Weekend Warbash opens with an exterior shot of AmericaWest Arena in Phoenix, Arizona, and the voice of Poppa Tete.

TETE: Good evening, friends and neighbors, and welcome to Weekend Warbash, emanating tonight from Phoenix, Arizona! We have got one hell of an explosive show for you tonight, the very first show after the very first pay-per-view in USXWF history, Delirium!

We cut to the interior of the AmericaWest Arena, and the place is absolutely packed - it's standing room only. There are signs out tonight, as usual:

CRAZY MAC IS A FOOL!
MARRY ME, TRENT!
THE GLASS MAN CAN!
THE ICON HAS ARRIVED!
WHAT SMELLS LIKE JIMMY IN HERE?
CABRERA SPITS ON THE LINE

TETE: And my good ness, what a show Delirium was. It was certainly a lot better than what the competition had going!

FLOYD: Yeah, we made WWF's Unforgiven look like WCW's Fall Brawl or something.

TETE: I told you not to mention WCW in my presence.

FLOYD: Right. Sorry.

TETE: Anyway, new champ, new #1 contender, and new CEO! We were introduced to the legendary Steve Roman, and the Glass Man, Marty Hart, who made a big impact.

FLOYD: I'll say! If it weren't for him, Henry Abbott might be CEO now!

TETE: And of course, the #1 question on everyone's minds coming out of Delirium is this: why has Diego Cabrera turned on his own student?

"Woke Up This Morning" hits and the crowd immediately begins booing like never before.

FLOYD: I think Mr. Laser is on his way down to get that question answered, Poppa.

TETE: Oh, man, this is gonna be good.

Laser has a bandage on his head where his head went through a pane of glass almost a week earlier. He looks humiliated, a bit hurt, and above all else, absolutely furious. He is wearing his usual Armani suit and his sunglasses, which he removes as the music starts and the crowd starts to chant, "Asshole!"

LASER: Shut the hell up!

The crowd starts chanting louder.

LASER: I said shut up, or I'll put all of you through tables!

TETE: Well, I doubt he could make good on that threat!

The crowd laughs at Laser's idle threat.

LASER: Yeah, all right, fine. Laugh. But I'll tell you this, if I'd gotten that last pin on Sunday night, I'd be the one laughing right now. But seeing as I didn't ... seeing as I was stabbed in the back by a man who has been like an older brother to me ... seeing as my moment of glory was destroyed by the man I owe my career to ...

I think that it's time I got an explanation as to why I didn't get that pin. But first, a little explanation for those of you who don't know. When I started out in this business seven years ago, I was a kid. I knew nothing except that I wanted to be like Shawn Michaels or Bret Hart or any one of those other guys I watched on my TV every week. And so I began to travel around, following independent organizations, trying to get involved in any way I could. I'd set up the rings. I'd do sound. I'd do anything to get to be a wrestler ... anything to get my foot in the door.

Then one day in 1993, finally someone noticed the blond punk who was always in the back of the room. Diego Cabrera took me into his home and his life in Mexico City, and for three years he taught me everything he knew. He beat the shit out of me in the process, but I learned. We shared moments of triumph and of terror, of great success and of great loss. I became like a member of his family. And when I left in 1997 to seek my fortune as a professional wrestler, they cried. He cried. Even I cried. Yes, the Laser Show cries, hard as it is to believe. In fact, I cried again on Sunday night. When I got home from the hospital, I bawled into my pillow ... because my best friend has, for some reason, turned his back on me.

But eventually, the tears went away ... and what I was left with was a burning fury, a hatred that I had never felt before in my life. Can it be true that there really is a thin line between love and hate? I don't know. But I think our new CEO does. Diego, you want to answer that question?

Laser stands facing the stage for a long moment. Then, "Black is Black" hits and here comes Diego Cabrera. He's out of the luchador outfit he wore Sunday night, and now wears a simple denim jacket and a pair of jeans. He carries a mic with him as he comes to the stage. The crowd is cheering him as he gets into the ring and faces Laser. He speaks with a heavy accent, like Eddy Guerrero, only smarter.

CABRERA: Hey, Jack. Been a long time.

Laser doesn't answer. He just stares Cabrera down.

CABRERA: Yeah, fine, we can lose the formalities. What do you want to know?

LASER: What do you think I want to know?

CABRERA: Maybe I just wanted a job, you ever think of that?

LASER: Then why'd you spit in my face?

CABRERA (losing pretense): Because it's the face of a lying pervert, that's why!

The crowd pops.

LASER: Pervert?

CABRERA: I've tried reaching you for two years, Jack. Two years, man. Nothing. You too busy to call and find out about the girl you knocked up back in Mexico?

TETE: What?

FLOYD: A little Rico?

LASER: What the hell are you talking about?

CABRERA: My daughter ... my sixteen year old daughter, Jack. She had a baby six months after you left. It's yours, you son of a bitch, and you won't even come back and take responsibility.

LASER: I swear to God, Diego, I never...

CABRERA: Don't you lie to me anymore, man .... I took you into my home. Made you my brother. And you defiled my daughter! How old was she when you started, Jack? Fourteen? Fifteen?

