WHERE'D THE JESTER GO?
ANGST: SEATTLE POSTER CHILD
JESUS+SHAQ=FATE
STOP KARMIC DEBT... GET CAR INSURANCE
BOOYAH!
MISTY MAKES ME LUSTY!

We cut to Papa Tete and Floyd Hermesol behind the announce table.

TETE: Ladies and gentlemen, before any match starts tonight, we expect a big announcement from C-Cube and the Servants of Shiva ... in case you missed it on Friday, C-Cube earned the right to choose the special referee for tonight's main event. And speculation has been rampant about who his choice will be.

FLOYD: Well, it's obviously going to be Brian Harris, Papa. I mean, come on. I think it's obvious that the Servants of Shiva have a new member.

TETE: Floyd, I have never known Brian Harris to make a dishonest move in all the time I've known him.

FLOYD: Never? You're right, never. But there's a first time for everything. Don't forget, Papa, C-Cube once saved Brian Harris's life.

TETE: Oh, please, Floyd, that was before we folded for a few months!

FLOYD: So? What, does that make it ancient history?

"Fuck 'em and Their Law" hits, interrupting the argument between Floyd and Tete, and C-Cube comes out, for once not surrounded by his minions. He walks down to the ring and picks up a microphone.

C-CUBE: On Friday I was given the opportunity to make a choice that could effect the outcome of tonight's main event. I knew that people would expect me to choose one of my unknown students, so I decided not to. If Shiva wishes me to triumph, then I shall. I don't need one of my pupils to cheat in order for me to win. However, one of my new students shall be accompanying me to the ring tonight, so the mystery will be solved. Until then, however, I shall be content in unveiling just one secret: my choice for special referee for tonight's main event shall be Brian Harris of the Founding Five.

FLOYD: I knew it! I knew Harris was bad!

The crowd is booing relentlessly.

TETE: Now hold on, Floyd, we don't know anything for certain yet.

"Hail to the Chief" hits and Brian Harris comes out, walks down the ramp, and gets in the ring, trying to ignore the boos and angry shouts of the crowd. Harris comes nose-to-nose with C-Cube and brings the mic to his lips.

HARRIS: C-Cube, I don't know what you're trying to do here. Make me look like an ally of yours? That doesn't make much sense. True, I hit Roman with the belt last night instead of you, but that was an accident. Could happen to anyone. Happened to Vince McMahon plenty of times.

Loud boos at the mention of Vince's name.

HARRIS: Okay, maybe that isn't the best example. The point is, you can appoint me as special referee if you want, but I promise you, I will be no easier on you today than I would have been a month ago. I don't like you or what you represent, C-Cube. There's a disturbing trend in this fed of allowing religious beliefs to guide professional ones, and you're the one that started it.

C-CUBE: Oh, Brian. Have you forgotten that I saved you from a beating no more than a paltry six or seven months ago?

HARRIS: To suit your own purposes, no doubt. All I can say to you right now is that what happened last night was an accident. An accident, plain and simple.

"Sad but True" hits and Steve Roman comes out. The Roman Empire is not with him.

TETE: Oh, boy. Business is about to pick up, Floyd.

FLOYD: I think Harris had better head for the hills. Roman looks angry!

Roman and C-Cube stare each other down, but Roman does not approach the ring.

ROMAN: C-Cube, there's a reason I'm not in that ring beating your bald ass halfway to Jersey right now ... I know my boys would all like a shot at you too, and it just wouldn't be fair. Besides, I didn't come out to start this little rumble any earlier than planned. I got something to say to the Prez over there.

HARRIS: Steve, I-

ROMAN: Shut up, Harris. And I say that with all due respect. Now, don't get me wrong ... I don't think what you did last night was purposeful. I DID believe that, and I was ready to find you in your little limousine and kick your ass, but then my buddy Dino talked some sense into me.

There is a general surprised reaction.

FLOYD: Dino talked sense into somebody?

ROMAN: Y'see, Dino's had dealings with all you Founding Five guys for quite a while. And he told me that there was no way you had the sack to come out here and hit Steve Roman with the USXWF title belt. Emeterio, probably. Scotty B, maybe. But not you. You're the brains of the outfit, he said, not the brawn. Trouble is ... trouble is if you wouldn't have the balls to come after me, why would you have the balls to come after C-Cube? That little point troubles me some. But I diverse.

