The metallic-yellow taxi cab hood glimmered in the radiance of Tuesday evening sunlight. Inside was most likely a CSWA newcomer who obviously didn't have the luxury of transporting himself in something stylish like a sports car or limousine.

The cab slowly rolled to a halt. The car still chugged, however, and black clouds of smoke poured out of the tailpipe. It seemed as if the taxi cab was trying its hardest to stay alive, even in its idle state.

The car stopped prematurely because between the vehicle and arena stood a barbed wire-laced 12 foot barrier, in the form of chain link fencing. A CSWA staff member approached the car, as the obese cab driver slowly winded his window down manually.

"I'm here to drop off a..." The cab driver trailed, looking back over his shoulder.

"What's yer name, kid?"

From the staffers view, the cab driver nodded and returned his vision back to his enquirer.

"Th' kid's name is Cleaver O'Connor."

The staffer's eyes narrowed. The name didn't ring a bell, and he quickly looked up and down his clipboard for the name. He couldn't find it.

"I'm sorry, but he's not on the list."

Inside the car, Cleaver was becoming increasingly irritated. Beyond the gate was his new home, and this CSWA staff member was trying to keep him from crossing the threshold. He pulled a cell phone out of his gym bag and angrily pounded a combination of numbers. After a few rings, he expressed his plight to Jillian Sharpe, one of Chad Merritt's close protegees. Cleaver shook his head and leaned over the passenger's seat.

"Can you please pull up and let me talk to him?" O'Connor politely asked. The cabbie obliged, inching his cab forward a few feet. Cleaver O'Connor winded his window down quickly.

"Hello," he began, "I'm Cleaver O'Connor and I'm one of the CSWA newcomers. I'm replacing Jeremy Savage on the card."

The man didn't budge, or give any further indication that he was even listening to the pleading passenger. Cleaver was becoming very impatient, almost to the extent of desperation.

"You gotta let me in there!" he shouted, but the staffer shrugged his shoulders and explained that there was nothing he could do. This was the last straw. O'Connor's arm shot out of the open window and held the cell phone out for the man to grab. He took it and listened to the irate voice on the other end. His face became sad and his frown continued to grow until it looked like his lips were going to fall right off of his face. He pulled the phone away from his throbbing ear and handed it back to it's owner.

"You can go in now," the man croaked sadly, tugging on the lever that sent the fence mechanism roaring to life. The chain link fence subsided, and the black pavement lead to only one place: The Charlotte arena. "Say, what's that mark on your neck?" the man curiously asked before the cab advanced. O'Connor immediately recalled the romantic encounter he had the night before. He slowly took off his sunglasses and put them aside.

"Spider bite." He replied casually as the taxi darted forward. The car sped rapidly down a slope and into the underground parking garage. The engine revved and continued to increase in pitch, only to screeeeech to a halt at the door. Cleaver spilled out of the cab in his full wrestling regalia, slinging his annoying gym bag behind him. He quickly unrolled a wad of money and paid the driver.

"Keep the change."

A statement that would make any cab driver smile.

"Good luck!" The driver exclaimed cheerfully. Although Cleaver didn't believe in luck, he nodded genuinely and rushed towards the elevator. A woman already inside flashed a flirtatious smile as he stepped in.

"Going up?"

The question could have been interpreted in numerous ways. Cleaver simply cracked one of his knuckles and produced a glare of confidence.

"Yeah."

BILL BUCKLEY (V/O): "This program is protected by CS Enterprises copyright. Unlawful duplication and distribution prohibited."

(CUE UP: “The Last Day On Earth – Marilyn Manson”)

(FADEIN: The ON TIME logo at the top of the ramp from the show’s debut.

CUT TO: The Professionals walking backstage, both with a cigarette in mouth.

CUT TO: Eli and Troy “playing tug-of-war” in the crowd with a chair from ANNIVERSARY 2001.

CUT TO: Triple X flying to the outside with a senton splash at ANNIVERSARY 2001.

CUT TO: Tom Adler holding the United States title.

CUT TO: Kin Hiroshi coming from the top with a Hiroshima Bomb.

CUT TO: George Washington Knife Edge Chopping Eddie Mayfield.

CUT TO: Hornet nailing Cameron Cruise with a Shooting Star Press.

CUT TO: The New Suicide Squad at the top of the ramp.

CUT TO: Lawrence Stanley proudly waving the American and British flags.

CUT TO: Shane Southern dropping Bandit with a Reverse DDT.

CUT TO: Faceless taking off his mask to reveal himself as Mike Randalls.

CUT TO: Nathan Cross standing along the middle turnbuckle with a hand raised to the Crossovers.

