A Band of Bitches, I'm the fucking A-Team...

["The Hottest Shit Going"]

Dog...

With the biggest match in my career looming on the horizon, a person would want to know what I am doing locked in handcuffs, sitting inside a cold cell within the confines of a local police precinct in Oahu, Hawaii. If I weren't telling the story I might wonder myself, but hey I always know what I'm up to so...ha. I chuckle to one of the officers as he walks up to the cell jangling the keys in his hands.

"Lively, you made bail!!!"

Right on time I think to myself as I stand up turning toward the man as he unlocks the door to my cell. I kind of lift my hands his direction almost demanding him to release the cuffs. He doesn't quite do that until he goes through the proper procedures of out processing. After loads of paperwork, and lots of wasted time on behalf of the Oahu police department I walk out of the back portion of the station where all the criminals are held into the land of the free on the other side of the counter.

Walking tall with my head held tall I see none other then Lil Dick waiting for me shaking his head in slight disgust and confusion. I guess the little guy is still in shock, unsure of what my intentions have been since landing here in Hawaii. Listen I am Michael Lively and like usual we must travel through the absurd to get to the final point which might make sense as we journey through this world together, either way this is what I do so fuck it if you want to skip ahead to see what I have to say about you later, I wont mind, I do it all the time.


Anyways, I take a seat in the back of a cab with Lil Dick by my side, and wouldn't you know it the son of a gun has the Xtreme title with him. How sad is this midget going to be if I lose this title come Test For The Best, none the less that's not on the menu for the JESUS, only thing I'm eating on that night is pure satisfaction as I accomplish the unthinkable by taking out the competition in the Xtreme Scramble match.


Back on topic this midget takes a moment away from admiring the custom title I introduced the world after becoming Xtreme champion, and glares upon his Master.


"I'm not sure champ, this is completely radical. You should be preparing for the most hardcore match of your career, instead we are here in Hawaii, I'm bailing you out for assaulting an officer of the law, and the defacing of police property."


"Listen, when you have to shit, you have to shit. Besides I have shit on way lesser things like the World title. So fuck those cops, and their car, they should be thrilled to have my shit hit their hood, and my fist smash their faces."


The cab rounds the corner and comes to a screeching halt. Lil Dick looks out the window, and again shakes his head as his eyes catch a glimpse of Da Kine bail bonds.


"So we flew to Hawaii, you get yourself arrested, and now we have Dog the Bounty Hunter as your bail bondsman."

I step out of the cab look at the sign most people see on TV just before the hit show Dog The Bounty Hunter comes on air.

"Lil Dick, you said I should be getting ready for the match, and I got to tell you, I AM!!!"

I then waltz into the offices of these television stars who have posted my bail, and get one woman's attention.


"Can I help you?"

I turn my direction to the rather big boned blonde that asked that question and realize that it's Dog's wife Beth sitting behind the desk. So I naturally do the Lively thing, and address this bitch like the real JESUS would.

"Alright so you guys posted my bail and I was curious what the stipulations and shit were to this whole thing."

"The stipulations and shit. Well lets see, your Michael Lively right, and you have some serious charges here. The stipulations to your bail are real simple...you don't leave town, and show up for court."


"Or what?"

The blonde stands up shooting me a nasty glare.

"We hold the bond to your bail, if you break the rules, or make us feel like you may be a risk to our investment we revoke your bond and put you back in jail."

"Is Dog around?"

"Yeah, the whole crew is in the back."

"Well you tell them that Michael Mother Fucking Lively is a high fucking risk, and wishes that mullet wearing asshole, his fat wife, and all his dopey kids could catch the JESUS!"


With that I pull out my plane tickets rub them on my crotch region and flip Beth the bird before bolting out the door. Lil Dick looks on in shock as I sprint past him.


"DOG...Lively is skipping town."


Just then the big bad Dog bolts into the room with his mullet flowing in the breeze. His trademark leathery skin and Oakley sunglasses cover his former cracked out eyes glare toward his wife. Then he barks out a few commands.


"Duane Lee, Youngblood, Leland get in here we have a live one, on the run!!!"


Beth walks over to the board posting up a picture of Lively as the gang gathers around.


"Alright guys, we have a runner, he's a crafty criminal, assault of Police officers and defacing their property. This guy has zero respect for authority, and we need to catch this prick. Beth do we have any leads on this guy?"


