Post by Dr. Matt on Mar 23, 2010 2:53:16 GMT -4
We open in Dr. Matt's parent's living room. Matt is sleeping on the couch, with a smoldering cigarette dangling from his lips. Matt's Dad is sitting in a La-z-Boy, with a Wii Remote in his hand, and his gaze is fixed on the television. Hurricane Jeff is in the corner, on the family's 10-year-old computer.
Dr. Matt's mother walks into the room, shaking her head. She walks over to Matt, pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and slaps him on the cheek.
Matt's Mom: Matthew! What did I tell you about smoking in the house.
Dr. Matt opens his eyes and yawns. Perhaps there was more in the cigarette than tobacco.
Dr. Matt: What? Dad didn't care.
Matt's Mom turns Matt's Dad. She glares at him.
Matt's Dad: What? He's a grown boy he can do what he wants.
Matt's Mom is furious. She walks over to the TV and turns it off. Matt's Dad scrambles to pause his game.
Matt's Dad: Dammit, woman, I was trying to get away from Bowser. I've been trying to beat that game since Christmas!
Matt's Mom turns to Hurricane Jeff.
Matt's Mom: And your still here? What did I tell you about using our computer to look up porn?
Hurricane Jeff: It's not porn, Mrs. Matt; it's Chris Cyrus' latest blog. Besides, you can't download porn when you're still on a dial-up modem.
Matt's mom curses under her breath and leaves the room.
Dr. Matt: Whoa? Cyrus has a blog?
Hurricane Jeff: Here, I'll print it off and you can read it on your way to you grandfather's.
Dr. Matt: Why are we going there?
Hurricane Jeff: Well, the UWF "arena" is the closest place with something that resembles a wrestling ring, and you need to train.
Dr. Matt: Why do I need to train?
Matt's mom returns to the living room with three plates of spaghetti. She gives on to Jeff, Matt, and his dad.
Matt's Mom: Eat up. And there's plenty where that came from.
Matt's mom walks away.
Hurricane Jeff: You've been eating your mom's cooking for a year now. This stuff is good, but she makes you eat like four platefuls every meal. You need to get back into shape.
Dr. Matt: I guess you're right, I could use a good work-out. But, first, we eat.
Dr. Matt and his dad put their faces right into their food and begin to slurp it up while Hurricane Jeff looks on in disgust.
========
Dr. Matt and Hurricane Jeff walk into Matt's grandfather's barn. A shoddily built wrestling ring sits in the middle of the otherwise abandoned barn. Dr. Matt is holding a piece of paper, which contains the print-out of Cyrus' blog.
Dr. Matt: Whoa, what the fuck is this? I never faced Chris Cyrus. The guy can't make shit like that up?
Hurricane Jeff: Chris used to be the Hardcore Kid.
Dr. Matt: No fucking way. They look completely different.
Hurricane Jeff: No, man; he just cut his hair and bleached it. Go figure.
Dr. Matt: When did that happen?
Hurricane Jeff: A long time ago.
Dr. Matt: No shit. I guess it's been a while since I watched Wednesday Night Overdrive.
Hurricane Jeff: It's on Thursday now. You've been on it... on a Thursday.
Dr. Matt: Blame that on the Quaaludes, my friend. I actually thought I saw a masked man running around. But, that must've been a hallucination. Nobody does the masked man gimmick in 2010.
Hurricane Jeff just slaps his face out of frustration. He grabs Matt by the shoulder, turns him around, and gets right into his face.
Hurricane Jeff: Matt, listen to me. I need you on your A-game Sunday Night. Do you know what'll happen if we lose this match? The Axis of Awesome will take control of Overdrive, then everything - EVERYTHING - I've worked so hard for will go down the drain. I've been to hell and back for this company. I've poured every ounce of myself into Action Packed Wrestling since I opened the doors. I'm not going to lose my prized possession to punkass kids.
I've brought you back for one reason; because I know what you're capable of in that ring. We've known each other for so long, we work together better than any other men that will ever step in that ring. Cyrus and Biggs' year together? That means nothing to what we've got. I need you, Dr. Matt, to step into that ring and give more than I've ever asked you for before. I need you to reach deep down inside of yourself and deliver the ass-kicking of a lifetime.
Matt, look at yourself. Between the hard-living and the hardcore wrestling, you've damaged yourself beyond the point of repair. You've got a handful of matches left in you, at best. Hell, the Axis are completely capable of beating you to within and inch of what's left of your miserable life. Sunday may be the last time you ever step into a wrestling ring. Sunday may be the last time you can call yourself a wrestler and mean it in the present tense.
I need you to go out with a bang. I need you to summon every violent tendency that you have festering inside of you. I need that old-school, Hardcore as Hell MattSter to show Biggs and Chris Cyrus that you do not cross legends. I need you to put two loud-mouth, arrogant punks in their place. I need Dr. Matt to come down to that ring and give the Axis of Awesome One Hundred Percent Mattisfaction!
There's a long pause as Dr. Matt doesn't really know what to say.
Dr. Matt: What's in it for me?
Hurricane Jeff: 200 grand and the finest hookers in Houston.
Dr. Matt immediately shakes Jeff's hand.
Dr. Matt: I won't let you down, Jeff. Now, let's get in that ring and get me ready for the Axis.
Hurricane Jeff: Listen, man, you're on your own. I got to catch a flight back to Houston.
Dr. Matt: Wait, what? What about training together?
Hurricane Jeff: I'm ring-ready, and we've wrestled enough together that once we're in that ring, we'll know what to do. But, I need you to shake off that ring rust. But I've got to get back to Texas to finish getting things ready for RassleMania.
Dr. Matt: But, wait, who's going to train me.
Jeff has already turned to walk away from the barn.
Hurricane Jeff: You're holding a wrestling show here in 5 days. Get your UWF guys to help you train. I'm sure they can help you out.
Jeff walks to the door of the barn.
Hurricane Jeff: Your flight from here gets into George Bush Intercontinental at 7AM Sunday Morning. I'll see you then, and I expect to see a wrestler step off that plane. Because I will face the Axis of Awesome alone if I have to.
Jeff leaves the barn, leaving Dr. Matt to stand there and think about what he said.
Dr. Matt: Well, I've got some calls to make.
========
Dr. Matt is standing across from the UWF from Shmuley; UWF's Jewish Sheamus parody.
Dr. Matt and Shmuley tie up, and Shmuley locks him into a Headlock. Dr. Matt elbows Shmuley's ribs a few times and tries to pick him up, but the Israeli Warrior shifts his weight and applies more pressure to Dr. Matt's neck. Matt taps Shmuley a few times on the back, and he lets go. Dr. Matt holds his neck, but he has a smile on his face.
Dr. Matt: Man, it's good to be back in the ring again.
Shmuley: And I can't wait to prove all those Jewish stereotypes wrong.
Dr. Matt: I don't know what you're talking about. Goldberg is Jewish, and that guy kicked ass.
Shmuley: Who's this Goldberg you speak of?
Dr. Matt: You've never heard of Bill Goldberg?
Shmuley shakes his head.
Dr. Matt: Giant, scary wrestler. Very badass, very Jewish.
Shmuley: He must've not been fully Jewish.
Dr. Matt: Dude had a bar mitzvah.
Shmuley: Are you serious? My whole reason for agreeing to do this was to show that all of us Jews aren't nonathletic money-hoarders. There was somebody before me?
Dr. Matt: Yeah, like 13 years before you. The guy has one of the longest undefeated steaks ever in professional wrestling.
Shmuley: Dammit.
Shmuley is left scratching his head as DeShaun Screama - the black, hair metal singer version of John Cena - and EM Spunk - CM Punk's gay-for-pay pornstar lookalike - slide into the ring.
DeShaun Screama: Just so you know, we didn't come together. I mean, arrive together. We came in separate vehicles.
EM Spunk: Dude, I'm not gay. I just fuck guys for money and film it.
Dr. Matt: That's not important. What's important is that you're all here and can help me train for my match against the Axis of Awesome.
DeShaun Screama: No problem. Let's rock out!
Dr. Matt: How the hell do you plan on wrestling in those?
Dr. Matt points to Screama's skintight leather pants.
DeShaun Screama: I'll be okay. If I can run around the stage and do the splits in these bad boys, wrestling shouldn't be a problem.
