A single man fighting against the ruthless alliance, who seems to be gaining more power each week. This week, the former champion again rages against the machine, in an attempt to reclaim glory. The fans have their faith buried deep within this man, but will their faith enough to stop the Apocalypse?

The scene cuts into Viking Hall, the home of UWWF: Liberation. As a usual week would see, we cut right into the cheering fans that occupy building. Holding up various signs to show support for their heroes and signs that show threats toward their heated enemies. The camera pans passed the fans to the balcony, where we await the announcers. By now, you all know them well, the two men that you see each and every week on this televised broadcast. Tony Lockton and Cody “Mother Fuckin” Prime, both stand behind a huge Liberation Television banner. As the camera zooms in, Prime kicks a few beer cans away from his feet, to make him look as if he weren’t an alcoholic – but we all know better by now. Lockton, as usual, provides the first set of verbal communication on our broadcast.

T.L: We welcome you fans to another episode of Liberation Television. I’m proud to be here tonight, folks.

C.P: [slurred] S…Same here….[burp]

T.L: Tonight, we will witness the rematch of the century. The Ultimate heavyweight champion, Jeremy “Repent” Clarkson will be putting his strap on the line against the former champion, G-Man. Boy, what a bout it will be. At Blood Money we saw these two take each other to the limit. Tonight, I’m sure will not be any different from Blood Money, beside the stipulation of this contest.

C.P: There must be a winner, there must be a pinfall, muthafucka!

T.L: A strange stipulation, since we saw a pinfall in their last contest.

C.P: S….strange? What the fuck are you talking about? President Maddog wanted to reassure everyone that there will be a winner to this contest. There won’t be any count-outs or fuckin’ disqualifications. What better a fuckin’ way to do it?

T.L: Well, your drunken opinion actually does some justice here tonight. That deserves a round of applause. [clapping]

C.P: Thank you, [raising his arms in the air], thank you.

T.L: Why not take a bow?

C.P: Don’t mind if I do!

T.L: Anyway, our first contest for the night will be the double debut of two new superstars to enter the UWWF: Liberation. Last week, we saw Cyrus join the ranks of Mario C.’s growing alliance. He will be taking on another newcomer in the form of Acid.

C.P: Ahh…memories…acid…..

T.L: We aren’t talking about a psychedelic trip here, Cody. We’re talking about a sick, demented individual. Only the likes of Maddog would ever think of bringing in such a man.

C.P: Cheers to the boss!

T.L: [sigh] Let’s get to the ring for this first contest!

Acid lurks around the ringside area, as the camera view switches to a zoomed out view of the entire ringside section. Acid looks at the fans in the front row, just before he decides to slide under the bottom rope and enter the ring. The referee steps back into the turnbuckle to view the newcomer, avoiding any possible injury to this unfamiliar character. The entrance ramp lights up, with spotlights shining down at the curtain. The curtain flies open, welcoming The Boyz – Jazz and AWOL. The two hold the curtain to the side while Mario C. and Cyrus step out into view at the top of the ramp. Mario C. and Cyrus exchange a few words before Cyrus starts down the ramp toward the ring. Mario C. motions with his hand to The Boyz, initiating an exit to the backstage area. Cyrus walks around the ring to find the ring-steps, slowly walking up onto the apron. He enters the ring, making his way directly to the logo imprinted in the center of the ring.

Both men move in toward each other, which gives the referee an indication that they are ready to go at it. He waves his hand, thus the bell sounds. Cyrus and Acid circle the ring, measuring each up in the first seconds of the bout. As the two make their second full circle around the ring, Acid dives down at Cyrus’ legs. Acid grips him around the knees and spins him to the side, driving Cyrus into the mat with a technical showing of a double-leg takedown. Acid crawls his way up to hold Cyrus down, but Cyrus fires off a closed right to the side of Acid’s face. Acid thrusts his head to the side, giving Cyrus enough time to wiggle free and get back up to his feet. Cyrus lunges forward, grabbing Acid by the head with both hands, leading him back up to a standing position. Cyrus swings his right arm back, wrapping his knuckles across the side of Acid’s head again, followed quickly by a whip into the ropes. Acid comes off the ropes with full force, sending Cyrus down to the mat with a dropkick to the chest. Acid climbs to his feet and he brings Cyrus up with him. Leading Cyrus toward the corner with a hand on the back of his head, Acid swings Cyrus’ head back to face plant him into the top turnbuckle cover. Just inches away, Cyrus lifts his leg up and catches the middle rope, blocking the attempt at a turnbuckle-smash. Cyrus combats with a back elbow to Acid’s ribs, which opens Acid up for Cyrus to slam him head first against the buckle. Acid reels back into the clutches of Cyrus after having his head slammed into the buckle. Cyrus throws his left arm over Acid’s back and wraps his left leg around Acid’s right. Cyrus leans forward, then drops Acid back into a Russian leg-sweep. Acid’s head hits the mat with a thud, which gives Cyrus a chance to go for a quick pinfall attempt. ONE………TWO.., kick out by Acid.

T.L: These two have been keeping this match to a strictly technical form, so far.

C.P: That’s right, Tony, I won’t fucking stand for it! Where’s the fuckin’ blood?

Cyrus sits up on his knees and picks Acid’s head up off the mat, leading him up to his feet once again. Cyrus pulls Acid into a front facelock, but he gets a jab to the stomach when he tries to lift Acid’s arm over his head for what seems to be a vertical suplex. Cyrus keeps hold of the facelock, but Acid continues to throw evenly timed jabs to the midsection. Acid swings his arm back further this time, swinging his arm across Cyrus’ kidney, breaking himself free from Cyrus’ grip. Cyrus takes a swing, but Acid ducks it and goes around back. Before Cyrus has a chance to turn around, Acid gives him a push from behind. Cyrus turns around to meet a kick to the gut, then he gets spiked head first into the mat with a vicious d-d-t. Acid makes the lateral press…

T.L: One……two…no! Cyrus kicked out after the d-d-t by Acid! Two newcomers showing that they can wrestle!