"Uhh, yeah he was just in here basically telling me to let you all know that you are worhtless bounty hunters, and showed me his plane tickets, oh and he said he wishes you would cut you mullet already. So with just a lucky guess I would say he is on his way to the airport right about now."


"BABY LYSSA...GET THE TRUCK!!!"


With in minutes these bounty hunters are in full gear searching for yours truly. Quite frankly this is not only my idea of fun, but a great way to prepare for my match. Dog The Bounty Hunter, his brother and two sons trying to hunt me down, and when they catch me which shouldn't take too long, we will see just how rowdy these sons of bitches can get, or smart they think they are.

Baby Lyssa steps on the gas and their SUV exits the parking lot of the facility pulling out to the street where they are quickly stopped by a red light. From the bushes I can see Dog damn near chomping at the bit to catch me. So while they sit at the light waiting for the green light I give them all one of a different kind. Leaping from the bushes, I start banging on the hood of the SUV to capture their attention. I simply give them a double finger salute, grab my balls, and lick my lips toward Baby Lyssa before sprinting down the street almost begging these fuckers to come get them some.

"Son of a bitch...there he is...Leland get the pepper spray...Youngblood grab the taser!!!"


With those words the chase was in full effect, and Dog began running down the street in the general direction I headed. As the blonde mullet clad monster of Hawaii clanked his boots along the pavement. I jumped out from behind the corner slapping the Dog with a trash can lid. He staggered backward clutching the microphone of his radio letting the others know where I was. With a super kick I layed the big bad dog out cold. Within an instant, I quickly pulled a blonde mullet wig from my pocket, because who doesn't roll with one of those in their pockets, and place it on my head.

I step out in the street as Leland, Duane Lee, and Youngblood all charge toward me stopping in their tracks as I attempt to impersonate their farther.

"Listen guys, I got him...he's down over there, so cuff him, stuff him, and lets go back to the house and slice us up a pineapple."

Leland, and Duane Lee both head around the corner and place handcuffs on Dog. Youngblood stares me up and down a little confused. He then shrugs his shoulders, and turns to help out with the cuffing and stuffing. I simply chuckle at his stupidity and wouldn't you know it Youngblood spins back around zapping me with a flying fish hook taser gun. The probes pierce my skin as jolts of electricity zap my entire nervous system shutting it down while letting my bladder release itself before I lock up and hit the ground. Youngblood lets the others know he caught me, and to let Dog go.

After a moment of confusion Duane Lee, Leland and Dog all walk over congratulating Youngblood on his capture, yell like a bunch of island yokels, and from there they stuff me in the back of the car.


Now if you have seen the show, you know what happens next...Dog gets all emotional, sheds tears, and tries to light a cigarette for me while he tells me how fucked up his life was, and what a looser trail he had headed down. Blah-blah-fucking blah, needless to say the guy put in a good word with the judge, I caught my flight home, have some fines to pay the Oahu Police department, and all is back to normal in the world of Michael Lively, or possibly things were never un-normal, just as they should be?


Anyways, before getting re-entered into police custody in Hawaii so they could finish up with some paper work, Dog let me film a snippet with his film crew. So in hand cuffs sitting seat belted into the back seat of an SUV between a big bad mullet mashing man, and his large sweaty son I cut a promo for your viewing pleasure, so enjoy.



Test for the Best, to struggle through adversity, battle past the will of others, and walk to the top of the mountain for one night as the best. Well that evening I have quite the test of my own as I enter the Xtreme Scramble Match. A match that might I add, I begged for, a challenge I was desperately thirsty for, and that thirst will be quenched. You see all these men will be entering the match to try and win a piece of the pie, get their name etched in history as the guy who knocked of Michael Lively. None of these sorry souls will admit my grand status, some will offer up slight glimpses of admiration or respect only to quickly contradict themselves a sentence later. You see it's cool, I have operated this long without respect, and I have done just fine, made quite the career out of it. You can bet that going into a match with me some people have zero respect for me, my skills, or the power that I pack, let alone my actions. You can bet your ass though at the closing bell those silly shits have a different opinion whether they wish to disclose it or not. T4TB won't be any different, just new faces, some familiar ones, and that bitter sweet finish as AFI blares over the PA and the fans hum a chorus of hatred because Michael Lively once again achieved the unthinkable, overcome the highest of mountain tops.