Shmuley, Screama, and Spunk and begin to go over wrestling drills with Dr. Matt. Spunk seems to have penchant for moves that involve grabbing around the crotch to execute them. Shmuley, meanwhile, begins to stiff Dr. Matt to try to prove the point that Jews can be tough. And Screama seems to be more concerned with being flashy and posing then he does with wrestling. Dr. Matt is slowly becoming frustrated.
Dr. Matt: Dammit, guys, I'm just out of sync or something. I'm just missing something. I need to get the swagger back in my step.
EM Spunk: You know what works for me when I need a good kickstart?
Dr. Matt: If it's a cock in the ass, I'm going to decline.
EM Spunk: Hey, man, I'm a top, alright? Most of the time; but I digress. No, when I really need to get amped up, I listen to some glam metal. That shit gets me pumped up; so much that I don't even need a fluffer!
Shmuley: Gross.
EM Spunk: Anyways, we've got a metal god right here with us. Maybe you and your band - what are they called?
DeShaun Screama: Van Harlem.
EM Spunk: Right, maybe you guys can play a song and it'll get Dr. Matt into the mood.
DeShaun Screama: Yeah, I'll go give them a call. Just don't go showing off your erection, alright?
EM Spunk: No promises.
DeShaun gets out of the ring, and Matt looks confused.
Dr. Matt: I fear this is going to get weird before it gets better.
=======
We cut to a tight shot of the bass drum on a drum kit that reads "VAN HARLEM". The opening drumline to Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It". The camera pans out to reveal DeShaun Screama playing with his band - which are all black like him - and they've all got big hair, ripped t-shirts, and tight leather pants.
DeShaun Screama Singing: We're not gonna take it, no, we ain't gonna take it! We're not gonna take it... ANYMORE!
Van Harlem begins to jam away in the corner of Dr. Matt's grandfather's barn, while Dr. Matt stands in the ring with EM Spunk and Shmuley.
EM Spunk: Alright, man, just feel the rhythm for a minute.
Dr. Matt: Are you stroking yourself through your tights.
EM Spunk: Just close your eyes and listen to the music.
The three listen to Van Harlem play. DeShaun Screama is belting out the lyrics while thrusting his hips.
EM Spunk: How do you feel?
Shmuley: Violated.
EM Spunk: Not you; Matt. Are you feeling pumped?
Dr. Matt: Yeah, I am, actually. I'm motivated to kick ass and break stuff.
EM Spunk: That's the beauty of hair metal. Now let's run some drills.
Van Harlem continues to jam away as Dr. Matt begins to spar with Spunk and Shmuley. They do some running attack drills, with them attempting to do various moves on Matt, like Clotheslines, Bulldogs, and Dropkicks. Finally, Spunk runs at Dr. Matt, and Matt grabs him to do a Powerslam, but he let's go of Spunk and drops him to the mat.
Shmuley: Matt, you've got to follow through on your moves!
Dr. Matt: The guy has got a raging hard-on.
EM Spunk: Do not... oh, wait. Sorry, I do. Must be the Twisted Sister. That shit just gets my blood flowing.
Dr. Matt is shaking his head as Van Harlem stops playing. Matt turns.
Dr. Matt: No guys, keep it up. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I've fought guys with erections before; cough - Trevor Blackwell - cough.
DeShaun Screama: No, it's not you guys. We smell something burning outside.
The three in the ring sniff the air.
Dr. Matt: What is that?
Shmuley: It's coming from outside.
Everybody gathers up and moves to the door of the barn. They swing open the door, and standing outside - behind a burning cross - is Triple Hate; UWF's Triple H parody that may or may not be affiliated with the Klan.
Dr. Matt: Triple Hate, what the hell are you doing.
Triple Hate raises a sign that reads "GET THE GAYS, BLAKS, AND JUICE OUT OF UWF.
EM Spunk: Hey, I'm just gay-for-pay.
DeShaun Screama: And what does he have against juice?
Dr. Matt: The retard doesn't know how to spell "Jews".
Dr. Matt walks over to Triple Hate.
Dr. Matt: What did I tell you about this behaviour, Trips. This is a hate crime.
Triple Hate: They're ruining this company.
Dr. Matt: I don't understand this. You didn't have any problem with race, colour, or orientation back in the old days.
Triple Hate: My wife was raped by a homo Black Jew!
Dr. Matt: Why would a homosexual rape your wife?
Triple Hate: Uh...
Matt leans in close to Triple Hate so he can talk low without the others listening.
Dr. Matt: Now, tell me, what's with this Klan bullshit?
Triple Hate: They make the best moonshine. They only let me have some if I joined their group. And, you know how simple I am. I guess they brainwashed me.
Dr. Matt: I've joined groups for stupider reasons. Hell, I became a Scientologist just because I like the fruit punch they serve at their meetings. And then I found it's just frozen stuff you can buy at the super market. But I stayed with them even after I found out, because, well, they won't let you quit.
Triple Hate: They'll kill me if I don't keep burning these crosses.
Dr. Matt: What a shame. Well, I'm not going to stop you from doing what you need to do to keep that sweet moonshine flowing, but I'm going to have to punch you to save face with the others.
Triple Hate: Thank you for understand-
Dr. Matt levels Triple Hate with a punch to the mouth. He kicks over the burning cross and turns back to the group.
Shmuley: Yeah, I'm going to go ahead and ask for more money to step into the ring with that lunatic.
Dr. Matt: Asking for more money and being cowardly; how unstereotypical of you.
EM Spunk: Should we continue our practice?
EM Spunk is rubbing himself through his trunks again.
Dr. Matt: No, I've pressed against your manhood enough for one day. I'm starting to think this problem is more psychological then physical. Maybe my head is just not in the right place. Listen, guys, thank for you time and effort. There's got to be more people in the UWF that can help me with my problems.
Dr. Matt turns and walks away. EM Spunk turns and looks at the guys in Van Harlem.
EM Spunk: You guys ever been in a daisy chain before?
Van Harlem's bass player is about to ask a question, but DeShauna Screama covers his mouth and just shakes his head.
DeShaun Screama: Trust me, you don't want to know.
========
We open up outside of a Ponderosa Steakhouse. A sign outside reads "EARLY BIRD SPECIAL: 14 OZ PORTERHOUSE AND SOUP & SALAD BUFFET: $7.99". We then go inside the restaurant, where Dr. Matt is carving up a steak at a table filled with guys from the Rotund Rumble.
Andy FourTon: I'm telling you, the key to success is proper nutrition.
Obeseta: Exactly. Eating right can help you with any problem in life.
Andy FourTon and Obesta - fat versions of Randy Orton and Batista - then take big bites of their steaks, which they've covered in onions, mushrooms, melted cheese sauce, and bacon. Dr. Matt stares at the two of them in disgust. Long FromFulls - who looks like he could've eaten Shawn Michaels - talks to Matt with a mouthful of god knows what.
Long FromFulls: Look at you. You're so out of shape. You've been eating junk, haven't you.
Dr. Matt: Well, I-
Bulk Slowman - a fatter, less orange Hulk Hogan, is sitting on the other side of Dr. Matt.
Bulk Slowman: Let me tell you what, brother. You've let yourself go. Don't worry about it, we all do from time to time. That's your problem. A sound mind comes from having a sound body.
Dr. Matt: This is odd advice from a bunch of fat fucks look you!
A collective gasp comes from the room. All 30 men drop their cutlery and stare at Dr. Matt. There's a slightly disgusting moment as they all finish chewing their mouthfuls of food, then they swallow in near synchronization.
Thick Roley-Poley: Fat? We're not fat!
Stout: We're just a little heavy.
Weigh Severio: Big boned!
Fret Heart: We just put on a little winter weight.
Ablubb: Where do you get off calling us "fat"?
Dr. Matt gulps and looks through the room.
Dr. Matt: Really? Really? Listen, guys, I know I've been out of the gym for a while, but you guys think I'm out of shape? You're like the 30 fattest men I've ever laid my eyes on. Hell, there's a good chance some of you may not even survive until Saturday Night!
Grown MoreThanSome: Hey, that's really hurtful!
The Big Dough: You can't talk to us that way, we've got feelings, you know!
Strane: Let's get him!