Cyrus lifts his head up to meet a barrage of blows to the teeth care of Acid. Acid follows up the punches by lifting Cyrus’ head up and heabutting him right between the eyes. Acid releases Cyrus, only to flop his head against the canvas. Acid forcefully pushes Cyrus’ shoulders against the mat, ONE………TWO…THE SHOULER COMES OFF THE MAT. Acid pushes his weight down across Cyrus’ upper body, leaning his head down to Cyrus’ side. ONE….. The pin is countered by Cyrus, who has no hooked Acid in a variation of a headlock. In a quick second, Cyrus has managed to flip Acid over onto his back. Cyrus returns a few favors to Acid by nailing him in the chops with a few punches of his own. Cyrus pulls Acid up to his feet, only to irish-whip him into the ropes. Acid comes off the ropes and Cyrus sends him up and over with a high back-body drop. Acid hits his spine across the canvas and immediately pops up into a sitting position. Cyrus comes up from behind with a rear-chinlock, showing Acid who’s boss. Cyrus grinds his forearm against Acid’s chin, wrenching the hold in to wear Acid down enough to take the big advantage. Acid starts to slow down, leaning back against Cyrus’s arms. He kicks his legs outward, but it only adds pressure to the chin-lock, but Cyrus can see that Acid still has quite a bit of fight left in his body. Cyrus stands up with the chin-lock still applied, forcing Acid up to a standing position. Acid quickly reaches his hands up and back, grabbing Cyrus by the back of the head. From here, Acid drops down and gives Cyrus a jawbreaker! Cyrus hits his jaw against Acid’s shoulder and shoots up with a slight jump and falls to his back. Acid gets up to his feet, not noticing that Mario C. and his Boyz have made their way to ringside. Without turning around Acid backs up a few feet, as he gains speed. He turns around and bounces into the ropes, only to be caught by the foot by Jazz. As Acid starts to rebound off the ropes, the hold on his foot sends him face first across the mat. Cyrus is now back up, making his way over to his downed opponent. He grabs Acid by the head and just about has him halfway peeled off the canvas, when Acid fires off a jab to the gut. Cyrus backs up and Acid lunges at him with a closeline. Cyrus hits the mat and Acid turns to the ropes with a stagger, making his way through the ropes to the outside. He jumps down and leans under the apron skirt, pulling out a steel chair. Acid slides under the bottom rope and turns to Mario C. and the Boyz, who have now huddled close to the apron. He turns back to Cyrus and swats him across the back with the steel chair, resulting in a sickening thud. He picks the chair up over his head, but he is sabotaged from behind by both Jazz and AWOL. The two tackle him to the canvas, proceeding to stomp the living hell out of him. Mario C. enters the ring and orders the referee to call for the bell, which the referee has no choice but to uphold. The bell sounds, while Mario C. helps Cyrus back up to his feet, raising Cyrus arm into the air for the win. The Boyz lift the beaten Acid up off the canvas, throwing him into the clutches of Cyrus. Cyrus bends him over and hooks him around the waist, just as Mario C. slides the chair up behind him. Cyrus holds Acid in the air for a few seconds to let him think things out, before he sends him crashing down head first across the steel chair with a piledriver. Acid’s body shudders on impact, leaving Cyrus to flop him over the side of his legs onto his back. Cyrus gets to his feet to celebrate with the Boyz and Vice President Mario C.

C.P: Not only should Acid have won this match, he should also be awarded with humanitarian of the fuckin’ year!

T.L: I think you’ve drank a little too much tonight, Cody.

C.P: He visited to ungrateful little pricks at some school, that should be awarded. Hell, I’d at least ask for a six-pack, that’s the least they could do.

T.L: Well, this match should have been called out for a disqualification after AWOL took the feet out from under Acid.

C.P: That be the fuckin’ truth! Amen to that…(burp)

T.L: I’m sure this isn’t the last of events to come from Mario C., the Boyz, and Cyrus against the newcomer to UWWF, Acid!

C.P: I tried acid once…

T.L: I don’t want to hear it, Cody. Seriously…we have…

T.L: More matches. Next, we have one of the best wrestler’s on the planet, Curtis “Bonez” Schmitt goin’ up against two biggest fucking peons that I’ve ever seen….

T.L: Two superior athletes in the form of Jazz and one half of Double Lightning, Bill Gnarly.

C.P: Superior athletes? You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.

The thee men have already made their way down to the ring, standing among the turnbuckles. Jazz leans through the ropes to talk to AWOL for a few seconds, before the bell finally sounds. Curtis “Bonez” Schmitt points at Gnarly and the two begin circling the ring. Gnarly rushes at Bonez, but Bonez ducks an attempted closeline. Gnarly comes off the ropes and Bonez flips him over with a knee lift to the midsection. Curtis “Bonez” Schmitt moves in on Gnarly, dropping his knee down across Gnarly’s forehead. Bonez is just about to get up when Jazz grabs him by the head and slings him into the ropes with an irish-whip. Bonez comes off the ropes with full force, but he is almost knocked out of his boots by a powerslam care of Jazz. Jazz stays in position, one……..two…..Bonez thrusts his shoulder off the canvas. Gnarly waits for Jazz to get back up to his feet before he decides to jump of Jazz’s back to apply a sleeperhold! Jazz struggles to keep himself upright, but it becomes increasingly harder as his oxygen is taken away at a slow pace. In a last ditch effort, Jazz stumbles back as far as he can, thus planting Gnarly back first against the turnbuckle to break the hold. Gnarly releases after being driven into the buckle. Jazz grabs his throat as he walks over to Bonez. He leans over to pick Bonez up, but Bonez nails him in the gut with a stiff kick. On his way back up, he grabs Jazz by the head, leading him over to the ropes. Bonez gives him a knee to the midsection, just before he slings him through the ropes to the outside. Bonez turns around to see Gnarly coming at him with a running start, and has enough time to wave his hands up to Gnarly to “bring it on”. Gnarly hesitates as he moves in closer, only to be sent over the top rope with a slight hip-toss from Bonez. Gnarly flips over the ropes, but manages to hold on to the top rope and land feet first on the apron! Gnarly taps his index finger on his head to show that he’s smarter than Bonez had thought, but in that moment Bonez wraps him across the side of the head with a force-fed elbow. Gnarly falls to the side and Bonez goes through the ropes with a shoulder-block. Gnarly leans in from the top rope, giving Bonez a chance to jump up onto the middle rope and send Gnarly crashing to the floor with a sunset flip! Bonez rolls to the side, holding onto his back after connecting with the concrete – but for his opponent, it doesn’t look to be any better. Gnarly’s shoulders had hit the floor with such force that he flipped over and was rolled in half. Meanwhile, the duo known as the Boyz have pulled out a table from underneath the apron and have set it up near the guardrail. Bonez sees the Boyz’ plop for something disastrous, so he begins crawling around the corner of the ring and out of the sights of either man.

