The BOD Squad vs Guerilla Zen

*****

 

PARADISE WRESTLING PROMOTIONS
“VORTEX”
Tuesday, May 30, 2000

 

*****

 

[Cutting backstage.]

SB: It’s Dash Janssen and Jett Torres.

AR: Guerilla Zen is in the house!

[Indeed they are. Dash and Jett can be seen hovering around the water cooler, apparently discussing strategy for tonight’s game of Capture the Flag with the BOD Squad. The conversation is quickly paced and all passers-by are completely ignored. They, as they say, have their game faces on.]

SB: They certainly are and they look as though they’re ready for whatever the BOD Squad is going to throw at them later in the evening.

AR: You mean the BOOB SQUAD! This match is gonna be over faster than a night with Stan’s wife.

SP: HEY!

[Another cut away to another part of the backstage area. This time it’s the aforementioned BOD Squad, Marky “Rip” Peters and “Chisel” Chad Cormier, who are seen hanging around a small buffet table. One would assume they are likewise discussing strategy, but given who they are it is probably safer to assume they are discussing anything BUT.]

SB: Speak of the devil…

AR: What? Stan’s wife?

SP: HEY!

SB: No, Archie, I meant the BOD Squad. There they are.

AR: [sarcastically] Great. MY nipples are hard.

SP: HEY!

[Just then the shapely figure of PWP backstage reporter Shiloh Ragno comes sauntering into view. Marky looks up instantly, as if he had smelled her perfume from a mile away (which he may have), and flashes his best sly smile at the stunning beauty. Shiloh freezes in her tracks, a look of disgust slowly washing over her otherwise beauteous face. She begins an immediate retreat from the scene.]

Peters: Hey yo, girl… don’t go away. The Ripper’s got somethin’ he wants to show you!

[As Shiloh flees the scene, Chad Cormier begins a series of muscle flexing poses. Marky grabs him by the wrist and gives chase after the young reporter.]

Peters: C’mon, Chiz, she’s getting’ away.

AR: Nice to see THEIR minds are on the match.

[Cut to commercial.]

 

*****

 

RA: Paradise Wrestling fans… it is now time for our next match-up, which is a CAPTURE THE FLAG CONTEST!!

“RAAAAAH!”

AR: Oh, crap. Here we go. The Numbnuts brothers versus Guerilla Zen. This BETTER be quick!

SB: Actually, Archie, Marky Peters and Chad Cormier are *not* brothers.

AR: No kidding? What was the giveaway? The different last names?

SB: Well it’s just that you–

SP: I think the lad was trying to be insulting, Sammy.

SB: Oh. [pause] Well that’s not very nice–

AR: Spare me.

RA: At this time, allow me to introduce the competitors of this match. Introducing first, team number one…

[Darkness.]

[In the dark, a Chinese Mandolin’s distinctly tinny plucking filters through the speaker system. Each chord creating a sense of suspense, and yet, it is soothing to the air. All is calm. Up on the big screen a single word has slowly materialized in huge blue lettering – “ZEN”. It shimmers with a watery effect.]

[Then silence.]

[*BOOM!*]

[A deafening bomb-blast rocks the arena, accompanied by rapid machine gun fire and the wailing of dying victims; the unmistakable sound of warfare. In more huge lettering, this time metallic silver -“GUERILLA” – slams violently next to and above the other. Chaos segued rapidly into the harsh guitar riffs and violent vocals of “Fired from Life” by Bristle.]

## Some die for property ##
## Some die for love ##
## But nobody that I know personally ##
## Has ever come back again ##
## Fired from life ##

[Cue the stuttering spotlight trained on the curtain-draped entrance that serves as tonight’s focal point for PWP wrestlers entering the fray.]

## So if I die for humanity ##
## Or if I die for your flag ##
## It’s for my own reasons ##
## Thank you very much ##
## Fired from life ##

[The spotlight shuts-off for a brief moment, sending the crowd back into darkness. When it resumes, two diminutive figures stand under it’s flashing gleam. Dash Janssen and Jett Torres, collectively known as Guerilla Zen. Dash and Jett throw fierce glances towards the audience, pandering to the crowd by pointing threateningly at selected fans.]

## What is there of value ##
## That’s worth a human life ##
## Maybe all that hatred you’re feeling ##
## Is really for yourself ##
## Fired from life ##

RA: Weighing in at a total combined weight of 295 lbs., I give you Dash Janssen and Jett Torrrrrreeeeessssss…

## But if you’ve ever cared for someone ##
## Or someone’s ever cared for you ##
## Try to think about that look in their eyes ##
## Try to think about you ##
## Fired from life ##

RA: Otherwise known as… GUERRILLA ZENNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!

[Jett raises his fists above his head, letting out a primal shout, while Dash moves over to the aisle railing, snap-kicking it viciously with his Doc Marten boots. Both brake into a run down the aisle, sliding into the ring.]

AR: Now THAT’S what I’m talking about! These dudes kick some serious ass!

SP: ANARCHIST COWARDS!!

SB: Guerrilla Zen certainly look fired up for this one, boys. Should be an interesting, uh… contest.

AR: I can’t believe we’re actually playing “capture the flag”. This is so gay.

SP: ANARCHIST COWARD FAGS!!

SB: GENTLEMEN! Please.

RA: And their opponents…

[Cue the chugging guitar of a young Eddie Van Halen, all distorted and dirty and downright delicious. The Miami crowd actually lurches to its feet at the sound of the Roth-era track “Unchained”, displaying a surprising affection for the bumbling duo of “Rip” Peters and “Chisel” Cormier. Or maybe it’s just the song. Either way, the banshee-like wail of Bro. David Lee knifes through the speakers.]