The fatties all try to get to their feet, but Matt jumps out of his chair and walks away. They all try lifting themselves up a few times, but can't get to their feet. A few resort to trying to pull each other up, but to no avail. Dr. Matt just shakes his head in disgust.
Dr. Matt: My point exactly. I'm going to have to go call a piano moving company to get you all to the Half-Baked Homecoming.
Sic Flab: And what if we don't show up at all? Then what'll you do?
Dr. Matt: Well then no one is going to win that delicious Dairy Queen Blizzard Cake!
The fatties are all silent for a moment, then shrug their shoulders and go back to eating.
Dr. Matt: Exactly. No, if you'll excuse me, I've got some more people to meet with to try to figure out my problem.
Dr. Matt gets up and leaves. The few guys sitting around him notice that he left his steak half uneaten. They all try to grab it all at once, and all pull it in opposite directions. They pull for about five seconds, then all give up; breathing deeply. They then go back to eating their own food and muttering under their breaths.
========
We come to a close-up on Dr. Matt's face. He's sitting in a small room, and blue smoke hangs in the air. He's got a sheepish grin on his face.
Dr. Matt: So you're saying I'm too uptight?
The camera then rotates 90 degrees "That '70s Show" style to reveal Blunt - the pot-loving version of Edge - sitting to Dr. Matt's left.
Blunt: Yah, man. You've got all this tension. You're stressed that the show won't pan out right. You're stressed about getting back in the ring at RassleMania. You're stressed that the cops are going to find that "garden" under your parent's porch.
Rotate back to Dr. Matt.
Dr. Matt: So that's where you got this shit from. I thought it was familiar.
Rotate to Dr. Matt's right, where MissedEm - a cross-eyed Christian - is staring at Dr. Matt and apparently has been partaking in this session.
MissedEm: So, it's not too late to put us in different matches. You could throw me into the Ultimate I if you want. Or maybe trade me with Dave Justin in the main event.
Rotate back to Dr. Matt.
Dr. Matt: No, MissedEm. The matches are staying the way they are. I don't understand why you don't want to tag with your brother, anyways.
Rotate to MissedEm.
MissedEm: It's not him, I just don't want to tag with anyone. You know how I get. I get confused in the ring and accidentally attack my own partner, or go to the top rope and I just can't land any moves. But, if I was just fighting for myself, I stand a chance at winning.
Rotate to Dr. Matt.
Dr. Matt: I'm sure you'll be fine. Just aim for Blunt in the match, and you'll probably end up hitting someone else.
Rotate to Blunt, who's trying to light a bong.
Blunt: Trust me, man, spend a few days with me, and all your worries will melt away.
Blunt's lighter appears to not be working.
Blunt: Damn, you got a lighter? I think mine's dry.
Rotate to Dr. Matt, who's reaching into his pockets.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, right... wait a minute, I'm not wearing underwear anymore.
Dr. Matt looks puzzled, but then he looks up and his jaw drops. The camera rotates to Blunt, who's looking to his left and his jaw has dropped. Back to Dr. Matt, who's still scared, and then to MissedEm, who may be looking in the same direction, but it's hard to tell with those fucked up eyes. The camera then rotates across the table from Dr. Matt, where the Underwear Taker is sitting. He's holding a skidmarked pair of tighty-whiteys. The camera then rotates to Blunt, who starts laughing.
Blunt: This is some strong-ass shit. I can totally see a guy holding your underwear. Man, I need to lay off this shit.
========
Dr. Matt is standing outside with Burt Mangle - UWF's deranged bobsledding version of Kurt Angle. The camera is zoomed in close with them.
Burt Mangle: Some people say it's important not to over-analyze the situation, but that can't be further from the truth. When I prepare for a race, I study every twist and turn in a track down to the millimeter. Before I even start to slide I know every action, every twitch of every muscle, that I need to perform to win.
Dr. Matt: So maybe I should go and study more about the Axis of Awesome.
Burt Mangle: I think that would be wise. Now, if you don't mind, take this stop watch and time this run.
The camera zooms out as Mangle hands Dr. Matt a stopwatch. The two are standing on the side of a busy highway on-ramp and Mangle has a toboggan in his hands.
Dr. Matt: Can I suggest you don't do this?
Burt Mangle: Don't worry, bobsleigh is only dangerous when you don't know what you're doing. I know this track like the back of my hand. Now, give me a countdown.
Dr. Matt: Fine. 3, 2, 1, go!
Dr. Matt starts timing as Burt Mangle begins to run along the side of the road, before he jumps onto the road into a seated position on the toboggan. The toboggan comes to dead halt on the asphalt and Mangle rolls of the front. One car comes speeding past and barely swerves around him. Another car sees him almost too late and swerves, but loses control and smashes through a guardrail. The camera cuts back to Dr. Matt as a loud explosion can be he heard. Dr. Matt looks around, drops the stopwatch, and runs away.
========
Dr. Matt is sitting on the couch in his parents living room with "YUP" Piss Gottago and Bee Ver Dam. Gottago - a Chris Jericho imitator with a weak bladder - and BVD - Rob Van Dam's beaver-loving look-a-like - are chatting it up.
Dr. Matt: I forgot that you two were UWF Tag Team Champions together.
Bee Ver Dam: Yeah, you also seem to have forgotten that it didn't end well, either.
YUP: Yeah, if you had've remembered that, you probably wouldn't have invited us both over.
Dr. Matt: Really, I just remember you two lost the belts and after a little scuffle, you went your own ways.
BVD: No, that's pretty much it.
Dr. Matt: You know, in this industry, "not ending well" usually involves someone driving a semi-truck into an ambulance holding the other person.
YUP: Well, regardless, this is still awkward.
Dr. Matt: Whatever. Listen, I invited you guys here because I need a few other sets of eyes to help me pick up on some of the Axis' flaws.
The three turn to the TV screen and watch.
BVD: Uh, what is this?
Dr. Matt: One Night in Hell 2009. The Axis of Awesome faced the AKA in a Double Title Ladder match.
YUP: Why is it so grainy?
Dr. Matt: I had to download a pirated copy.
The three watch Cyrus and Biggs retain their Overdrive and Xtreme Championships.
BVD: I don't know what to tell you, Doc. They're sneaky little shits.
YUP: You're just going to have to be even more cunning.
Dr. Matt: That's the worse advice I've ever heard.
YUP: Hey, that's not fair.
Dr. Matt: Well, I invited you over here so you could help me. But I guess you're both useless.
BVD: Hey, man, lighten up.
YUP: Yeah, we-
All of a sudden, Piss GottaGo stops talking. He begins to blush. Dr. Matt immediately knows what happened.
Dr. Matt: Tell me you're wearing a Depends today.
YUP hangs his head in shame.
Dr. Matt: Dammit, Piss. If my mom finds out you pissed on her couch, she's going to lose it.
YUP: I'm sorry, but-
Dr. Matt's mom walks into the room.
Matt's Mom: Alright, boys, supper's ready. What's that smell?
Dr. Matt: It's nothing.
Matt gets up and starts shoving his mom back into the kitchen.
Dr. Matt: Let's all go quickly into the kitchen and eat.
Matt glares at Piss GottaGo while Bee Ver Dam gets up.
BVD: Smells good, what's on the menu.
Matt's Mom: Beaver stew.
BVD stops dead in his tracks.
BVD: What?
Matt's Mom: Beaver stew. I got the idea when I overheard Matthew's father telling his poker buddies how much he loves eating beaver. Big beaver, furry beaver, pierced beaver - I'm assuming he hunts it with a bow and arrow. I think he's been sneaking meals in down the street at the Henderson's, because he says he loves eating her beaver the most. That must be where he goes off to in the middle of the night. That's my man, he loves to eat. But, I figured why go down the street to eat beaver when I can give him a perfectly delicious beaver to eat. So, I thought I'd surprise him tonight with a delicious beaver stew!
YUP just laughs as Bee Ver Dam is fuming. Dr. Matt, meanwhile, looks like he's about to throw up.
BVD: How dare you kill a poor, innocent little beaver for food!
Matt's Mom: Don't get mad at me, talk to my husband. He's coming in the driveway now. You know, I heard him say he's been eating beaver all of town ever since we got married. I mean, I was a little offended, but I guess he must be embarrassed that he likes eating beaver. If he liked it so much, he could've just asked. I'd let him eat all the beaver he wants!