C.P: Bonez is playing a smart-man’s game here, bitch.

T.L: You can refrain from using such language toward me, Cody. He did make a smart decision though, but it seems like he’s running from his problems.

Gnarly finally gets back up to his feet, stumbling to see where Bonez had went to. From behind, he is turned around by the mighty hands of AWOL! AWOL socks him across the jaw with a right rock-hard blow with his fist, that staggers Gnarly right into him. AWOL gives Gnarly a swift kick to the midsection, before he decides to lead him over to the table. Jazz has already begun climbing on top of the table, waiting for AWOL to bring the fly to the trap, so to say. AWOL grabs Gnarly by the back of the neck, hurling him on top of the table. Jazz leans over and picks Gnarly up by the head to lead him back up to his feet. Gnarly tries to get away, but Jazz nails him with a boot to the stomach. Gnarly nearly falls forward, but Jazz forces his head down and immediately hooks him around the waist. Without any hesitation at all, Jazz lifts Gnarly into the air and jumps upward. With this quick motion, Jazz forcefully drives Gnarly head first through the table, breaking it in half and sending him crashing head first into the unforgiving concrete floor. AWOL looks on from a few feet away with a look of enlightenment crossing over his usually stone-set face. Bonez comes around the corner of the ring with a steel chair in hand, making sure to take a huge swing. The chair whips into the air and comes crashing down across the back of AWOL’s head with authority. AWOL falls to the floor in a heap, but Bonez pays no further attention to him, knowing that he is out of the way for at least a moment’s time. Bonez can see Jazz slowly rising to his feet, but no movement from his other opponent. Jazz gets into a kneeling position to stand up, CRACK! The seat of the chair wraps him clear across the top of the head, dropping him back down like a fly after being swatted with a rolled-up newspaper. Bonez tosses the steel chair to the side, going straight for Jazz. He manages to get him up to his feet, dragging him toward the apron of the ring, then swinging him under the bottom rope. Bonez slides back in as well, lurking over Jazz with a laugh. Bonez slowly tries to lean over to pick Jazz up off the mat, but he is caught from behind by the likes of AWOL!

T.L: It looks like Bonez is in trouble!

The distraction gives Jazz time to get back up to his feet and slowly stagger toward the middle of the ring. AWOL holds Bonez from behind and makes it a point to let his partner know that he has Bonez right where he wants him. Jazz turns his head and sees Bonez help up by AWOL in the ropes and a smile crosses over his face. Jazz runs into the far ropes and comes back at Bonez, who is still being held in tightly by AWOL in the ropes. Jazz comes in with the full head of steam for a closeline, but Bonez manages to duck out of harm’s way, leaving Jazz to connect with one hell of a lariat to his partner! SLAP! The forearm of Jazz hits AWOL across the chest, knocking him off the apron and down to the floor! Bonez turns Jazz around to give him a swift kick to the midsection. Jazz huddles over with his hands down at his stomach, but this isn’t the end for him quite yet. Curtis “Bonez” Schmitt nails Jazz with an elbow to the back of the head, then he hooks him in a front-facelock. Bonez swoops Jazz’s arm over his shoulder, forcing his way in to hook the leg. Hopping up and down on one leg, Jazz tries to escape from Bonez’ attempted at victory. Jazz tries to force himself backward, but Bonez releases him with a push into the ropes. Jazz comes off the ropes and tries to throw a mid-level kick to Bonez’ stomach, but he gets caught! Bonez holds the leg for a second before he pulls Jazz right into position for the “Bonez-Bomb”! Bonez winds his arm around Jazz’s neck and interlocking his fingers!

C.P: [claps] Let’s go Bonez-dawg! Let’s go Bonez-dawg!

T.L: Were you dropped on your head as a child?

C.P: Fuck you, Lockton.

T.L: [holding up his hands, somewhat waving them] Hey, it was just a simple question.

Bonez picks up Jazz into the air, dropping him down to the mat with his back bridged. Bonez loses his grip slightly as Jazz’s back hits the canvas, but he quickly moves his hands in and locks his fingers together again. ONE……..TWO…….THREE! Bonez releases the bridge, rolling onto his knees. His arms are already raised up high in the air, showing that victory was his. The referee stands next to him, grabbing Bonez around the waist to declare that he was actually the winner of the contest. Meanwhile, on the outside the camera zooms in on Bill Gnarly still struggling to sit up after being piledriven through the table.

T.L: Bonez took the win over the two.

C.P: See, I fuckin’ told you! I fucking told you, Lockton!

T.L: Any……..way…….our next contest features another member of the Apocalypse of Wrestling in the form of the “Real Deal” Justin Denison, who is set to take on the second half of the tag-team known as Double Lightning, Mike Radical.

C.P: Do you fuckin’ think for one damn second that Radical is going to stand a chance against Denison?

T.L: I would say, he has a fair chance of surviving.

C.P: HA! You’ll see, Lockton.

T.L: Let’s just get to the ring, I don’t feel like arguing with the likes of you.

Denison is standing in the center of the ring, looking right at Mike Radical. Radical hesitantly steps forward, but stops before he gets too close. Denison then puts his hands behind his back and yells, ”I’ll give you a free shot, you prick!” Radical winds up with his right arm, but doesn’t proceed with the blow. ”Come on, give me your best shot, pussy!”, Denison bellows. Irritated by Denison’s taunting, Radical unleashes a haymaker across Denison’s jaw. Denison stumbles back and Radical moves in for the kill. Throwing a few rights at Denison, Radical seems confident that he has the advantage over the brutal man.

C.P: See how caring Denison is? He let Radical get the first blow in!

T.L: I don’t think the word caring and Denison can go hand in hand in the same sentence.

Radical swings a heavy right at Denison, but Denison ducks it and blasts Radical in the lip. Radical backs up and puts his hand to his face, to see the damage that had been done. He looks down at his hand only to see it speckled with blood. Radical backs up with his hands in the air, trying to reason with the maniac known as Justin Denison. Denison thinks about it, running his finger tips over his stubble covered face. He nods his head with an extension of his hand for a shake, but without any sort of hesitation, Radical falls for the dastardly trick.

C.P: What a fuckin’ moron!

T.L: Denison is not the kind of man to avoid violence, he looks for it! I’ve never seen him end a contest in such a manner. We’ve seen things like this before and I think that Mike Radical made a huge mistake!

C.P: Ya fuckin’ think? He’s a fucking dead man!