## Alright! ##

“RAAAAAH!”

[Nope. They’re actually cheering these two goofs. Who’da thunk it? I guess it’s one of those “these two are so dumb they’re loveable” kind of affections. Amazing. The Bodders are about to appear and they’re being greeted with a sizeable pop. Van Halen cares not. It plays on regardless.]

## You say, I cannot get there from here, baby ##
## And I don’t care where I’m goin’ ##
## Here’s to your thin red line ##
## Oooooh, I’m stepping over ##

[And voila, enter the dorks. Marky “Rip” Peters and “Chisel” Chad Cormier make their appearance, stepping out through the curtain to another surge in applause. Frightening. Marky is dressed in his hot pink biking shorts and a black “Venice Beach” half-shirt. His tanned and muscular body is glistening under the lights thanks to a heavy coat of freshly applied body oil. A teal Florida Marlins baseball cap is sitting backwards on his head.]

## Thought you’d never miss me till I got a Fat City address ##
## Non-stop talker, what a rocker, blue eyed murder in a size five dress ##

[Chad meanwhile sports his usual attire as well; lime green bike shorts and a white a tank-top with a giant “PWP” logo on the front. A lime green doorag covers his head, with just a few strands of his bleach blonde hair creeping out from under its edges. His matching bleached goatee is freshly trimmed and a pair of black Oakley sunglasses cover his eyes. Chad carries with him a giant American flag on a pole which he waves proudly as he makes his way towards the ring.]

## Change ##
## Nothing stays the same ##
## Unchained ##
## Yeah you hit the ground running ##
## Change ##
## And nothing stays the same ##
## Unchained ##
## Yeah you hit the ground running ##

RA: Weighing in at a combined weight of four hundred and ten pounds! ….. Here are RRRIP! And THE CHISEL! ….. THE BAAAWWWWWD SQUAAAAADDD!!!!!

“RAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”

[Chad waves the flag even more as the pair finally reach the ring and roll under the bottom rope. Guerilla Zen stand off to one side, obviously disgusted not only with the quality of their opponents, but their appearance as well.]

AR: What the?! Weren’t they supposed to have HIDDEN that thing by now?

SP: That would be the proper strategy, yes.

AR: Morons.

SB: Perhaps the BOD Squad were a bit unclear about the rules of this match.

AR: Or perhaps they’re two incredible losers!

[After a significant amount of posing and posturing for the crowd, Chad and Marky join Torres and Janssen at center ring along with head official Jake Dandridge. It actually looks like the beginning of a boxing match, with the referee set to lay out the ground rules.]

SB: Oh… it looks like Referee Jake Dandridge is going to go over the rules of this rather unique contest. Let’s listen in.

[We cut to a shot in the ring, where a roving camera dude is right up into the action. All four wrestlers stare at each other, doing their best to win the all important intimidation segment. The Zen are winning that war. Big shock.]

Dandridge: Alright, gentlemen, here are the rules. Each team has been given a flag to hide somewhere inside the arena. The object of the match is to find the other team’s flag and return it to the ring. The first team to achieve this goal will be the winners.

Along the way, it’s anything goes. You can use any means necessary to not only find your opponent’s flag, but to prevent them from finding yours. Any questions?

[No replies. Simple shakes of the head do the trick.]

Dandridge: Alright…

[Jake trails off as for the first time he notices that Chad is holding the Bodder’s flag.]

Dandridge: Excuse me, son, but isn’t that the flag?

[Chad says nothing. Marky does the talking.]

Peters: That’s it, ref dude.

[The senior official of PWP sighs. Torres and Janssen look less than amused.]

Dandridge: [taking a deep breath] Okay… you were supposed to have HID it already.

[This is apparently news to our boys.]

Peters: Really? Woh. Our bad, dude.

Dandridge: *sigh* Alright, why don’t you go do that.

[The BOD Squad makes no attempt to move.]

Dandridge: NOW!

[The sudden shout springs the boys to life. With a quick and sloppy salute, Marky and Chad bumble their way out of the ring and hightail it up the ramp towards the back. Dandridge and Guerilla Zen remain in the ring, watching this whole spectacle unfold in quiet disbelief.]

AR: I’m serious, guys, just who’s bright idea was it to hire these boobs?

SB: I believe Mr. Guzzetta was the one responsible for that particular hire, Archie. He feels they bring necessary “color” to the federation.

AR: Yeah… like finger-paints.

SB: Well it appears as though the BOD Squad are going to go and hide their flag and THEN this match will get officially underway.

SP: I have severe doubts as to the strategical abilities of those two. My gut instincts tell me wherever they end up hiding that thing will be a *less* than suitable location.

AR: Are you kidding? I’d bet they impale themselves on the damn pole before they even get a chance to hide the bastard.

[And whoosh. Through the miracle of modern technology we find ourselves deep in the bowels of the Miami Arena. Well not really the bowels. More like the intestines. Ground level. Okay, to be precise we’re in the lockerroom. But wasn’t it cooler the other way?]

[Anyway, we’re in the general lockerroom area where we find the intrepid duo of Peters and Cormier mischievously huddled around a locker, their backs to us. Apparently a cameraman has been sent to document their escapades. He gets right up to the pair, peering over Marky’s muscle-bound shoulder in attempt to see what it is they are up to.]

Peters: C’mon, brah, they’d *never* think of looking in here, yo.

[For the first time in remembrance, we hear Chad speak. And with that high-pitched girlie-voice, it’s no wonder he generally keeps quiet.]

Cormier: You are sooooo smart, dude.