Dr. Matt begins runs into the bathroom and can be heard throwing up. BVD screams out in rage and goes running out the door. Matt's dad is getting out of his truck as BVD tackles him to the ground and starts punching him. YUP, meanwhile, is laughing so hard that a pool of piss forms at his feet. Matt's mother faints at the sight, while BVD can be heard screaming outside.
BVD: HOW DARE YOU EAT SO MUCH BEAVER!
Matt's Dad: OW! Who told you! Don't tell my wife!
========
Back in the UWF "arena", Dr. Matt is sitting on the ring apron.
Dr. Matt: This isn't looking good. I can't get into the right mindset to help Jeff face the Axis of Awesome, and now my parents kicked me out of their house. Mom says it's because one of my friends ruined the carpet, but Dad says it's because he now has to eat beaver stew every day. This is becoming a nightmare.
The camera pans left, where Somalia Wally - a Somalian Pirate version of Samoa Joe - loads a clip into an assault rifle and cocks it.
Dr. Matt: You really can't bring that gun to the match with you.
Somalia Wally glares at Dr. Matt.
Dr. Matt: Alright, maybe you can.
The door to the barn can be heard swinging open, and Dr. Matt turns to see the Hardly Boyz, Jephette and Matilda, walk into the barn. The transvestite versions of the Hardy Boyz slide into the ring behind Dr. Matt.
Jephette: Yoo-hoo.
Dr. Matt: What are you two doing here.
Matilda: We've come to help you out, silly.
Dr. Matt: And how you plan on doing that?
Jephette: We're going to give you some tag team training.
Matilda: I thought you said we were going to tag team on him.
Jephette: Quit giving away my secrets.
Dr. Matt: You know, you guys, I really don't know if you can help me.
The door to the barn swings open again, and this time the STD-infected version of Team 3D - Team VD - walk into the barn. Buddy Defile helps the sickly Buddy Rape get into the ring.
Buddy Defile: If anybody is going to train you in tag team wrestling, it's going to be us!
Matilda: Please, the only thing you could teach anyone is the various stages of HIV infection.
Buddy Rape: Defile... Get the Trannies!
Defile begins to move in on the Hardlyz, but Dr. Matt gets in the way.
Dr. Matt: Hold on guys, save it for the Homecoming.
MJ's Style - the Michael Jackson impersonator who looks more like AJ Styles then the deceased King of Pop - comes moonwalking to the scene.
MJ's Style Singing: You wanna be startin' somethin'; you gotta be startin' somethin'.
MJ's Style continues to dance while Team VD and the Hardlyz start to butt heads. Finally, Dr. Matt gets fed up.
Dr. Matt: Enough!
Everybody freezes.
Dr. Matt: Maybe this is the problem. Maybe this is why I can't think clearly to prepare for this match. I've surrounded myself with lunatics! How can I take this match seriously when I don't even take myself seriously anymore! No, you know what, I need to get away, clear my head, and focus.
Dr. Matt leaves everyone stunned and gets out of the ring. He walks out of the barn and slams the door shut behind him. Everyone sits still for a moment, before finally letting out a big sigh of relief. The Hardly Boyz take off wigs to reveal normal haircuts underneath them. Buddy Defile pulls fake sores off his lips while Buddy Rape begins to rub of the make-up that makes him look pale. MJ's Style takes off his red leather jacket, and Somalia Wally puts down his gun.
Somalia Wally: Man, I don't know how much longer I can keep this up for.
MJ's Style: Listen, he ain't going to pay us unless he thinks we're freak shows.
Jephette: Man, I don't even think this is worth the money.
Matilda: Whatever, after this weekend, we can all stop living this charade and go back to our normal lives.
Buddy Rape: I can't wait.
Buddy Defile: I can't believe he called us freaks. He's the one that thinks this is actually a good idea.
They all shake their heads in disgust as they get out of the ring. The camera then pans over to Le Bloque - the French-Canadian Rock - and "Dumb as a Stone" Dave Justin - the mentally handicapped, wite-out huffing Steve Austin - who are sitting on hay bales, watching everything that just happened.
Le Bloque: Attendez. Dey are pretendin'?
Dave Justin: What a bunch of freaks.
Dave Justin shoves a bottle of Wite-Out up his nose while Le Bloque puffs on his cigarette and shakes his head in disgust.
========
We see Dr. Matt walking down a path through the woods behind his Grandfather's barn. He has lit a cigarette and takes a few drags, just taking a moment to be alone with his thoughts.
Dr. Matt: I have to face the reality here. This could very well be the last time I step into a wrestling ring. Going to these morons for advice was a bad idea. This match is serious and has serious consequences. Jeff, one of my oldest friends, has turned to me to be his assurance that he keeps control over his creation. Jeff has a deep list of friends he could've turned to, many men who he has brought up from nothing and turned into champion. He could've gone with any one of them, but he came to me because he knows what I'm capable of. Jeff has experienced first hand just what Hardcore as Hell can do when his back is to the wall.
And what it comes to beating the shit out of two little pricks like the Axis of Awesome, well; that just may be what I do best.
I won't deny that I'm past my prime. Hell, that's why I left after RassleMania V. The wear and tear, day after day, week after week. I just couldn't do it anymore. I've spent way too many years on the road, wrestling all over the world. I will admit that there is no way I could ever return as a full-time, active wrestler in APW.
But this isn't full-time. This is one match. One, little match. I only need to be on top of my game for ten, twenty, thirty minutes at most. If I engaged in a series of battles of the Axis, then they'd probably come out on top. But for one night? One time?
I am Dr. Fucking Matt. I am a living legend. I'm an innovator. If Chris Cyrus or Biggs thinks for one minute that they could best me at RassleMania, then they are more stupid then they look.
RassleMania is the reunion of the Perfect Storm. Jeff and I haven't been on the same side of the table since the dying days of WWC. We took over that company with an iron fist. The roster was so fucking scared of us, they all ran away instead of staying to fight us. That's how fucking legendary we truly are.
An entire roster of superstars, each and every one of them better wrestlers then the two of you, tucked their tails between their legs and ran the fuck away instead of standing up to us. But, for a group of cowards, I almost respected them. Because they were smart enough to realize what they were up against.
The fact that you two aren't trembling with fear just proves how foolish you truly are. Perhaps it's the arrogance of youth. Perhaps it's just because you've let what little power you have go to your head.
Whatever it is, it will lead to your downfall. You're not dealing with the same fucksticks you normally do in APW. You're dealing with two seasoned veterans, who even past the pinnacles of their careers are greater men then you could ever hope to be.
We aren't going to fall for your tricks.
We aren't going to play your stupid games.
And we aren't going to lose.
The Perfect Storm is about to unleash one of the greatest ass-kickings this company has ever seen. Make sure you set your TiVo before you step in the ring, just so you'll be able to go back and try to figure out exactly what the fuck hit you.
The fact remains that this could very well be the last time I step into the ring. They say wrestlers never retire, but it's harder and harder to find reasons to step back into the ring. I won't call this my retirement match because I don't discount the future, but in my mind, I'm treating it as such.
That being said, this will not be a storybook "Passing of the Torch" moment. No, I refuse to go out that way. I'm going out with my head held high. Sure, I'm helping an old friend regain what is rightfully his, but furthermore, I will prove that even in my final days, I could still go out with men in their prime and give them the beatdown of a lifetime.
Biggs, Cyrus; the only thing you'll be earning at RassleMania is a place on the list of men who've tried to stand up to the Perfect Storm and failed. Unfortunately, that list is so long that you'll probably just be lost in the shuffle. But don't worry, I'm sure some day, years in the future, you can tell your grandchildren the story about how you actually got to stand in the ring with the Perfect Storm at RassleMania!
And your grandchildren, who will share your same, retarded genetics, will look back at you and say, "Did you beat 'em, Grandpa?".
And you'll fall silent like a veteran asked about his experience in the war.
Visions of myself and Hurricane Jeff destroying you will flood back into your memory.
The same memories that have haunted you for your entire life.
Then, you'll shrug it off and ask your grandkids if they want ice cream, and you'll all try to forget it ever happened.
But, the fact remains; the beating you are about to receive at RassleMania will stick with you until your dying day. Forever will you look back at when you foolishly believed that you were better than the Perfect Storm.