Denison crunches Radical’s hand with the strength of his shake, pulling him right into a short-arm closeline. The sound of Denison’s forearm clapping off Radical’s head is sickening, but not as sickening as the folded position Radical was knocked into. On impact, Radical is forced to fall back so hard that he lands on the tops of his shoulders, almost folding him in half. Denison, still holding onto Radical’s hand, pulls him back up to his feet. Denison pulls him in again, but this time he lets go to send a hellacious hook punch to the side of Radical’s cranium. Radical looks like a rabbit in the headlights of a mack truck at this point, as the blow knocks him damn near silly. He staggers backward, seemingly as if he didn’t know what had just hit him. The whites of Denison’s teeth can be seen with a wicked smile, as he pursues his opponent. It seems like Denison has now struck fear into the young combatant, as he backs up toward the turnbuckle – Denison is cornering him in. Denison fakes a left jab, throwing a stiff right at Radical, SLAP! Mike Radical falls against his back into the buckle, after the repeated blows to the center of his jaw. Denison steps back a few feet, coming back into the buckle with a swift back elbow to Radical’s chest. Radical struggles to gasp for air, but Denison won’t allow it. Denison grabs Radical by the arm and sends him across the ring into the far turnbuckle with an irish-whip. Denison gets another running start at Radical, but this time Radical comes out of the buckle with some speed as well. Near the center of the ring, both men collide, but Denison knocks him to the mat with a stiff shoulder-block. Denison looks down at Radical spouting, ”Fuck you!” Denison lifts his leg and drops the bottom of his book across Radical’s forehead.

C.P: That’s right, that’s the real fucking deal right there. Kick ‘em again, Denny, kick ‘em one more time for me!

Denison leans over and grabs Radical by the head, peeling him off the mat with force. Radical stumbles at Denison’s side, as he is led toward the buckle. Denison turns quickly and lifts Radical into the air for what looks to be a bodyslam, but Denison shifts him over toward the turnbuckle, planting his back against the buckle covers. Denison flips Radical into the Tree of Woe, but Radical has some fight left in him. He struggles to free his ankles, but there is no way in hell that he’s going to get away from Denison, who is now making his way to the outside of the ring. He reaches under the apron and pulls out a light tube, dragging that back into the ring with him, while he goes back over to Radical. Radical lifts his upperbody up off the mat and holds onto the top rope with his hands. Denison sets the light tube down and grabs Radical by the back of the head, pulling him back down with force. Radical’s head thuds off the mat, leading to a succession of stomps the middle of his forehead.

T.L: I’ve seen enough! Like last week with Janus, Denison is taking this a little too far!

C.P: And like I said last week, he’s proving a fucking point. He’s proving a point to G-Man, that this could very well be in his fuckin’ future. You can only hide from the skeletons in your closet for so long, before they finally fuckin’ hang you from that tree from which your childhood swing set was made.

T.L: A little deep aren’t we, Cody? I didn’t get the ‘tree from which your childhood swing set was made’ though.

C.P: Every motha-fucka had a tree in their backyard with a swing on it, bitch. Ya know what I’m talkin’ bout….

Denison kneels down while lifting his opponent’s head up, to look him straight in the eyes. ”The worst fucking mistake in your life was even stepping into this ring tonight. You want to talk shit to me? You’ll pay the fucking consequences. Just like G-Man will.”, Denison bellows out with a laugh. Denison drops Radical’s head back down to the mat, while he reaches over and grabs the light tube off of the canvas. He stands up and gives Radical a boot to the chest to keep him subdued, then leans back over and places the light tube directly over Radical’s face. The referee steps in to stop Denison, but he pushes him out of the way.

T.L: What is he doing? He’s…..he’s no better than the Empire that came before him!

C.P: Ahem, this is a street-fight. Anything fuckin’ goes, Lockton. Oh, by the way, the Empire may have came before him, but not historically accurate. You see, Kaizen and Memnoch occupied this federation in it’s early years, but decided to fuckin’ feud with the likes of DeGeNr8 and Shane Douglas without the concept of “hardcore”. Therefore, motherfucker, Denison “J-Murda” fought in the street-fight division in contests much like this. So, in all actuality, he’s only doing what’s fuckin’ natural!

T.L: [in a state of amazement] Point well proven, Cody. [claps] You win this argument.

The referee stands back, knowing better than to stick his nose where it doesn’t really belong. Denison positions the tube with his foot, before he raises his boot high in the air. He looks around at the fans, gasping in horror, just before he drives his boot down across the tube. BOOM! The glass shatters after the blow, grinding it’s shards into Radical’s forehead. Blood begins streaming, but Denison continues to step down on his opponent’s face. The referee yells, ”Denison, he’s had enough. Back away.” To his surprise, Denison puts his hands up and backs away from Radical. The referee helps Radical down, before he begins his count. ”ONE……..TWO………..THREE……….FOUR……….FIVE………..SIX………SEVEN…………….EIGHT…”, but just before the referee can complete the count, Denison peels his bloodied and battered opponent off the mat. The referee looks on with anger, thinking that Denison had respect for him in the slightest bit. Denison lifts him up and turns him around, kicking him in the back of the left leg with the bottom of his booth. Radical drops down to his knees, and Denison grabs him by the back of the head and runs forward with a modified version of a bulldog. While still in a sitting position, Denison turns around and grabs the back of Radical’s head with both hands. Upon grabbing Radical by the back of the head, Denison pushes down with all of his weight and begins sliding Radical’s face against the canvas. The camera zooms in to see blood smearing across the white canvas, with each stroke of Radical’s bloodied mug. Denison pulls his hands back and gets back up, throwing down one last boot to the back of Radical’s head before he starts toward the turnbuckle. Leaning against the buckle with his head raised high, he points to Radical. The referee begins the count again, ”ONE……..TWO……..THREE……….FOUR……..FIVE……….SIX…..”, Denison steps out of the buckle as Radical raises his head up, but flops it back down. ”SEVEN…..”, Denison lightly kicks Radical’s head to the side, making damn sure that he’s down for the count. ”EIGH……..NINE…….TEN!”, the referee waves his hand, as the bell sounds. The ref stands at Denison’s side to raise his hand, grabbing him around the wrist. As the referee raises his arm high into the air, Denison places his boot on the back of Radical’s head and steps up, thrusting his other arm into the air. He drops back down to the mat with both hands raised high, proving that he is one violent mother fucker. Denison makes his way over to the ropes, stepping between the top and middle rope – as the medical crew hits the ring to help the blood splattered one-half of the combined duo known as Double Lightning.

