead laugh, and she is heard remarking:

Ashley Sparxxx: Gosh, Darren! You're so awesome! Not like that creep Eric Snow!

The Southerner looks down at the interviewer's hand, with a slight smile:

Darren Pesinger: Ya mean that creep you's holdin' the phone number of?

The redhead blushes, stammering a little as she avoids Darren's eye:

Ashley Sparxxx: Well, I hate littering, and he threw his number on the floor, and we've gotta keep the backstage area clean...

The Georgian responds to this only with a monumental guffaw:

Darren Pesinger: Darlin', ya want a real man's phone number...? Gimme your phone...

The announcer hands over her smartphone, and Darren begins to type in his number. Just as he is finishing, however, Jack Ripper thunders by and drags him away by the bicep. The cowboy barely has time to signal back to Ashley to "call him", after which he turns on his partner vehemently:

Darren Pesinger: Ya know, Jack, my Pop's down in a farm in Jawgia right now...!

Ripper remains infuriatingly calm as he replies:

Jack Ripper: I know.

This, if possible, angers his partner even more:

Darren Pesinger: Well, then, why you actin' like him!?

The fashion designer brings his face close to his partner's, his tone still infuriatingly rational:

Jack Ripper: If you don't want me to act like your Dad, stop acting like a kid!

Darren Pesinger: Wha'd'ya mean?! After you done 'xpose me on that god damn radio show, I's got ta get chicks *somehow*!

Jack Ripper huffs, exasperated:

Jack Ripper: You've got plenty of "chicks", Darren! And your plan was nonsensical to begin with! But you can't be thinking about girls right now. You gotta get your head in the game! We've got a big match tonight, and we've gotta be focused!

As per usual, the cowboy tries to brush away his partner's concerns:

Darren Pesinger: C'mon, Jackie! We's gon' win, no problem!

Ripper snaps:

Jack Ripper: No we are NOT, Darren! All our opponents are perfectly capable of beating us if we're not at our best, and you know it!

Then, more calmly but no less seriously:

Jack Ripper: You heard what Kerry said. Starrdom Nation are coming into ACW. And we want to welcome them the right way, don't we? That is to say, *with* the belts!

This finally manages to convince Darren, who suddenly appears pumped up and ready to go. Confirming his suspicion that mentioning their rival team would have a positive effect on his partner, Jack smiles, putting a hand on the cowboy's shoulder:

Jack Ripper: Atta boy. Now c'mon. If we're gonna win this thing, we've gotta start now.

 

[BDC]

Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Sometimes, this shit ain’t funny.

But there are times when this place is a gas.

I mean, I got Multiplex and Banks both on the hook. Not really sure I need either one of’em. But you know what they say? THE MORE THE MERRIER! HA!

I stick my hand in my pocket and feel an envelop.


“Oh, yeah. Forgot about this…â€

I had gotten it a few days ago; found it slid under my door. I read it over and figured it was some crackpot. I was always getting letters about people’s personal problems. I mean, it’s like that damned Twitter. Most of my followers are rehab clinics and depression experts. I guess they figure with a personality like mine, I must be riddled with emotional and psychological problems. But, to tell the truth, all of my doctors have been baffled. Most come short of actually diagnosing me. Truth is, I’m as sane as the next guy, HELL, saner. They can’t seem to get around the fact that I’m as warped as I am and as normal as they come. Scares them all. I mean, if they don’t label me insane, that means that the rest of the world is just seven degrees off crazy. Which it is. But they can’t admit that, so they call ME crazy.

Or, at least, that’s how I see it.

I open the letter and try to read through it. It’s a real mess; like some kid threw up on his finger painting. But I can make out most of it. Hecks, I proof read El Loko and Maddog’s letters home to Mexico!!! It mostly rambles back and forth from his painful past and his inevitable self destruction. In the meantime, this looney plans to cause as much carnage as possible.

I like him already.

Ok, something about his mother. EW! Freak! And he wants to mangle his father…now that’s normal. Then, he…WHOAH! Now that’s not right! But, still, I like this guy a lot. This kind of rage, I could use. I mean, his psychosis has more depth than even Multi’s shattered personalities.

“Yes, this is something I can work with.â€

I didn’t realize I said that out loud until I got an answer!

Dark, disembodied voice: Good, so do we have a deal?

I spin around and realize I’m still out back in the alley and there’s a figure in the shadows.

Wisecrack: A deal?

Disembodied voice: Yes, at the end of the letter…

I read through it and both smiled and gasped.

Wisecrack: Really? Now THAT’S going to put a stain in McHenry’s undies.

Disembodied voice: Yeah, SO? We gonna start this little party off right?

I thought to myself of all the fun that could be had; pain, destruction and utter mayhem. But this guy was a bit off the grid for even me. Taking a big chance working with a nutjob like this.

Disembodied voice: WELL?

Wisecrack, folding up the letter: Sure, why not? This whole PWA, invasion bullshit was getting old anyway. Not like I was ever getting’ with King Ressa anyways! Ha!! Let’s do this, homefry!!

The disembodied voice stepped out of the shadows. This guy was wearing leather and chains and his face was painted blue.

Unknown: Good. I have business with Raiden Blaze and Jacqui Monroe; after that, we burn this place to the ground. Just one thing…

I smile and lean in to hear: Yeah, what?

UnKnown: The names Macabre. Don’t ever call me ‘HOMEFRY’ again. I’d hate to have to kill you…

My smile disappears a bit: Oh, Sure, Macabre, no prob. Like you said, now ‘we burn this place to the ground!’

Macabre: Yes, and pity the poor souls that get in our way!

We both laugh manically, but I’m beginning to wonder if this alliance was such a good idea.
​