Peters: I know. We rule.

[Chad stands upright, smacking a beefy shoulder against the camera’s lens. Our picture gets bobbled for a moment, the operator trying to quickly right himself. He does, and we firmly settle on a shot of Marky and Chad glaring at the camera. Or at least, trying to look intimidating as they stare at the camera. I mean, it *is* the BOD Squad after all.]

Peters: Dude, what’re ya doin? You’re gonna ruin our concentration, yo!

Cormier: Yeah, man! Wazzup with this shiznit?

[For the first time we can see what it is they duo were trying to hide, as stuffed in the locker behind them is the American flag on a pole. The camera man actually speaks, breaking all sorts of protocol.]

Cameraman: Is *that* the flag for your game of capture the flag with Guerilla Zen?

Peters & Cormer: SHHHHHHHHHH!!

Peters: [whispering] Yes. That’s it. We’re hiding it in here. That’s a hella-smart idea, don’t ya think, dude?

Cameraman: That’s a word.

Peters: It was all my idea. [he grins proudly]

Cameraman: Wow. What a shock.

Peters: Dude, those Monkey dudes won’t know WHERE to look. HAZZAH! WE RULE!

[The muscle-packed pair slap a quick high-five then bump their burly chests together. They haven’t got a brain cell between them, but they certainly are in good shape. We jump back to a shot of the ring where we can now see the members of Guerilla Zen watching this whole fiasco on the Jumbo-Tron. Hmmm… their job just got made a WHOLE lot easier.]

AR: LOOK AT THIS! These two idiots don’t even REALIZE they’re on camera. They have no clue that their flag hiding place is being broadcast for the whole damn arena to see!

SP: This’ll certainly put a kink in their chances at attaining victory.

AR: A KINK?! THEY’RE SCREWED!!! Not like they weren’t before.

[Back to the lockerroom, where after their proud celebration, the duo revert back to “sneak” mode, hunching their shoulders and looking around nervously.]

Peters: Quick, brah, let’s get out of here before anybody notices us. That might give away our position, yo.

[The Bodders begin to sneak off left.]

Cameraman: Good thinking. You wouldn’t want *that* to happen.

[Marky stops. A huge grin spreads across his face.]

Peters: Thanks, camera dude!

[His grin is accompanied by a quick “hang lose” sign with his right hand before Marky then continues on his way. We cut once again back to the ring where Torres and Janssen stand dumbfounded. They’ve just witnessed where the BOD Squad have hidden their flag, so the contest for the most part is over. All that remains is for them to hustle to the back and grab it, then bring it back to the ring. The weird thing is, this prospect doesn’t appear to be all that appealing to them. The partners look exasperated, almost annoyed.]

SP: An unfortunate turn of events for the BOD Squad. This surely spells defeat for them.

AR: Well DUH! *I* could have predicted that.

SB: Gentlemen, I get the feeling that the members of Guerrilla Zen are not particularly pleased with having the game ruined for them. They look disappointed.

AR: Yeah, cause they wanted to kick some scrawny surfer ass, and I for one wanted to see it. That was the only appealing thing about this match.

SP: I would prefer to see those two California boys serve some hardcore American justice on those ANARCHIST COWARDS!!

AR: Oh jeez, here he goes again.

[Before General Stan can break out into another tirade, the crowd pops loudly and we cut to the ramp where Marky and Chad are seen streaking down the aisle towards the ring. They slide in under the bottom rope and bounce up onto their feet. Apparently satisfied with where they hid their flag, they smile gleefully.]

SB: Hush you two, we’re about to start.

[The ref clarifies the situation.]

Dandridge: Gentlemen, is your flag hidden?

Peters: WAAAY, dude.

Dandridge: Then let’s start the contest.

[He signals for the bell.]

[***DING! DING! DING!***]

JB: And this match is officially underway!

AR: And the BOD Dorks are officially trying to RUN away!

JB: Peters and Cormier turn as if to leave, but the team of Guerrilla Zen is having NONE of it. Jett Torres grabs Chad by that doorag and pulls him back down to the mat!

JP: We’re going to have a match whether the BOD Squad likes it or not.

AR: Good! I WILL get to see an ass kickin’ after all!

JB: Peters turns around and… OOOH! Eats a massive running clothesline from Dash Janssen that sends him up and over the top rope! He just got sent to the outside the hard way!

AR: Let the beating commence!

JB: Double team work now on Chad Cormier, as Torres holds him in a Full Nelson…

[*SMACK!*]

“WHOOOOO!”

AR: Did you HEAR that?!

JP: Vicious knife edge chop across the chest by Janssen! That had to sting.

[*SMACK!*]

“WHOOOOO!”

JB: There’s another! Now Janssen scoops Cormier up by the legs and… they’re trying to pull this youngster apart!

AR: Rock on! Check it out, Torres has ‘im in a Full Nelson, and Janssen’s pulling back on the legs. Cormier’s like a piece of rope in a game of human tug-o-war!

[*WHAM!*]

JB: And just listen to that impact as they unceremoniously SLAM Cormier to the mat!

JP: These Anarchist scumbags are taking the Chisel apart.

AR: I know. Ain’t it great?

JB: Peters is getting to his feet on the outside, but he won’t be up for long. Janssen over by the ropes and…

“WHOOOOOAAAAA!!”

JB: SLINGSHOT SUICIDE DIVE!! JANSSEN JUST SHOT HIMSELF OVER THAT TOP ROPE AND LANDED ON AN UNSUSPECTING MARKY PETERS!! Incredible!

AR: That RULED!