T.L: In the early points of the match, he had already shown Radical that he was bigger, better, and more powerful. Why do what he did?

C.P: It wasn’t a fuckin’ message to Radical or his partner Bill Squirrely…I mean Gnarly. G-Man is number one on the fuckin’ hit-list of the Apocalypse of Wrestling and obviously by what Denison said…G-Man is number one on his fuckin’ list.

T.L: That doesn’t mean he has to destroy the career of an up and coming superstar in the ranks of this federation.

C.P: The fuckin’ point to be proven was, Justin Denison will go to any length to inflict pain on his opponents. Another point, Ton, the likes of Justin Denison shouldn’t be taken fuckin’ lightly. He’s here to fucking destroy. He’s a man of his cause.

T.L: So what you’re saying, Cody….the Apocalypse of Wrestling is out to tear down the pillars of the wrestling world?

C.P: Well, you’ll have to see the interview, Tony. President Maddog had something to say about that earlier, but I thought I’d let you see for yourself…heh.

The scene cuts in, showing the innards of President Maddog’s spacious apartment in the downtown section of Philadelphia. The walls covered in various articles that surround his once illustrious career, such as: “Barbed-Wire City Wrestling” event posters with stills of various matches around them. The camera pans to the right, showing a large banner that reads, “UWWF” with a championship belt exhibited in a glass case with a wooden frame. An article next to the championship belt reads, “Upset of the year: Maddog defeats the “Mighty” Sephiroith for the UWWF championship!”, a short look into the annals of the original incarnation of the “UWWF”, the one many have never seen before. [ Explanation: A history lesson will come in a few short days] The camera continues to search the confines of this apartment, until we finally go through a door on the right. As we enter the room, various championship belts and trophies glimmer in the bright lighting that surrounds us. Sitting at the far center of the room is the president, Maddog. He sits in a large throne like chair, thumbing through a stack of papers that have been stapled in the corner. A cough from one of the crew members can be heard, as if it were a sign for Maddog to bring his attention to the camera, almost like it had been scripted. Maddog slides the papers down from over his face, laying them down on a table next to the chair.

Maddog: Welcome to my humble abode, friends and foes alike. I’m sorry that my associates cannot join me here tonight, but they have previous engagements. By now, you know this was pre-taped, but don’t let that be a problem to you.

Another slight cough is heard in the background, as President Maddog’s eyes open.

Maddog: Oh yes, the reason why I’m here tonight. Well, you’ve all seen the verbal exchange of threats between the likes of Greg “G-Man” Manix and the Apocalypse of Wrestling. It brings me to a point that I may not have addressed, while we are on the subject of that peon, G-Man.

Maddog shifts in his chair, lifting his right hand up to stroke his long braided goatee.

Maddog: The Apocalypse of Wrestling rose from the ashes of men that stood by for too long, watching our humble hero narrowly avoid danger. While I watched, G-Man destroyed an empire and became a champion. While the world felt love for him, they forgot about a man that bled for them. The world forgot about a man that did everything he could to help them, to encourage them, and to give them a reason to live. They all forgot about Clarkson, the man that made this federation. They turned their backs on Clarkson, while G-Man took all of the glory for something he had no rights over. You see, our alliance is built upon a power that has no weakness. The Apocalypse of Wrestling was built to eliminate the weakness of this federation and to spread onto other federations as a sign of mass destruction. G-Man is humbled by the feeling of weakness, he loathes the sweet sting of pain. Denison, Clarkson, Bonez, and myself live for pain, agony, and suffering. So we have set out on a trek to wipe out the weak, because in this world it’s the survival of the fittest. Baby, mother nature hasn’t done enough to contribute to that. So, here we are standing in almost complete defiance. What championships don’t we have among us? We’ll have them all by the end, I’ll promise you all that right now.

“Ahem.”, escapes the throat of another crew member.

Maddog: Tonight, we have the true “King of Hardcore” Jeremy “Repent” Clarkson, the champion, taking on the likes of that low-life Greg “G-Man” Manix. The two will stake their claim at the Ultimate Heavyweight championship in a contest, in which there must be a decisive winner. It has happened before, just watch the tape of Blood Money. The rematch of the century, hah, the revisiting of a shining point of glory. Tonight, G-Man will meet with disappointment again and all I can do is laugh. All I can do is laugh at the man that made a mockery of that championship belt. So, I bid to you, G-Man, good luck. You’ll need it when you step through those fucking ropes. Not to mention, next week, G-Man.

The whispers of crew members can be heard, “There we go, that’s right there on the script. Keep it up, Maddog”

Maddog: Next week, there will be a revival of pain. A score will be settled inside of a fifteen foot high steel enforced cage. But, why stop there? The only way to win the contest will be to secure your opponent to a large crucifix, hung from the ceiling by chains. My decision was made when I pondered this question. Why have a roof on a steel cage, when the mayhem can hardly be contained behind those chain-link enclosed walls? Who will be settling the score? Well, no matter the result of tonight’s main event contest, G-Man will hit that ring again. Whether the ultimate heavyweight championship will be on the line or not, G-Man will meet face to face with a man he has feared for years. He will go up against the likes of “The Real Fucking Deal” Justin Denison! And on that night, G-Man will come that much closer to his beloved creator. To us, G-Man, you are only a mere martyr. A martyr of the Apocalypse of Wrestling, a sacrificial lamb.

Maddog leans forward, his eyes locked on the camera’s lense.

Maddog: And if you survive this week and next, G-Man, you’ll answer to me. I doubt you’ll survive your meetings with the likes of Clarkson and Denison, but if you just happen to crawl away… I’ll be there to drag every ounce of misery from your body and I’ll jot down the final act in our little story. That being said… Good night, folks. Tune in next week, or burn in purgatory!

The crew members chuckle as the last of President Maddog’s words are muttered. Maddog stands up and looks at the crew members, who are hidden behind the camera. “There is that fuckin’ good enough? We did those three times already, goddamn.” Maddog walks across the room, reaching onto a table and picking up a bottle of Jagermeister. He twists off the top and gulps the contents of the bottle, “So?” The crew members mumble amongst themselves, “Yup, that’ll be it, sir.” The scene cuts out to the laughter of the crew members and Maddog alike.

C.P: Looks like fun with home movies! HA, those fuckas sure know how to throw a party though.