TETE: I think he means digress.

FLOYD: Or maybe digest?

TETE: Floyd...

FLOYD: Right. Shut up.

ROMAN: The point is that I wanna let you know that I'm breaking my own rule and I'm trusting someone in a powerful position, Harris. I don't think you had anything to do with what happened the other night, and I believe you'll call this match fair. But I gotta warn you that the punishment for proving me wrong about you is gonna be bad. If I lose my belt because you sided with C-Cube ... well, believe me, I'm gonna be a lot harder on you than on him.

That said, Roman disappears up the ramp and C-Cube goes out through the crowd, leaving Harris alone in the ring for a few moments before he exits up the ramp.

TETE: Roman laying down the law on Harris!

FLOYD: Did you see Harris's face? He's guilty, guilty, guilty! I'm telling you, he's working for C-Cube!

TETE: Nonsense, Floyd!

FLOYD: I betcha he was even the one driving that van a couple weeks ago!

TETE: You are aware, Floyd, that Brian Harris is one of the men who signs your paycheck every week?

Long pause.

FLOYD: How dare Steve Roman even imply that our beloved boss is capable of that kind of impropriety! This company's dignity has been wounded, Papa!

TETE: Right. Your capacity for brown-nosing is astonishing, Floyd.

FLOYD:  I practice every day, in front of a mirror!

TETE: All right, we're set for an amazing show tonight, folks! And to start off this amazing amazement we have... uh...

FLOYD: What, Papa, what?

TETE: I can't believe they put him in the card...

FLOYD: Who, Papa, who?

TETE: Crazy Mac.

True to word, "Wynona's Big Brown Beaver" comes up over the sound system. Crazy Mac runs out onto the stage, waving his arms and screaming. He spins in circles a few times before running down to the ring, where he again spins circles. The audience reacts in confusion at the appearance of this wrestler that hadn't been seen in weeks.

FLOYD: I pity whoever he's fighting. ::pause:: Who's he fighting?

TETE: Unknown. We don't know who he's up against tonight.

Just then, the lights dim down to a dark green. Over the sound system come the opening chords to an instrumental piece, which is soon recognizeable as Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries". This slightly-remixed version soons breaks into it's full salvo, and a burst of pyro on either side of the screen accompanies the crashing of cymbals. From under the Abbottron appears a well-built, well-groomed man, wearing some athletic pants and shin-high heavy boots. He wears a calm, calculating expression on his face, and both his arms are clasped at the small of his back. He stands atop the stage, drawing his gaze over the audience.

TETE: Oh, wow, it's Ken Darwin!

FLOYD: Who?

TETE: Ken Darwin. Five-time Sports Illustrious's Ameteur Athlete of the year winner? Climbed to the top of Mount Whitney and back in less than a day? Ate fifty eggs in one sitting?

FLOYD: Oh, THAT Ken Darwin. First man to kayak across the Mojave Desert? Last man standing on the set of the film "Last Man Standing"? Owns the largest collection of G.I. Joe Action Figures? That Ken Darwin?

TETE: Yeah!

FLOYD: Doesn't ring a bell.

Ken Darwin proceeds down the ring, nodding to the occasional fanboy or girl asking for his autograph. He stops just outside the ring, where he unclasps his hands and reveals that he's holding a mic. He pauses for a bit for the cheers from the audience to die down (apparently, they've heard of him).

FLOYD: Isn't he, y'know, OLD, Papa?

TETE: He's barely in his forty's. That IS kinda old for a wrestler, but apparently, he's aged well, it looks. He looks half that age.

FLOYD: Hmph. I say, when you turn forty, they should drag you off to a processing center and turn you into food. They can call it "McDonalds".

Darwin jumps into the ring and smirks at Crazy Mac, who, somehow, managed to restrain himself from eating part of the turnbuckle. Ken Darwin brings the mic up to his mouth...

DARWIN: Hi.

The crowd pops for no reason whatsoever.

DARWIN: I... ah... take it some of you have heard of me. I've been involved in all manner of sports and activities over the past couple of decades, so I guess it's not much of a surprise to see me in a wrestling ring.

The crowd cheers again, practically drowning out the sound of the bell ringing. Crazy Mac hears it, though, and rushes forward.

DARWIN: 'Scuse me a moment...