JB: Inside the ring it’s Torres who’s having his way with Chad Cormier. He sends him careening off the ropes and catches him FLUSH with a dropkick! Cormier is down!

JP: As is Peters. Dash Janssen is sitting on his chest and pounding away with right hands! Look at this savage!

AR: Go Dash! Go Dash! Go, go, go Dash!

JB: A flurry of right hands by Janssen…

[*THUD!!*]

JB: MONKEY FLIP BY PETERS!! What a reversal! He just flipped Janssen head over heels off of his chest and ONTO the concrete floor here in the Miami Arena!

JP: Looks like these boys have some fight in them after all!

JB: Torres dragging Cormier to his feet inside the ring…

[*SMACK!*]

JB: …And ANOTHER vicious chop across the chest! Chad is stunned here! Side pick-up… and DOWN across the knee with a backbreaker. It’s been all Jett Torres so far.

AR: Like you expected any different.

JB: Well I certainly didn’t expect Marky Peters to take it to Dash Janssen like he’s doing on the outside. After a couple of quick stomps to the midsection, Marky sends Janssen flying towards the ring steps…

[*CLANG-ANG!!*]

JP: And up and over he goes! The smallish Janssen just did a full FLIP after hitting those ring steps! He’s in trouble here, boy!

AR: Don’t count ’em out yet.

JB: TORRES! TORRES LEAPS UP TO THE TOP BUCKLE AND JUMPS OUTSIDE, LANDING A *BEAUTIFUL* HURRICANRANA ON AN UNSUSPECTING MARKY PETERS!!

AR: God DAMN!!

JP: I have to admit, that was DAMN impressive.

JB: What a maneuver by Jett Torres! What incredible athleticism!

JP: He’d better start paying attention though.

AR: Oh darnit.

JB: Baseball slide by Chad Cormier! The Chisel was up, and he just drilled Torres in the midsection with those powerful legs of his! And now both members of Guerrilla Zen are down.

AR: And both members of the BOD Squad are running like a couple of pussies.

JB: ARCHIE!!

JP: He’s right, Sammy. They are.

JB: That may very well be, but is such language really NECESSARY?!

AR: Either way, those two are running scared. Look at the girly men run.

JB: Peters and Cormier are scampering up the ramp, apparently choosing to go in search of the Zen flag rather than take any more punishment here at ringside.

JP: Smart tactics on their part. This is not a match. This is a battle. And it won’t we won out here, that’s for sure.

AR: Aww yeah… the Zen are up and they are PISSED!

[We watch as Torres and Janssen, having quickly gathered their wits about them, follow after the Bodders towards the back.]

JB: Fans, we have no idea how long this will take, but we’ve got a couple of roving cameras out back tonight, and we’ll be doing out best to keep you up to date on any action that takes place involving this match. I’m sure these two teams will be meeting up again before this match is over, and we won’t miss a moment of that exciting action. In the meantime…

 

*****

 

[Backstage once again, where we find a slow-moving Trey Slater, busy chatting away on his cellular phone… AGAIN. He almost seems to be pacing as he talks, one hand holding the phone to his ear while the other runs constantly through his hair. Nearby stands a young guy in a black PWP tee-shirt and a remote headset. His laminate backstage pass reads “Fritz”. He looks uninterested in Trey’s current situation, instead focusing on a clipboard he holds in his hand and pressing the ear piece to his ear in order to make out what’s being said to him.]

[Slater apparently is engaged in some sort of personal conversation rather than the business deals we usually find him engrossed in at these moments. As we listen in, it doesn’t appear that he’s too happy about what is being said.]

Slater: Alex, why are you doing this to me?

[Slater pauses to listen to the voice of his new bride.]

Slater: Look, you know that I’m not a big fan of your cousins. First of all, Stacey and Tracey are not exactly *my* type of people–

[He’s interrupted by Alexia… typical woman, isn’t it?]

Slater: I know that you want everyone to come out and see the new house, but I’m just getting all the stuff in tonight. Steven just brought the bus up to the arena and dropped me off. [pause] But I haven’t even put my clothes in yet, and you know that I don’t want that stuff to get wrinkled any further than it already has.

[A long pause proceeds this time, and the longer it goes, the more agitated Slater gets.]

Slater: You know what? Fine. But when they have been down here for only two days, and you get to the point that you want to wring their necks, don’t look to ME for any sympathy. I think that you should just come down by yourself, but if you want to go through the torture, then fine.

[As Trey pauses once again, listening intently with an aggravated air about him, two more figures enter into our little scene. “Rip” and “The Chisel” are in da house! That’s right, the two men known collectively as the BOD Squad have strolled into view. Technically, they are in the midst of a match at the moment. Or more accurately, a game of Capture the Flag that is *masquerading* as a match this evening, and they are currently in search of their opponent’s flag. They enter unseen by Slater.]

[That is, until Marky decides to open his mouth yet again.]

Peters: Hey, brah, waaaaazzzzzuuuuup?!

[Slater does not jump or act in the least bit startled. Instead, he merely stops in place and cranes his neck towards the sudden interruption. Having eyed the Bodders and quickly summed up the situation, he turns back and speaks into the phone.]

Slater: Excuse me a sec, Alex.

[Putting a hand over the receiver, he turns his body fully around, coming face to face with the bumbling duo.]

Slater: [raising an eyebrow] Can I help you two?

Peters: Yo, dude, we just wanted to say, like, we remember you from NEWS… and, dude… YOU ROCKED!! BOOYAH!!

[Marky and Chad exchange dopey grins and a series of ridiculous upperbody gyrations. It’s not really dancing, nor can it be described as mere hand motions. No, its apparently some form of ritualistic hand shake/chest bump/hip shake thing, and it is very, *very* frightening. Retards.]