And you will always live to regret your mistake.
And that's the Perfect Storm's 100% Guarantee!
Dr. Matt stops to smirk at the camera as the scene fades to black.
Dr. Matt's mother walks into the room, shaking her head. She walks over to Matt, pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and slaps him on the cheek.
Matt's Mom: Matthew! What did I tell you about smoking in the house.
Dr. Matt opens his eyes and yawns. Perhaps there was more in the cigarette than tobacco.
Dr. Matt: What? Dad didn't care.
Matt's Mom turns Matt's Dad. She glares at him.
Matt's Dad: What? He's a grown boy he can do what he wants.
Matt's Mom is furious. She walks over to the TV and turns it off. Matt's Dad scrambles to pause his game.
Matt's Dad: Dammit, woman, I was trying to get away from Bowser. I've been trying to beat that game since Christmas!
Matt's Mom turns to Hurricane Jeff.
Matt's Mom: And your still here? What did I tell you about using our computer to look up porn?
Hurricane Jeff: It's not porn, Mrs. Matt; it's Chris Cyrus' latest blog. Besides, you can't download porn when you're still on a dial-up modem.
Matt's mom curses under her breath and leaves the room.
Dr. Matt: Whoa? Cyrus has a blog?
Hurricane Jeff: Here, I'll print it off and you can read it on your way to you grandfather's.
Dr. Matt: Why are we going there?
Hurricane Jeff: Well, the UWF "arena" is the closest place with something that resembles a wrestling ring, and you need to train.
Dr. Matt: Why do I need to train?
Matt's mom returns to the living room with three plates of spaghetti. She gives on to Jeff, Matt, and his dad.
Matt's Mom: Eat up. And there's plenty where that came from.
Matt's mom walks away.
Hurricane Jeff: You've been eating your mom's cooking for a year now. This stuff is good, but she makes you eat like four platefuls every meal. You need to get back into shape.
Dr. Matt: I guess you're right, I could use a good work-out. But, first, we eat.
Dr. Matt and his dad put their faces right into their food and begin to slurp it up while Hurricane Jeff looks on in disgust.
========
Dr. Matt and Hurricane Jeff walk into Matt's grandfather's barn. A shoddily built wrestling ring sits in the middle of the otherwise abandoned barn. Dr. Matt is holding a piece of paper, which contains the print-out of Cyrus' blog.
Dr. Matt: Whoa, what the fuck is this? I never faced Chris Cyrus. The guy can't make shit like that up?
Hurricane Jeff: Chris used to be the Hardcore Kid.
Dr. Matt: No fucking way. They look completely different.
Hurricane Jeff: No, man; he just cut his hair and bleached it. Go figure.
Dr. Matt: When did that happen?
Hurricane Jeff: A long time ago.
Dr. Matt: No shit. I guess it's been a while since I watched Wednesday Night Overdrive.
Hurricane Jeff: It's on Thursday now. You've been on it... on a Thursday.
Dr. Matt: Blame that on the Quaaludes, my friend. I actually thought I saw a masked man running around. But, that must've been a hallucination. Nobody does the masked man gimmick in 2010.
Hurricane Jeff just slaps his face out of frustration. He grabs Matt by the shoulder, turns him around, and gets right into his face.
Hurricane Jeff: Matt, listen to me. I need you on your A-game Sunday Night. Do you know what'll happen if we lose this match? The Axis of Awesome will take control of Overdrive, then everything - EVERYTHING - I've worked so hard for will go down the drain. I've been to hell and back for this company. I've poured every ounce of myself into Action Packed Wrestling since I opened the doors. I'm not going to lose my prized possession to punkass kids.
I've brought you back for one reason; because I know what you're capable of in that ring. We've known each other for so long, we work together better than any other men that will ever step in that ring. Cyrus and Biggs' year together? That means nothing to what we've got. I need you, Dr. Matt, to step into that ring and give more than I've ever asked you for before. I need you to reach deep down inside of yourself and deliver the ass-kicking of a lifetime.
Matt, look at yourself. Between the hard-living and the hardcore wrestling, you've damaged yourself beyond the point of repair. You've got a handful of matches left in you, at best. Hell, the Axis are completely capable of beating you to within and inch of what's left of your miserable life. Sunday may be the last time you ever step into a wrestling ring. Sunday may be the last time you can call yourself a wrestler and mean it in the present tense.
I need you to go out with a bang. I need you to summon every violent tendency that you have festering inside of you. I need that old-school, Hardcore as Hell MattSter to show Biggs and Chris Cyrus that you do not cross legends. I need you to put two loud-mouth, arrogant punks in their place. I need Dr. Matt to come down to that ring and give the Axis of Awesome One Hundred Percent Mattisfaction!
There's a long pause as Dr. Matt doesn't really know what to say.
Dr. Matt: What's in it for me?
Hurricane Jeff: 200 grand and the finest hookers in Houston.
Dr. Matt immediately shakes Jeff's hand.
Dr. Matt: I won't let you down, Jeff. Now, let's get in that ring and get me ready for the Axis.
Hurricane Jeff: Listen, man, you're on your own. I got to catch a flight back to Houston.
Dr. Matt: Wait, what? What about training together?
Hurricane Jeff: I'm ring-ready, and we've wrestled enough together that once we're in that ring, we'll know what to do. But, I need you to shake off that ring rust. But I've got to get back to Texas to finish getting things ready for RassleMania.
Dr. Matt: But, wait, who's going to train me.
Jeff has already turned to walk away from the barn.
Hurricane Jeff: You're holding a wrestling show here in 5 days. Get your UWF guys to help you train. I'm sure they can help you out.
Jeff walks to the door of the barn.
Hurricane Jeff: Your flight from here gets into George Bush Intercontinental at 7AM Sunday Morning. I'll see you then, and I expect to see a wrestler step off that plane. Because I will face the Axis of Awesome alone if I have to.
Jeff leaves the barn, leaving Dr. Matt to stand there and think about what he said.
Dr. Matt: Well, I've got some calls to make.
========
Dr. Matt is standing across from the UWF from Shmuley; UWF's Jewish Sheamus parody.
Dr. Matt and Shmuley tie up, and Shmuley locks him into a Headlock. Dr. Matt elbows Shmuley's ribs a few times and tries to pick him up, but the Israeli Warrior shifts his weight and applies more pressure to Dr. Matt's neck. Matt taps Shmuley a few times on the back, and he lets go. Dr. Matt holds his neck, but he has a smile on his face.
Dr. Matt: Man, it's good to be back in the ring again.
Shmuley: And I can't wait to prove all those Jewish stereotypes wrong.
Dr. Matt: I don't know what you're talking about. Goldberg is Jewish, and that guy kicked ass.
Shmuley: Who's this Goldberg you speak of?
Dr. Matt: You've never heard of Bill Goldberg?
Shmuley shakes his head.
Dr. Matt: Giant, scary wrestler. Very badass, very Jewish.
Shmuley: He must've not been fully Jewish.
Dr. Matt: Dude had a bar mitzvah.
Shmuley: Are you serious? My whole reason for agreeing to do this was to show that all of us Jews aren't nonathletic money-hoarders. There was somebody before me?
Dr. Matt: Yeah, like 13 years before you. The guy has one of the longest undefeated steaks ever in professional wrestling.
Shmuley: Dammit.
Shmuley is left scratching his head as DeShaun Screama - the black, hair metal singer version of John Cena - and EM Spunk - CM Punk's gay-for-pay pornstar lookalike - slide into the ring.
DeShaun Screama: Just so you know, we didn't come together. I mean, arrive together. We came in separate vehicles.
EM Spunk: Dude, I'm not gay. I just fuck guys for money and film it.
Dr. Matt: That's not important. What's important is that you're all here and can help me train for my match against the Axis of Awesome.
DeShaun Screama: No problem. Let's rock out!
Dr. Matt: How the hell do you plan on wrestling in those?
Dr. Matt points to Screama's skintight leather pants.
DeShaun Screama: I'll be okay. If I can run around the stage and do the splits in these bad boys, wrestling shouldn't be a problem.