He sidesteps Mac and trips him, sending Mac into the ropes. Mac gets a tad tangled.

DARWIN: Anyway, where was I...? Oh, yes, wrestling. I find it an interesting venture, and there's surely some interesting personalities to clash with here. Much more interesting than golf, that's for sure.

Another pop from the crowd. Mac gets himself untangled from the ropes, and comes back, this time grabbing Darwin around the upper torso. Darwin grabs onto the brim of Mac's pants (tricky since he's still holding onto the mic in his right hand) and pulls himself up. Mac, finding himself suddenly top-heavy, falls backwards, with Darwin on top of him. Darwin climbs to his feet again.

DARWIN (dusting himself off): Again, sorry about that. I've been keeping my eyes - and my mind - open about the other Superstars here at the USXWF. Certainly, they're all interesting. They've all managed to build themselves up one way or another, be it sheer physical strength or high tolerance to pain.

Mac jumps back to his feet and jumps forward, but Ken Darwin simply jerks his elbow back into Mac's face. Mac stumbles back once again.

DARWIN: I've noticed a few flaws in their technique, though... flaws which I fully intend to point out. Our friend The Mask, for instance, rarely manages to pace himself in the ring. And the illustrious Chet Stevens seems to rely on pure physical size to turn the tide of the match in his favor.

After a few seconds of holding his nose, Crazy Mac again gets back to his feet and begins circling Darwin, looking for an opening.

DARWIN: I'm sure that these men have trained for hours to become the wrestlers they are today, but nevertheless, I've trained myself to look for their weak spots. Some are obvious, some are quite subtle, but rest assured, they are there.

He whirls around and delivers a spin-kick to Mac's head, and Mac falls to the mat. Darwin jumps on top of him, crossing his legs and pinning Mac's head between his ankles, then grabbing Mac's legs and pulling them up under his arms. Darwin holds him there for a few seconds before Mac taps out. Darwin releases the hold and brings the mic back up to his lips.

DARWIN: After all, this game is about Survival of the Fittest.

Darwin tosses the mic to the floor and jumps out of the ring, just as the strongest section of "Ride of the Valkyries" pumps back over the sound system. He heads back up the ramp, smiling to the audience. As he passes by one of the cameramen, it's obvious that he hadn't even broken a sweat during the match.

TETE: Now this is interesting! One of the underground legends of American sports has landed in the USXWF, and he seems to have placed an open challenge to all other wrestlers here!

FLOYD: And he definitely scored some points by pounding on Crazy Mac, that's for sure.   It makes me feel like singing...

TETE: An amazing series of events at this Pay-Per-View, ladies and gentlemen! Stay tuned for what's coming up next!

FLOYD: "...Ninety-nine bottles of spam on the wall... ninety-nine bottles of spam! Take one down and pass it to Floyd, ninety-eight bottles of spam on the wall..."

TETE: Cut it out, Floyd, we're moving on with the show.

FLOYD: Really?  Aren't we having any commercial breaks?

TETE:  It's a PPV, Floyd.

FLOYD:  I like commercials.  Hey, did you see that Best Buy commercial? "You can't have her... I love her!" Man, that always cracks me up! ::pause:: Stop looking at me like that... I'm not a side of beef, man!

TETE: No, you're definitely a stomach... ache, that is. ANYWAY, we're coming up on a match between Candyman and Mike the Chicken Eater.

FLOYD: That hicky fool?!? "Ninety-eight bottles of spam on the wall..."

Aqua's "Lollipop" comes up over the sound system, prompting a cheer from the audience. Candyman struts underneath the Abbottron, alone this time. He pulls a small bag of candy's from his pocket and begins tossing them to the audience as he heads down to the ring.

FLOYD: Once again, nothing for me...

TETE: Stop pouting, Floyd.

Candyman climbs into the ring and pulls the last candy out of his bag. He holds it up between his two fingers and flicks it out, nailing Floyd right in the forehead.

FLOYD: OW!

TETE: Hey, you've been asking for this all night.

The speakers go quiet for a few moments, and then the opening lines of "Cotton-Eye Joe" comes up. There's a pause, and suddenly, Mike the Chicken Eater appears, dressed in white robes and carrying a big cross in one hand, while his other hand is held up in a "V"-sign of peace. He grins his lopsided grin as he ambles down the ramp in his sandaled feet.