Slater: Yeah… um… booyah. Anyway, I think I remember you two from NEWS too. [he turns back around, pointing to Fritz the tech guy] Didn’t you tell me that it was my cue to go on?

[Unfortunately for Trey, Fritz is a bit of a dork as well, and fails to pick up on the fact that Trey is looking for an out from this situation. Instead he shakes his head in disagreement. Luckily Alexia has apparently spoken, as Slater returns his attention to the phone.]

Slater: No, I’m STILL listening to you honey. [pause] What? No, babe, I just got here. I don’t know anybody who could keep them entertained while they’re here.

Peters: [turning to Chad] Dude, where’s Shiloh? That babe was smokin’! If I don’t get me a date soon, yo… I’m gonna pop!

[Looks like Trey heard this, because his head suddenly pops up as if he has been struck by an idea. Uh oh. This *can’t* be good. Once again he excuses himself from his beloved and covers the phone with his hand.]

Slater: [looking at Marky] Listen, Marky Mark and… [pauses, looking at Chad] …the Funky Bunch. I know you’re trying to ride your “good vibrations”, but I need to talk to you for a second. From the looks of things, it doesn’t seem like you two are putting much of an effort into your match.

Peters: No way, brah… we are SOOO kicking butt right now. They’ll NEVER find where we hid our flag!

Slater: Yeah, well, I’ve heard that a couple of… [trying to contain his laughter] …monkeys… are not that smart.

Peters: HAZZAH! That’s the truth, yo.

Slater: So anyway, I have a couple of ladies coming into town…

Peters: Woh, dude! Aren’t you, like, married?

[Marky’s expression changes rapidly, starting at shocked then moving into a sly “you dawwwwwg!” kind of look. He turns to his partner Chad and flashes a quick homeboy sign as he says…]

Peters: Hey, Chiz, this boy’s a MAD playa!

[More ridiculous movements from the Bodders. It’s so sad. Really. It is.]

Slater: [sigh] You idiot, this is one of my relatives we’re talking about here.

[Cut to Chad, who suddenly looks appalled. I think he thinks something he shouldn’t be thinking.]

Slater: I need two guys to entertain them while they are here, and you two are just the victims– errr, guys… that I need.

Peters: I don’t know, brah. Are they hot? Cuz me and the Chisel, yo, we don’t play with no woofers, dude.

Slater: Listen, I have always been an HONEST man, and I would NEVER do that to two “classy gentlemen” like yourselves.

[Sadly, this doesn’t really sooth Marky at all. The boy needs a sledgehammer-like answer to really understand.]

Peters: Ummm… yeah. So like, does that mean they’re hot?

[Kudos to Trey for keeping it together. After a brief moment where he visually clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, no doubt second guessing himself for even entering into this lame brained idea, he smiles as politely as he can and pushes on.]

Slater: Well, I’m sure you two have checked out Alexia, because a couple of “players” like yourselves are always checking out the “merchandise”. Let’s just say this… they definitely picked up the same beauty gene that Alex has.

Peters: Really?! [turning to Chad] Dude! Did you hear that?! The MAN’S gonna set us up with some hot mama citas! [back to Trey] Brotha, you rule even MORE! You rule like a… like a… LIKE A RULER!!

Slater: Damn right. The SUPREME Ruler.

Peters: HAZZAH! Yo, Chiz, we should jet, brah. We gotta get that flag and win this match. I bet the honey’s would be hella-impressed by our big victory. [back to Trey] Thanks again, Trey guy, we owe you, man. We won’t let you down!

[Ecstatic over their apparent new found friendship with the former NWC World Champ, and more importantly, the prospect of hooking up with his wife’s twin cousins, the Bodders bound off to our left. Trey watches them go.]

Slater: Please, for MY sake, I hope you don’t either.

[Reality sets in quickly, and Alexia cries from the other end of the cellular universe. Trey quickly brings the small phone up to his ear.]

Slater: Hello? [pause] Yeah, babe, I’ve got it ALL covered. These guys are a real class act, and I think they’ll keep the twins *more* than entertained. [pause] Alright, baby, I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you too.

[As Slater turns off the cell phone, the team known as Guerilla Zen comes strolling into view. Dash Janssen is carrying a giant aluminum cookie sheet under one arm, whereas Jett Torres pats a lead pipe into his open hand. As they come upon Slater, Torres gets inquisitive.]

JT: Hey… did you see those two muscle-bound freaks Peters and Cormier come this way?

[At this point, Slater’s face goes completely blank, followed by the shrugging of his broad shoulders. After turning his head to the camera, he smirks for the audience at home and then points down the hallway. Guerilla Zen quickly run off down the hallway in pursuit of their opponents. A second later we hear the voice of Torres come from off-screen, accompanied by a loud symphony of crashes and screams.]

“THERE THEY ARE!”

[*Thwap!*]

“AAAAARGH!!”

[*CRASH!!*]

“HEY, WATCH IT–”

[*THWAP!*]
[*THWAP!*]
[*THWAP!*]

[Slater flinches at each crash and smack that is heard, quietly enjoying the sounds of carnage that waft down the hall. As he begins to walk away, he just can’t help but smile. He then mutters the “famous last words”…]

Slater: This is going to be VERY interesting.

[Slater begins to whistle as walks off-right. Meanwhile, the sounds of violence continue, as do the cries of Marky “Rip” Peters.]

“CHISEL, WATCH OUT FOR THOSE–”

[*CLANG-ANG-ANG!*]

“–Pipes.”