Shmuley, Screama, and Spunk and begin to go over wrestling drills with Dr. Matt. Spunk seems to have penchant for moves that involve grabbing around the crotch to execute them. Shmuley, meanwhile, begins to stiff Dr. Matt to try to prove the point that Jews can be tough. And Screama seems to be more concerned with being flashy and posing then he does with wrestling. Dr. Matt is slowly becoming frustrated.
Dr. Matt: Dammit, guys, I'm just out of sync or something. I'm just missing something. I need to get the swagger back in my step.
EM Spunk: You know what works for me when I need a good kickstart?
Dr. Matt: If it's a cock in the ass, I'm going to decline.
EM Spunk: Hey, man, I'm a top, alright? Most of the time; but I digress. No, when I really need to get amped up, I listen to some glam metal. That shit gets me pumped up; so much that I don't even need a fluffer!
Shmuley: Gross.
EM Spunk: Anyways, we've got a metal god right here with us. Maybe you and your band - what are they called?
DeShaun Screama: Van Harlem.
EM Spunk: Right, maybe you guys can play a song and it'll get Dr. Matt into the mood.
DeShaun Screama: Yeah, I'll go give them a call. Just don't go showing off your erection, alright?
EM Spunk: No promises.
DeShaun gets out of the ring, and Matt looks confused.
Dr. Matt: I fear this is going to get weird before it gets better.
=======
We cut to a tight shot of the bass drum on a drum kit that reads "VAN HARLEM". The opening drumline to Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It". The camera pans out to reveal DeShaun Screama playing with his band - which are all black like him - and they've all got big hair, ripped t-shirts, and tight leather pants.
DeShaun Screama Singing: We're not gonna take it, no, we ain't gonna take it! We're not gonna take it... ANYMORE!
Van Harlem begins to jam away in the corner of Dr. Matt's grandfather's barn, while Dr. Matt stands in the ring with EM Spunk and Shmuley.
EM Spunk: Alright, man, just feel the rhythm for a minute.
Dr. Matt: Are you stroking yourself through your tights.
EM Spunk: Just close your eyes and listen to the music.
The three listen to Van Harlem play. DeShaun Screama is belting out the lyrics while thrusting his hips.
EM Spunk: How do you feel?
Shmuley: Violated.
EM Spunk: Not you; Matt. Are you feeling pumped?
Dr. Matt: Yeah, I am, actually. I'm motivated to kick ass and break stuff.
EM Spunk: That's the beauty of hair metal. Now let's run some drills.
Van Harlem continues to jam away as Dr. Matt begins to spar with Spunk and Shmuley. They do some running attack drills, with them attempting to do various moves on Matt, like Clotheslines, Bulldogs, and Dropkicks. Finally, Spunk runs at Dr. Matt, and Matt grabs him to do a Powerslam, but he let's go of Spunk and drops him to the mat.
Shmuley: Matt, you've got to follow through on your moves!
Dr. Matt: The guy has got a raging hard-on.
EM Spunk: Do not... oh, wait. Sorry, I do. Must be the Twisted Sister. That shit just gets my blood flowing.
Dr. Matt is shaking his head as Van Harlem stops playing. Matt turns.
Dr. Matt: No guys, keep it up. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I've fought guys with erections before; cough - Trevor Blackwell - cough.
DeShaun Screama: No, it's not you guys. We smell something burning outside.
The three in the ring sniff the air.
Dr. Matt: What is that?
Shmuley: It's coming from outside.
Everybody gathers up and moves to the door of the barn. They swing open the door, and standing outside - behind a burning cross - is Triple Hate; UWF's Triple H parody that may or may not be affiliated with the Klan.
Dr. Matt: Triple Hate, what the hell are you doing.
Triple Hate raises a sign that reads "GET THE GAYS, BLAKS, AND JUICE OUT OF UWF.
EM Spunk: Hey, I'm just gay-for-pay.
DeShaun Screama: And what does he have against juice?
Dr. Matt: The retard doesn't know how to spell "Jews".
Dr. Matt walks over to Triple Hate.
Dr. Matt: What did I tell you about this behaviour, Trips. This is a hate crime.
Triple Hate: They're ruining this company.
Dr. Matt: I don't understand this. You didn't have any problem with race, colour, or orientation back in the old days.
Triple Hate: My wife was raped by a homo Black Jew!
Dr. Matt: Why would a homosexual rape your wife?
Triple Hate: Uh...
Matt leans in close to Triple Hate so he can talk low without the others listening.
Dr. Matt: Now, tell me, what's with this Klan bullshit?
Triple Hate: They make the best moonshine. They only let me have some if I joined their group. And, you know how simple I am. I guess they brainwashed me.
Dr. Matt: I've joined groups for stupider reasons. Hell, I became a Scientologist just because I like the fruit punch they serve at their meetings. And then I found it's just frozen stuff you can buy at the super market. But I stayed with them even after I found out, because, well, they won't let you quit.
Triple Hate: They'll kill me if I don't keep burning these crosses.
Dr. Matt: What a shame. Well, I'm not going to stop you from doing what you need to do to keep that sweet moonshine flowing, but I'm going to have to punch you to save face with the others.
Triple Hate: Thank you for understand-
Dr. Matt levels Triple Hate with a punch to the mouth. He kicks over the burning cross and turns back to the group.
Shmuley: Yeah, I'm going to go ahead and ask for more money to step into the ring with that lunatic.
Dr. Matt: Asking for more money and being cowardly; how unstereotypical of you.
EM Spunk: Should we continue our practice?
EM Spunk is rubbing himself through his trunks again.
Dr. Matt: No, I've pressed against your manhood enough for one day. I'm starting to think this problem is more psychological then physical. Maybe my head is just not in the right place. Listen, guys, thank for you time and effort. There's got to be more people in the UWF that can help me with my problems.
Dr. Matt turns and walks away. EM Spunk turns and looks at the guys in Van Harlem.
EM Spunk: You guys ever been in a daisy chain before?
Van Harlem's bass player is about to ask a question, but DeShauna Screama covers his mouth and just shakes his head.
DeShaun Screama: Trust me, you don't want to know.
========
We open up outside of a Ponderosa Steakhouse. A sign outside reads "EARLY BIRD SPECIAL: 14 OZ PORTERHOUSE AND SOUP & SALAD BUFFET: $7.99". We then go inside the restaurant, where Dr. Matt is carving up a steak at a table filled with guys from the Rotund Rumble.
Andy FourTon: I'm telling you, the key to success is proper nutrition.
Obeseta: Exactly. Eating right can help you with any problem in life.
Andy FourTon and Obesta - fat versions of Randy Orton and Batista - then take big bites of their steaks, which they've covered in onions, mushrooms, melted cheese sauce, and bacon. Dr. Matt stares at the two of them in disgust. Long FromFulls - who looks like he could've eaten Shawn Michaels - talks to Matt with a mouthful of god knows what.
Long FromFulls: Look at you. You're so out of shape. You've been eating junk, haven't you.
Dr. Matt: Well, I-
Bulk Slowman - a fatter, less orange Hulk Hogan, is sitting on the other side of Dr. Matt.
Bulk Slowman: Let me tell you what, brother. You've let yourself go. Don't worry about it, we all do from time to time. That's your problem. A sound mind comes from having a sound body.
Dr. Matt: This is odd advice from a bunch of fat fucks look you!
A collective gasp comes from the room. All 30 men drop their cutlery and stare at Dr. Matt. There's a slightly disgusting moment as they all finish chewing their mouthfuls of food, then they swallow in near synchronization.
Thick Roley-Poley: Fat? We're not fat!
Stout: We're just a little heavy.
Weigh Severio: Big boned!
Fret Heart: We just put on a little winter weight.
Ablubb: Where do you get off calling us "fat"?
Dr. Matt gulps and looks through the room.
Dr. Matt: Really? Really? Listen, guys, I know I've been out of the gym for a while, but you guys think I'm out of shape? You're like the 30 fattest men I've ever laid my eyes on. Hell, there's a good chance some of you may not even survive until Saturday Night!
Grown MoreThanSome: Hey, that's really hurtful!
The Big Dough: You can't talk to us that way, we've got feelings, you know!
Strane: Let's get him!
The fatties all try to get to their feet, but Matt jumps out of his chair and walks away. They all try lifting themselves up a few times, but can't get to their feet. A few resort to trying to pull each other up, but to no avail. Dr. Matt just shakes his head in disgust.
