Go down


Post  Stan Daniels on Wed Jan 26, 2011 3:20 pm

DETAILS: Back Alley Brawl First Blood Match – Two of the old tenements standing in the middle of the area we bought have a long, wide alley running between them. We’ve scraped it clean and brought in big dumpsters to block one end and a stack of wrecked cars to block off the other end. Each competitor will enter from one of the abandoned tenements – feel free to use any of the apartments as your locker room – if you don’t mind the rats. Once both men are in the alley, the doors will close and lock. To win – you have to make your opponent bleed. Simple, right?

RP RULES: All King of the Cage tournament matches are seventy-two hours with a three posts per day hard cap. In addition, there is a two hour continuation rule, meaning that one wrestler may not post back-to-back flashes until at least two hours has passed from the posting time of the first flash.

RP JUDGES: Living Deadgirl/Cedrick Caesar - Tiebreaker Krusher


Aaron Action and his manager Marlowe pulled up to the curb in the 2009 Chevy Silverado that Aaron had insisted on buying at James Martin Chevrolet. The pick up had that new car smell, well that new car smell combined with the smell of chili dogs from Lafayette Coney Island. Aaron had gotten hungry on the drive over and had asked where to find the best hot dog in Detroit. Marlowe was one who preferred healthier fare. In truth didn’t particularly care for hot dogs ever since he had read Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle many years ago, but he had eaten one of the ten dogs that Aaron had bought was damned good. The odor from the dogs had lingered though.

The Son of the South opened the door and stepped out onto the running board. As Aaron waved to the cheering fans, Marlowe prayed that the running board wouldn’t give way. The last thing that Aaron needed was a America’s Funniest Home Video moment of him breaking a running board and falling on his ample posterior.

The fans were chanting Aaron’s name when he saw a small boy wearing a purple dyed t-shirt with yellow dots taped on it made out of what looked to be colored paper. The boy yelled and waved as an older woman looked on from behind him. She smiled a wide smile at Aaron as well.

Marlowe got out of the pick up and walked around it to Aaron’s side. Triple A hopped down from the running board and the springs on the car gave an audible sigh of relief. Aaron made a bee line for the young kid. He was a sucker for his younger fans.

AARON ACTION: Hey little fella, what’th your name?

The boy gave a grin at Aaron. He put out his hand.

TOMMY: My name’th Tommy Nakaiya. I’m your number one fan.

Ruffling the boy’s hair, Aaron looked behind the kid at the older black woman. She looked at him with great dignity but some sadness in her eyes.

AARON ACTION: And who’th dith lovely lady, Tommy.

Tommy glanced behind him as if he didn’t know who was there. The woman put a hand on his shoulder.

TOMMY: Thith ith my gram. She only let’th me cheer to you.

The woman nodded her head.

AARON ACTION: Well, that’th great. You’re gram mutht be a great lady.

TOMMY: She ith. She workth three jobth tho I can go to the thpecial thchool for my thpeech problem. You should come with me thometime.

Marlowe laughed at that one. The kid had gotten a great line in on Aaron. The Son of the South rolled with it and laughed too. Marlowe honestly believed that Aaron had no idea that he spoke funny.

AARON ACTION: Well, Tommy, I might jutht do dat, but ah talk funny beauthe I’m from da thouth, eef you weel!

TOMMY: I’m from the South too. Gram and I live in the South Street Shelter.

Aaron stopped laughing. He looked at the boy and then up at his grandmother.

AARON ACTION: You live in a shelter? Where did you live before?

Tommy motioned to the building Aaron was about to enter. He pointed to an upper floor with the windows broken out. There was a tattered piece of curtain flapping in the wind that was blowing through the building.

TOMMY: Thith uthed to be my houthe. But the thity couldn’t afford it no more. We had to move to the shelter. But it’th okay. They have a TV I can watch Federation X on.

Aaron looked at Marlowe. The businessman knew what Aaron was thinking. He gave a small nod.

AARON ACTION: Well, Tommy. I’ll tell you thomethin’. Ath nithe as the shelter may be, it’th not a home for a young boy like you.

Aaron pointed to Marlowe standing behind him. Marlowe was overdressed for the area. He wore a hand tailored suit, a silk tie and Italian wing-tips.

AARON ACTION: You know who dith is?

Tommy nodded.

TOMMY: That’th Marlowe. He uthed to be good.

Aaron chuckled at that one. Now the kid had gotten a poke in at Marlowe.

AARON ACTION: That’th right. But he’th my manager now. And I want your grandmother to talk ta him while I go git ready for my match. He’th going ta help you out.

Marlowe moved in closer as Aaron started to walk past the rest of the gathered fans. Triple A started to slap hands and sign autographs and then stepped back. He took off his white straw cowboy had and placed it on Tommy’s head. The boy seemed elated.

The Son of the South headed into the building as the crowd chanted his name. Marlowe tried to talk to Mrs. Nakaiya, but with the chanting, he couldn’t hear a thing. Marlowe leaned in.

MARLOWE: Give me your name and some contact information. We’re going to find you and apartment.

The woman looked grateful. Tears started to form in the corners of her eyes.

MRS. NAKAIYA: Oh, no. We couldn’t take charity. I earn my way.

Marlowe was moved. He knew that the people of Detroit were having a hard time, but were still proud. None of them wanted a hand out, just a helping hand.

MARLOWE: I’ll tell you what. You give me some contact information and I’m going to see what I can do. Maybe we’ll pay for Tommy to be in that school and you can pay for the apartment. We just want to ease the stress a bit. When you’re back on your feet, you can let us know.

The woman nodded. She opened her large purse and pulled out a pen and piece of paper. She wrote her name and a number down on the paper.

MRS. NAKAIYA: This is my sister’s number. I don’t have a phone. She took us in for a while, but she only has a one bedroom and six grandkids of her own living there.

The woman handed Marlowe the paper. She opened her purse to slip the pen back in. Marlowe glanced at the paper and then at the woman. He caught a quick glimpse inside the purse. Was that a red shirt that said SBFF on it?

The purse snapped quickly closed and Marlowe looked up. He thought he saw something in the woman’s eyes, but then it changed back to a softer look. He felt a tug on his sleeve. Marlowe looked down at little Tommy his head engulfed in Aaron’s hat.

TOMMY: Mithter Marlowe, could you get uth thome theats on the bleacherth back there? I want to go cheer for Al – err – Aaron.

Marlowe smiled at the boy and nodded. He motioned to one of the P.A.s that were buzzing around the site. The man jogged over and looked t Marlowe.

MARLOWE: Get my friend and his grandma a couple of seats in the bleachers. … Something up close.

The man reached into his pocket. He had the small stack of tickets that the Powerbase held back for V.I.Ps. The man thumbed through the tickets and pulled out a pair of second row seats. He handed them to the boy who seemed ready to jump over the moon.

Marlowe shook the boy’s hand and then his grandmother’s. He turned and saw that Aaron was done working the rest of the crowd and had gone into the building.

MARLOWE: I’ve got to get going, but you’ll hear from me.

MRS. NAKAIYA: God bless you.

Marlowe headed into the building. He heard a generator running on the floor above and made his way to the stairs. Marlowe walked into a squalid room where Aaron was slipping on his wrestling boots sitting on a metal folding chair that the crew had left.

There was a bunch of filthy threadbare furniture and half-filled food containers. Whoever had been staying here had cleared out recently. The spoiled food smell was overwhelming, so the Gold Standard opened the window. He looked down.

Someone was standing in the back of the truck and seemed to be trying to sell something. The noise from the generator drowned out what was being said, but Marlowe swore that the kid on the truck was holding out a white straw cowboy hat and while an older woman was taking bids.



It had taken Shelly a couple of minutes in the truck before she came back out and crossed the sidewalk to where Alan was talking to an aging couple who appeared to be down on their luck. She listened to Alan asking just the right questions, and genuinely taking an interest in their lives just long enough to hear that the man was a veteran and his wife was a retired school teacher. They got by on what little income the government allowed them, but it was a struggle and they had to live in the worst area of the city in order to make ends meet. As it was, they hadn’t had running water for the six months leading up to the city removing them from the housing unit. Life was, in no uncertain terms, terrible for them.

Shelly held out a phone to Alan, but offered up a sympathetic smile as she interrupted.

Shelly: Sorry Alan, but its Grayson. He wants a word with you about your request.

Alan smiled and excused himself as graciously as he could. He turned and walked a couple of feet away with Shelly in tow, and then accepted the phone that she handed him.

Alan: The t-shirt for Thomas?

Shelly shook her head.

Shelly: We don’t have any on the truck, but I’ve asked Stats t send over somebody from production with one from your whole line.

Alan raised an eyebrow at her efficiency.

Alan: Size?

She grinned back at him, knowing that he’d ask.

Shelly: All small.

Alan gave her a ‘thumbs up’ as he lifted the phone to his ear. He walked a few feet further away from the commotion that was being raised as the crowd reacted to the arrival of Aaron Action, Alan’s opponent for the night. Alan didn’t bother to look over and watch Aaron arrive because he didn’t need to be distracted by it. What he needed was for Grayson to tell him what he wanted to hear.

Alan: Gray?

Grayson: I’m not in the habit of being kept waiting Alan.

Alan: Sorry about that. I’m just trying to do some good down here, and it’s keeping me busy leading up to the match. Shelly got my request through to you?

Grayson: She did. Can I ask what you have in mind?

Alan: You gave me a damn big bonus this afternoon. I’d like to put it to good use. I’d like to buy the property from the company once the match is over, and I’d like to demolish the buildings and put up affordable, high quality apartments.

Grayson: I see. Well maybe we can…

Alan knew where Grayson would go and cut him right off.

Alan: No promotions Gray. I want to do this because it’s the right thing to do, nbot because it makes for good publicity. And I want you to support me in this.

Grayson: How?

Alan smiled.

Alan: I want you to sell me the property for one dollar.

There was silence on the other end of the phone as Grayson processed the request. One dollar. The minimum required amount for a legal exchange of capital property. He let the silence hang in the air for a moment, and then considered his answer. He liked what he had come up with. It served the company as well as it served Alan.

Grayson: One condition.

Alan: Name it.

Grayson: You have to win.

Alan: Excuse me?

Grayson: You heard me Alan. Win. Beat Aaron. He’s a nice star, and we’ve done very well breathing the life back into the Bloodsport division because of him……but his name isn’t Alan Scott. We’re not about to hitch the future of our company to a guy who might die of a heart attack tomorrow. You’re the one Alan……and that means we want you in the finals of this thing. You get past Aaron, and you’ve got yourself a deal.

Alan heard what was being said, and he knew that a part of it was just Grayson stroking one of his stars. The Powerbase had a way of doing that, and they weren’t shy about it. They wanted their stars to feel like they mattered, and to be loyal to the young company’s growing future. It was their biggest weapon in the war to unseat Wrassle Industries from their long time perch atop the business. Alan nodded, and then realized that he was on the phone and chuckled before he answered Grayson.

Alan: I can do that sir. Thank you.

Grayson: Don’t thank me until you’ve won Alan. Good luck.

The line went dead and Alan hung it up. The conversation didn’t take a long time, but by the time he turned around, he saw that Aaron and his former tag team partner Marlowe had gone into the abandoned tenement. Alan saw Thomas waving around one of Aaron’s white cowboy hats and taking bids on it and stopped cold in his tracks. His jaw hung ever so slightly agape as he listened to Grandma Nakaiya working the crowd like an auctioneer.

Alan was so startled by the development, and distracted, that he didn’t hear Shelly walk up beside him until she cleared her throat softly. He glanced over at her just as he watched Thomas walk into the crowd and hand the hat to a tall black man who handed him back a bill. The distance prevented Alan from being certain exactly how much money had been handed over, but he would guess it was ten dollars. That would seem like it was about the right amount of money for Aaron’s hat, especially when one considered that there weren’t a lot of cowboys in the ghettos of Detroit.

Shelly: Kind of hurts to see that they’re like this doesn’t it?

Alan just shook his head.

Alan: Naaaah. Just look at the kid. That hat probably bought them both food for the next week. How are you supposed to get mad at them for making sure that they eat?

Shelly smiled. Then she pointed at the camera crew.

Shelly: You ready?

Alan nodded, and motioned for Shelly to follow him inside as she interviewed him. He wanted the people who watched Federation X to see what the collapse of the economy meant in real terms. It wasn’t just some abstract concept that they could detach themselves from and wait for somebody else to fix. People needed to see what it was doing to innocent lives every day. Lives like that of the Nakaiya family.