[*THWAP!*]

“OWWWW! MY BEAUTIFUL FACE! THAT’S gonna leave a mark!”

[Mercifully, we cut back to the ring.]

 

*****

 

[The ever popular backstage area. A hallway to be precise, where once again we see the team of Peters and Cormier shuffling along. It is obvious that they have taken quite a beating up to this point in the evening as each of the pumped up youngsters looks far less enthusiastic than they did earlier in the evening. Their steps are slow and stilted, the apparent effects of a number of bodyslams on concrete and cookie sheet shots to the head.]

Peters: Dude, we’d better find that flag, and like SOON, man. I don’t think I can take much more of this.

[Chad does not reply to his partner, instead nodding his approval slowly as he rubs the back of his neck with his hand.]

Peters: I wonder if those chicks that Trey’s gonna set us up with know anything about massage therapy? [his mood suddenly brightens] Brah! Maybe they’re Swedish!

[This perks Chad up quite a bit as well. We hear the voices of the announcers speak as Chad and Marky exchange excited looks at the prospect of twin Swedish girlfriends.]

AR: This is so saaaaad.

JB: The BOD Squad, apparently no closer to having found their opponent’s flag than the last time we saw them.

JP: It’s not as if they’re looking.

AR: Like it matters! Guerilla Zen have already SEEN where the Bodders flag is. All they have to do is go get it.

JB: Then why haven’t they?

AR: Cuz they wanna send these two dorks a message first, that’s why.

[Adding the perfect emphasis to Archie’s comments, the scene is suddenly shaken up by the arrival of Torres and Janssen, who roar into view and level Peters and Cormier with a ladder. Team Zen each have an end of the ladder and they run right OVER the Bodders like a low bridge. The boys hit the tiled floor HARD.]

AR: BINGO! We HAVE a winner!

JB: Another vicious attack by the team of Guerilla Zen! This is absolutely uncalled for! They could have won this match ages ago, but instead they are choosing to try and DESTROY their opponents.

AR: You said it! These guys are championship caliber, no doubt!

JP: Look at this! They just threw that ladder down on top of Peters and Cormier!

JB: I don’t like the looks of this…

AR: I do!

[Amazingly, Dash picks up his own partner in a powerbomb position and suddenly drops him onto the ladder, driving the fiberglass into the chests of Marky and Chad, not too mention into Torres’ back. But Jett doesn’t seem to mind, even though it’s clear he felt the effects as well.]

JB: That is PSYCHOTIC! A variation of their finisher the “Sensory Depravation”! Torres just gave up his own body for the sake of destroying Peters and Cormier!

JP: I’ll say this for them, they are dedicated soldiers.

JB: I can’t believe this! There is nothing this team won’t do!

AR: I like them more and more every second I see them! BRING IT ON, GUERILLA ZEN!

[The beating continues as Janssen drags a groggy Marky Peters to his feet, and after nailing him with three solid punches to the side of the head, rocking Marky back on his heels, takes him down with a massive clothesline. Marky is done.]

JB: How much more abuse can the BOD Squad take?

AR: Let’s hope lots. This is fun.

JB: Torres is going to work on Cormier now… grab of the wrist and he sends him HURLING into that wall!

[*SPLUT!*]

JP: OOOOOH! Not much give in that solid concrete wall.

AR: ALRIGHT!

JB: Janssen scooping Peters up… and RAMS him back first into the wall! This is a slaughter!

[Janssen and Torres continue to pummel the BOD Squad, picking up Cormier and spike piledriving him onto the hard tile floor. Peters gets slowly to his feet and makes a half-hearted attempt to fight back, swinging wildly at Torres. He of course misses and falls face first to the floor.]

JP: Get up, solider!

JB: Marky Peters is down! And so is his partner! This looks like the end for the BOD Squad!

AR: No! More! I want more carnage!

JB: Dash Janssen has another cookie sheet… where do those things COME FROM?!

JP: I don’t know, but he’s about to do some MORE damage to the already battered skull of Chad Cormier!

JB: He cocks back with it and– NO! Cormier gets his hand up and blocks it! Boot to the stomach, and now he rips the aluminum pan from Dash’s grasp!

[*THWAP!*]

JP: OOOH! Solid shot across the lowly anarchist’s noggin’!

JB: Torres to the rescue!

[*THWAP!*]

JB: NO! He too eats a tray to the head!

AR: NOOOO! This CAN’T be happening!

JB: Janssen back for more!

[*THWAP!*]

JB: Another shot! And Cormier turns back to Torres!

[*THWAP!*]

JP: OH MY! He’s evening the score here!

[*THWAP!*]

[*THWAP!*]

[*THWAP!*]

[*THWAP!*]

JB: Chad Cormier is taking turns here just waffling the members of Guerilla Zen with that cookie sheet!

AR: THIS IS WRONG! THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!!

[We watch as Cormier gleefully trades off blows on the ripe skulls of Torres and Janssen who stagger back in forth like drunks. Chad is smiling like a little boy. It’s almost comical.]

[*THWAP!*]
[*THWAP!*]
[*THWAP!*]
[*THWAP!*]
[*THWAP!*]
[*THWAP!*]

[Almost.]

[*THWAP!*]

SP: Oops.

SB: HE JUST HIT PETERS! CHAD CORMIER JUST KERRANGED HIS OWN PARTNER!!

AR: Now THAT’S the BOD Squad *I* know!

SB: And Marky is stunned!

SP: Chad looks a little stunned himself, although for an entirely *different* reason.

[Having mistakenly clocked his own partner over the head, Chad drops the aluminum sheet to the ground and quickly tends to a groggy Marky Peters. He throws his partner’s arm around his neck and leads Marky off screen.]