Dr. Matt: My point exactly. I'm going to have to go call a piano moving company to get you all to the Half-Baked Homecoming.
Sic Flab: And what if we don't show up at all? Then what'll you do?
Dr. Matt: Well then no one is going to win that delicious Dairy Queen Blizzard Cake!
The fatties are all silent for a moment, then shrug their shoulders and go back to eating.
Dr. Matt: Exactly. No, if you'll excuse me, I've got some more people to meet with to try to figure out my problem.
Dr. Matt gets up and leaves. The few guys sitting around him notice that he left his steak half uneaten. They all try to grab it all at once, and all pull it in opposite directions. They pull for about five seconds, then all give up; breathing deeply. They then go back to eating their own food and muttering under their breaths.
========
We come to a close-up on Dr. Matt's face. He's sitting in a small room, and blue smoke hangs in the air. He's got a sheepish grin on his face.
Dr. Matt: So you're saying I'm too uptight?
The camera then rotates 90 degrees "That '70s Show" style to reveal Blunt - the pot-loving version of Edge - sitting to Dr. Matt's left.
Blunt: Yah, man. You've got all this tension. You're stressed that the show won't pan out right. You're stressed about getting back in the ring at RassleMania. You're stressed that the cops are going to find that "garden" under your parent's porch.
Rotate back to Dr. Matt.
Dr. Matt: So that's where you got this shit from. I thought it was familiar.
Rotate to Dr. Matt's right, where MissedEm - a cross-eyed Christian - is staring at Dr. Matt and apparently has been partaking in this session.
MissedEm: So, it's not too late to put us in different matches. You could throw me into the Ultimate I if you want. Or maybe trade me with Dave Justin in the main event.
Rotate back to Dr. Matt.
Dr. Matt: No, MissedEm. The matches are staying the way they are. I don't understand why you don't want to tag with your brother, anyways.
Rotate to MissedEm.
MissedEm: It's not him, I just don't want to tag with anyone. You know how I get. I get confused in the ring and accidentally attack my own partner, or go to the top rope and I just can't land any moves. But, if I was just fighting for myself, I stand a chance at winning.
Rotate to Dr. Matt.
Dr. Matt: I'm sure you'll be fine. Just aim for Blunt in the match, and you'll probably end up hitting someone else.
Rotate to Blunt, who's trying to light a bong.
Blunt: Trust me, man, spend a few days with me, and all your worries will melt away.
Blunt's lighter appears to not be working.
Blunt: Damn, you got a lighter? I think mine's dry.
Rotate to Dr. Matt, who's reaching into his pockets.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, right... wait a minute, I'm not wearing underwear anymore.
Dr. Matt looks puzzled, but then he looks up and his jaw drops. The camera rotates to Blunt, who's looking to his left and his jaw has dropped. Back to Dr. Matt, who's still scared, and then to MissedEm, who may be looking in the same direction, but it's hard to tell with those fucked up eyes. The camera then rotates across the table from Dr. Matt, where the Underwear Taker is sitting. He's holding a skidmarked pair of tighty-whiteys. The camera then rotates to Blunt, who starts laughing.
Blunt: This is some strong-ass shit. I can totally see a guy holding your underwear. Man, I need to lay off this shit.
========
Dr. Matt is standing outside with Burt Mangle - UWF's deranged bobsledding version of Kurt Angle. The camera is zoomed in close with them.
Burt Mangle: Some people say it's important not to over-analyze the situation, but that can't be further from the truth. When I prepare for a race, I study every twist and turn in a track down to the millimeter. Before I even start to slide I know every action, every twitch of every muscle, that I need to perform to win.
Dr. Matt: So maybe I should go and study more about the Axis of Awesome.
Burt Mangle: I think that would be wise. Now, if you don't mind, take this stop watch and time this run.
The camera zooms out as Mangle hands Dr. Matt a stopwatch. The two are standing on the side of a busy highway on-ramp and Mangle has a toboggan in his hands.
Dr. Matt: Can I suggest you don't do this?
Burt Mangle: Don't worry, bobsleigh is only dangerous when you don't know what you're doing. I know this track like the back of my hand. Now, give me a countdown.
Dr. Matt: Fine. 3, 2, 1, go!
Dr. Matt starts timing as Burt Mangle begins to run along the side of the road, before he jumps onto the road into a seated position on the toboggan. The toboggan comes to dead halt on the asphalt and Mangle rolls of the front. One car comes speeding past and barely swerves around him. Another car sees him almost too late and swerves, but loses control and smashes through a guardrail. The camera cuts back to Dr. Matt as a loud explosion can be he heard. Dr. Matt looks around, drops the stopwatch, and runs away.
========
Dr. Matt is sitting on the couch in his parents living room with "YUP" Piss Gottago and Bee Ver Dam. Gottago - a Chris Jericho imitator with a weak bladder - and BVD - Rob Van Dam's beaver-loving look-a-like - are chatting it up.
Dr. Matt: I forgot that you two were UWF Tag Team Champions together.
Bee Ver Dam: Yeah, you also seem to have forgotten that it didn't end well, either.
YUP: Yeah, if you had've remembered that, you probably wouldn't have invited us both over.
Dr. Matt: Really, I just remember you two lost the belts and after a little scuffle, you went your own ways.
BVD: No, that's pretty much it.
Dr. Matt: You know, in this industry, "not ending well" usually involves someone driving a semi-truck into an ambulance holding the other person.
YUP: Well, regardless, this is still awkward.
Dr. Matt: Whatever. Listen, I invited you guys here because I need a few other sets of eyes to help me pick up on some of the Axis' flaws.
The three turn to the TV screen and watch.
BVD: Uh, what is this?
Dr. Matt: One Night in Hell 2009. The Axis of Awesome faced the AKA in a Double Title Ladder match.
YUP: Why is it so grainy?
Dr. Matt: I had to download a pirated copy.
The three watch Cyrus and Biggs retain their Overdrive and Xtreme Championships.
BVD: I don't know what to tell you, Doc. They're sneaky little shits.
YUP: You're just going to have to be even more cunning.
Dr. Matt: That's the worse advice I've ever heard.
YUP: Hey, that's not fair.
Dr. Matt: Well, I invited you over here so you could help me. But I guess you're both useless.
BVD: Hey, man, lighten up.
YUP: Yeah, we-
All of a sudden, Piss GottaGo stops talking. He begins to blush. Dr. Matt immediately knows what happened.
Dr. Matt: Tell me you're wearing a Depends today.
YUP hangs his head in shame.
Dr. Matt: Dammit, Piss. If my mom finds out you pissed on her couch, she's going to lose it.
YUP: I'm sorry, but-
Dr. Matt's mom walks into the room.
Matt's Mom: Alright, boys, supper's ready. What's that smell?
Dr. Matt: It's nothing.
Matt gets up and starts shoving his mom back into the kitchen.
Dr. Matt: Let's all go quickly into the kitchen and eat.
Matt glares at Piss GottaGo while Bee Ver Dam gets up.
BVD: Smells good, what's on the menu.
Matt's Mom: Beaver stew.
BVD stops dead in his tracks.
BVD: What?
Matt's Mom: Beaver stew. I got the idea when I overheard Matthew's father telling his poker buddies how much he loves eating beaver. Big beaver, furry beaver, pierced beaver - I'm assuming he hunts it with a bow and arrow. I think he's been sneaking meals in down the street at the Henderson's, because he says he loves eating her beaver the most. That must be where he goes off to in the middle of the night. That's my man, he loves to eat. But, I figured why go down the street to eat beaver when I can give him a perfectly delicious beaver to eat. So, I thought I'd surprise him tonight with a delicious beaver stew!
YUP just laughs as Bee Ver Dam is fuming. Dr. Matt, meanwhile, looks like he's about to throw up.
BVD: How dare you kill a poor, innocent little beaver for food!
Matt's Mom: Don't get mad at me, talk to my husband. He's coming in the driveway now. You know, I heard him say he's been eating beaver all of town ever since we got married. I mean, I was a little offended, but I guess he must be embarrassed that he likes eating beaver. If he liked it so much, he could've just asked. I'd let him eat all the beaver he wants!