As the cameraman scrambled up the filthy, rotten stairwell behind Alan and Shelly, angling himself for the best possible shots, she began her prematch interview with the reigning X-Factor Champion.

Shelly: Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with Alan Scott, the reigning X-Factor Champion, who is only moments away from heading down the back stairwell and out into the alley between the abandoned tenements to go one on one with Aaron Action. Alan, how do you prepare for a match like this?

Alan finished climbing the stairwell and stood in front of the door where the fire exit site barely hung from the roof. He made sure that people could see the dilapidated nature of the building he was in.

Alan: Prepare? Shelly you don’t prepare for violence any more than the people who lived here prepared for Detroit’s local economy to collapse. You just endure, and fight and claw with everything you have and hope to god that somehow you can come out on top. Tonight’s fight is just a fight. I’m not going to insult the audience by standing in this place where people used to live and talking about its importance.

Shelly: So……you don’t care if you win or not?

Alan shook his head. She hadn’t understood.

Alan: Oh, I care Shelly. I care a lot. I’m going to go out into that alley, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make Aaron Action bleed. I’m going to use this fight as an opportunity to open people’s eyes.

Shelly: What is it you want them to see Alan? What is this fight going to teach them?

Alan: Honestly Shelly? That we CAN overcome. No matter how BIG the obstacle.....we can win. We can beat anything.......anyone.

Shelly: I see. That leads straight to my last question Alan. You’re going into a street fight with the modern day hardcore legend. Aaron Action has made his entire name in the sport by fighting in hardcore matches, something that you openly despise. You’re going to fight in his element. Do you really think you can win?

Alan looked straight into the camera.

Alan: Well after that speech I just gave, I'd guess I'd damn well better! Besides Shelly, this entire fight might be set up for Aaron to succeed, but you’re forgetting one simple thing.

Shelly: What’s that?

Alan: My name is ALAN SCOT…………….and I’m THE BEST THERE IS!

Alan turned and walked down the hallway, as the camera watched him. He got to the top of the other stairwell, the one that lead out into the alley, and disappeared into it. Shelly turned back to the camera and smiled.

Shelly: There you have it folks. The X-Factor Champion seems motivated and moved by tonight’s fight. I think Aaron Action is in for the fight of his young career! Back to you John!


The room had been depressing. Aaron Action wanted out of it as soon as he could. The filth. The disease. The vermin. It was more than even a man who had grown up in the squalor of Stone Mountain, Georgia. The Son of the South quickly dressed and made his way back down the stairs.

Marlowe, on the other hand, wanted to check things out. He needed to survey the whole situation and the only way he thought he could do that is to head to the roof. Marlowe carefully made his way up the stairs. As he did, the smell began to become intense. It smelled like cat pee.

Reaching the top floor, Marlowe was surprised to find that as opposed to the other doors in the building, this one was a solid steel door with an eye slot in it. The former Journeyman had some suspicions of what went on behind that door. Perhaps Federation X had done some good in this neighborhood after all.

Marlowe got to the roof door. It wasn’t anything special. As he stepped out, his cell phone rang. Marlowe looked at the caller i.d. He was surprised to see who the caller was and answered it immediately.

MARLOWE: Hey, Grayson.

RICHARD GRAYSON: Marlowe, I know you’re in prematch, with Aaron, but I wanted to just speak to you for a moment.

MARLOWE: You’re the boss. I’ll make time if you need me too.

Marlowe really didn’t want to take time. He needed to check things out and then get down to give Aaron some last minute tips. But Grayson ran Federation X. What could he do?

RICHARD GRAYSON: I’ll try and be brief. It’s simple. We need Aaron to beat Alan. He’s a nice star, and he’s can certainly work a crowd, but he’s … unstable. We all know about the occasional returns of The Beast. And he his honesty, while refreshing, can be … off putting to some of the sponsors. We had to cut an entire diatribe he recorded about how people shouldn’t eat fast food. He didn’t care that Wendys and McDonalds are our sponsors. What I’m getting at is that we’re not about to hitch the future of our company to a guy who might piss off every sponsor we have in the name of honesty. People love Aaron. They can relate to him. He loves the, ……and that means we want him in the finals of this thing. You need to get Aaron past Alan.

Marlowe was silent for a moment. The head of the Powerbase had just told him that given their choice, they wanted one man to beat another. Even in the worst wrestling associations, the people in charge never blatantly names their favorites.

MARLOWE: All right, Richard, I’ll do what I can. It really comes down to who’s tougher. My money is on Aaron, but you never know with Alan.

RICHARD GRAYSON: We’re prepared to offer Aaron some serious benefits … As long as we understand each other.

The phone went dead. Marlowe pushed the END CALL button and pocket the phone. He looked down over the edge of the building into the alley. People were being herded out and into the elevated bleachers that had been placed behind the giant dumpsters. Looking in the opposite direction, Marlowe saw another set of bleachers set up behind the semis. The techs were still stringing in some lines, so that the trucks had not been pulled all the way up yet. Marlowe’s attention was drawn to a group of people that seemed to be marching toward the opening. The man in the front looked familiar.

MARLOWE: Oh, crap.

Marlowe spun around. He ran for the stairwell and nearly tripped over the skylight. The panels had been blacked out by heavy paper. Marlowe filed that in his memory and headed down the stairs.

He took the stairs two at a time and burst out to door as Aaron was getting ready for his interview.

MARLOWE: Move the trucks! Shut off the alley!

But Marlowe was too late the large group began marching in. The group was an eclectic one. Black, white, Hispanic. Men and women. Children and adults. Many of them held signs.




The signs ever accompanied by lost of pictures of Michael Jackson. Marlowe noticed that many in the group wore a single white sequined glove.

The leader of the group walked up to Shelly Simmons. His wide smile and perfect hair was familiar to Marlowe, Alan, Shelly and many old school wrestling fans. The black shirt and collar around his neck was something new though. The man made sure the cameras were rolling and then turned on his charm.

CAPTAIN ALL THAT: Shelly Simmons. How you doin’, girl?

Shelly smiled her perfect toothed smile at Captain All That. She didn’t want to indicate any … nonprofessional familiarity with the Captain. She forced back the blush and nodded hello.

SHELLY SIMMONS Captain All That, we all recognize you as a former Federation X star, but what brings you here to Detroit?

CAPTAIN ALL THAT: First things first, Shelly. I am no longer the sinful Captain All That. The Lord Jesus has shown me the way.

SISTER ALL THAT: Praise him!

CAPTAIN ALL THAT: Indeed, sister. He has shown me the way and I have renounced my sinful ways. I am no longer an agent of Satan. NO! I am an agent of the Lord.

SISTER ALL THAT: Agent of the Lord! Amen!

CAPTAIN ALL THAT: And as His agent. You may now call me … REVEREND ALL THAT!

SISTER ALL THAT: He called and you answered!

CAPTAIN REVEREND ALL THAT: I did indeed. I am now CEO and Chairman of RAT Ministries and my service is in His name.

Before Sister All That could jump in, Shelly pulled back the mic.

SHELLY SIMMONS That’s wonderful, Capt—Reverend, but why are you here?

Reverend All That became somber looking. He dropped his head and slowly shook it.

As you know, our brother, Michael Jackson passed was not long ago.

SHELLY SIMMONS Yes, it was sad day. I was listening to You Are Not Alone when I lost my – ahem – It was sad, but it still doesn’t answer the question. Why are you here disrupting the match?

Reverend All That took the mic from Shelly. He spread one arm and waved it around.

Shelly Simmons, Federation X fans, fellow followers. You are standing on holy ground!

SISTER ALL THAT: Holy ground

For this it the place where a young man who I was recently ministering too walked.

SISTER ALL THAT: Moon walked!

Indeed he did moonwalk, sister. For this is the very alley where Michael, afraid that the germs would get on his shoes, moonwalked for the very first time.

SISTER ALL THAT: It was a miracle.

A miracle of great proportions. So great that I, Reverend All That of RAT Ministries, a 501C3 company, have taken it upon myself to declare this ground sacred. Michael, like myself, was a man of peace and we cannot let you all hold a bloody battle on the pavement where the Lord’s hands touched Michael’s toes.


Shelly wasn’t sure what to say. In fact no one was. Reverend All That just smiled into the camera. He gave a nod and his congregation broke into a gospel version of Man in the Mirror.

Marlowe leaned into Aaron.

MARLOWE: I told them to move the trucks.



Alan stood in the alley waiting for Aaron Action, when he heard the big commotion outside. The far end of the alley, where the dumpsters were positioned, was not quite closed off and Alan wandered towards it to see if he could figure out what was going on. He could hear a loud collection of people talking just beyond the end of the alley and then suddenly….

Alan: Is….is that…….singing?

Alan reached the end of the alley and looked out through the space between the dumpsters. His eyes grew wide as he spotted Aaron Action, Marlowe and somebody he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Alan frowned. He should recognize the black man. He knew that much. Their paths had crossed somewhere before, but Alan couldn’t quite figure out where. As the man lead a collection of what appeared to be Michael Jackson activists in a gospel version of Man in The Mirror, Alan held up his hands and tried to block out everyone except the leader of the disturbance. The man he couldn’t quite place.

Searching his memory, Alan rifled through the hundreds and hundreds of opponents, coaches and managers that had crossed his path, but he came up empty. It was almost as if something about the man didn’t quite fit; like seeing MC Hammer without a gold tooth, and dressed like somebody who didn’t think they would need their pants to save them from a falling airplane. Suddenly Alan’s eyes grew wide.

Alan: Holy shit!

Reaching up and grabbing hold of the top of the dumpster, Alan pulled himself up onto the top of it. It took him a moment to get stable footing, but once he did, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill, ear shattering whistle that interrupted the chorus of the song and drew the attention of everyone in the vicinity. The man dressed as a reverend took a few steps out in front of his assembled protesters and nodded in his direction.

Reverend All That: Young man you have interrupted a glorious hymn.

Sister All That: Glorious indeed!

Alan’s face remained passive for a moment, and then he broke into a wide grin.

Alan: What up Cat? That your ho’s new gimmick?

The color, quite literally, drained from Cat’s complexion and he had to turn away for a moment to gather himself. He had a lot of patience, granted to him by the glorious father Almighty, but it was surely tested when people referred to the Sister in his service as a ‘ho. That was a part of his life for which he was greatly sorry, and had done great penance. He did not suffer fools to speak that way of a woman any longer.

Cat turned back to Alan, having gotten himself under control, and flashed a smile that would have made Josiah Power proud; if he wasn’t such a douchebag. It had taken a moment, but the good Reverend All That had realized just who was standing on the dumpster and addressing him.

Reverend All That: Young Mr. Scott. I’ve given up my heathen ways sir, and it would do me good to not hear you speak so of a woman any more.

Sister All That: Do you some damn good too foo’!

Reverend All That motioned for his Sister to step back amongst the protesters.

Reverend All That: Alan, as you can see……we are here to put a stop to the wicked fight that is about to sully the good ground upon which our immortal brother once tread.

Alan looked around at the signs, and did the math. Cat was now leading some kind of cult support group for Michael Jackson. Alan scowled. The former womanizing drug dealer bettering his life was one thing, but coming out and publicly lending support to a grow man who admitted to asking children to sleep in his bed with him? How in the hell was Alan supposed to not say something about that?

Alan: You CANNOT be talking about the pedophile.

A hush fell over the assembled masses as Alan’s words echoed out into the night air. Michael Jackson was a very polarizing figure in the American social condition at the time, and Alan wasn’t exactly standing on middle ground. Any man who admitted in an interview that he had little boys over for sleepovers and let them stay in his bed was a man who wasn’t worthy of adulation or adoration. The world was a better place with his passing. A statement Alan wasn’t afraid to share with the Reverend.

Alan: You people are actually here to lend your support to Michael Jackson? The guy who admitted to having young boys sleep in his bed? What the fuck is wrong with you people?

Marlowe could see that things were about to get out of control, and he gave Aaron a nudge to suggest that the Son of The South started edging away from the mob. To his surprise though, as they started to move, some of the parents of the young kids out in the street actually started to shout out in support of Alan’s comments. Marlowe’s face grew white. He knew what was coming and he didn’t like it one bit. The more people who lifted their voice in objection to Alan’s comment, the more people who suddenly came out of nearby buildings in support of them.

Bad things were about to happen.

Marlowe: Run.

Aaron: Thay what?

Marlowe: RUN!

The disagreement went from vocal to physical faster than a speeding bullet…


John: Folks I cannot believe what we’re seeing here tonight! Our live feeds from the Detroit neighborhood where Federation X has purchased the entire city block are showing us what I can only describe as the start of a riot!