As I stand in that ring I wonder is it really the highest of mountain tops, is it the unthinkable. Let us take a long hard look at the competition stacked up against me, and soon you might think once again Lively has a cake walk. Streets Wilson, a guy that has proved jack shit since his first hoorah in APW. The guy that seems to pop out of a box any time the APW crank handle is spun around is nothing more then a doped up clown. This pot infested, brain dead idiot flashes his half retarded smile, while trying to impress the easily amused with his tired ass Daniel Son karate kid bullshit. To real bad asses one look at Streets Wilson and the truth is abundantly clear, he is a overrated pothead with zero to no heart. You can have the baddest GTO with the sickest paint job, the freshest interior, and the worlds greatest stereo, but with no motor under the hood you are looking at a scrap of useless metal. Streets Wilson is APW's motor-less scrap of tin, he has nothing driving him forward, and will simply keep getting pushed aside at other peoples wills. Until this useless sack of shit gets some mechanic'ing down underneath his hood he will simply be a rusted out junker. So Streets get it through your thick skull, you are simple filler, here for fodder. When you and Crazy Joe both fell at my hands on Overdrive with little to no effort on my behalf, it proved to the world that you are just the background for my greatest masterpiece, my greatest victory.

Now since I spoke of his name, and his ease to fall to his knees in the presence of a real man, Lazy Joe is next on my target list. He is just a lackey ass jobber who sucks balls. This fucking lumber jack sized guy wears a mask and thinks he is a cruiser weight, while stinking up the ring with shoddy ass bullshit like DDT's. Seriously who the fuck are you, I'm thinking you are a broke dick out of shape Jake The Snake Roberts who has come back to the world he once took a shit on, a world that he should have never been involved in. Right place at the right time I guess, and come T4TB you will be the guy in the wrong place with shitty timing. So no matter who is strapped behind that mask, the outcome will be just the same as it always will be...you flat on your back while I walk out tall, proud, and the winner. You are simple joke, in the ring, on the microphone, hell I think you shouldn't even be in any title picture let alone have TV time, but I'm not running things, and if I were things would be quite different. So since you are in the match, I guess the game is on. You circus freak, lace up that mask, hop in the ring, and try to apply that tired ass finisher upon my skull. Bounce my head off the mat, and just before impact I want you to pray, pray that your move will be enough to not only keep me down for the three, but to hold me back for the entire match. You know, and I know that it's not going to happen. There will be four other men testing your endurance, trying to claw for the same thing you are wishing for. The problem is pixy dust, Leprechaun sperm, and Unicorn piss wont aid you into a victory, simply just leave a bad taste in your mouth. So Lazy Joe, remember that you and Weaks Wilson couldn't hack it with just me, so do me this favor...you bring everything you can get your hands on, wooden sticks, barbed wire baseball bats, staple guns, and porcelain sinks if need be because what the world has witnessed of you thus far you need all the help you can get.

Now from two unworthy contenders I move on to the next, Cooper Conrad, the new face entering the APW. It sounds familiar, a rookie coming in winning himself a match, and blammo-instant title shot. Well the APW is rolling the dice with you in hopes that maybe just maybe you could be the one to dethrone Michael Lively. Well I have given them four opportunities this coming PPV, and one of those spots belongs to you.A guy I know nothing about other then you fancy your self the Chosen One, so in this match I will take you up on that name, and single handily Choose you as the Lively humiliation target. Chosen to receive my balls dangling on your forehead in a shame of defeat. You see the management has picked you out of the bunch for a shot, a chance of luck. well my crystal ball has your future planned out. It comes in the form of excruciating pain as I crack you jaw bone with a stiff super kick, the thumping of your cranium as the Lions bite plants your scalp on the mat, and the welcoming of APW's grandest finisher falling on your almost lifeless carcass when the PRELUDE puts you away. That is my welcoming gift to you for joining Action Packed Wrestling, and a reality check is heading your way. Your dreams will be laughed off as simple useless hopes, your aspirations to achieve championship glory will be flushed away like a dirty turd floating in the bowl. An impact is your ultimate wish, and that I can help you with as an outline on the canvas in a broken form. In closing Cooper you will be facing the bull, and instead of getting the horns this championship beast will simply stand over you and dangle these precious nuts in your face and ask you how they taste.