Dr. Matt begins runs into the bathroom and can be heard throwing up. BVD screams out in rage and goes running out the door. Matt's dad is getting out of his truck as BVD tackles him to the ground and starts punching him. YUP, meanwhile, is laughing so hard that a pool of piss forms at his feet. Matt's mother faints at the sight, while BVD can be heard screaming outside.
BVD: HOW DARE YOU EAT SO MUCH BEAVER!
Matt's Dad: OW! Who told you! Don't tell my wife!
========
Back in the UWF "arena", Dr. Matt is sitting on the ring apron.
Dr. Matt: This isn't looking good. I can't get into the right mindset to help Jeff face the Axis of Awesome, and now my parents kicked me out of their house. Mom says it's because one of my friends ruined the carpet, but Dad says it's because he now has to eat beaver stew every day. This is becoming a nightmare.
The camera pans left, where Somalia Wally - a Somalian Pirate version of Samoa Joe - loads a clip into an assault rifle and cocks it.
Dr. Matt: You really can't bring that gun to the match with you.
Somalia Wally glares at Dr. Matt.
Dr. Matt: Alright, maybe you can.
The door to the barn can be heard swinging open, and Dr. Matt turns to see the Hardly Boyz, Jephette and Matilda, walk into the barn. The transvestite versions of the Hardy Boyz slide into the ring behind Dr. Matt.
Jephette: Yoo-hoo.
Dr. Matt: What are you two doing here.
Matilda: We've come to help you out, silly.
Dr. Matt: And how you plan on doing that?
Jephette: We're going to give you some tag team training.
Matilda: I thought you said we were going to tag team on him.
Jephette: Quit giving away my secrets.
Dr. Matt: You know, you guys, I really don't know if you can help me.
The door to the barn swings open again, and this time the STD-infected version of Team 3D - Team VD - walk into the barn. Buddy Defile helps the sickly Buddy Rape get into the ring.
Buddy Defile: If anybody is going to train you in tag team wrestling, it's going to be us!
Matilda: Please, the only thing you could teach anyone is the various stages of HIV infection.
Buddy Rape: Defile... Get the Trannies!
Defile begins to move in on the Hardlyz, but Dr. Matt gets in the way.
Dr. Matt: Hold on guys, save it for the Homecoming.
MJ's Style - the Michael Jackson impersonator who looks more like AJ Styles then the deceased King of Pop - comes moonwalking to the scene.
MJ's Style Singing: You wanna be startin' somethin'; you gotta be startin' somethin'.
MJ's Style continues to dance while Team VD and the Hardlyz start to butt heads. Finally, Dr. Matt gets fed up.
Dr. Matt: Enough!
Everybody freezes.
Dr. Matt: Maybe this is the problem. Maybe this is why I can't think clearly to prepare for this match. I've surrounded myself with lunatics! How can I take this match seriously when I don't even take myself seriously anymore! No, you know what, I need to get away, clear my head, and focus.
Dr. Matt leaves everyone stunned and gets out of the ring. He walks out of the barn and slams the door shut behind him. Everyone sits still for a moment, before finally letting out a big sigh of relief. The Hardly Boyz take off wigs to reveal normal haircuts underneath them. Buddy Defile pulls fake sores off his lips while Buddy Rape begins to rub of the make-up that makes him look pale. MJ's Style takes off his red leather jacket, and Somalia Wally puts down his gun.
Somalia Wally: Man, I don't know how much longer I can keep this up for.
MJ's Style: Listen, he ain't going to pay us unless he thinks we're freak shows.
Jephette: Man, I don't even think this is worth the money.
Matilda: Whatever, after this weekend, we can all stop living this charade and go back to our normal lives.
Buddy Rape: I can't wait.
Buddy Defile: I can't believe he called us freaks. He's the one that thinks this is actually a good idea.
They all shake their heads in disgust as they get out of the ring. The camera then pans over to Le Bloque - the French-Canadian Rock - and "Dumb as a Stone" Dave Justin - the mentally handicapped, wite-out huffing Steve Austin - who are sitting on hay bales, watching everything that just happened.
Le Bloque: Attendez. Dey are pretendin'?
Dave Justin: What a bunch of freaks.
Dave Justin shoves a bottle of Wite-Out up his nose while Le Bloque puffs on his cigarette and shakes his head in disgust.
========
We see Dr. Matt walking down a path through the woods behind his Grandfather's barn. He has lit a cigarette and takes a few drags, just taking a moment to be alone with his thoughts.
Dr. Matt: I have to face the reality here. This could very well be the last time I step into a wrestling ring. Going to these morons for advice was a bad idea. This match is serious and has serious consequences. Jeff, one of my oldest friends, has turned to me to be his assurance that he keeps control over his creation. Jeff has a deep list of friends he could've turned to, many men who he has brought up from nothing and turned into champion. He could've gone with any one of them, but he came to me because he knows what I'm capable of. Jeff has experienced first hand just what Hardcore as Hell can do when his back is to the wall.
And what it comes to beating the shit out of two little pricks like the Axis of Awesome, well; that just may be what I do best.
I won't deny that I'm past my prime. Hell, that's why I left after RassleMania V. The wear and tear, day after day, week after week. I just couldn't do it anymore. I've spent way too many years on the road, wrestling all over the world. I will admit that there is no way I could ever return as a full-time, active wrestler in APW.
But this isn't full-time. This is one match. One, little match. I only need to be on top of my game for ten, twenty, thirty minutes at most. If I engaged in a series of battles of the Axis, then they'd probably come out on top. But for one night? One time?
I am Dr. Fucking Matt. I am a living legend. I'm an innovator. If Chris Cyrus or Biggs thinks for one minute that they could best me at RassleMania, then they are more stupid then they look.
RassleMania is the reunion of the Perfect Storm. Jeff and I haven't been on the same side of the table since the dying days of WWC. We took over that company with an iron fist. The roster was so fucking scared of us, they all ran away instead of staying to fight us. That's how fucking legendary we truly are.
An entire roster of superstars, each and every one of them better wrestlers then the two of you, tucked their tails between their legs and ran the fuck away instead of standing up to us. But, for a group of cowards, I almost respected them. Because they were smart enough to realize what they were up against.
The fact that you two aren't trembling with fear just proves how foolish you truly are. Perhaps it's the arrogance of youth. Perhaps it's just because you've let what little power you have go to your head.
Whatever it is, it will lead to your downfall. You're not dealing with the same fucksticks you normally do in APW. You're dealing with two seasoned veterans, who even past the pinnacles of their careers are greater men then you could ever hope to be.
We aren't going to fall for your tricks.
We aren't going to play your stupid games.
And we aren't going to lose.
The Perfect Storm is about to unleash one of the greatest ass-kickings this company has ever seen. Make sure you set your TiVo before you step in the ring, just so you'll be able to go back and try to figure out exactly what the fuck hit you.
The fact remains that this could very well be the last time I step into the ring. They say wrestlers never retire, but it's harder and harder to find reasons to step back into the ring. I won't call this my retirement match because I don't discount the future, but in my mind, I'm treating it as such.
That being said, this will not be a storybook "Passing of the Torch" moment. No, I refuse to go out that way. I'm going out with my head held high. Sure, I'm helping an old friend regain what is rightfully his, but furthermore, I will prove that even in my final days, I could still go out with men in their prime and give them the beatdown of a lifetime.
Biggs, Cyrus; the only thing you'll be earning at RassleMania is a place on the list of men who've tried to stand up to the Perfect Storm and failed. Unfortunately, that list is so long that you'll probably just be lost in the shuffle. But don't worry, I'm sure some day, years in the future, you can tell your grandchildren the story about how you actually got to stand in the ring with the Perfect Storm at RassleMania!
And your grandchildren, who will share your same, retarded genetics, will look back at you and say, "Did you beat 'em, Grandpa?".
And you'll fall silent like a veteran asked about his experience in the war.
Visions of myself and Hurricane Jeff destroying you will flood back into your memory.
The same memories that have haunted you for your entire life.
Then, you'll shrug it off and ask your grandkids if they want ice cream, and you'll all try to forget it ever happened.
But, the fact remains; the beating you are about to receive at RassleMania will stick with you until your dying day. Forever will you look back at when you foolishly believed that you were better than the Perfect Storm.
And you will always live to regret your mistake.
And that's the Perfect Storm's 100% Guarantee!
Dr. Matt stops to smirk at the camera as the scene fades to black.