Hank: Man these Detroit people know how to party!

John: Hank! This is hardly a party. It started out as a peaceful protest lead by the enigmatic and reformed Reverend All That. All they wanted was to stop the company from sullying the ground upon which it is rumored that Michael Jackson first performed the moonwalk, but after a brief verbal confrontation with Alan Scott…..this thing is escalating out of control in a hurry! This could get ugly!

Hank: Ugly? John, everyone knows that Detroit city throws all the best riots! I was in a riot in Los Angeles once? Nobody even had a toilet smashed over there head. Amateurs!

John: Ladies and gentlemen I once again apologize for my broadcast partner. I think he’s had a toilet smashed over his head.

Hank: More often that you would think possible actually…


Alan’s eyes grew wide in surprise as he watched a number of locals start to form up either beside the protestors, or in front of them. He didn’t like what the protestors were trying to support, but that didn’t mean he wanted to start a violent confrontation. His eyes glanced furtively around the streets, and he watched as parents scrambled to get their younger children into the nearby tenements, sensing what Alan and Marlowe could both feel coming. Even as they took people off the streets though, others were pouring out of nearby buildings, and off of intersecting streets. It was like the locals could feel the storm of violence approaching and they were embracing the moment.

Alan shouted at Shelly.

Alan: Shelly! SHELLY!

She looked up as she backed away from the chaos and headed for the vans. He shook his head and pointed at the tenements. The vans wouldn’t be safe. Riots always ended with cars overturned and vehicles burning. The vans would be exposed and almost certainly be the subject of some kind of attack by the mob. Alan pointed at young Thomas, who seemed to be on the pro Michael Jackson side of things (although he might just have been working Captain All That to get himself some saleable merchandise) but his grandmother was standing on the other side, a finger right in Sister All That’s face. As an elder in the community she saw it as her civic duty to ‘keep it real’ and protect youngsters from famous exploitation.

Shelly: The buildings!?

Alan nodded.

Alan: Get Thomas and his grandma to go with you! And the crew from the truck!

Marlowe and Aaron had already vanished into the far tenement. At least they were safe, although Alan didn’t know how exactly they were going to have a match in the middle of a Detroit riot. The city was infamous for them, and there was a fifty-fifty chance that it could escalate and spread to other blocks as quickly as it had started on this one. The King of The Cage would have to take a back seat for the moment.

Alan was just about to retreat when he saw a fist connect with Captain All That’s chin and drop the former Harbinger Champion to the ground. Cat looked a lot like Michael Bisping as his arms dropped to his side and he folded onto the broken asphalt, his head bouncing with a sickening smack as it hit the ground. That was the first blow, but it wasn’t the last. The large man who had slipped into the crowd and caught Cat in the chin was quickly beaten to the ground by two men carrying matching ‘BEAT IT!’ signs, which were obviously meant as a message to Federation X. The chaos was out of control.

Alan leapt down off of the dumpster and ran into the crowd, fending off blows and protecting his head from signs and sticks as he went. He didn’t have to go far to find Cat lying face down on the ground, his body already bruising from the multiple feet that had tripped, kicked and otherwise slammed down on top of him. Alan stooped low and grabbed the man. He might not have liked what Cat stood for, but that didn’t mean he was going to watch the alumni of wrestling’s greatest operation get trampled to death in a mob scrum. He didn’t have time to be fancy, so Alan just wrapped a hand around the unconscious man’s ankle and cleared a path with his large body as he pulled the reformed pimp out of the battleground. As he broke free of the riotous crowd and neared the dumpsters, something slammed into his back and knocked Alan forward. He barely got his hands up and protected himself from a debilitating impact with the dumpster. Alan’s back arched in pain as he slowly turned to see a very angry looking Hispanic kid with a shirt which read ‘I’m a Thriller’ on. He was in mid-swing with his homemade sign, looking to take Alan’s head off.


Alan ducked and the sign exploded against the reinforced steel frame of the dumpster, giving Alan the brief opening that he needed. A foot landed in the young man’s stomach, doubling him over. So much for the argument that wrestling was fake. Alan grabbed the guy around his waist and heaved him into the air, using nothing more than brute strength to lift him off the ground and spin his body around, driving him down onto his broken sign in a gutwrench suplex. It was the most effective move Alan could think of, and it required almost no time to execute. Alan glanced around, but nobody else had broken away from the main mob to target himself or Cat.

Alan: This is freakin’ nuts!

Alan turned and grabbed hold of the lid to the dumpster. With one flick of his wrist he got it up and then he reached down and grabbed Captain All That.

Alan: Sorry Captain. Safety first.


Hank: I always wanted to do that! Ha! I knew I liked Alan Scott for a reason! Ed and Johnny would be SOOOOOOOOO proud!

John: Folks, regardless of what my broadcast partner thinks, Alan has just throws the good Reverend All That into the dumpster to protect him. Unconscious amidst this anarchy would be life threatening.

Hank: This…..this……*sniff*……it’s beautiful.

John: The whole block is alight with fires and violence Hank!!

Hank: And do you know what they’re missing John? ................................................................Marshmallows!

John reached over and physically ripped Hank’s mic out of its mooring, snapping the cables that made it work. The retired super-hero could only take so much stupidity in the face of actual suffering and the breakdown of society right before his eyes. He was a sensitive guy.

John: Alan Scott looks like he’s scanning the crowd…..maybe checking for the Shelly, or other Federation X employees.

Hank: Probably just watching for chick fights. Everyone loves chick fights. Bras out……the threat that boobies will pop out….

John: I thought I….

Hank: I keep a spare, just in case.

John threw his hands up in exasperation as he watched Alan Scott nod to himself in satisfaction that he had done whatever it was that he was trying to do on top of the dumpsters. He turned and stepped off of the dumpster and into the darkened alley once more.

Stan Daniels
Stan Daniels

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Post  Stan Daniels on Wed Jan 26, 2011 3:21 pm


Alan landed in the alley, and stayed in a squat as he listened intently to see if there was a chance that the chaos was going to follow him in. When he was finally content that it was going to stay out on the street, he stood up and surveyed the area. He was surprised to see Aaron and Marlowe standing near the entrance to the tenement that Aaron had changed in. He was even more surprised to see referee Jerry Wilson walking towards him with a cell phone.

Wilson: The boss wants you.

Alan frowned, but accepted the phone.

Alan: Hello?

Grayson: Alan? You’re back in the alley now? You're safe?

Alan: Yeah. What’s going on?

Grayson: Good. I’m glad you’re safe. Listen…..I’ve been speaking to Von and Liv.

Alan started to feel a sense of foreboding in his stomach.

Alan: Okay……….and that has to do with us being trapped by a riot…………HOW?

Grayson: Alan…………we need you guys to fight your match.

Alan’s jaw dropped.

Alan: NOW?!? HERE?!?! Are you…

The phone went dead. Alan looked up at Marlowe. The man knew more about the business than anyone Alan had ever known. He had to have the answers.

Alan: He CAN’T be serious.


Bottle broke all around Alan and Aaron. Signs were being swung. The place was a mad house.

ALAN SCOTT: He cannot be ****** serious.

Marlowe looked at Alan. The two men had known each other quite a while and had even teamed for a short period. Marlowe wasn’t sure he liked Alan’s new character, but he had to admit that it was effective in drawing heat. And heat meant money.

MARLOWE: Alan, when have you know Grayson NOT to be serious.

Alan nodded.

ALAN SCOTT: Good point. But are we REALLY going to fight out here in the – WHOA!

Alan juked to the right as a can of pork and beans whizzed by his head and smacked nto the side of the building.

AARON ACTION: Pork and beanth. My mama uthed ta make the betht pork and beanth in the world.

Aaron licked his lips and looked off wistfully missing his mother who had died of a coronary when Aaron was seventeen. Alan stared at the can on the ground and then looked at Aaron.

ALAN SCOTT: You aren’t thinking about food right now, you tub of lard. This is a full scale riot.

Aaron snapped out of his flashback to childhood. He glanced around and chuckled.

AARON ACTION: Thon, thith ain’t nothin’ but a Thaturday night at da Pig –n- Whithtle. In fact, I theen it get a lot worthe.

That was Marlowe’s worry. It could get a lot worse. Detroit rioters were well known for setting the city ablaze. And if The Businessman’s theories about the top floor of the building were correct, no one wanted fire nearby.

Marlowe looked at Aaron and Alan.

MARLOWE: Maybe Grayson is on to something.

He jerked back a step and turned sideways as a tire iron clanged into the door. Alan was fuming. First Grayson wanted him to risk himself. Now Marlowe was agreeing with him? Once again, Alan was sure that he was the one-eyed man in the kingdom of the blind.

ALAN SCOTT: Can’t you see what’s going on around here? There is no way we’re having a match.

Marlowe straightened his tie and smoothed his suit. He looked from Aaron to Alan to Jerry. He paused when he saw Jerry calmly sitting on the stoop of the tenement. He seemed to be oblivious to everything that was happening. Marlowe supposed that when you can only see two feet in front of you, you tend not to worry what’s further out.

MARLOWE: Look, what is it that we do best?

ALAN SCOTT: Tell the truth.

AARON ACTION: The Texath Two Thtep.

JERRY WILSON: Read Braille?

Marlowe was getting frustrated. He slapped his hands together.

MARLOWE: Helo? McFly? What we do best is entertain people. We put on a show that people can’t take their eyes off of. Maybe … just maybe –

ALAN SCOTT: If we start fighting the match, people will pay attention to us and will calm down a bit. … Hey, is that kid picking that guy’s pocket?

Marlowe looked over to see the little kid that Aaron had given his hat to was now wearing a Johnny Rude shirt and was in fact picking the pocket of one of Reverend All That’s followers. Apparently, he was a modern day Artful Dodger and the older woman that little “Tommy” slipped the wallet to was his Fagin.

ALAN SCOTT: That little bastard. I should…

But Alan wasn’t able to finish the thought. It was interrupted by Aaron Action’s fist to the side of his head. Alan staggered down off the stoop. Aaron dove after him, but Alan had regains his senses stepped to the side and delivered a double axe handle to Aaron’s amplitudinous gut.

PARAGON: Are those two nuts? They’re starting the match in the middle of a full blown riot. I’m told that it’s engulfing the entire block.

PROCTNER: As long as it doesn’t spill over into Windsor. That place has some of the finest strip clubs on Earth.

PARAGON: Has anyone ever pointed out that you are a despicable human being?

PROCTNER: Not sure. I don’t normally listen to what people say about me.

The breath wheezed out of The Son of the South and he stumbled away from Alan.

MARLOWE: Work your way to the trucks. See if you can fight up there. It will get you seen better.

Alan gave Marlowe a nod. He didn’t like taking instructions from the retired star, but he knew the truth when he heard it. Alan grabbed Aaron’s arm and whipped him down the side of the building. By sheer luck, Aaron slammed into Grandma Nakaiya. The old woman fell to the ground. He wig came off to reveal a set of dark cornrows. Without the gray wig, the woman looked to be in her early forties at best. She rolled over and glared at Aaron who was back his feet and ready the charging Alan Scott. The former Grandma Nakaiya kicked out a leg trying for Aaron’s knee. She missed, but the leg was out in Alan Scott’s path. He saw it just a bit too late and tripped over it flying headfirst toward Aaron Action.

PARAGON: And Awesome Aaron Action drives Alan Scott through the group of men who were beating the woman dresses in epaulets and spate.

PROCTNER: That’s not a woman. That’s a guy dressed as Michael Jackson.

The group tumbled to the ground like ten pins in a bowling alley thanks to the full force of The Son of the South and The Last Honest Man. They started to regroup, but were suddenly being pummeled by signs in the sequined gloved hands of Reverend All That’s Mighty Gospel Choir of The Lord Almighty. (Download their top ten hymns at RATministries.com). Aaron and Alan continued to make their way to the trucks. They were intentionally missing punches and kicks whenever they encountered groups of rioters.

PARAGON: This is amazing. The rioting in the alley seems to be slowing down. The rioters are starting to watch Alan Scott and Aaron Action.

PROCTNER: Who wants to be in a fight when you can watch one. When you’re in a fight, you can get hurt. That’s why I sit behind this table every week.

Marlowe watched as Aaron and Alan got to the trucks. Alan nimbly grabbed the handle next to the door and swung himself onto the hood. Aaron followed. Well, he grabbed the handle, then stepped onto the door step. He pulled himself up and opened the door where he stepped onto the passenger seat. He grabbed a handhold over the door and then placed his other foot on the window frame. Aaron’s hand reached out and grabbed an exhaust pipe. He pushed with his legs and pulled with his arms until he was on top of the truck cab looking like a beached whale. It was far less graceful than you are imagining.