CUT TO: PI-CAM" shot of a WOMAN signing GUNS' words for the benefit of the hearing impaired at PT.

CUT TO: Eli Flair with a Razor’s Edge on Mark Windham from the second rope.

CUT TO: Flair tackling Troy In Anaheim.

CUT TO: Windham piledriving Troy outside.

CUT TO: Dan Ryan throwing Windham into a merchandising stand.

CUT TO: Windham being dropped from the 2nd tier.

CUT TO: Windham moonsaulting Ryan through a table.

CUT TO: Mark Windham being Humility Bombed by Dan Ryan.

CUT TO: Ben Worthington awarding Dan Ryan the World title as an endearing crowd looks on.

CUT TO: A montage image of the Kevin Powers, Intruders, Shane Southern, Hornet, Triple X, Mark Windham, Evan Aho , Lawrence Stanley, Eli Flair and Randalls.

CUT TO: Merritt and Thomas in the ring, all smiles, after the CSWA’s first show in the Merritt Auditorium in 1988.

HOLD AND FADE ON: The ON TIME Logo.

(The music slowly fades out as the image transitions to...)

The lights fade to a hot pink. Some baritone resonance over the P.A. system is slowly building up to an eventual crescendo, leaving the crowd momentarily on the edge of their seats. The build up is intense for quite a few moments, until exactly twenty-seven trained monkeys begin walking down the ramp, playing miniature cymbals in unison. The crashes get faster, and eventually the last one cues the lights to go black and a spotlight to fall on….

Who else? William Hung.

The music to “She Bangs” begins and William Hung, the American Idol “standout” and now accidental celebrity grabs the mic and begins rocking it like only the Hung Idol can.

“Tok to me… tell me yo name…
You blow me awf, like it all tha same…
You lit a fuse and now I ticking away
Like a booomb, yeah babeh.”

Ten morbidly obese women emerge from the curtain, and begin backing that thing up in a circle around William Hung, the ultimate Chinese superstar.

“Tok to me… tell me yo sign…
You switching side, like Gemini.
You playing games, now you hitting my heart
Like a dwuuuuum, yeah babeh!”

Pink and white confetti begins to fall from the sky.

“Well if Lady Luck, is on my side
We will wock this town aliiiive
I’ll let her wuff me up, till she knock me out
Cuz she woks like she toks and she toks like she woooocks!”

Mittens T. Cat bursts from the curtain with a mighty pelvic thrust, and a pink guitar in hand.

“SHE BANG! SHE BANG!
WASTED BY THA WAY SHE MOO’! SHE MOOOVES!
NO ONE EVUH LOOK SO FIIIIIIINE….
SHE WEMIND ME DAT A WOMAN GOT ONE TING ON HER MIND!!”

Mittens T. Cat hops the guardrail and begins moon walking through the aisles, licking his fingers, patting his ass and making a “sizzle” sound as though he is expressing how hot his ass is.

“Tok to me… tell me tha news
You wear me out like pair of shoe!
We dance all night, ‘til the band go home
Then you gooooone, yeah babeh!

Mittens poses for a Kodak moment with a child as his parents snap a photo.

“Well if it look like love, should be a kwime,
They bettuh wock me up fuh liiiiiife.
I do the time, with smile on my face
Thinking of her, in her leather and lace, oooh

“SHE BANG! SHE BANG!
I WASTED BY THE WAY SHE MOOO! SHE MOOO!
NO ONE EVUH LOOK SO FIIIIINE…
SHE WEMIND ME DAT A WOMAN GOT ONE TING ON HER MIND!

She baaaaaaaangs…”

HUNG concludes just as Mittens slides in the ring to an enormous ovation.

Mittens grabs a microphone from ringside.

“HELLOOOOOOOOOOOO CHARLOTTE, N.C.!!”

The cheap pop got what it was there for.

“I…am… Mittens T. Cat, the hippenest, hoppenest, happenist cat out there. And it just so happens that I, THE HARDKORPUZZAY~!, is now not only rockin’ every woman in America, but the CSWA! That’s right, I made my bed here boys. Eat it!”

The crowd obviously approves of the Mittens, otherwise known as ‘that guy that wears the pink cat furry in the ring’.

“Now tonight, along with several other quote, unquote: new blood, I’m here to debut against some and win, and prove myself to Chad Merritt, the uhh… owner of this cesspool of has-beens, losers, and… well, me. ME~! Because tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is about me… ME~! M TO THE T TO THE MOTHERCRAPPING C!”

Even though he insults the living crap out of the crowd, and seems relatively conceited, the crowd eats it up… must be that stray kitten appeal.