AR: Awwww… phooey. I wanted to see more.

SB: Chad Cormier apparently choosing to take this opportunity while Guerilla Zen is down and get the hell out of Dodge!

SP: Another shrewd move. They need to regroup.

AR: It’s chickenshit!

SB: ARCHIE!!

[We hold on a shot of Torres and Janssen still struggling to maintain their balance, their eyes glazed over after one-too-many shots to the head. No doubt they’ll be back up in a few moments, ready to exact a little revenge. But for the moment the duo is dazed and confused, and we cut away…]

 

*****

 

[Backstage. AGAIN?!?! For the love of all that is Holy! Well anyway, that’s where we are. Tucked away in some remote corner of the Miami Arena where no sane person would seek to tread. Of course, it’s for that exact reason that we are here. For there, cleverly nestled in between a rusty water pipe and a piece of stained and dusty conduit is a flag. It’s red. That’s about all we can make out of it, although we don’t really NEED to know anymore about it to surmise that it is the Guerilla Zen portion of this evening’s Capture the Flag game. Odds are the BOD Squad will never find it down here. But even if by some miracle they do…]

[…They’ll have company. A series of dented and dirty garbage cans are currently acting as sentinels for the aforementioned flag. A couple of them appear to be overstuffed, garbage spilling out over the tops and pushing the covers off. Save for two. No, these two cans have their covers on snugly. That is until the lid on of them begins to shake and rise. What the?!]

[Meet Johnny “Trailer” Park, one half of the Trailer Park Regulators, yet another tag team soon to be making its mark on the PWP scene. Johnny slowly pushes the lid off the can and stands upright, revealing his lanky frame decked out in a typical redneck uniform: dirty Dickies coveralls and a filthy once-was-white tank top. A ratty ballcap covers his head. And yes, he is standing IN the trash can. You’re surprised by this?]

Johnny “Trailer” Park: Psst. Hey, Bubba. C’mon out.

[The lid of the other can begins to move, the aluminum clacking loudly as it mashes up against the rest of the barrel. After a few moments of what can be described as a “struggle” to remove the lid, it comes flying off, no doubt the receipt of a hefty shove.]

[*CLANG-ANG-ANG-ANG-ANG!!!*]

[The lid falls to the floor with a loud rattle.]

Park: SHHHHH!!

[This would be Bubba “Double Wide” Johnson, Johnny’s partner. Would be… if he could get his fat ass out of the can, that is. At 6’8″, 350, it’s not exactly a custom fit. Bubba’s head pops out of the can and we watch in agony as he struggles to pluck his oversized beer gut from the constricting confines of the can. It takes a while to negotiate this seemingly simple task, Bubba wrenching and twisting his body in a life-or-death battle against basic physics. He eventually does pry himself loose, although not after substantial effort and considerable sweat. Tobacco juice runs down his chin.]

Park: Ain’t no sign of ’em.

[Bubba does not answer. Instead his face is a grimace of disgust. Something ain’t right.]

Park: Bubba? What is it?

Johnson: [in horror] I think a swalla’d ma chaw.

Park: Damn. Now thasa waste. [he pauses to scratch his stubbly chin] Anyways, I don’t see no sign of them Bod fellers.

Johnson: [beginning to look ill] Uh huh.

Park: Well… I reckon we better resume our posts.

[Johnny drops back down into his can, grabbing the nearby lid, placing it back on the can from the inside. Bubba remains standing, his hands clutching at his stomach.]

Johnson: Johnny… I think I… I think I…

Park: [from inside the can] Spit it out, Bubba!

Johnson: I think I… *blurp* …Ohhh… I think I’m gonna be… gonna be…

[Johnny pops up from his can…]

Park: What the heck is it?

[…just in time to catch a lap full of vomit as Bubba hurls chunks in the direction of Johnny’s can.]

Johnson: *huuuurlacchhhh!*

Park: Awww, GROSS, BUBBA!!

[Cut and print. We’re left with an image of Johnny standing in a trash can, brown puke all over his coveralls, and his partner standing in a can of his own, more brown puke on his own crusty tee-shirt and all over his can. Nice. Reeeaaal nice. Cut back to the announcers… PLEASE!]

 

*****

 

[Would you believe… backstage? WOW! What a shock! Alright, shut up. We get the point. This time we’re in a kitchen, where we see Marky Peters standing next to a giant sink in which his partner, Chad Cormier, is currently hunched over and hanging his head under the giant faucet. Cold water rushes over the back of Chad’s neck and he occasionally reaches up with a hand and redirects some water to his head, rubbing it into his short blonde hair.]

[Meanwhile Marky looks exhausted. He’s leaning heavily up against the counter as obviously the effects of the evening’s on-going battle with Guerilla Zen are getting the best of him. His eyes are almost glazed over, like he has no clue where he is (oh, like he EVER does) and could fall over at any minute.]

Peters: Brah, we have GOT to find that flag, and like… soon. I can’t take much more of this, yo.

“Oh… well isn’t that just too bad.”

[Marky’s eyes go bug at the sound of the voice.]

[*CRACK!*]

SB: THAT’S DASH JANSSEN!! GUERILLA ZEN HAVE ONCE AGAIN FOUND THE BOD SQUAD!!

AR: And are once again gonna deliver a serious beatdown!!

SB: Janssen clobbering Peters in the head with that plastic dish tray! Oh my, what a blow!

SP: Another fine example of Guerilla warfare!

AR: Ick. That was BAD, Stan.

[Jett Torres quickly enters the fray as well, grabbing a surprised Chad Cormier by hair and slamming him face first into the sink.]