PARAGON: Aaron Action is up on the truck and Alan Scott is motioning for Triple A to join him on the roof of the trailer. Are these two nuts? That trailer is made of metal. Not to mention the fact that they’re twenty feet in the air.

PROCTNER: And you think the metal is harder than the black top of the alley?

PARAGON: I guess you have a point.

Alan and Aaron began trading lefts and rights. Slowly people started turning to see what was happening. The riot began to dissipate. Because of their proximity to the end of the alley and their height, even rioters outside the warzone were stopping. Some watched on the giant screens that Federation X had mounted on the outside of the building. Some scrambled to get closer to the trucks to improve their view. All in all there was far less fighting.

Marlowe breathed a sigh of relief. He got to the dumpster and pulled a trashcan over to it. The former Journeyman stepped up onto the can and looked down into the dumpster.

Reverend All That was sitting calmly in the corner of the dumpster. He was petting … a rat. There was a brief moment of silence during which, Marlowe heard Reverend Future singing.

REVEREND ALL THAT: Ben, the two of us need look no more … We’ve both found what we’ve been looking for ….

Marlowe shook his head and wondered if it was worth pulling the former Captain All That out of the dumpster.

That was when the gunshot rang out.



Alan: Shoooooter!

The Last Honest Man did not have the greatest moment of his life as he look wildly around and then ran for cover behind the biggest thing that he could see; Aaron Action. There, in the middle of the street, was a man clutching at his genitals, spinning around, wearing white socks with black pants and patent leather loafers, and snapping his arm out to the side and killing anti-Michael Jackson rioters dead in the street. It had only been a few moments since the crowd had started to get distracted by the Federation X match, and they were all too happy to break back down into anarchy at the first good reason. A man shooting people in the street was a damn good reason!

Aaron watched with casual interest as the man gunned down people left and right, always managing to shoot only the opponents of Michael’s legacy. He moved like a man possessed of the spirit of Michael Jackson. He was a damn fine shot with the handgun too, though Aaron had seen better in a couple of bar fights in Texas growing up. That time Billy McGirk gunned down Jill Deacon’s pa because he didn’t like the things that Billy had done with her came straight to mind. Aaron casually threw an elbow backwards and caught Alan in the jaw as he hid behind the Ton of South, and then grabbed Alan and launched him off of the top of the truck, watching as the X-Factor Champion landed on the top of one of the dumpsters with a grunt, and then rolled quickly across it and dropped into the alley beyond.

Aaron: Thtop hidin’ behind the thon of the thouth Alan! Where ah come from, a man don’t run from no little gun.

Another bullet zipped within inches of Aaron and ripped up the roof of the trailer he was standing on. Aaron looked at the bullet hole by his foot, and the piece of dislodged shrapnel that had wedged into his leg. He was bleeding.

Aaron: That thuckth.

Aaron wasn’t afraid, but he also wasn’t stupid. He looked in the direction that he had thrown Alan and then took a couple of quick steps to follow suit. He ignored the sound of Marlowe’s voice as he threw himself into the air, aiming to carry over top of the dumpster and land in the relative safety of the alley. Maybe he should have listened to Marlowe, who was shouting something about Aaron being too big to make it that far. Aaron’s body fought off gravity for a moment, but that didn’t last long and after a split second in the air, he crashed downwards, landing on the top of the dumpster and crashing through the reinforced lid into the garbage below. Marlowe just shook his head and let out a long, tired sigh. He looked at his designer suit, and shook his head as he threw himself over the lip of the dumpster and down into the crap beside Reverend All That. Even as he did, bullets flew everywhere.


John: Folks……what started out as a riot has now become a killing spree. As Federation X was on scene, we’re continuing to provide you with live coverage of events as they unfold. At this time we don’t know who the madman is but….

Hank: Paul Rizzo.

John frowned and spun to look at Hank Proctner.

John: How could you possibly know who that man is Hank?

Hank: Its called the internet John. Join the twentieth century.

John: It’s the twenty-first century Hank.

Proctner shrugged.

Hank: I never understood the way the century was actually a hundred years ahead of the actual date.

John: Focus Hank. Who’s Paul Rizzo and what makes you think we’re witnessing him murder a number of anti-Michael Jackson rioters?

Hank: He’s Australia’s three time undefeated Michael Jackson dance off champion, and he’s……ummm…..a little bit crazy about the King of Pop. Here......watch this.....

John: Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t know what to tell you. We’re watching as…..he’s just hit another person, this time in the leg. She looks a little bit like Mrs. Nakaiya, but she has cornrows and is about twenty years younger. Maybe it’s her daughter. In any event she’s clutching at her leg…….did she just pull her own gun?

Hank: She lives in Detroit. Everyone there has a gun.

John: We don’t stereotype around here Hank.

Hank: No, but they sure as hell do in Detroit! Look…..she’s wearing all kinds of bling too!


Alan looked up and saw Jerry Wilson hiding out in the alley with him. As he started to get back to his feet, his body aching from the throw that Aaron had sent him on, he noticed that he had scratched himself over as he had hit the asphalt. He was bleeding. Alan’s jaw hung open and he turned to confront Jerry about it. He should have been surprised that the near blind bastard had even see the wound, but given the kind of night that he was having, he wasn’t.

Jerry: Sorry Alan…..but you know the rules.

Alan: Come on Jerry! It’s incidental blood! It’s not like Aaron busted me open!

A shot rang out and careened off of the dumpsters that were only a couple of feet away. Alan and Jerry both cringed, fearing the worst. Then they heard something from inside one of the dumpsters. It sounded a lot like Aaron burping. Alan crinkled up his face. He could actually smell the gaseous release, and it made him want to vomit. Looking over he and Jerry watched as Aaron’s hands slapped away at the top of the dumpster a couple of times. Once they even curled around the lip and held on for a moment before they gave in to gravity once more. Aaron simply couldn’t get himself off the ground long enough to get out of the dumpster. Then the Ton of the South got an idea. He stopped trying to escape vertically and backed up. He charged the two steps across the dumpster and threw his weight into the far side, leaping as he did it. The impact, and the shift, caused the dumpster to roll up onto its side, where it briefly battled with its tipping point before falling over sideways and sending garbage and Aaron spilling out onto the ground.

Another bullet shot rang out.

Alan: Dammit! Like that fuck wasn’t a big enough problem when he was alive! Can’t anyone deal with this!?!? Where are the cops?

Where are the cops? Jerry just shook his head. It was Detroit City. They were hiding, obviously. Jerry ‘Coke Bottles’ Wilson held up a finger as he produced a cell phone.

Jerry: Hold on. I’ll call some guys I know.

Alan almost laughed at the stupidity of that comment. The whole night though had already become an exercise in the surreal. Why stop now?

Alan: You have peeps Jerry?

The half-Jewish referee who was raised in New York City just shrugged and turned away to talk into his phone. The conversation didn’t last long, but Alan could have sworn that he heard Jerry say something to the effect of ‘he’s back again……we need your help.’ When the referee turned back he had already hung up the phone. He started towards Aaron to declare him the victor because of the cut on Alan’s arm, but he stopped and stared. Alan frowned and then followed Jerry’s glance. It appeared that Aaron had gotten dinged up too. He too had a small cut, and Jerry couldn’t be sure which had happened first.

Jerry: No incidental cuts will count!

Making the very announcement that a moment earlier he had been prepared to deny Alan, Jerry turned and kicked the dumpster to sound the bell. Unfortunately he kicked the one that Reverend All That and Marlowe were hiding from the shooter in, and both of them groaned as the reverberations echoed in their ears like a bad headache.

Alan had an incredulous look on his face as he stared at Jerry, but that was knocked off when Aaron pushed himself to his feet and slammed a shoulder into Alan’s stomach, lifting him off of the ground and driving him back about four feet before dropping him to the ground. Aaron Action hadn’t become a modern day hardcore legend by being the last one to the dance on a nightly basis. He was always ready for a tussle. It was his Texas upbringing.

Aaron: Now we’ll thee if you thay mean thingth about me after you bleed!

Aaron wound up and dropped an elbow across Alan’s chest. The impact crushed whatever fight Alan had intended to draw upon out of his body. Aaron landing on him was akin to him landing on Chance, except that Alan didn’t have big old boobies to cushion the blow. He clutched at his ribs as Aaron immediately rolled off of him and onto his knees and grabbed Alan by the hair to lift his head. He was looking to land some closed fists straight to the champion’s forehead in an effort to end the match quickly. Alan instinctively covered up and blocked the majority of the blows while he fought to get some air back into his lungs.

He brought a knee up from the side and caught Aaron beneath his arm, sending him sprawling a few feet away, and giving Alan a breather. Alan sat up, and shook his head to clear the…..

….why had it gotten quiet?

Alan looked over at Jerry, who was staring out of the alley between the dumpsters.

Alan: Jerry?

Jerry just motioned him over.

Jerry: My boys are here. This is how we roll New York City style…


Most of the crowd had stopped. They all were watching a bad parody on the giant screens. Marlowe and Reverend All That had stuck their heads up to watch as well.

MARLOWE: Who in god’s name thought showing that to a bunch of enraged Michael Jackson fans was a good idea?

REVEREND ALL THAT: Don’t be blamin’ God for this. I think we should be blamin’ Sid and Marty Kroft

MARLOWE: Nah, it was Mad TV. They did that one about two weeks before the appearance by Nighthawk and Gilgamesh. I still don’t know how Grayson talked them into that.

Reverend All That was about to explain how it happened as he was there, but that was when children began crawling through Michael Jackson’s legs and Phil Rowe began shooting at the screen. Several other guns joined in the shooting. Soon the screen began to swing and creak. A bolt popped. A guy wire severed. The screen tilted and swayed and then fell three storied to the ground.

Aaron Action looked at Jerry Wilson.

AARON ACTION: Where are your boyth?

Jerry pointed confidently down the alley.

JERRY WILSON: Right there.

Alan and Aaron looked where Jerry was pointing. There was a lighting rig, an upside down broom and a hand truck.

JERRY WILSON: Those are three of the toughest mothers in the Jewish mafia.

Alan took a step toward Jerrry.

ALAN SCOTT: That’s it. I’m gonna kill him.

But Alan wasn’t going to kill anyone. He had bigger trouble on his hands. The bullets were now ricocheting back into the alley. Alan dove for cover. Jerry walked through the gunfire and put his arm around the broom and began talking to it.

Marlowe watched as Aaron Action gritted his teeth. He squared his shoulders and started marching toward the end of the alley.

REVEREND ALL THAT: That cat is nuts.

MARLOWE: Tell me about it. I manage him.

REVEREND ALL THAT: You used to. You gonna be arranging a funeral for him. … You need a speaker? I do funerals for industry guys at a discount.

Reverend All That dipped a hand into his shirt pocket and handed a business card to Marlowe.

Aaron stalked right up behind the shooters. He walked directly behind them and proceeded to reach in and grab the guns out of each of their hands.

AARON ACTION: Gunth don’t keel people. Thupidity keelth people. And you thome of the da thupidetht thons of bitcheth I ever thaw.

The four people turned around to comment, but Aaron grabbed two of them by the head and smacked their craniums together. He turned and looked at the third man.

AARON ACTION: You thtill here?

The guy turned and took off at a full run. It looked like he might stop at about Toledo.

That left only Phil Rowe standing looking at The Son of the South.

AARON ACTION: You got thomethin’ ta thay?

Phil Rowe grabbed his crotch. He dropped to his hands and knees and began to crawl around. Aaron Action just stood dumbfounded as Phil Rowe began to growl. The shooting having stopped, Alan Scott calmly walked up and looked at Phil crawling around.

ALAN SCOTT: Now what?

AARON ACTION: You’re guethth ith ath good ath mine.

That was when Phil slowly got up and began to dance.

Marlowe and Reverend All That walked up to join Aaron and Alan. The four men watched as the full-blown kookaburra from down under did a lot of screaming and grabbing of his crotch. None of them could figure out what to say.

Phil finished the dance. He spun on his toes and then dropped flat to his feet.

[color:b3d2=900000]PHIL ROWE: Shammon!

Alan and Aaron moved as one. They worked like a tag team that had teamed for years. Their punches synchronized as their fists simultaneously smashed into Phil Rowe’s face.

PARAGON: And Honest Alan Scott and Awesome Aaron Action flatten Phil Rowe. Who can’t be that great of a Michael Jackson impersonator.


PARAGON: Come on. He’s white.

PROCTNER: So was Michael Jackson.

PARAGON: No he wasn’t.