“And yes, yes, yes… I know, the Chinese guy sucks. I’ll do you guys a favor and if he sings again, I’ll sock him one right to the kidney. Cool? Cool. By the way, I uhh… WILL be expecting a Greensboro title-shot after tonight Merritt so, if you could get that contract worked up for me, I’d appreciate it. And if I don’t get it, well, you can expect the old 1,2,3, covered in pee. That’s right! I’ll dye your hair YELLOW, Chaddius! YELLOW!” With a grin, he moonwalks until he reaches the rope and slides out of the ring.

And with that, William HUNG starts back into ‘She Bangs’ as Mittens grabs his guitar.

“WHAT I SAY, HUNG??”

The HARDKORPUZZAY~! Runs up the ramp, with his guitar held high over his head.

“Tok to me… tell me yo name…
You blow me awf, like it all tha—”

He’s interrupted by the roaring of MTC.

“ELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL KABONG!”

*CRACK!*

That’s the sound of Hung getting a guitar over his head and it breaking, while Mittens stands over him and laughs like a pirate. The crowd roars with approval.

(CUTTO: John Simons and Manuel Juarez at their post twenty-feet to the left of the rampway, the pair sits behind a fake marble desk and a well-made ON TIME logo hanging overhead. As the circus known as Mittens T. Cat leaves town, John and Manny find themselves at a loss for words.)

JS: Howdy, Howdy fans John Simons here with Manuel Juarez, and...

MJ: I say it Juan. What in the hell was that?

JS: Thank you. And did he just threaten to urinate on someone in the ring? Bad Kitty. Mittens’ stay might be relatively short here if he tries that...

MJ: Please Juan. You righteous hypocrite. This company dumped a vat of crap on a man, a good man no less, in the center of the ring, and you worry about Mittens’ bladder control?

JS: I hate when you’re right, but you’re right. What was I thinking?

MJ: I ask that manny time, Juan. “What is Juan thinking?” Drive Manny crazy. Keep him up all hours of night. Manny needs sleep Juan. Vocal chords must stay sharp, be able to sing with fervor!

JS: As long as you’re able to sing with fervor. Forget peace in the middle east or paying off the national debt, as long as Manny can sing with fervor we’re alright.

MJ: Jealousy is not your shade of color Juan.

JS: You don’t think? Fans ANNIVERSARY was a landmark success for the CSWA, and it’s return to the top in this business. Just a great show, Manny. Dan Ryan defending his World title against Shane Southern in a classic. Hornet becoming the US champion once again! And Eli Flair making Mark Windham say “I Quit” in a match that’s still being talked about. One of the greats, in my opinion.

MJ: Mine too Juan. Eli Flair bad man. If Manny owe him money, Manny pay, cause Manny not stupid. Flair is, but when you tough, you can collect.

JS: Right. Both Windham and Flair victims of attacks after the match. Timmy Windham and Mickey Benedict making their return and unmercifully beating Mark Windham in the ring. As a result, this week The Lost Soul announcing his retirement from professional wrestling.

MJ: Sad day for fans ‘cross country Juan. Mark Windham will be missed.

JS: That he will. We hope to get word from Mark in the near future. And Merritt has to ban Windham and Benedict from future events you would think. I mentioned the attack on Flair, we have shocking footage from Merritt Auditorium security cameras ready to roll. The weak hearted need not watch.

(CSWAvision comes to life. A masked man taking a home run swing at Eli Flair is shown. The sold-out crowd reacts with astonishment as Flair hits the cement on film. The man leans over Total Elimination and takes another shot with his bat, this time straight down on his sternum. Flair reacts by coughing up blood. One final shot appears on the screen, that of the figure cold-cocks Eli across the face with a pair of brass knuckles. He finally pulls of his mask and whispers harrowing words in Flair’s ear.
"Learn to swim, Elijah. Learn to swim.")

JS: Absolutely sickening! From what we know, Flair suffered some broken ribs and a dislocated jaw.

MJ: That sure was some savage beating he took, like an animal, beat like an animal, Manny says.

JS: It seems as if Eli Flair is the only man who knows who this is. We’ve been asking around the locker room and no one has any idea who this man is.

MJ: Maybe it’s cause he had a mask on, man. And you know, you couldn’t really see his face there at the end. Just a guess Juan. For once I’d like to see you put 2+2 together for yourself.

JS: Thanks Manny. Tonight’s the debut of a host of ‘New Blood” Merritt’s brought into the company! And Chad announced earlier in the week that the one who impresses the most gets a Greensboro title shot at the next ON TIME!