LASER: Diego, there's got to be some kind of mistake.

CABRERA: Are you calling Graciela a liar?

LASER: No, but she's obviously confused.

CABRERA: Yeah? How is she confused, man?

LASER: I never touched her, amigo.

Cabrera seems to stand back and consider Laser's pleading face.

CABRERA: I don't believe you. But we're gonna find out.

LASER: How? What do you mean?

CABRERA: You're coming with me right now. We're gonna get a blood test tonight. Dr. Langler is waiting in the back to take your blood.

Laser backs off a little.

LASER: Whoah, whoah, whoah there ... look, let's not be so hasty.

CABRERA: Got something to hide?

LASER: No, it's just ... I don't like needles.

The crowd boos.

CABRERA: Well, you'd better learn to like 'em. Because you are taking that test, man. That's an order from your CEO.

LASER: I'm not taking any test. And I'm not paying any child support. That's an order from the owner of this company and your boss.

Laser and Cabrera stand in the middle of the ring, nose-to-nose, staring one another down.

TETE: It's a stalemate!

FLOYD: Well, it's obvious that Mr. Laser is telling the truth.

TETE: Oh, please.

FLOYD: Have you ever known the Laser Show, that portrait of integrity, to do a single dishonest thing?

TETE: I'm not even going to dignify that. But it's clear that we're not going anywhere until this gets settled.

FLOYD: Well, you'd better settle in for a long night, Poppa. I can't think of a single person who-*

Suddenly, "Pink Elephants On Parade" hits the speakers, and a few seconds later, the Court Jester appears, wearing his jacket and tag-team belt. He's holding a mic in one hand, and laughs maniacally into it, the sound echoing through the arena.

FLOYD: Oh no, the only idiot who can make this whole situation worse.

TETE: I wonder what he's doing too, Floyd.

The Jester raises the mic to his lips, and his music dies down.

JESTER: My my my my my my my, what a pickle of a dilly you've found your oh-so-jovial selves in. See, I was sitting in the back, enjoying an ice-hot Zima and watching reruns of lassie when an annoying sound hit my delicate tag-team-champion ears. At first, I thought it was the sound of a rabid wallaby's mating call, but it turned out to be you two. So, being the helpful soul that I am, the Ever-Effervescent Court Jester has decided to provide his assisting-type services.

FLOYD: Any assistance you can provide, we don't want!

JESTER: See, my dear boss and... other dear boss... I believe I've got a solution that should make everyone cringe with contentment and get y'all to stop acting like a couple bags of barnacle jizz.

TETE: Can we say that on the air?

FLOYD: Uh... I dunno... I've never had to, before.

The Jester takes a few steps down the ramp towards the ring. He reaches idly into his jacket and pulls out a rubber chicken, which he begins swinging around in circles as he talks.

JESTER: Now, any wiseass with a chicken knows that you both are scheduled in a match tonight - with, ah, Mr. Hart and Mr. Malice, if my iron-clad memory serves my humble lil' self correctly. So here's what you do, sirs of sirs... a new stipulation. Rico, ol' buddy, Starship Trooper that you are, if you and your partner win the contest, you don't have to take the test, and Cabrera (love the name, by the way) here forgets the whole thing. But if Cabbers wins, you've gotta go get your pretty-boy face skewered. Ain't that tough to figger out, is it?

Rico and Cabrera glance back and forth between the Jester and each other, each considering the proposition but hesitant to make the first decision about it.

TETE: Actually, that's a pretty good idea.

FLOYD: No. No. I refuse to accept that anything intelligent can come out of that idiot.

Rico takes a few steps back from Cabrera, then raises his mic.

RICO: I think that's the best course of action. It settles the matter fairly. If you really believe that I did this to your daughter, then prove it in the ring.

CABRERA: And if you're truly innocent... prove it in the ring.

JESTER: Good! It's settled! Now let's get the hell on with the show, shall we?

RICO & CABRERA (together, to the Jester): Shut up!

The Jester laughs again and tosses his mic to the ground. Rico separates from Cabrera and heads up the ramp.

CABRERA: Just don't chicken out, Rico.

Rico turns around and raises his mic one last time.

RICO: The Laser Show doesn't "chicken out".

Rico tosses his mic away, and disappears under the Abbottron. Cabrera follows soon after.

TETE: Well, you can always count on the Jester for a - uh - unique solution.

FLOYD: Yeah, I'll say unique. If by unique you mean stupid.

TETE: Anyway, next up it's going to be Harper against one of our other newcomers, a really telented young man out of - get this - Japan.

FLOYD: That Avron LongArm guy, right?

TETE: Right, Floyd.

Harper's music hits and he comes down to a decent pop. He crouches on the top turnbuckle and surveys the audience, then leaps into the ring and stands there, waiting for his opponent.

Japanese music begins to play over the speakers, and a tall, lanky fellow in blue ninja robes and a hood walks calmly down to the ring. He, too, mounts the turnbuckle, then flips off and into the center of the ring, facing Harper.