Now, with this guy out of the way we move onto another session of nut sucking...Victor Hades, who's balls are getting stretched out like a couple rubber bands buy the vacuum power of Biggs and APW. The triumphant return of Victor Hades had people trembling with excitement, and me laughing the entire time. I called it down the middle, almost ruined the surprise before it was opened. Then he released his top secret promo on television, and in one fail swoop blew his wad and spent his entire piggy bank all at once, leaving the guy broke with an empty wallet and hollow testicles. I played the game, I survived you supposed wrath, and live to fight another day. You see that's what I do, and people don't understand it. They can't wrap their minds around the fact that when the big time comes I am always one hundred percent ready. That's possibly why I haven't been sidelined with injury or forced to step away from the flames like you have. You see I am the one always here, always on top, and always in your face spitting your eye with my one eye snake to show you where I cum from. You see as people say it Victor, you will be my greatest challenge in this match, the one person that made it seem like a viable chance for me to actually loose the title.

You claim to be a sadistic menace and have spread your terrorism in the APW before, while I simply saw it all as laughable. You see you are hardly unbeatable, and in this match it will be proved that you can fall to a man with a better strategy, a man that will have the victory. Victory is a term, originally in applied to warfare, given to success achieved in personal combat, after military operations in general or, by extension, in any competition. Success in a military campaign is considered a strategic victory, while the success in a military engagement is a tactical victory...when I decimate four other sons of bitches, but not only out smarting them, but out competing them, out manning them, and all around dominating them with a perfect strategy...I WILL BE THE VICTOR! This match isn't about you just beating me, it's about endurance and lasting the test of time as the champion. Who better then I the most decorated champion in APW. You see that's why I am hated, why I am looked down upon, why I haunt many men's nightmares, because of my endurance. I prove my outlandish statements true on the constant basis, and always seem to have the energizer bunny syndrome with the never ending spirit. Through it all people like you claim my greatness as simple luck, that's what it is. Everything I have achieved has been the fruits of lucky streaks, flashes of perfect timing...or it could be because I am as damn good as I say I am, which sickens people to the core of their gut. I have the keys to success, and the formula of greatness, while you can't swallow it down or except that fact. It will be force feed to you at T4TB.

That's what I do, I piss in peoples Wheaties when ever I feel, and it seems your bowl is next Vic. So you blood thirsty shit head, give me what you have got. I can't wait to see whats left, what else you think you can drum up. I'm begging you for something original, I am asking you to bring me something unused, something not over worked or reprocessed. You see I'm sure you will be spewing the same old shit like always, and it will be extremely difficult for you to offer up something fresh. You see I have done it all face everyone there is to face, and had everything thrown my direction. The funny thing is more times then not I have walked out the VICTOR, while they just fester in the cloud of shit the overcast upon themselves. So please dig into that twisted brain of yours, try to toss together an original thought that won't be the same tired shit that you spoke of just a few weeks previously, because it looks like you may be my only hope in receiving a challenge. Like usual I'm sure I will be let down, and have the sea parted beneath my feet. If you can't muster up the talent to verbally assault me Victor, then at least bring something worthwhile to the ring with you in our match. I need that brute strength, the fuck-tard mentality that drives the fans crazy, because that's the beast I wish to put down at T4TB.


It will be a delight to once again shit on the fans dreams of me loosing my glory, and pissing in the mouths of you four idiots as I do it. I am Michael Lively...the Xtreme Champion, the Hottest Shit Going...the guy with all cliche's, the catch phrases, the typical childish trash talk, you know the one soooooo washed up, way over ratted...yet it's me that each and everyone of you are stepping to with hopes of grandeur. You see I'm the champion, I'm the one that will prove to be a threat as long as my heart beats.

This company, these fans, and the entire staff here have their hopes in dreams implanted in this match, whether it's in the returning grease ball, with a lust for violence that will only get fed disappointment, or the chances of a chosen one to actually do something other then suck his own cock robbing his brain of much needed oxygen, or possibly the mystery behind the mask that could finally pull his head out of his own ass long enough to capture a win that could mean something. The again it could all be placed in the hands of a mean street rebel who might sober up enough to actually pull off a roundhouse kick with out falling on his as forcing him to burst into tears because he still hasn't recovered from the death of Mr. Miagi. At the end of the day these simple minded shit stand no chance, and the have no hopes in killing the JESUS. Is he known as Victor Hadelstern? NOPE! How about Cooper Conburg? I don't think so or possibly Crazy Kiklestien? I think not...you see there aren't any JEWS here big enough, bad enough, or smart enough orchestrate the slaughter of the KING. So fuck what you've heard, stop trying to convince yourself that you have what it takes, so many have tried, and so many have failed. Just except the ass whipping I have in store for you sad sacks of shit, and don't feel ashamed, don't hang your head, just know that I am Michael Lively...the JESUS...and I am just better then you!!!