TETE: What the hell is this? Mike's been getting more and more biblical all the time!

FLOYD: He wants to be one of the Servants of Shiva, Papa! I wouldn't doubt it if C-Cube came down to interfere in this match!

TETE: If they let him join their stable, then their standards must have dropped lower than a camel's testicles.

FLOYD: And a camel's testicles are pretty low, Papa... I should know!

Mike climbs into the ring and shucks his robes, revealing his standard overalls underneath. The bell rings, and the two wrestlers take a step forward... and that's it. Mike's gaze drifts from the Candyman to the audience to the Abbottron to his finger in his nose to the results of his finger being in his nose and back to Candyman. Candyman, on the other hand, stands slightly tensed, but unwilling to make any first moves.

TETE: The suspense!!

Nothing happens.

TETE: I said, the SUSPENSE!!!

Still nothing.

Finally, Floyd takes the candy that Candyman had thrown at him, aims carefully, and chucks it towards Mike the Chicken Eater. It lands square on his nose, prompting him to leap backwards, plant his feet against the turnbuckle, and jump forward, throwing his body at Candyman. Candyman, not unprepared for the attack, manages to catch Mike.

TETE: Well done, Floyd. You deserve a reward. Tonight, when we leave the arena, I won't kick you in the shins.

Candyman slams Mike down onto the mat, but Mike jumps right back up to his feet again. The two circle for the few moments, but Candyman rushes forward and slams his fist into Mike's head. Mike falls, but again jumps right back up. Again, Candyman swings his fist into Mike's head, and again, he falls and jumps back up. Finally, Candyman leans down and wraps his legs around Mike's legs, then hauls him into the air, then brings his head down against the ropes. Mike bounces off and rolls onto the floor.

With a grin to the audience (bringing another pop), Candyman climbs up onto the turnbuckle. He points out to the audience, and leaps off, somersaulting in mid-air...

TETE: It's the Lemon Drop!!

...And Mike rolls out of the way just in time. Candyman smashes into the ring, unprepared for the impact. He bounces once, then lies still near one corner of the ring. Mike rushes forward and grabs ahold of Candyman's legs...

TETE: Aw, no! Candyman missed with his finisher, and now Mike the Chicken Eater is going for his own, the Freak Show!

Just then, the lights in the arena drop...

FLOYD: "...Fifty-seven bottles of..." HEY! I can't see!

TETE: What the hell is this?!? A blackout?

The camera barely picks up a sickeningly loud smacking sound for a few moments... then the lights come back up to show Mike lying unconscious on the mat. Candyman jumps to his feet and notices the opportunity, and he dives for the cover. The ref goes for the three count, and then lifts Candyman's hand as the winner.

TETE: Somebody just handed this match to Candyman! Who was it?

FLOYD: Perhaps it was the Angel of Death! Or maybe it was Santa Claus! Or maybe it was a meteor that hit him in the head!

Candyman runs his hand through his hair and glances down at Mike, curious as to what happened. He ducks down next to his still-unconscious opponent and props him up, shaking him awake. Mike comes to with a jerk, and thrashes about a bit in his daze. Candyman manages to calm him by handing him a small lollipop.

TETE: Hey, it doesn't look like Candyman is such a bad sport after all.

FLOYD: Wuss! Wu-u-u-u-uss!!

TETE: But we're still wondering who was it that put down Mike the Chicken Eater?!?

As if to answer his question, the Abbottron flares to life. The view comes from a jerky hand-held camera, obviously from a long distance away and zoomed in on the ring. It shows the last few seconds of the match, right when Mike is about to put Candyman in the Freak Show. The lights drop, but the Abbottron view shifts to a green Night Vision. It shows a figure sprint down the ramp with a steel pipe, jumps up into the ring, then swings the pipe across the back of Mike's head. The figure then sprints back up the ramp, and turns and grins towards the ring... in that instant, the camera view zooms in, and we are able to recognize Cyril Hand.

TETE: Hey! One of the Brothers Hand handed this match to Candyman!

FLOYD: No pun intended, huh, Papa?

Candyman and Mike glare at the Abbottron, then exchange a few words. Finally, the two of them head back up the ramp together.

TETE: It looks like these two Superstars have found common ground!

FLOYD: Too bad it's the Funny Farm!