PROCTNER: Come on. I’ve seen pictures.

PARAGON: He was black.

PROCTNER: You believe what you want to. I know what I saw.

Aaron and Alan grabbed Phil under each arm. They dragged him over to the dumpster and tossed him in. Marlowe looked at Reverend All That.

MARLOWE: I thought you were against violence in the name of Michael Jackson.

REVEREND ALL THAT: That cracker ain’t Michael, so in this case, I’m goin’ with the front part of the book and saying Vengeance is Mine saith the Lord.

Marlowe rolled his eyes.

MARLOWE: That’s from Romans. Have you even read the Bible.

REVEREND ALL THAT: They’s a lot of word in there. I skimmed some.

Aaron Action and Alan Scott dusted their hands off. The crowd that had mostly dispersed when the guns went off were slowly trickling back.

PROCTNER: One thing we can say about the gunmen is that they quelled the riot.

PARAGON: Yeah, but that’s kind of like saying that beheading sure stopped that guy from talking too much.

Aaron took a deep breath as he stepped back into the alley. He turned around.

AARON ACTION: Okay, let’th get thith match on da road.

But Alan Scott wasn’t behind him. Aaron looked around. Alan was nowhere to be seen.


Inside the building two men were dragging Alan Scott. Each man held and arm. The man on the right held a gun to Alan’s ribs. Both men wore dark suits and dark glasses. The made their way to the stairwell and started up.

SAMMY THE GOYAM: You shouldn’ta been botherin’ one of ours.

SAUL THE GONIF: Dat’s right. We’re gonna have ta teach ya a lesson about messing with the BJM.

Alan’s throat was a little dry. He wasn’t one to get scared, but he it wasn’t often two mobsters put a gun to his ribs and forced him into an abandoned tenement. He swallowed several times. Until he finally worked up enough spit to speak.

ALAN SCOTT: What’s the BJM?

Sammy and Saul chuckled.

SAMMY THE GOYAM: Boychik, you done crossed da Blind Jew Mafia.

SAUL THE GONIF: And now it’s gonna be the last thing you did, bubala.

Saul kicked open the door and force Alan onto the roof.



Aaron action looked all around, but Alan Scott was gone and Jerry Wilson had a smug grin on his face that seemed strangely out of place on the veteran referee. He didn’t even seem concerned by Alan’s sudden disappearance, he just wandered away and shifted his weight to rest up against the alley wall muttering something about how people who cross the Jews learn a valuable lesson. That didn’t exactly make any sense to Aaron, who started looking out of the alley around the dumpsters and through the wrecked cars at the other end of the alley. He even stuck his head into the abandoned tenements and shouted out Alan’s name.

Aaron: Alan! Alan Thcottt!

When he didn’t hear an answer, or even so much as the skitter and scurry of a rat across the rotting floorboards, Aaron stepped back out into the alley and threw his hands in the air. He looked at Marlowe, but his manager and the veteran of many strange and unusual wrestling matches didn’t have any advice to offer. It wasn’t exactly the kind of match where they could get underway and just have Aaron win the match by count out. He needed and opponent if he wanted to advance into the next round of the event.



Alan heard Aaron calling out to him, and inhaled through his nostrils, thinking about shouting out in return and alerting his opponent to the threat that now faced him. Instead the increased pressure of the muzzle of the revolver that was stuck in his ribcage reminded him that he was not in the best situation to do that. So he sat perfectly still while Saul held a finger to his own lips to let Alan know that no sound would be tolerated. They had taken Alan all the way to the fourth floor before they had heard Aaron stick his head into the building and call out for his opponent. That had stopped them in their tracks. One of the reasons that the Jewish Mafia were so dangerous was that nobody knew they existed. The last thing that either Sammy or Saul wanted was to expose the organization to public scrutiny.

Everyone let out their breath when Aaron finally went back out into the alley to continue looking for Alan. Sammy shook his head and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, while Saul kept a firm grasp on Alan’s arm and gestured for the X-Factor champion to keep walking up the stairwell. Alan was no fool, and he knew that he was in a serious amount of trouble.

Alan: Guys…..whatever’s going on here…..I’m sure that we can work it out. I’ve got money.

Saul chuckled.

Saul: Are you listening to this schmuck? He’s got money he says.

Sammy: I know. Like he can’t see we’re Jewish.

Saul: He doesn’t know from money! Kid do you know how many banks are owned in my family alone?

Alan turned slowly and flashed both men a smile.

Alan: You guys are Jewish? Me too!

The stopped both men for a moment. The Jewish Mafia only had a few very serious rules, but one of them was that there was to be no Jew on Jew violence. That was a sacred rule.

Saul: You are not. Your name is Scott.

Sammy: Yeah. What kind of gentiles do you take us for?

Saul tapped Sammy on the arm.

Saul: Gentiles. Nice one!

Alan maintained his statement even as he continued to walk upwards, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings.

Alan: Seriously guys. Sure, my mother married into the Scott family…..but she’s a Goldstein.

The gave them pause for a moment.

Alan: Plus…..guys…..I DON’T lie.

Sammy: Manhattan Goldstein or East Rutherford?

Alan snorted with contempt.

Alan: Please. She’s a Chicago Goldstein. Everyone knows that the real Goldsteins went west to see if they could buy up all the land.

Sammy lowered his gun slightly as he turned and raised an eyebrow to Saul. If the kid was actually one of their own, they couldn’t exactly ‘deal with him’ like their contact had asked. While he was looking at Saul though, Alan spun and kicked the gun out of his hand, sending it toppling down the stairwell with a clatter. Saul’s eyes went wide as Alan then hit a superkick that caught Sammy right in the jaw and sent him tumbling down to the last landing on the fourth floor.

Saul: Liar!

Alan shook his head as he leapt into the air towards Saul, catching him flush in the temple with a flying fist. That staggered the big man and dropped him back a couple of steps as he tried to catch his balance. Alan leapt up onto the railing, which wobbled and threatened to throw him down into the stairwell, and stepped around Saul and leapt into the air, coming down on top of Sammy with a lunging knee drop that caused a loud cracking sound to erupt from the big man’s ribs.

Alan: Not at all. I’m just not a practicing Jew. Plus you two are douchebags! And what's with the beanies?

Alan didn’t like having a gun stuck in his ribs, and he relished the opportunity to let out some of his frustrations, given how the rest of his night had been going. True, there were two very large men prepared to bash his head in, but he figured he could deal with them and then get down to the alley to deal with Aaron. Alan turned from knocking the wind out of Sammy, only to have Saul catch him with an open palm strike to the high thorax that sent Alan tumbling backwards to the far side of the landing. Alan reached out his hand, but couldn’t catch onto the steps and tumbled all the way down to the third floor landing.

Each step left a bruise on him. As he gave his head a shake and blinked a couple of times to get rid of the cobwebs, he watched Saul pull Sammy to his feet and then crack his knuckles and his neck.

Saul: What? You thought maybe we couldn’t fight man to man?

Sammy: We’re Abir masters kid.

Saul: And you’re a dead man.

Alan had heard of Abir. It was the martial art that was taught to Israelis by Yehoshua Sofer, and was reported to be mandatory training for Mossad agents. Alan slowly got up and cracked his own neck. He stared the two bigger men down as they started down the steps towards Federation X’s premier fighter……until Alan suddenly turned and started running down the stairs.

Saul: Quick…..after him!

The chase was on. Alan leapt two stairs at a time, but Saul and Sammy were unnaturally agile and were taking the steps three and four at a time. They were gaining on Alan and he could tell they were going to catch him before he got to the bottom floor, so as he reached the second story landing, Alan broke from the stairwell and dashed out into the hallway. He ran along three rooms before he turned and burst through a door and into one of the apartments. He quickly scanned his surroundings, looking for something he could use to help himself.

He didn’t find it fast enough.

He felt a hand catch him by the collar, even as another one slammed into his stomach.

Alan: Unggh!

Sammy looked at Saul, and the other man just nodded back. There was a faster solution to their problem. They each grabbed one of Alan’s arms and ran him across the small living room. As they reached the window they flung him forwards…


A loud crash emanated from above as Aaron walked back out into the Alley. He looked up as little bits of glass rained down on him, and saw Alan Scott coming flying out of a window, his body extended like he was trying to land a cross bodyblock.

Aaron: You crathy bathtard!


Saul the Gonif looked at Sammy the Goyem.

SAMMY THE GOYAM: I thought you were only gonna scare him?

SAUL THE GONIF: What can I say, I slipped.

Alan Scott looked down at the ground. He was in big trouble. The pavement was awfully hard. He knew that from the first flight he had taken tonight when Aaron Action had sent him of the top of a semi-trailer to the very same asphalt. It hurt the first time and it wasn’t from a point half as high.

ALAN SCOTT: I hate this job sometimes.

Alan’s word whipped away from in the wind that was fling past him.

On the ground, Marlowe and Aaron Action were enjoying a Reverend All That Heavenly Host Gospel Quartet (get their first single, We’ve Got the Devil in a Bulgarian Headlock on iTunes.) singing an acapella version of Say, Say Say. Reverend All That was explaining the benefits of 501C3 Status to Marlowe. Of course the businessman, understood the benefits and pretty much knew why Captain All That had become Reverend All That from the moment the series of numbers and letter were mentioned.

REVEREND ALL THAT: Charitable organization, my man. It’s the ****. I ain’t got to pay for nothin’. I buy it and the church writes it off. … Course that don’t mean I ain’t believe what I’m preachin’.

Aaron had zoned out of the conversation. The business part of the job was the very reason why he had hired Marlowe to begin with. The man was a proven wizard with money and had spoken to Aaron about how to set himself up for an after wrestling career was a smart thing to do. Marlowe had gotten Aaron in as an investor in Gladys Knight and Ron Wilson’s Chicken and Waffles. The chain was growing and so was Aaron’s nest egg.

But Aaron wasn’t thinking of future endeavors right now. He was thinking of the great gospel music being sung before him. He just wished it was a song worth listening too.

There was a loud crash. Aaron looked up to see Alan come out of what looked like the third story. If you were thrown from it, you would think it was the second, but that would because you were not counting the lobby. In either case, you wouldn’t be worrying about the number of floors so much as what you were going to hit when you landed.

Marlowe, Reverend All That and the quartet all had looked up when the window broke. Time had seemed to slow down as they watched Alan Scott plummet toward the ground. He just fell liked Wile E. Coyote in a cartoon and none of them seemed to be able to move.

AARON ACTION: You guyth! Gimme a hand here. Quick!

Aaron’s words snapped the group out of their stupor. They ran next to him. Marlowe saw what Aaron was doing first. He moved in tight next Triple A and began pushing on the dumpster. Reverend All That joined in and when the Quartet began pushing, the dumpster began to roll.

The large steel structure rumbled forward several feet and then Aaron Action, looking up at Alan, used his girth to stop the motion.

Alan Scott was also experiencing things in slow motion. His life was passing in front of his eyes. He was looking for a way to fast forward that life as he was on the Rainbow Connection portion. The brilliant tag team idea conceived by Willam Von Braun where Alan and Layne Flack were the first openly gay tag team – even though they weren’t. Alan was grateful when he the rumble of the dumpster brought him back to reality.

He was a little less grateful when he realized what he was going to hit.

There was a WHUMP sound. And Marlowe looked at Aaron.

MARLOWE: We probably should have opened the doors on the top of the dumpster.

AARON ACTION: Too little too late, thmart guy.

In fact, it might have been better that Aaron and the crew had not opened the doors. Alan Scott’s body had hit the hinged plastic top on the dumpster. The plastic had bent with the force of Alan’s entire weight and then collapsed into the dumpster absorbing much of Alan’s momentum as it did. The action had probably saved Alan Scott from sever injury. Not that Alan would feel it any less tomorrow.

Alan took a deep breath. He felt his extremities for breaks. There were none he could tell. That either meant the fat SOBs trick had worked, or that Alan was dead. If he was dead he was going to be really pissed, because Heaven smelled like the inside of a dumpster.

AARON ACTION: You alive in dere?

Alan grinned. He tasted the spoiled milk on his face and closed his mouth immediately.

He was alive. He had survived a two story fall. Maybe it was three. He had counted two sets of windows as he plummeted. Now all he had to do was win the match.

The honest one rolled over and pushed himself to the lip of the dumpster. He stood up and his head appeared.

The crowd roared as Alan stood there. He looked at Aaron.

ALAN SCOTT: Yeah. I’m alive.

Aaron hit him in the face.

AARON ACTION: Match on den. Eef you weel.


