Ichabod is seen out back reattaching the wheels of his Monster Truck. He thinks to himself how stupid he must have been. Wafer told him not to come tonight, that we had no place in this show. But he wanted to clear the path for Payne and him. He wanted to get Phuze and Mastermind out of his way, so that no more f'ckin choads could be in the way of what is going to prove an epic fued. But of course, another one stepped in, one by the name of Artic Fox. And now here he was putting his nearly sabotaged truck back together, with the blood of that idiot on his hands. Ichabod himself bleeds freely from a gash on the back of his head, caused by an unprovoked chairshot. He had not allowed the meds to bandage it up. He would wear it as atonement for his carelessness. He should have been paying attention. His years of running down that ramp himself to attack people from behind should have taught him that. It was a lesson hard learned, and he wouldn't let it happen again.

IChabod uses the great tire iron to tighten the last lug, and then, seemingly satisfied, climbs into the truck. He fires it up, and pulls in reverse to turn around. He stops as he sees Arctic Fox's car in the corner of the parking lot. He smiles to himself as he sees Arctic Fox succombing to the medics for bandages, a weakness Ichabod would never allow himself. He throws the truck into first and drives toward the car, gaining speed. He thinks back in his memory of Arctic Fox slapping him in the back of the head with the chair, and he shifts into second and gains speed. His eyes narrow, and he remembers Thomas A. Anderson refusing to count for Smoke Dawg, a move that might have ruined Bigg's and Ichabod's goal of taking gold from the current champions. IChabod shifts to third. The truck barrels toward Fox's unsuspecting car at increasing speed. He thinks of what happened when he walked out the door to get a beer out of his truck, and found the wheels lying mockingly around the truck. His frown forms into an intense snarl. The Monster is so fast now that the yellow lines in the lot are like a great golden blur to him. THe last thing that runs through his mind is Prez Darren leading his team into the ring to bring the match to an abrubt ending. Something clicks inside, and his eyes widen. He hits the breaks, and the truck stalls to a screeching, lurching stop, but not before a crunch of metal followed by a sastisfying pop is heard under the truck. Ichabod opens the door and steps out.

He walks around to the front of the truck and sees that the front tires stopped just short of the car owned by Arctic Fox. Not a scratch is on it. Ichabod is too keyed up by his latest thought to remember the crunch of metal though. He runs his hand over the car as he speaks.

The names racing through my mind as to who had the gall to mess with my truck are endless. IT could have been anyone, a man like me is quick to make enemies. First there is Payne. Phuze's bike suffered the same fate. WHo else has beef with both of us? Payne is the type to take matters into his hands and pull a petty stunt like this. But Payne didn't know I would be here tonight.

PHuze himself, perhaps thinking I am and the man responsible for his Ducatti's mishap. He could easily have gotten to my truck shortly after he found his bike in disrepair. But Phuze was very focused on his match tonight, as was Mastermind, so I doubt it was them. And for the record, Phuze, you can take my name off the list of people who may have f'cked with your bike.

Arctic Fox. He seemed to want to get under my skin tonight. For whatever reasone, he had it in his mind that he owed me a beating, even an emabarrassment.

IChabod rubs the area around the gash in the back of his head without thinking as he remembers Fox's attack. But he smiles as he thinks of the attention Fox is probably still receiving from the careful nurses. Probably the biggest thrill that man has had his whole pathetic life.

But then again, I don't think Arctic Fox possesses the ingenuity to look in the back of the truck to get the tire iron. Let alone the strength to use it.

My own partner Bigg Wafer? Well, in my life, I've learned not to rule out the least possible choice. God knows anything is possible in this business. But like I said before, he isn't here tonight, and even asked me not to come.

But then there is President Darren. Your actions as of late are actions that to the unseeing eye have nothing to do with me. A normal man would take no notice and move on with his business. Not I. As a former two time president myself, I know how that collection of gears in the mind of the man in charge works. You are the only person who knew I was here that stood something to gain by eliminating both Phuze and I. Darren. There is no reason to rule you out as the culprit here. You are quickly assembling a team of elite wrestlers to stand behind. Men to deal with your problems so that you don't have to. I wouldn't be surprised if you sent Fox on me yourself, who knows, perhaps they will be the next two f'ckin choads you add to your list of cronies. Let me tell ya, Darren, with protection like that, you don't stand a chance. I don't know if you took the wheels off my truck and Phuzes bike, or if you sent someone to do the work for you, but I know you had something to do with it. As for your Foxes, well I have a little idea.

IChabod lights a Newport and inhales deeply. He closes his eyes and exhales with satisfaction.

Bigg Wafer and I want our shots at Smokey and Payne. But they are title holders, which complicates things. I know in this business you can't just grab a title shot you have to earn it. So Here is my plan. Bigg Wafer and I versus the Foxes on next weeks Tournation. The stakes, a number one contender spot at the tag team titles. We finish off the Foxes' careers, and earn our shots at the champions. Two birds with one stone.

As for Payne, don't think you're rid of me for a while. I'll still be there at every show, causing as much trouble for you as possible. And when we finally meet in that ring, it's going to be historic. The Monday that Never Happened might as well be just that, because it is nothing compared to the war we will have.

And Darren. I've got my eye on you, watch your back.

IChabod turns toward the truck to get back in. A glint of light catches his eye and he sees now where the crunch and pop came from. Under his back tire lay the remains of a full can of Busch. ichabod sees the mess he made of the beer and loses it.

CODDAMMIT!!!

He slams his fist through the driver side window of Fox's car in a rage. The sudden pain brings him back to his senses, and he stares down at the fresh blood forming on his knuckles. He laughs and then walks around to the driver side of his truck. The engine roars to life, and he backs up and turns, leaving the parking lot and the joke that was Tournation at Madison Square Garden. Fox's car remains with its driver side window shattered, and surprisingly, the alarm only now begins to sound.