T.L: A definite challenge to G-Man coming from the likes of President Maddog. And a…threat to the wrestling world?

C.P: The Apocalypse of Wrestling is here to take over and they are stopping at nothin’ to fuckin’ complete it. Tonight, Clarkson will show G-Man why he’s the champion.

T.L: G-Man is determined to gain back what was once his. We’ll just have to see what he has to bring to the table. He took Clarkson to the limit at Blood Money and he may do so again!

C.P: What a fuckin’ lie!

T.L: Let’s get to the ring for a classic Liberation Television main event bout. There must be a pinfall…….there must be a victory…..A CHAMPION MUST WALK AWAY!

Three Days Grace blares through the area, as the top of the entrance ramp lights up with green flashes. The curtain ruffles a bit, just before G-Man pushes his way past, stopping at the top of the ramp. G-Man holds his arms up high in the air to incite the fans into a roar of chants for him. He takes a few steps forward before he finally lowers his arms to his side, slowly walking down the aisle. Fans lean over the ramp, showing their appreciation for the former heavyweight champion. He acknowledges them with a nod of his head, proceeding to the ring. Finally, he gets to the ring, making his way to center ring. Just as his feet touch the “UWWF” icon printed on the canvas, “Cryptorchild” by Marilyn Manson cranks up. G-Man turns around to see Jeremy “Repent” Clarkson push past the curtain with the championship belt slung over his shoulder. The hum of booing emits from the fans, as the champion makes his way down the ring without any of his fellow members of the Apocalypse of Wrestling at his side. He gets to the apron and rolls under the bottom rope into the ring, quickly getting up to his feet. He holds up the belt, as he steps close to G-Man. Holding up the belt with his right hand, he slaps the main faceplate with his left hand, ”You want this belt, Manix? Try and take it from me.” The referee steps between the two, making damn sure that the two don’t start slugging each other out quite yet. Clarkson thrusts the belt at the referee’s chest without moving his eyes away from G-Man. The referee pulls the belt out of Clarkson’s hand, showing it to G-Man and allowing him a chance to grab the belt to observe it. G-Man pushes the belt away, proceeding with a slap to Clarkson’s cheek. ”Clarkson, you better be ready for a fight.”, G-Man calmly chirps at Clarkson. The referee walks toward the ropes, leaning through the middle rope to hand over the belt to the time keeper. As the referee hands the belt over, Clarkson starts out the fight with a kick to G-Man’s midsection. G-Man staggers back, but Clarkson rushes at him with a right hook. Clarkson grabs G-Man by the side of the head, bashing him with yet another blow. Clarkson guides G-Man by the head toward the turnbuckle, as the bell sounds in the background.

T.L: This bout has begun with an exchange of words and actions!

C.P: Ahem, Clarkson shut that stupid fucker’s mouth with a fist full of rage! That’s the fuckin’ truth, you best believe dat!

Clarkson pushes his hands against G-Man’s chest to force him into the turnbuckle, but G-Man fires at him with a jab. Clarkson shakes it off and throws an ill-fated punch at G-Man, which is blocked. G-Man grabs Clarkson by the head and spins him around into the buckle, firing off a few various punches to Clarkson’s stomach. G-Man pushes back and sends a shoulder thrust into Jeremy Clarkson’s stomach. Clarkson thrusts forward, but he manages to push G-Man back a few feet. Clarkson comes at him, but G-Man takes a step to the side and forces him to eat canvas with a drop-toe hold! G-Man peels Clarkson off the mat and drops him to the mat with a scoop and a slam! G-Man drops a quick elbow across Clarkson’s chest, lateral press. ONE…….TWO……KICK OUT!

C.P: You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. Obviously, a fuckin’ drop-toe hold and an elbow drop won’t finish off the fuckin’ champ!

T.L: G-Man’s using logic against his opponent. He’s trying to wear him down minute by minute. It takes energy to kick out and G-Man knows that.

C.P: Give me a fuckin’ break, Ton.

G-Man lifts Clarkson up to his knees, applying a side-head lock. As he wraps his arm around Clarkson’s neck and begins applying pressure, Clarkson gets up from his knees and hooks G-Man around the waist. G-Man tries to free himself from Clarkson’s grasp, but Clarkson is quick to lift him into the air and drop him back against the canvas with a heavy belly-to-back suplex into a bridge. 1………2…….. Clarkson holds on, but it’s not enough to keep G-Man’s shoulders on the mat. Both men get up at the exact same time, rushing right at each other. The two collide with a collar-and-elbow tie-up, which results in a stalemate. Clarkson pushes against G-Man, but can’t muster enough force to move G-Man backward. G-Man tries to shuck Clarkson to the side, to make a move, but Clarkson sees it coming and holds on to G-Man’s arm and collarbone. G-Man thrusts his shoulder against Clarkson’s, but Clarkson follows up by dropping to both knees while grabbing G-Man around the back of the knees. Clarkson twists G-Man’s body to the side while lifting up, driving him into the mat with a double leg takedown. Clarkson crawls over G-Man, blasting him across the chin with a forearm shot that knocks the saliva from his mouth. Clarkson winds up for another, but G-Man flips Clarkson over onto his back and begins firing off stiff closed rights. Clarkson has no choice but to take the blows, because there is nowhere for him to go. G-Man grabs Clarkson by the hair and pulls him to his feet. G-Man grabs Clarkson’s arm and forces him in close with a short-arm whip, which he follows up by putting his arm up around Clarkson’s throat. G-Man tries to lift Clarkson up to drop him into a Rock Bottom, but Clarkson jams his elbow into the side of G-Man’s head. After the brisk elbow, Clarkson pulls G-Man’s head down and spikes him into the mat with a flowing ddt! Clarkson then crawls toward the ropes on his knees, rolling under the bottom rope to the outside!

T.L: What does Clarkson have in mind?

C.P: He’s goin’ to inflict some damage on G-Man! Go Clarkson!

Clarkson makes his way over to the rail, picking up a nearby chair. He folds up it up quickly, but G-Man is already in pursuit. G-Man climbs through the ropes and makes it to the outside of the ring, only to meet the chair upside the head, after Clarkson threw it violently toward him. Clarkson sees that G-Man is stunned and he rushes at him, knocking him to the floor with a lariat. Clarkson kicks G-Man across the ribs a few times before he finally peels him up off the floor. Clarkson tries to wear G-Man down with a few backhand chops to the chest, a few fans emit a loud ”WHOO!” afterward. Clarkson pulls G-Man by the arm to whip him across into the steel guardrail, but G-Man manages to reverse the whip and send Clarkson into the rail! Clarkson hits the steel with the small of his back, which pushes the rail back several feet. G-Man comes at him with velocity, hoping to knock him over the rail with a closeline…

C.P: I can’t look, Lockton. Tell me when it’s over. [putting hands over eyes]

G-Man meets the bottom of Clarkson’s boot to the teeth!