Stan Daniels
Stan Daniels

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Post  Stan Daniels on Wed Jan 26, 2011 3:22 pm


PARAGON: And it looks like or match is finally under way. … Well, as soon as Alan Scott gets out of the dumpster.

PROCTNER: Dammit! I was hoping to hear some more from the gospel quartet. I love that ****.

PARAGON: Swearing about gospel music. That goes over well.

PROCTNER: Who gives a ****?

PARAGON: The censors, the sponsors and the Powerbase?

PROCTNER: Oh … yeah. …. ****, I’m sorry.

PARAGON: Aaaaaaand … Alan Scott has pulled himself back out of the dumpster. He’s diving onto Awesome Aaron Action. The Honest One drives a forearm to the side of The Awesome One’s head.

Aaron staggered back from the shot, but he didn’t fall. The same couldn’t be said for Alan Scott. The Last Honest Man was once again face down on the pavement wondering why he wasn’t working in a nice soft ring with some simple steel wrapped around it.

Aaron grabbed Alan and pulled him up.

PARAGON: The Son of the South with a scoop and a body slam. Alan Scott’s back can’t be in good shape. He’s already taken a fall from the top of a semi and from a third story window into a dumpster.

PROCTNER: Let’s hear it all you fake sport nay-sayers. I’d like to see an MMA star get up and keep fighting after what Alan Scott had been through. He is the toughest man walking.

PARAGON: The way he’s holding his back, I’m not sure how long he will be walking.

Aaron leaned down to grab Alan again, but Alan had wrapped a hand around a loose piece of asphalt. He too the crumbly rock and jammed it into Aaron’s face. Alan had hoped to scrape Aaron’s scarred forehead and open an old wound, but Aaron pulled back. The loose stones did get into Aaron’s eyes.

PARAGON: And Alan Scott with an eye rake that sends Aaron Action back clutching his face. That seemed to be a less than honest move.

PROCTNER: Hardcore rules, John. How many times have you said that to me during an Aaron Action match?

Aaron fell back and Alan got to his feet. He held the small of his back and worked his leg to stretch the muscles. Neither man seemed to want to make a move at the other.

Marlowe and Reverend All That had moved to the tenement. They were in the third floor stairwell with the broken window. It was the only way they could see out.

REVEREND ALL THAT: Your boy seems to be holding his own. He drops his left just before he throws that right though.

MARLOWE: I know, I’ve tried to get him to stop, but old habits. … I thought you wanted to stop this fight. Holy ground and all.

Reverend All That laughed. He looked left and right to make sure no one was around.

REVEREND ALL THAT: Truth ta tell, I don’t know if Michael Jackson ever came within five miles of this place. But I sure as hell, got some serious publicity for RAT Ministries, now didn’t I?

Marlowe nodded.

MARLOWE: Yeah, I kinda thought that was where you were headed from the start.

REVEREND ALL THAT: You and me understand each other. Hos, God, investments, it’s all bidness.

Marlowe couldn’t argue. The man had a point. Although, Marlowe believed enough in the hereafter to think that God might have a different opinion. As he glanced down at Alan moving in toward Aaron, the Gold Standard heard a clank from the top of the stairwell.

MARLOWE: You hear something?

REVEREND ALL THAT: Alan Scott’s fist smacking off your boy’s jaw.

Marlowe glanced down to see that Alan had gone for a lock up, slipped back and then delivered a hard right hand to Aaron’s head.

PARAGON: Looks like Alan Scott is taking some control now. He’s following that punch with a kick to the gut.

PROCTNER: Alan better be careful, he could lose a boot in one of those fat folds.

PARAGON: Aaron Action is doubled over. Alan Scott with a tremendous lightning DDT. The way Aaron’s head hit the pavement, he has to be busted open.

And Aaron should have been, but at the last second, he had gotten an arm in front of him. He head hit the ground but not with the full force of the DDT. Triple A lay face down on the ground hoping to catch a few seconds breather. He got his wish and them some for just as Alan Scott was about to pull The Son of the South up, Jerry Wilson wandered over.

JERRY WILSON: Back off, Alan. Gotta check for blood.

Alan held his hands up and stepped away. He was pretty sure the fat man would be bleeding when he rolled over.

Jerry Wilson tapped Aaron’s shoulder and instructed him to lift his head. Aaron didn’t respond for a second and Jerry began to count.

PARAGON: Blood or not if Aaron can’t answer the count, he will lose this match.

PROCTNER: Can Aaron count to ten?

PARAGON: The native of Stone Mountain, Georgia went to West Texas University and graduated with a degree in sports education. So I would say yes.

PROCTNER: In as much as we assume gym teachers can count to ten.

PARAGON: Well, yeah.

Jerry Wilson got to eight and Aaron rolled over. Alan Scott cursed to himself when he saw that Aaron was not bleeding at all. He shoved Jerry Wilson to the side and jumped onto Aaron throwing lefts and right at The Awesome One.

PARAGON: Alan is doing everything he can to bust Aaron open, but Aaron rolls over. Now he’s the one throwing punches at Alan.

On the roof of the tenement, young Tommy Nakaiya was sitting on the ledge watching the match below. Behind him, his mother was counting the money they had gotten in their day’s work. She had a scarf tied around her leg from where the bullet had grazed her. It burned a bit, but she had dealt with gunshot wounds before.

KIESHA NAKAIYA: We done good today. Took in almost eight fitty.

TOMMY: Uh-hmm.

KIESHA NAKAIYA: Boy? You listening to me? I say we got some good cash taday.

TOMMY: Watching the match, momma. The two white boys beatin’ the holy piss outta each other.

Kiesha smacked her son in the back of the head.

KIESHA NAKAIYA: You watch your mouth. We ain’t talk like that in our family.

TOMMY: Yes, momma. Kin I keep the Alan Scott shirt? That boy got some fierce moves.

KIESHA NAKAIYA: It ain’t signed or nothin’. So it ain’t worth nothn’. You kin keep it.

TOMMY: Thank you, momma.

Kiesha gave the boy a hug.

KIESHA NAKAIYA: You did real good today, baby boy. Now let’s get back to the Escalade. Momma don’t like to be in this neighborhood after dark.

Tommy didn’t want to walk away, but he knew his mother was right. Besides, he was DVRing the show off the satellite dish back home in Gross Pointe. He could watch the whole thing later. He got up and followed his mother to the fire escape on the far side of the building.

In the alley, Alan had reversed Aaron’s reverse. He had thrown a few more punches until Aaron had worked himself free and rolled away. Both men were back on their feet breathing heavily as the crowd cheered and screamed for blood.

PARAGON: It took a while to get going, but we have a really great match going on here.



Alan was the first one up to his feet, it taking longer for the larger and less athletic Aaron Action to scramble to his feet. As Aaron got to a solid vertical base, Alan leapt into the air, catching his opponent in the chin with a perfectly executed dropkick. Aaron staggered back into the wall of one of the tenements, while Alan protected himself as he landed from the move, and then kipped to his feet. Alan charged in at Aaron, hoping to catch the multiple time Bloodsport Champion while he was shaking off the effects of the dropkick, but Aaron dodged to his left at the last second, showing more grace and agility than one would normally associate with a standout offensive lineman who tipped the scales at well over three hundred and fifty pounds.

Marlowe: You know I’m always amazed by how fast he can move when he wants to.

Reverend All That nodded his head as he watched the big fat white boy grab Alan Scott and whip him across the alley like he was launching his opponent into the far ropes. Alan hit the other tenement wall hard, though Marlowe and Reverend All That couldn’t see it from where they were watching. The building did reverberate some though. The damn buildings weren’t put together that well!

Reverend: He movin’ for a tubby, son.

Marlowe shook his head.

Marlowe: That isn’t even fast. You should see him sprint when they open the buffet on Sunday morning at Chicken & Waffles.

Reverend: He like Chick’n Waffles! Dayyyyyyyum! Boys got tight taste.

The building shook and the two men looked at each other uncomfortably. Aaron had charged across the alley after Alan and had slammed into the building a moment after his opponent had. They hadn’t been able to see him all but collapse Alan into a paper-thin competitor, but they certainly felt the repercussions of the attack. The building creaked and the groans that could be heard come from down near its foundations bothered Marlowe a lot.

Marlowe: We should watch the rest of this from the trucks.

Reverend: Word.

Marlowe stared at the man.

Marlowe: Word?

Reverend shrugged.

Reverend: Yo, I know that shit ain’t right……but I gets paid to live it, ya dig?

Marlowe just shook his head as he took off down the stairwell towards the lobby and a chance to get out of the building. The way that it sounded wasn’t making him feel very good, and he knew that now that they were finally fighting, Alan and Aaron wouldn’t stop until one of them had been busted open. Which shouldn’t take long, given where they were fighting.


Alan cradled his head, aching from the collision he had just had with Aaron ‘s forearm. The fat man had caught him charging with his head down, and had almost taken it off with a clothesline that felt as hard as the brick wall Alan had been thrown into just before. Aaron spun his hands in a circle, grabbed his groin twice, shifting each time, and then lifted his elbow and crashed down on top of Alan, once more making it almost impossible for Alan to breath. The X-Factor champion swept his left arm around wildly, searching for some way to get out from under the behemoth, and once more found broken asphalt in his grasp. His fingers closed around it, feeling for the jagged edges that he might best use to end the match and advance in the tournament.

Alan reached up with his right hand and caught Aaron under the chin, pushing his head up and away from his body and making it more vulnerable to Alan’s strike. Alan clutched at the crumbling asphalt and then……he let it tumble from his hand. In desperation he had already used one piece on Aaron, and he regretted it immediately. He wanted to win, sure, but not at the expense of his own beliefs. Hardcore fighting was for the less talented athletes. Alan Scott would win….or lose….based on skill and athleticism, and not based on what weapon was at hand. He slammed his fist forward instead, catching Aaron just beneath the chin and causing him to grasp at his throat and fight for air. Alan rolled away and quickly checked his head to make sure he hadn’t been busted open. He hadn’t.

Alan shook the cobwebs out of his head and took off running at Aaron, at the last second leaping up and into the air. He was looking for a monkey flip and a chance to get into a full mount and batter Aaron’s forehead, but what he got instead was caught in a bearhug that Aaron immediately turned into a spinning spinebuster. Alan’s back bit into the ground, but it hit dirt and not asphalt. Aaron had moved them far enough into the alley with that move that they were no longer on the asphalt that ran in from the sidewalk. Alan was briefly thankful, because another hard bump might have deprived him of the ability to walk. Then Aaron pulled him up from the ground, and clubbed him over the back with a big forearm smash that sank Alan to a knee.

The Ton of the South did a funky little dance and then spun around and caught Alan in the side of the head with a discus punch that sent Alan tumbling into the side of the tenement once more. Aaron followed him in and grabbed the back of his head, intending to use the bricks in much the same way that he would otherwise use the wire of the cage to open up his opponent. Alan did the only thing that he could do; he got an arm up and protected his head!

John: Aaron’s not going to break Alan open like that Hank, and he knows it. He pulls Alan back and lands a sharp left hand….followed by a right hand. Now he’s setting Alan up for…..for a belly to belly suplex!

Hank: My god….its attempted murder! If that fat bastard lands this….

John: Alan with a head butt to stall Aaron’s progress…..and now he’s fighting back like his life depends on it!

Hank: Because it does! He’d be safer with the building collapsing on him!

John: Alan’s fought his way free and not he snaps Aaron over with a snapmare that puts the hardcore southerner on the ground. Alan hits a diving neck breaker on him and Aaron looks like he’s in pain now Hank.

Hank: Good.

John: Good? That’s all you have to add?

Hank: I…………don’t like fat people.

John and Hank continue their banter, but all eyes are on Alan and Aaron as the champion finally starts to exert some of his athleticism. He used the building as a launching pad for one of the most original moonsaults ever, running up the side of the building two full steps before launching himself up and over backwards and catching Aaron while he was at full extension. A roar went up from the people who were still outside of the alley watching on the video screens the company had set up.

Alan motioned that he was almost done, and pulled Aaron into a kneeling position.

He was going to try for the piledriver!


A hand smacked Marlowe on the shoulder.

Reverend: Yo fat boy might be done, son.

Marlowe held up a finger. He had heard what Reverend All That had said, but he was more interested in something else. He started to slowly walk out across the street, pushing his way through the people as he tried to focus his eyes. When he finally got to the back of the crowd and things opened up, he watched as Mrs. Nakaiya and her ‘grandson’ Tommy hopped into perhaps the most expensive vehicle on the street. How it survived the riot Marlowe wasn’t sure…..but what he did know was a grifter when he saw one.