TETE: That's Avron LongArm....

FLOYD: Little weird lookin', isn't he, Poppa?

Harper and LongArm tie up in the center of the ring. Harper nails LongArm with an elbow to the back of the neck, then trips him to the mat and into a roll-up pin.

TETE: Harper lookin' to end this one fast.

LongArm kicks out after a two-count, quickly gets to his feet, and begins to assail Harper with swift, powerful body blows, then a jump kick to the head, which Harper ducks underneath. Harper moves behind LongArm and puts him in a sleeper hold, which LongArm immediately breaks. He flips Harper over his shoulder and to the mat and goes for a pin himself. 1... Harper kicks out and whips LongArm into a corner, following it up with a flying elbow. LongArm is knocked to the floor in the corner, and Harper grabs LongArm by the hair and bangs his head against the turnbuckle.

TETE: Harper trying to gain the advantage over LongArm, who is, surprisingly, almost as fast as Harper.

LongArm grabs Harper's arm and pulls him to the mat, where LongArm applies an STF hold, waiting for Harper to tap out. Harper grabs hold of a rope and the ref breaks it. LongArm and Harper get up, and LongArm goes for another martial arts kick, but Harper is once again ready for him. He deflects the blow and nails LongArm with a punch to the jaw, then places LongArm's head between his legs. Harper nails LongArm with Catholic Guilt (a Crucifix Powerbomb), which leads into a pin. 1...2...3! Harper beats LongArm.

TETE: Well, a hard-fought battle on both sides as LongArm gets to his feet.

FLOYD: This LongArm kid isn't bad. Maybe he's got a future here.

LongArm looks at Harper, then holds out his hand. Harper looks at the hand, then at LongArm. Finally, Harper accepts the hand and shakes it.

FLOYD: Well, that's weird. They're shaking hands.

TETE: Not everybody is a poor sport like you, Floyd.

FLOYD: I am NOT a poor sport! I just never lose fairly, that's all.

LongArm and Harper exit the ring together just as "Rock Superstar" by Cypress Hill hits and Xavier comes down to the ring. He plays to the crowd, bouncing off the ropes and looking up at the entrance ramp, waiting for his opponent.

TETE: This young fellow one of USXWF's most promising superstars, but he's got to get rid of the attitude.

FLOYD: He's got a killer instinct, Poppa. He's not arrogant, he just knows how good he is.

TETE: He wasn't good enough to beat the Mask and Trent Valentine at Delirium.

"Break Stuff" by Limp Bizkit hits and Greg Tibbs comes down to the ring to a huge chorus of boos. He shakes his fist at the crowd and waves his middle finger around, then gestures to the European Title around his waist.

TETE: Ohhhh, that's pleasant.

FLOYD: You don't like either of these guys, do you?

TETE: Not really. I could care less who wins this match. What Tibbs did to Harper at Delirium was just plain wrong.

Tibbs comes up and gets immediately in Xavier's face, nose-to-nose. Xavier is wearing a huge grin. Tibbs shoves Xavier, and Xavier immediately gives Tibbs a drop toe hold. Tibbs is slow getting to his feet, and Xavier takes advantage by kicking at Tibbs' ribs. Tibbs reaches to the back of his jeans and pulls out his lead pipe.

TETE: Well, he's sure not wasting any time, is he?

Suddenly, Harper runs down with a steel chair and nails Tibbs with it from behind! Tibbs goes down like a two-dollar whore.

TETE: It's Harper! It's Harper getting his revenge for Delirium!

Harper glances at Xavier as the bell rings and the ref announces a DQ. Xavier starts yelling at Harper.

TETE: Xavier not too pleased about Harper ending his match.

FLOYD: I don't blame him.

TETE: The kid's a whiner. I don't blame Harper for what HE did.

The argument is becoming more heated. Xavier grabs the steel chair from Harper and hits Harper over the head with it! Then Xavier starts hitting Harper over and over and over with the chair, unrelenting and uncaring. The crowd boos as Tibbs suddenly struggles to his feet and begins to kick at Harper along with Xavier.

TETE: Now this just isn't fair! It's two on one!

FLOYD: Well, don't look now, but I think the odds are about to even up!

Avron LongArm has just appeared at the foot of the ramp. The crowd pops, and Xavier and Tibbs turn around to see what all the yelling's about. Tibbs gestures for LongArm to come get some, and LongArm is more than happy to oblige. Tibbs has his lead pipe out, but it doesn't prove to be much match against the much faster, much more agile LongArm, who has broken out his nunchuks and flails them against Tibbs' body every chance he gets. Meanwhile, Harper has gotten to his feet and is beating Xavier into a corner.

TETE: We've got a full-fledged brawl here!

An army of refs come charging out to separate them, Harper and LongArm on one side of the ring, Tibbs and Xavier on the other.

TETE: What a mess!

FLOYD: You can bet that this isn't over.

TETE: No kidding, Floyd. If I know Greg Tibbs, and I think I do, Harper's going to have hell to pay, and so will LongArm. And hell, Xavier will be along just for the ride.

The refs take everyone into the back.