T.L: It’s over, Prime.

C.P: [looking at the scene] Clarkson rocked him!

Clarkson winds back and smacks his fist against G-Man’s jaw to add insult to injury. Moving in quickly, Clarkson grabs G-Man by the head and thrusts him forward right into the heavy steel ring post. THUD! G-Man falls to the side and down to his knees. Clarkson tries to pull him up, but G-Man fires off a low blow to elude any more attacks upon him. G-Man crawls over to a steel chair, folding it up while on his knees, then he gets back up to his feet. G-Man turns around, with the chair raised above his head, THUD! G-Man sends the chair down over the top of Clarkson’s cranium with authority. Clarkson staggers into the rail, holding himself up only to be rocked by another chairshot. G-Man pulls the chair back and looks on at Clarkson. Clarkson’s head bursts up and he waves his hands at G-Man, ”Hit me again, mother fucker!” G-Man swings the chair, THUD! Clarkson crouches over and winces a bit, standing back up. With a roar of rage, Clarkson steps forward, THUD! Clarkson falls to his knees, THUD! Clarkson drops to his hands and knees, but G-Man isn’t done yet. He lifts the chair high above his head, slapping the chair down across Clarkson’s back, dropping him flat across the floor. G-Man tosses the chair and waits for Clarkson to start getting up. Clarkson is back to his hands and knees, he’s now opened up for G-Man to kick him in the ribs several times. Clarkson spits out a stream of bile onto the floor, still struggling back up to his feet. G-Man socks him across the side of the head, grabbing him by the hair. G-Man forces Clarkson back into the ring, but G-Man gets on the apron and makes his way over to the buckle. He climbs to the top of the buckle and perches himself up there, and Clarkson is up to his knees. He looks up to his right and sees G-Man on the top rope, he leaps up and begins shaking the ropes. G-Man quickly loses his balance and drops crotch first over the top rope! G-Man almost flips head first from the ropes, but he manages to hold on with a gasp of agony from his throat. Clarkson stumbles over to the scene, winding his right arm back with force and sending it back like a wound up rubber-band. The corner of his elbow clips G-Man in the corner of the his eye socket, which knocks him to the side with a shove of force. His body flops back, as he holds his head up with a stream of crimson coming from an opened laceration from the brute force elbow to the side of his cranium. Clarkson pushes G-Man up, as he climbs up to the middle rope and hooking his arm around G-Man’s head. G-Man is dazed, without any knowledge of Clarkson synching him in for an attempted super-plex from the turnbuckle. Clarkson stands G-Man up, as they are both perched up on the top turnbuckle with a bit of exhausted shaking. Barely holding onto balance, Clarkson grabs hold of G-Man’s wrestling attire and attempts to lift him into the air. G-Man’s body is picked up off the turnbuckle, as Clarkson tips his body backward. In an almost slow-motion movement, both men flop from the top turnbuckle with a spring, but G-Man’s body goes a bit higher than Clarkson had expected, sending G-Man crashing down onto his chest across the mat. THUD! The canvas rattles on impact with both men across the mat, showing that both men had felt the full effect of the botched super-plex.

T.L: G-Man landed on Clarkson, knocking the air on both men!

C.P: C’mon, Clarkson! Get the fuck up, man! Get up!

Seconds pass without movement from either men, not counting the heavy breathing from their chest. Clarkson’s chest puffs out as he exhales a breath, but he can’t manage to pull himself up. The referee can’t even initiate a standing ten-count, due to the fact there must be a winner in this very contest.

T.L: This won’t end until a pinfall, and I believe both men are out!

C.P: It’s giving each fuckin’ man a chance to gain some well needed rest. Which doesn’t look good for our hero, Clarkson.

T.L: Hero? This sadistic son of a…a hero? Not by any of my aspects, Prime.

C.P: Speak fo yourself, muthafucka!

T.L: I just did, Cody. Look! G-Man is near the ropes, pulling himself back up to his feet!

G-Man has managed to grab hold of the middle rope and force himself up to flimsy legs. Clarkson flips his body over and starts up to his hands and knees while looking upward. He glances up to see G-Man gaining power from a chant from the crowd, ”G-MAN! G-MAN!”. As he sees G-Man making a v-line toward him, anger grows in Clarkson’s eyes with the growing chant of his foe. He charges forward like a rabid football player, coming at G-Man with full force. Clarkson connects with a tackle of sorts, lifting up G-Man with the force of the blow, ramming G-Man into the turnbuckle with a rattle of the corner post. G-Man gasps for air, as Clarkson falls to one knee and rests his head against the middle rope. Out of desperation, seeing a moment to gain an open shot, G-Man lifts his leg and flat out nails Clarkson in the bridge of the nose with his kneecap. Clarkson falls forward, while somewhat starting to stand. G-Man grips him around the top of the head, tightening him into a front-chancery. G-Man throws his free arm up and down across Clarkson’s back with a sledge-like blow. Clarkson shudders, but G-Man keeps him on his feet and he pushes him out of the turnbuckle.

T.L: G-Man has come back from being beaten and he’s now in charge of this contest!

C.P: [sigh] Bloody, fucking, hell!

From Clarkson’s weakened state, G-Man forces him in toward the center of the ring, visibly showing his increasingly tighter grip around Clarkson’s neck. Clarkson let’s out a choked cough, as G-Man leads him a few more feet forward. G-Man has Clarkson hooked around the neck for a d-d-t, but G-Man doesn’t drop him down quite yet. While holding Clarkson at bay by the neck, he turns him around in a circle to show the crowd that he now has the upper-hand. G-Man reaches down with his free hand and he underhooks Clarkson’s arm, suddenly he drops back and collapses Clarkson down onto the top of his head with authority. Clarkson’s head darts against the canvas, then he falls flat on his stomach against the mat. G-Man gets up to his knees, flipping Clarkson over onto his back. G-Man presses Clarkson’s shoulders down, ”ONE!……TWO!”, the ref yells, but stops abruptly after Clarkson kicks his legs off the mat to break the attempted pinfall. G-Man angrily pulls Clarkson up to his feet, only to grab him by the shirt and rock him across the chin with a stiff jab. Clarkson shakes it off and swings at G-Man, SLAP! The blow lingers through the arena, but G-Man fires back!

