PARADISE WRESTLING PROMOTIONS
Tuesday, June 13, 2000 (estimated)
## OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!! ##
[*BOOM*] [*BOOM*] [*BOOM*]
[As Jamiroquai’s “Deeper Underground” begins, the fans hop out of their seats and begin an ASTRONOMICAL pop, a pop that could only be for Paradise Wrestling Promotion’s resident franchise, “Showtime” Trey Slater. As the lyrics begin, there are no fancy pyrotechnics, which is rather strange for a Slater entrance. Just when you think that the cheers cannot get louder, Trey Slater steps out onto the ramp, which nearly blows the roof off of the TD Waterhouse Center. He looks handsome (like that’s a surprise), wearing a pair of tan slacks, brown loafers, and a blue Hawaiian-print shirt. He has nearly all of the buttons fastened, which is rather unusual. As he walks down the ramp, he seems to be in a bit of a hurry. The expression on his face is not a happy one.]
AR: Can’t we go five minutes *without* seeing this guy?
SB: “Showtime” has arrived, and he’s walking to the ring with a purpose.
SP: Maybe the PWP backstage crew is not doing their job… again!
[After he quickly walks up the ring steps, he steps through the ropes without hesitation. Instead of going to the far corner and standing on the second turnbuckle to look at the fans, he swiftly walks over to the other side of the ring, gets a microphone from a ringside attendant, then taps on the mic to make sure that it is working. As he begins his little rant, he looks up at the entrance ramp in seriousness.]
Slater: As you can tell, the “Greatest Show on Earth” is not a happy man. When “Showtime’s” not happy, all hell is going to break loose around here.
[The crowd pops, wanting the carnage to begin right now.]
Slater: Right now, I have a problem with the PWP “front office”. However, my problem does not lie with Guzzetta. I’ve met him, I’ve talked to him, and he’s one of the few nice and *competent* presidents I’ve met. My problem resides with the other half of the “dynamic duo”. Dexter Irons…
[The crowd boos at the name of the former president of BSW and RMW.]
Slater: Irons, when I signed my name on the dotted line for that million dollar deal, I came under the assumption that the deal was made to a *main event* wrestler. Now, the last time I checked, main event doesn’t mean the second to last match on the card, it means that it is the *last* match on the card. As you can see on the lineup sheet, Trey Slater is *not* in the main event. Now, you’ve had a few ideas backfire in the past. There was the Mile High/Rocky Mountain Wrestling idea, and that tanked, basically because you didn’t have “Mr. RMW” on your roster. From there, you ran away from Bluegrass State Wrestling. Did Michael Bold scare you away, or did you run away by the pure lack of talent?
[Slater pauses for a second to smirk, then continues.]
Slater: Well, as we speak, Dexter Irons is making yet *another* mistake. You see, these people do not want to see three “flashes in the pan” battle for some piss-poor secondary title that is completely meaningless. These people want to see “The Greatest Show on Earth” kick Odessa’s ass all around this ring tonight!
[While the majority of the crowd pops, there are faint boos scattered throughout. Yes, Odessa does have his fans. As the fans cheer, Slater slowly starts to unbutton his shirt, which gets some screams from the Florida females.]
Slater: You see Dexter, unless you don’t understand, it’s rather simple…
[At this point, Slater’s done unbuttoning his shirt, and now he slowly takes it off. Unfortunately for the ladies, he’s wearing something underneath. He is sporting a black t-shirt, which has the original PWP logo on the front. When Slater turns his back to the camera, the camera man zooms in, only to show “Welcome to “Showtime” Country” on the back of the shirt in lime green lettering. When the fans see this on the VorTron, they let out a pop, knowing that they have yet *another* shirt to purchase.]
Slater: Now, if you *still* don’t understand it, then why don’t you bring your ass out here, and let me Pleasure Bomb it all the way through the mat!
SB: Irons and Slater, one-on-one, right now?
[MAJOR pop this time, with the Orlando fans wanting to see Irons get flattened by the former NWC Champion. Slater slowly takes off his gold watch, getting ready to destroy one of his new presidents, who obviously doesn’t realize what Slater’s getting paid to do. However, instead of getting Dexter Irons, Slater gets the chugging chords “Unchained” by Van Halen.]
SB: Wait a second… that’s not Irons… that’s the theme music of…
AR/SP/SB: THE BOD SQUAD?!?!
[Sure enough, the dopey pair of “Chisel” Chad Cormier and Marky “Rip” Peters come bounding down to the ring, Marky triumphantly waving a giant red flag high above his head as he comes. The crowd gives it up for the not-so-dynamic duo, causing Chad to stop in the middle of the aisle and fire of a few muscle-flex poses. They are each dressed in their respective bright pink and bright green bicycle shorts, but rather than wearing the usual t-shirts, each is wearing a drab gray, loose-fitting sweatshirt. You know, the kind body-builders often wear.]
AR: [quietly chanting to himself] This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.