[*THANG!*]

SB: Oooh, mommy, that has GOT to hurt!

[*THANG!*]
[*THANG!*]
[*THANG!*]

[He repeatedly and viciously slams Chad into the cast iron sink basin, screaming as he does so.]

Jett Torres: THAT’S FOR THE SHOTS WITH THE COOKIE SHEET, YOU ASSHOLE!!

[*THANG!*]
[*THANG!*]
[*THANG!*]
[*THANG!*]
[*THANG!*]

SB: My GOODNESS!

SP: Cormier’s face must be hamburger by now!

AR: Good!

[*CRASSSHHH!!*]

SB: There goes Peters, sailing into that dishrack! Janssen is letting him have it here!

[Grabbing the nearest thing he can find, in this case a giant metal salad bowl, Dash charges at the stunned Marky Peters and clocks him over the head with it.]

[*F-TANGGG!!*]

SB: HE’S GONNA TOSS HIS SALAD!!

AR: Umm… Sammy… I don’t think you know what you just said.

SP: ANARCHIST COWARD FAGS!!!

AR: Not that bit again.

[*F-TANGGG!!*]

SB: Another shot across the skull with that salad bowl! The BOD Squad is ONCE AGAIN in trouble!

AR: Maybe this time the Zen boys can put them down and KEEP them down.

SP: LOOK OUT!

SB: OOOOOH!! Jett Torres just climbed up on top of the counter and dropped a leg across the back of Chad Cormier’s head! He drove Cormier’s face into the sink again and drove his chest into the corner! The Chisel may have broken ribs after that stunt!

SP: And they’re not satisfied there. Look at these two men dismantling the BOD Squad.

[Dash Janssen drags Marky Peter’s limp body from the wreckage of the dishrack, dropping to one knee and holding Marky over his knee in a backbreaker type position. Torres, already standing on the counter top, climbs even higher, making his way up on top of the giant dishwasher, a good eight feet off the ground.]

SB: What are they going to do here?!

AR: Something VERY cool!

[With a bloodcurdling howl, Torres hurls himself off the top of the dishwasher, executing a full somersault and crashing down across the neck of Marky Peters with a senton bomb. The force flips Peters completely over, with Janssen dumping him face first onto the kitchen floor.]

SB: OH – MY – GOD!!!!!

SP: SWEET JESUS!!!

AR: HOLY SHIT!!!

SP: I DON’T BELIEVE WHAT WE JUST SAW!!!

SB: Jett Torres is an insane ANIMAL! That was a variation of their “Screwdriver” move, but… just how did he pull that off?!

AR: Screw that, how did he SURVIVE IT?!

[Not only did Torres survive the massive bomb to the floor, he got back up (albeit slowly) and is looking for more. Janssen moves over to Cormier who is still slumped over the sink, and pulls him out.]

SB: They’re not done! Janssen pulls Cormier out of the sink and…

[*SMASSSHHH!!*]

SB: OHHH! He just broke a plate over Chad’s head!

AR: Man, these guys are absolutely WRECKING the Bodders!

SB: Cormier is down… but I don’t think he’s out of the woods yet. Janssen is climbing up onto the counter… AS IS TORRES!

SP: This is going to be the final touch, I do believe.

SB: Both men up… DASH LEAPS…

[*THUD!*]

SB: FROGSPLASH!!! AND THERE GOES TORRES!!

[*THUD!*]

SB: ANOTHER SENTON BOMB!!!

AR: ANARCHY! ANARCHY! THAT WAS ANARCHY!!

SP: This whole night has been anarchy!

AR: No, dummy! It was their finisher… “ANARCHY!”

SB: And I think that was the nail in the coffin for the BOD Squad! Peters and Cormier are both down and neither man looks like he’ll be getting up anytime soon! This match is all but over!

AR: YESSSSS!!

[Janssen and Torres, themselves quiet tired and suffering the ill-effects of the night’s festivities. Satisfied they have delivered the necessary beating, the duo throw an arm over each other’s shoulders for physical support and limp off-screen. We’re left with a shot of Chad and Marky laid out on the kitchen floor.]

 

*****

 

[Cue up “Fired From Life” by Bristle.]

##Some die for property ##
## Some die for love ##
## But nobody that I know personally ##
## Has ever come back again ##
## Fired from life ##

SP: I think I know what this means.

AR: Yeah, it means the BOD Squad are officially done!

[Enter the team known as Guerilla Zen, Jett Torres and Dash Janssen. Having *finally* rid themselves of the Bodders during the recent fracas in the kitchen, they have retrieved the American flag from the Bodders locker and are now making their way down the aisle towards the ring.]

SB: It appears as though they have the BOD Squad’s flag and are going to win this highly contested game of capture the flag.

AR: Highly contested? What match have YOU been watching? They kicked the Bod’s ASSES.

SB: Marky and Chad put up a decent fight.

AR: My ASS they did.

[As Dash and Jet enter the ring, Jett tosses the flag pole down to the mat with fling.]

[***DING! DING! DING!***]

SB: And that’s it. Senior official Jake Dandridge calls for the bell and it is finally over!

SP: Wow. These two fought all OVER the building tonight. Tough loss for the Bodders.

AR: PAH! Losers.

SB: Speaking of which… I wonder where they are?

[We cut to a shot of the kitchen where we last left the beleaguered and beaten duo. But nope… they ain’t there.]

 

*****

 

(Note: Portions of this post were written by the handlers of Guerrilla Zen, “Showtime” Trey Slater, and the Trailer Park Regulators,  whoever they were.)

 

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