She turned the engine over and the lights came on, but as she looked up to put it into drive, Marlowe was standing in front of her, his arms on the hood of the Escalade.

She revved the engine.


Alan Scott bent to lift Aaron Action up into the pile driver position, but Aaron widened his base. Even when Alan was in top shape, lifting Aaron into the piledriver was a task. And Alan Scott was not in top shape right now. He had been beaten and battered all over the alley. He and Aaron had punched each other senseless. So when it came tile to lift Aaron’s 350 plus pound frame, Alan barely got The Son of the South off the ground.

PARAGON: And Alan Scott pulls away. He’s holding the mall of his back.

PROCTNER: He should sue Aaron Action for spinal damage.

PARAGON: Because he tried to lift Aaron? That was Alan’s choice.

PROCTNER: True, but it was Aaron’s choice to join the frequent eaters club at Bob’s Big Boy.

Aaron stood back up. He held his back as well. Neither man was moving at his full speed anymore.

In the street, Keisha Nakaiya revved her engine and let her foot off the brake just a little. The Escalade lurched forward. Marlowe held her eyes and never moved. She rolled her window down and stuck her head out.

KIESHA NAKAIYA: Move your ass fore I run it over!

Marlowe lowered his eyes. He looked back up at Keisha.


Keisha rolled her eyes.

KIESHA NAKAIYA: What the **** are you talkin’ bout?

Marlowe smiled at the woman. He nodded down at the front of the car.

MARLOWE: Your license plate is MTL730. Now, I can’t imagine that you used your real name in registering the car. However when you drive it out of this neighborhood after I call the cops in just a moment, that number will probably lead you to no end of trouble.

Keisha thought about what Marlowe was saying and realized that the Gold Standard was right. The plates were bought hot. She was sure they were off a stolen car and would register on any police check.

KIESHA NAKAIYA: Whatchoo want?

Alan Scott gritted his teeth and worked his way through the pain. He stepped toward Aaron Action and the two men locked up. They moved around in a circle collar and elbow. And then Alan turned his shoulder in. He drove a knee up and smashed it into Aaron’s stomach. He turned and took The Son of the South over with a snap mare.

PARAGON: Alan Scott puts a headlock on The Awesome One. He’s driving a knuckle into Aaron’s forehead trying to split it open.

PROCTNER: The time has come for Alan to stop carrying this guy. He the X-Factor champ and he’s done enough to make him look good.

PARAGON: I don’t know what match you’re watching, but Alan Scott hasn’t carried Aaron Action at all.

PROCTNER: How could he? He doesn’t have a forklift.

Aaron reached above him as Alan went for a punch. He grabbed the back of Alan’s head and pulled him over. Alan landed on his back in front of the seated Aaron. Alan shook his head to clear his senses. When Alan’s vision cleared he saw a ham-like leg dropping down on his head.


Marlowe was about to tell the woman what he wanted her to do when two more Escalades pulled up. Several dangerous looking black men jumped out of the vehicles. Marlowe noticed that they were carrying semi automatic weapons by their legs. They charged past The Businessman.

MARLOWE: Now what?

Marlowe saw that the woman had gotten back into her car and she was putting it into gear. Her eyes were wide with fear and Marlowe realized that she wasn’t going to just lurch the car at him this time.

KIESHA NAKAIYA: Mister, if I was you, I’d get my white ass out of here as quick as I could. Them boys don’t take kindly to people on their turf.

Keisha floored the Escalade just as Marlowe jumped onto the curb. He watched her drive out of site and the looked back to the building. The gang members -- at least that’s what they looked like -- were charging into the building and up the stairs. That was when Marlowe remembered the urine smell, the steel door and the blacked out windows. He put it all together with an article he read on time.com.

MARLOWE: Meth lab. Crap!

The Businessman broke into a run trying to get to the control truck. As he did he wondered whether Grayson, Krusher or whoever the Powerbase member that was in charge of the sale had checked with the local police to see if the building had gang ties.

Aaron was squeezing the oxygen out of Alan Scott with a legs scissors across the chest. Alan had to take short breaths just to get any air in at all. If he blacked out, Aaron could cut him and win the match. He had to work to stay awake.

PARAGON: Aaron Action is putting some real pressure on Alan Scott. The X-Factor champ is in trouble here.

PROCTNER: That fat boy is just trying to use his weight advantage. That’s not fair.

PARAGON: Would you stop with the fat comments. Aaron is heavy. Deal with it.

Alan was starting to see stars on the periphery of his vision. They were beginning to swirl. That wasn’t a good thing.

And then more gunshots rang out.

AARON ACTION: Thon of a bitch! I thought I got rid of all dem guns.

He looked around trying to figure out where the shots had come from. Then one of the windows broke out of the top floor of the building. A man flew out the window. This time Aaron wasn’t fast enough to get a dumpster under the man. In fact, he wasn’t fast enough to untangle himself from Alan Scott. All he could do was watch as the man arced out the window and hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

Two heads looked out of the window.

SAMMY THE GOYAM: Think you can run a deal like this an not give the Blind Jewish Mafia a taste?

SAUL THE GONIF: Maybe your bosses will get a message, you schlemiel!

The guns fired again. But this time, Aaron recognized the sound of semi-automatic guns retooled to go automatic. Fire was returned from a pair of handguns.

AARON ACTION: Dith can’t be good.

Marlowe ran out of the production truck.

MARLOWE: Aaron! Alan! Get the hell out of there! Those idiots are using firearms around Meth. It’s gonna –

The explosion was deafening. The entire roof of the building was engulfed in flame. Aaron and Alan dove behind a dumpster. They rolled next to Reverend All That as they watched the two members of the Blind Jew Mafia fly out the window, across the alley and smash through another set of windows in the building across the alley.

ALAN SCOTT: No there’s something you don’t see every day.

REVEREND ALL THAT: You obviously never hung out with The Mad Bomber, son.



Half the building was up in flames and once again anarchy was taking over the moment. Alan and Aaron were crouched down behind the dumpster with Reverend All That and Jerry Wilson, watching as two members of the alleged Blind Jewish Mafia flew out of a window many floors up and carried the distance of the alley before crashing through the boarded up windows on the other side and disappearing with no sign that they had passed other than an alley littered with glass.

Marlowe: Aaron! Alan! This way…..the truck’s…..

Marlowe stopped speaking and felt something lurch in the pit of his stomach. He had heard the barely disguised sound of a gun being cocked, even over the noise from the explosion’s fallout. He slowly lifted his arms up and away from his sides as he turned to see who was behind him. Two men had automatic weapons aimed at him, while a third stood casually in front of the other two, a toothpick stuck in between the two gold teeth at the front of his mouth.

Thug #1: What ‘choo think E? We whack this punk ass and then….

Mister E: That’s Mistah E, yo. Don’t make me tell you agin’ foo’!

The thug nodded and looked down at his own feet, although the gun never did move away from Marlowe. His partner just snickered as he listened to poor Jamal get reamed out by the boss again. It was the third time that day, but most of that was on Jamal for talking too much, and not listening enough. He had that problem. Tyr on the other hand was smarter than that. Hell, he had even finished grade ten before he had dropped out to make some real coin.

Their mysterious leader was about to speak again when Aaron walked out from behind the dumpster with a big angry Texas look on his face. He marched right at the three gangstas, but stopped short when one of the thugs, probably Jamal, lit up the sidewalk at his feet and made it clear that further progress might well cost him his feet. Aaron was a reasonably brave man, but he couldn’t get to a buffet without his feet. He was fuming, but he stood his ground and like Marlowe, lifted his hands into the air.

Aaron: Whatth the problem, ma brothairs…..thure ith thomethin’ we can thort out like men, eef you weel.

The head gang banger pointed at Aaron with a scowl on his face as he addressed Marlowe.

Mister E: Is this wigger for real, yo? He’s about to get capped.

Marlowe: There’s no need for anybody to get capped. I’m sure we can sort out….

Mister E just waved his hands in Marlowe’s face, annoyed that he was listening to the typical nervous white guy attempt at diffusing the situation. He walked over and looked Aaron up and down, before he turned and gestured towards the overturned dumpster where Alan and Reverend All That were still wisely out of sight.

Mister E: You biotches hiding’ mo’ numbers?

Marlowe: No!

Alan: Yes.

The guns moved to Alan as he stood up and lifted his hands into the air. After a second he slowly bent over and grabbed Reverend All That and pulled him up to his feet as well. The two men were far enough away that the gang bangers couldn’t really make them out very well, but that didn’t last for long as the two thugs with the guns motioned for Alan and Rat to walk over near where Aaron and Marlowe were at.

Suddenly the gangsta’s expression changed.

Mister E: Oh shit! OH SHIT! YO’! DO YOU KNOW WHOSE YOU IS!?!

Alan looked at the leader with an upturned eyebrow, but he quickly figured out that the guy wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to Reverend All That. He obviously recognized the former player, and legendary pimp. Before Rat could speak though, the excitable banger answered his own question.


He was slapping the guys who had their guns aimed at Aaron and Alan as he expressed his shock and excitedness, making Alan very uncomfortable. He didn’t know what kind of twitchy finger either thug might have, but he was pretty sure that the three of them wouldn’t have worried a little bit about an accidental shooting at that point.

Jamal: Captain….

He clearly didn’t know who he was supposed to be recognizing.

Tyr: From Federation X, you idjit! They used to roll in here and kick ass man.

Marlowe: Ummm….actually…

Mister E: Shut it whitebread! Hey Cappy…..why you slummin’? You need a little sumpin’ sumpin’? I gonna hook that shit up for you!

Reverend All That had gotten by in the world by knowing how to work the audience around him, and Alan could have sworn that he was watching the man literally transform in front of him. Suddenly the upright and boardroom demeanor vanished, replaced by a street hustler’s body language.

Cat: Fo’ shizzle, ma brotha! You down with the old school X, huh?

Mister E: You know it! That shit was tight!

Cat: And you don’t flashback on the honkey bitch with me? Old man played homo and ragin’ animal in the day!

Mister E turned and stared at Alan a little bit closer, trying to make out who he should be remembering. Suddenly a little something flashed in the corner of his eye. A smile started to spread across his face. Unlike Aaron and Marlowe, Alan and Captain All That had worked the company’s Detroit circuit many times when they were in the original company. It would appear that they had stumbled upon a serious mark.

Mister E: Animal! Yo’ dude…..you look for shit!

Mister E frowned. He pointed at Cat.

Mister E: What the fuck you two serious playa’s doing here with these two chumps?

Alan saw his moment and cut in.

Alan: I’m here to kick the shit out of the fat guy.

E spun around and looked at Aaron, and noticed that Marlowe was nodding his head in agreement. E’s eyes grew wide and he turned back and looked at Captain All That.

Mister E: Yo…..is these boys…..

Cat: They Fed X yo’. It’s kickin’ agin.

E turned and motioned at Jamal and Tyr. They lowered their guns and relaxed a little bit. E smiled, flashing his blinged out teeth at the group.

Mister E: Yo, you bitches need to be fightin’, don’t let us slow ya down. I wanna see somebody get their shit fucked up, ya feel me?

Alan forced a smile.

Alan: Damn straight. The problem is……we lost our referee. He ran when you guys showed up. What do you say…..can you….

E looked positively ecstatic. He looked around with bright, wide eyes like a child who just came down the stairs on Christmas morning.

Mister E: You playin’? You best not be fuckin’ with a brother!

Alan: No man. I need a ref. First blood. Me and Fat Bastard in the alley.

Mister E: Oh, it’s on.

Marlowe looked less than happy about the decision, but he recognized that Alan had maneuvered them out of a very bad situation and into a potentially serviceable one. The kid had at least learned a little bit in their time together. Aaron opened his mouth to say something, and whether it was because he thought the Son of the South would fuck things up, or because he saw the opening…..Alan punched him at exactly that moment.


Alan smirked. A cheering section, and a replacement referee. Nice.

He grabbed Aaron and threw him headfirst back into the alley. Aaron stumbled a few steps father than he had intended to, and when he finally got his feet planted he turned around to prepare for Alan’s next attack. It was already too late though….

….Alan had run into the alley and used a sill for the basement apartments to help propel himself into the air. When Aaron turned around, Alan landed flush on his shoulders and then threw his head backwards and swung his body down and under Aaron’s. Even though trying to move the girth and weight of Aaron was difficult, Alan managed to execute a very serviceably hurricanrana, spinning Aaron off of his feet. Alan took a second to get back onto his own feet, only to find an excited and almost giddy referee waiting.

Mister E: Should I check him now?

Alan grinned.

Alan: Why not let me kick his ass a little more first?

Mister E: Word!