SB: The BOD Squad are finally here! And they’ve got the flag!
SP: Too bad they already LOST!
SB: That doesn’t seem to bother them in the least.
AR: Probably because they don’t even KNOW!!
[Marky and Chad eventually bumble their way into the ring, where Trey Slater is rapidly growing annoyed. Once inside, the Bodders take turns leaping up onto the turnbuckles and posing for the fans, which gets them another surprising pop.]
AR: This is so friggin’ sad.
[Slater has apparently had enough. He goes to speak…]
Slater: Alright, you two, just what the hell–
[But he cuts himself off in mid sentence as Marky, having hopped down from his corner position, bounces over to Trey and puts up a hand as if to say “stop”. Slater does, although more out of sheer surprise than any actual desire to do what the runt tells him. Marky then holds his hand out with a big smile plastered on his face, and surprisingly, Slater hands him the mic.]
AR: Lord deliver me… he’s got a mic.
Peters: Thanks, Trey-dude.
Yo, yo, yo, Orlandooooo… WAAAAAAAAAAZZUUUUUUUUUUPPP?!?!?!
AR: Oh, sure, like THAT’S original.
Peters: Now, like, before we get to the celebration…
SP: Celebration for what?!
SB: I assume he thinks they’ve just won that match from last week.
AR: I assume he’s an idiot. I’d say we’re both probably right.
Peters: …Me and the Chisel, well, we’ve got a little surprise for all you people here tonight…
[He points out to the crowd with his free hand and makes a giant sweeping motion, spinning in a circle so that he points to everyone.]
Peters: …AAAAAND for you two, Slater-dude.
[We get a clear shot of Trey mouthing the words, “don’t call me that, pipsqueak”.]
Peters: That’s right, brah, seeing as how you are the totally coolest, hippest, most funky-fresh, baddest mama-jamma in the whole world…
[Trey’s face begins to droop. He senses something he’s not going to like.]
Peters: …And to show our thanks for you hookin’ us up with those hooches next week…
[And now Slater’s eyes begin to bug. He’s *really* not liking where this is heading.]
Peters: …The Chisel and I… man, we’ve decided that from this day forward we are no longer going to be called the BOD Squad.
[A slight gasp ripples through the auditorium.]
SB: What is he talking about?
AR: Whatever it is, my money’s on it being stupid. Anybody wanna take a bet?
Peters: That’s right, fine freaks of Orlandoooo…
[Quick pop for the mention of the city. Pavlovian losers.]
Peters: …From now on me and C.C. will be known as…
Peters: THE SLATER SQUAD!!!
[And with a mighty yank, Marky and Chad each grab the collar of their sweat-shirts and riiiiip. They peal off the generic garments to reveal brand spanking new t-shirts. On the front of the black, cotton shirts is a giant picture of Trey Slater in all his pompous glory; an extremely large photo of his face (and ONLY his face) sneering into the camera. Honestly, it’s not one of Trey’s better photographs, a fact made all the more obvious by the sudden look of horror on the real Trey’s face. The back of the tee’s bare and even more frightening sight for Slater. Across the top in giant lime-green letters are the words “THE SLATER SQUAD!”, while beneath that rests a pair of photos, once each of Cormier and Peters. What’s scary about that? How about the fact that under their respective photos are the words “Marky ‘Show’ Peters” and “Chad ‘Time’ Cormier”? That’s right, ladies and gents… meet “Show” and “Time”… The Slater Squad.]
[The crowd responds as a close-up of the new shirts is flashed on the VorTron. Slater meanwhile, is in horrified shock. The humiliation he is currently feeling can’t even be calculated, and it’s clear that the moment he regains his senses, he’s gonna pummel these two nimrods right into the ground. Marky looks up at his frozen hero with a huge smile.]
Peters:I know, dude… you’re speechless, right? BOOYAH!
Sweet, brah, this is sooooo gonna rock. And what better way to celebrate our new-found partnership… than by celebrating our first win here in the PWP!!
[Marky picks up the flag again and begins to wave it around like an idiot.]
SP: They STILL think they’ve won.
((( And cue Irons to come down and inform the two boobs that they in fact lost last week. Whoever ran the fed was supposed to write that portion, which I assume he did. I didn’t save the full shows, so I have no clue. )))
[As the camera crew cuts to a shot backstage, we are now in the parking lot of the TD Waterhouse Center. After a couple seconds of nothing but panning around to see the lot packed with vehicles, we see a young man come into view, who just happens to be wearing a PWP Event Staff shirt. Behind him is a small suitcase, which he is slowly pulling. As soon as he walks up the curb, a female figure comes into view, which gets cheers from all of the male fans in attendance. The woman looks like she just came from the gym, sporting a tight black sports bra, a pair of baggy gray sweatpants, and a pair of white sneakers. As she walks closer to the camera’s view, the announcing crew quickly recognizes her.]