T.L: A fist fight has erupted from this bout!

C.P: The real fuckin’ deal!

T.L: What?

C.P: Look, Lockton, it’s my hero!

Justin “The Real Fucking Deal” Denison has slowly made his way down the ramp toward the ring.

T.L: It can’t be. Why not leave these men to settle their score?

Denison slowly rolls under the bottom rope into the ring, while G-Man and Clarkson exchange forceful blows back and forth. After Clarkson fires off a stiff right, G-Man fires back at Clarkson with an unexpected boot to the gut. Clarkson doubles over and G-Man follows through by driving the point of his elbow down across the back of Clarkson’s head. Clarkson drops down to his knees, leaning his face against the mat with his hands clutching at the exact spot that G-Man had attacked. G-Man holds out his arms and gazes down at Clarkson, ”Is that all you’ve got? I thought you were going to kill my career tonight, Clarkson!” From behind, Denison grabs G-Man’s right shoulder with both hands and spins him around. Denison takes a swing, but to his surprise G-Man has managed to block it! G-Man plants a stiff closed fist into Denison’s kisser! Justin Denison turns his head to the side to grab his jab, while he staggers to the side. G-Man comes at him with a flurry of punches to the side of Denison’s head.

T.L: G-Man is fending off Denison! Wait, look at that! Clarkson has rolled under the bottom rope to the outside of the ring…what in the heck is he doing?!

C.P: He’s going to even the fuckin’ odds a little bit.

T.L: Even the odds? Denison came out to help him, yet G-Man is doing a great job of taking these two to town!

Clarkson, stumbling a bit, makes his way over to the timekeeper’s table. Clarkson places his hands on the table, tossing the papers around, before he finally picks up the gold plated championship belt! Clarkson picks the belt up and makes his way back toward the ring in a hurry! Meanwhile, Denison gets his shot at G-Man with an elbow to the side of G-Man’s head. G-Man shakes the cobwebs loose, seconds after Denison grabs him by the head and leads him into a punch. The crowd begins to chant ”G-Man!” over and over, trying to give him encouragement to fight back against “The Real Deal”. Denison takes a step back to ensure that he has enough force behind his punch to knock G-Man clean out, but when he does G-Man pushes off with both feet and pushes Denison back. Denison stumbles back, but G-Man keeps on coming with a barrage of rights and lefts. G-Man now has Denison back up against the buckle, still giving him a run for his money. Clarkson stomps the mat with the bottom of his boot, while he positions the belt in his hand to nail G-Man with it. Clarkson steps off to his running start, which G-Man hears. He turns around just in time to send a low dropkick into Clarkson’s knee! Denison reaches into his pocket, pulling it back out with a tightly closed fist. G-Man gets back up to his feet with his index finger pointed at Clarkson with a look of victory beaming from his eyes. He turns around slowly to go back to his assault on Denison. When his body is finally fully turned toward Denison, his face is showered with a handful of salt!

T.L: Denison just threw salt in G-Man’s eyes!

C.P: It’s fuckin’ nice of you to elaborate on what substance that was.

G-Man’s hands immediately shoot up to his face, as he falls to his knees with his head leaning against the mat. He kicks the tops of his wrestling boots across the mat, as he tries to rub the salt out of his eyes. Clarkson is now up with the championship belt in his grasp, taking a look over at Denison. Denison smirks, as he sticks his right leg over the middle rope to make an exit, followed by a motion to Clarkson to follow. G-Man slowly rises to his feet, just as Clarkson drops down and rolls under the bottom rope. Denison and Clarkson jog down the ramp, with G-Man squinting his tear-swelled eyes to see where his attackers are. Soon he stumbles over to the ropes to at least get an idea of where he is. G-Man throws his hand up and grabs onto the top rope, soon he topples over to lean over the top rope with his hand cupped over his eyes. He holds himself up with the top rope under his armpit and his fingers clasped around the middle rope.

T.L: This match isn’t over! It can’t be!

C.P: (sigh) Arright, Lockton. I’ve heard enough of your pissing and moaning for one fuckin’ night. Shut it.

G-Man finally gets his vision back, turning around to see where Clarkson and Denison had went. His eyebrows dart down in an angry manner, as makes his way through the ropes. Quickly, he runs around the side of the ring and down the aisle toward the backstage area. The cameraman runs after G-Man, keeping him in view the whole time. G-Man rushes past the curtain, looking down a corridor of hallways, he looks to the right and left, but he decides to take a right. He quickly opens the door to a large open area full of equipment with a few of the crew members. Picking up various pieces of lighting equipment, a crew member looks up to see G-Man panning the area. G-Man shouts at the man, ”Where the hell are they? Where are Clarkson and Denison?” The man replies after hearing an announcement on his walkie-talkie, ”They just stepped out the door, sir.” The man points to the “exit” sign at the far end of the room, ”Parking lot is over that way.” G-Man takes off running toward the door, pushing it open with force. He steps out into the parking lot to meet the night’s air, not to mention a jet black limo. Just as G-Man pushes past the door, immediately he sees Clarkson hanging out of the sun-roof of the limo with the Ultimate heavyweight championship belt in his hands. Clarkson chuckles as he lifts his hand up with his middle finger extended out at G-Man. G-Man takes a quick few steps toward the limo, but it starts pulling off before he even has a chance to get at Clarkson. The taillights of the limo disappear, as it takes off out of the parking lot. G-Man stares in the direction of the limo, planting his hands on his hips while shaking his head with disbelief.

T.L: I can’t believe this, this is..is…a travesty!

C.P: G-Man..hah…what a sucka!

T.L: Clarkson and Denison are now playing mindgames with the former Ultimate heavyweight champion.

C.P: [looking at his watch] Well, it looks like we’re just about out of fuckin’ time.

T.L: Well, folks, we’ll see you next week with another installment of Liberation Television. Hopefully, this situation can be resolved in a respectable manner. But, we know that won’t happen with our president siding with the Apocalypse of Wrestling.

C.P: Hey, Lockton, don’t knock the man. He’s the man that signs your fuckin’ checks and the man that fuckin’…is the fuckin’ man!

T.L: [under his breath] I don’t necessarily have to agree with him. [loudly] GOOD NIGHT, FOLKS!

C.P: See you fuckers next week!