Captain All That turned and gave Marlowe a look that said ‘see…..I’m supposed to say that shit!’


Saul: Good thing we got to you Jerry.

Sammy: It’s getting ugly out there!

Jerry Wilson just nodded at the two men he knew more by the sound of their voice than anything else. They had pulled him through the broken basement window of one of the tenements when the gunshots had fired at Aaron.

He was thankful to be safe…


Marlowe was happy that Alan Scott had defused the situation. Thanks to Alan and especially Captain/Reverend All That had gotten the guys with guns to put them down and watch the match. However there was one small problem.

MARLOWE: Hey, fellas …

No one seemed to notice Marlowe trying to get their attention. Alan was grabbing Aaron. He hit him with a high knee lift and followed it with at swinging neckbreaker. Aaron fell to the pavement and was breathing heavily.

MISTER E: Sheee-it! Dat be some SICK ****!

JAMAL: Got that right!

Alan pulled Aaron up. He grabbed his arm. He cranked the arm with an armwringer and moved to an arm bar. Marlowe saw Alan setting his feet. The Journeyman knew where Alan was going with this. He had seen plenty of film on the Honest Man. Marlowe began running again. For a guy who was retired and not physically part of this match, Marlowe thought he was running and jumping FAR too much. He charged at Aaron and Alan screaming.

MARLOWE: Stop you idiots! Don—Ooof!

Marlowe found himself facedown on the pavement. He rolled over and cursed. Marlowe looked up to see Tyr grinning at him with a gold grill in his mouth. He shook his finger at Marlowe, motioning no.

The Businessman was as level-headed as they come. He knew as they say, when to hild them and when to fold them. But there came a time when the wrestler took over the businessman in Marlwoe mind. This match had been a cluster from the word go. He had endured it all because of his promise to work with Aaron. However, he had not signed on to deal with gunfire, riots, explosions, Michael Jackson impersonators, con women and con kids and the ******* Blind Jewish Mafia, whatever the Hell that was.

Marlowe knew that Tyr had gun. He knew that the guy would probably rather shoot someone and go to jail that to discuss a problem. But the Marlowe’s patience had been pushed too far.

Marlowe’s leg kicked out. He connected with the side of Tyr’s knee. Tyr’s face contorted with the pain of having your knee broken and several ligaments torn. His knee folded the wrong and Tyr was on the ground alternately writhing in pain and digging in his pocket for his gun. Marlowe was back on his feet. He stomped his ruined Italian wingtip down onto Tyr’s wrist snapping it as well. The gun clattered to the pavement and Marlowe grabbed it.

MARLOWE: Keep it up. I might be in the mood to use it.

Tyr stopped struggling and just began whimpering in pain.

Alan Scott had gotten Aaron Action off balance. He pulled on the arm and shifted his weight as he whipped The Son of the South. Marlowe gasped and tried to scream. No one could hear him over the rest of the crowd screaming. Not to mention the siren.

You see, what Marlowe was trying to tell, Aaron, Alan, Mr. E, Reverend All That or anyone who would listen for that matter was that Meth fires burn fast and they burn hot. The flames were flying at the top of the tenement and were quickly crashing down the sides of the tinderbox.

And now Alan Scott was …

PARAGON: …about to whip Aaron Action into the wall of the abandoned building that lined the alley where this match is taking place. … What is that strange orange tinge on the monitor, Hank?

PROCTNER: I think Aaron had started to turn orange like an Oompa Loompa.

PARAGON: Thanks. Aaron is whipped and he hits the wa—Oh, my God! Aaron Action just went THROUGH the wall. He took out an entire portion of that tenement wall.

PROCTNER: Now will you help me with that Overeaters Anonymous intervention?

Marlowe screamed as Aaron went through the wall into the burning tenement. He saw that The Son of the South was leaning on a broken beam shaking his head. He also saw the burning building swaying and creaking as both its roof and its foundation were no longer solid.

Alan Scott was in full fury now. He knew he had hurt Aaron and the time was ripe to finish him off. He charged forward without even looking up. He grabbed Aaron and began pounding a fist into Aaron’s head.

ALAN SCOTT: Check him! Come on and check him!

Alan looked around. He saw that Jamal had grabbed Mr. E and pulled him back. But the gang leader wasn’t struggling. He was looking fearfully up at the building. This caused Alan to look up.

Alan’s jaw dropped when he saw the flames licking the timbers above him. He heard the creaking and saw that the beam that Aaron Action was leaning against was cracking through.

ALAN SCOTT: We need to get the **** out of here. And we need to do it now!

Alan grabbed Aaron’s arm and pulled his opponent to his feet. Alan had many, many faults, but he was not going to let a man die. Aaron pushed with his leg and got to his feet. The problem was, that Aaron’s weight was the only thing that was keeping the beam together. When he got up, it let go.

PARAGON: Alan and Aaron are diving out of the building. It’s starting to collapse in on itself. This is horrific!

PROCTNER: I figure Aaron will concede the match so he can go buy S’mores fixins.

PARAGON: You really have no morals at all do you.

PROCTNER: Nope. Turns out you don’t need them.

Marlowe ran up and pulled Alan and Aaron forward as they coughed and hack in the smoky air. They staggered back as a deafening crash filled their ears.

The whole group watched as half the building fell in on itself. Marlowe reflected on the fact that the building had imploded and not fallen to the side. He was also grateful that the wind was not blowing.

Looking at the building, everyone gathered just gaped at the only thing left a doorframe and half a wall standing by the stoop.

Suddenly the door burst open.


MISTER E: Ya’ll some sick Mother *******!

JAMAL: Got that right!

JAMAL: Whimper.

Aaron’s jaw hung open. Alan wanted to do something, but his legs wouldn’t work. Even Marlowe was at a loss.

Standing in the doorway was Phil Rowe.

PARAGON: We are never … ever … going to get on the air again.



Paragon: Folks, the fireman have put out the man’s blazing hair……and they’re hosing down what remains of one of the tenements that we purchased for this match……but it would appear that our match isn’t going to happen now.

Hank: I’m pretty sure I heard Aaron concede.

Paragon: You did not! Folks, the Fire M arshall is now on site and he has asked us to move our equiptment away from the scene so that the brave first responders can continue to ensure that the flames don’t….

Hank: Did you just say Aaron Action was a flamer?

Paragon: What? NO! I said the fire department is concerned about leaping flames and the proximity of nearby buildings and…

Hank: I’m so ashamed to work with you John. I really thought more of you than that. I can’t believe you hate gay people.


Hank: So you love them?

Paragon: Yes. No. Wait a minute…

Hank Proctner used John Paragon’s distracted to tie him up in circles and embarrass him on national television, while the Federation X crew sent to compete in the second round of the King of The Cage were forced to move away from the alley where they were supposed to be fighting it out. Aaron and Marlowe were beyond being bothered by that fact, considering everything that had gone on over the course of the night. The idea that the match could go on was long dead in both of their minds, and the likelihood that it would be rescheduled for early next week was acceptable to them.

Alan was a different matter. He was on a collision course with destiny and the finals of the inaugural King of The Cage, where he intended to mark out his legacy and cement his place as one of the all time greats of the industry.

Alan: Sir? Sir…

Alan motioned to get the attention of one of the firemen, who was working the automatic controls on the Ladder truck that had arrived at the scene. The man was contracting the ladder and preparing to move it back into position atop the truck.

Fireman: Yes?

Alan: I know this is probably not a good time but….

Fireman: Holy shit! Aaron Action’s here!

The man pointed past Alan and at the fat lard standing about ten feet away in discussion with Marlowe while his manager was on the phone trying to get a hold of Grayson and the rest of the Powerbase. Alan looked over his shoulder and then forced a smile onto his face. He couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why it was that ghetto rats and gang bangers seemed to like his work, but middle America was in love with a fat guy from the south.

Alan: Yeah. Look, would you mind if Aaron got a picture by the ladder? Maybe put on a hat? He always wanted to be a fireman. He loves you guys!

Fireman: No shit? Yeah, that’d be awesome. Here……use my helmet.

Alan took it from the man as he extended it.

Alan: Thanks.

Fireman: No problem. I’ll just bring the ladder down nice and low so we can get it in the back of the picture. Make it more authentic. Say……could I get a picture with Aaron?

Alan shrugged.

Alan: I don’t see why not.

Alan smiled at nodded at the man as he backed up, being sure to keep the helmet hidden from Aaron and Marlowe. No reason to give them any idea that he wasn’t about to put off his date with the semi-finals for one day longer than he needed to. As he turned to walk the last few steps towards them, Marlowe was on the phone nodding to whatever was being said on the other end. He held up a finger to let Alan know that he was wanted on the phone, but that Marlowe was going to need one more second before passing it over. Alan just smiled and nodded, letting the helmet sit behind his back.

Marlowe: Alright, that sounds fair. I’ll let Aaron know. Alan’s right here Liv.

Marlowe held out the phone and smiled at his former tag team partner, while Alan smiled back at him as he produced the helmet and showed it to Aaron.

Alan: The firemen want you to come over and get your picture taken Aaron. They’re really excited by that.

Aaron: Oooooooh. Thath nithe…..I alwayth wanted to be a fireman.

Alan grinned. He knew. He’d read fat boy’s bio.

Alan: I got you a hat to wear.

Aaron walked off to get his picture taken, while Alan picked up the phone and put it to his ear. Instead of waiting for Liv to explain her plan to him though, Alan spoke first.

Alan: Liv? Listen……tell the truck to start filming. I’m winning this bitch right now.

Alan flipped the phone shut and tossed it Marlowe as he turned and started running right at Aaron. The fireman was waving at Aaron, when his face suddenly looked shocked and concerned. Aaron was no dummy; he knew the score. He turned around in one fluid move, taking the fire fighter’s helmet off of his head and caught Alan about to clothesline him with a hat to the side of the head. It sent Alan careening off course and into the back of the firetruck.

Mister E pushed his way past his boys Jamal and Tyr, tapped fists with Captain All That, and waded through the crowd and into the action once more. Duty called.

Aaron tossed the helmet back to the fireman as he turned and charged after Alan. He didn’t know if Alan had officially cleared the fight’s continuation with Grayson or not, but he did know that he couldn’t afford to take the chance that it was official and end up bleeding and losing. Alan had leapt up onto the back of the truck and fired at Aaron with a superkick as he came charging in behind him. Aaron ducked the kick and scooped Alan off the truck. He turned over and drove his opponent into the concrete with a powerslam that sounded like somebody slapping a side of beef with a baseball bat.

Aaron got up and pandered to the crowd for a moment. He couldn’t help himself. That was his thing, and then he clutched his crotch, thrust out his pelvis and spun his fists before lining Alan up for another elbow smash. He hit concrete, but Alan had rolled away. It hurt like hell. The reigning X-Factor Champion was quickly up onto the back of the truck once again and nailed Aaron with a flying fist right between the eyes. Aaron saw it coming, and while he couldn’t dodge it, he did get his hands up to protect himself from being bloodied.

Alan: Shit!

Alan wasted no time in immediately scrambling back to his feet. There were all manner of opportunities around him, including the fire hose, and something he was certain that Rude would have had a field day with; the fireman’s axe. Unfortunately for Alan, needing weapons to defeat Aaron wasn’t in his make-up. Instead he grabbed Aaron by his hair and hauled the big lard ass to his feet. Aaron slapped Alan’s hands away and brought a knee up into Alan’s gut, doubling him over. The fight wasn’t gone out of the southern boy just yet. Alan gasped for breath and Aaron planted three successive bionic elbows into the top of Alan’s head. When he stepped back , and Mister E immediately motioned that there was no blood, Aaron cursed and backed off a couple of steps. He flexed his arm and then charged at Alan looking for a clothesline to lay the young superstar on his back.

John: Alan Scott goes low as the charge comes in and picks Aaron up for what looks like a spinebuster……no…..Alan staggers backwards with a LOT of weight in his arms…..and drops backwards, whipping Aaron head first into the lowered ladder! Did…..did Alan Scott…..just cheat?

Hank: The only thing that man just cheated was gravity! He didn’t even know the ladder was right behind him.

John: I don’t know…..the timing was almost perfect! Our mysterious guest referee is looking for signs of blood while Alan is rolling around on the ground and clutching at his back. He might have hurt something…

Hank: The only thing he hurt was gravity. Seriously.....he lifted Aaron up.....I'm surprised the fat guy didn't get stuck.

John: In what?

Hank: Orbit!

John rolled his eyes in disgust and shook his head, but nobody saw that.

John: The referee is checking Aaron…..this might be it…..


Stan Daniels
Stan Daniels

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