SB: Alexia Slater is here, and it looks like she didn’t take a lot of preparation for her on-camera arrival.
[The crowd pops, because anyone who is in relation to Trey Slater is popular with them.]
AR: Hey, that’s okay! Oh man, if I could only get a piece of that-
SP: Down boy.
[Indeed, it is Alexia, yet without the provocative clothing. In fact, she’s not wearing makeup either, revealing her natural beauty to the viewing audience. As she gets ever closer to the back entrance, she runs her fingers through her black hair, trying to look somewhat presentable for her husband when she sees him. As she walks up to the door, the PWP staff boy opens the door, followed with a quick smile. She doesn’t go through the door, however, for she stands right in front of the 19-20 year old kid.]
Alexia: Thanks for carrying my bags in for me. [Seductively] You know, I’m a little hot and sweaty. Maybe you would care to join me for a little shower?
[The male fans in the arena cheer, wishing that they could be the young man right now. As we look at the kid, his eyes are nearly about to pop right out of his head, not being able to believe Alexia’s proposition. As he replies, his voice is cracked, sounding like he is still a 14 year old going through puberty.]
PWP Kid: R-R-…Really?
[As Alexia steps closer, she looks the kid dead in the eye. The camera soon zooms in, showing us the beads of sweat that has formed on the kid’s forehead. After running a finger through the boys hair, she answers in her regular tone.]
Alexia: Not really, I just wanted to tease you a little bit.
[The fans in the arena, laugh, knowing that the boy is now heartbroken. Alexia, although she was mercilessly toying with the boy, can’t help but smile, knowing that she’s still “got it”, even after she has become Mrs. Trey Slater. After lightly patting the boy on the cheek, she leaves us one lasting line before she walks into the backstage area.]
Alexia: Hmm…I wonder who Trey got to take out Stacey and Tracey? Maybe I’ll get to meet them tonight.
[Cut back to the announcer’s table.]
AR: Ha, ha! Trey’s in big trouble now, just wait until she finds out that he got the BOD Squad to take them out!
SP: That’s The Slater Squad now, Archie.
AR: I refuse to call them that.
SB: Well no matter WHAT they’re called, Alexia’s not going to be happy, and with Trey’s upcoming match with Odessa. This might not be a good night for the “Greatest Show on Earth”!
[We now abruptly cut to the backstage area (AGAIN!!), this time to a shot of Trey and Alexia Slater walking down one of the many hallways in the TD Waterhouse Center. As they walk down the hallway hand in hand, the two have changed clothes, with Trey wearing his new PWP shirt and his wrestling gear, and Alexia decked out in her valet attire. At the sight of the happy couple, the crowd obviously pops. As they continue to walk down the hall, we pick up their conversation.]
Slater: [in a “redneck” accent] Wow, Ma, you clean up real good!
Alexia: [laughing] Yeah, a shower does wonder’s for a girl, eh?
Slater: I still can’t believe what you did to that poor kid outside.
Alexia: Yeah, well, I needed to have some fun for a change. It hasn’t exactly been fun to have Stacey and Tracey around. Speaking of, when are we going to see these “gentlemen” that you picked out for them?
[Trey clears his throat, quickly trying to think of an answer.]
Slater: Um… well… uh… you’ll meet them very soon.
Alexia: Good. I hope that they’re interesting. You know that those two *hate* dull conversation.
[At this point, Slater has pulled his hand away from Alexia’s, and is now nervously twiddling his thumbs.]
Slater: Oh… they’re *interesting* alright.
[Now, the awkward silence sets in, until they stop at the door of Trey Slater’s locker room. Slater graciously tells his wife that he will open the door for her, which gets a smile from the ravishing Alexia. As Trey barely opens the door, however, the sound of Californian “surfer lingo” comes from inside his locker room, an obvious indication that the BOD Squad… ahem, Slater Squad… have somehow entered his private locker room. At this point, Slater’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, not knowing what to do now.]
Alexia: So, are you going to let me in?
Slater: Um…. uh… hmmm… NO… no, no. We can’t go in there! Uh, they’re um… uh… CLEANING! Yeah, that’s it, they’re cleaning.
[As we watch Trey, he is now leaning against the frame of the door, propping his right arm behind his head, which makes it rather awkward for anyone to get inside his locker room. Alexia can’t help but raise an eyebrow, wondering what the hell is going on.]
Alexia: Trey, what the hell are they cleaning?
Slater: Well…. uh…. when I got in there earlier today, there was… uh…. a…. SMELL! Yeah, a really bad smell. It absolutely reeked in there! Come on, why don’t we go get some water, ok?
Alexia: Umm… okay.
[As Trey makes a gesture for Alexia to lead on, he can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. We soon cut back to ringside.]
(Note: There was apparently supposed to be another segment where Alexia met the Bodders, but I don’t have it, which means I probably didn’t write it. Meanwhile, portions of the above were written by “Showtime” Trey Slater’s handler.)