MJ: Nice segue from two men almost dying for Greensboro title shots. As if owning the key to the third largest city in North Carolina will make up for illegal beatings. Please Juan. Show respect for the dead.

JS: Windham and Flair are not dead Manny! Ugh. Fans when we return, the debut of the CSWA’s new blood!

MJ: Goody. Could be watching the baby steps of the next Joey Melton!

The most surprising and unusual thing happened before this match started. As usual, the fans did nothing when Aelieas Fierte made it to the ring first. But here's where the surprise comes; when Suicide appeared, the fans were off of their feet. Cheering him on like he was a CSWA mainstay, Suicide did nothing but just focused on Fierte as he made it to the ring. The match started slow, with Suicide's speed over taking Fierte with arm drags, dropkicks, and a snap suplex. Fierte though displayed his power, as he reveresed a hurricanrana into a sit-down powerbomb, taking Suicide hard into the mat. Fierte, having the strength advantage, as the commentators so eloquently pointed out, tosses Suicide around a couple of times with some impressive suplexes.

Suicide came back however, hitting a back handspring into an enziguri in the corner on Fierte. What was really impressive to the fans, as they kept chanting Suicide's name for almost all the match, was after the enziguri, he literally leaps on the top rope, jumps up, and implants Fierte's head into the mat with a flying DDT. It wasn't enough however, as Fierte used his strength against Suicide once more, hitting a huge brainbuster in the middle of the ring.

But one fatal mistake by Aelieas Fierte proved to be the final nail in his coffin. After a missed legdrop off the top rope, Suicide whipped Fierte to the ropes, driving him hard to the mat on the return with a beautiful spinebuster. Stalking him like a predator does his prey, Suicide moved in for the kill, setting up a Suicidedriver, a jumping piledriver that looked like Fierte snapped his neck. Suicide was then quick to place Fierte on his shoulders, setting up for what some call a controversal wrestlign move, the inverted Spicolli driver, known as the Burning Hammer. But instead of going for it, he dropped Fierte to the mat and pinned him. Suicide showed something rare in this sport; mercy. Afterwards, the referee went to go to raise Suicide's hand, but that never happened, as Suicide just left the ring, not caring apparently that he had won.

WINNER: Suicide via pinfall at 4:27.

("Dark Machine" - Paul Oakenfold hits drawing more boos from the crowd as Christian Sands emerges from the entryway. He opts not to make his way down the ramp, but rather reclines against the set with a mic in one hand.)

SANDS: The scuttlebutt in the back is that the big boss man around here is in the house looking to toss out a random shot at Rabesque to whomever he sees fit. Well, I'll tell you what. I'm gonna make your job easy, Merritt. Monkeys, roll the footage.

(Zoom in on CSWAvision.)

(CUTTO: A still photo of Troy Douglas lying sprawled in a GWE ring.)

SANDS (v/o): You could give the shot to Troy Douglas. After all, there's nobody better to contend for a title than a bland hack who takes five or six months off every time he scratches his little finger. Sounds like championship material to me.

(CUTTO: A still photo of Mittens T. Cat.)

SANDS (v/o): You could give the title shot to Mittens here. You could also get ahold of a soldering iron and stick it in your eyes for a couple hours. It'd be a better idea. What's next? We gonna get Pikachu signed to a deal to come down here and take on Hornet? This ain't no circus.

(CUTTO: A still photo of Suicide on his back in an EPW ring.)

SANDS (v/o): You could give the title shot to Suicide. The same Suicide who runs crying because he can't take a loss like a man. Yep, I think from now on all championship contenders should up and leave when they lose matches. It's such a noble trait.

(CUTTO: A still photo of Cleaver O'Connor.)

SANDS (v/o): You could give the title shot to Cleaver O'Connor. You could also give the title shot to the redneck in green overalls sitting in the first row. Yeah, I'm talking to you, tubby. Nothing like having a complete nobody challenging for the title.

(CUTTO: A still photo of Christian Sands and Jean Rabesque locked in combat at GWE's Battleground Britain.)

SANDS (v/o): Or you could give the title shot to me, the man who wrestled your Greensboro Champion to a sixty-six minute epic draw in what is being called the greatest technical showcase of the modern era. It's that simple, Merritt. You want a world-caliber match? You want new blood to step up and run with the ball? I've already started running. Give me the ball. If you're serious about this new blood deal, there's no reason to consider any one of these other hacks. Of the bunch, I'm the most talented, the most charismatic, the most marketable, and the most FAMOUS. You won't see Mittens carting around the World Title of a major promotion anytime soon, but I'm doing so right now. Give me the title shot, and you'll get yourself a world-caliber match, a star to build the future around, and a hell of a television rating. But it's up to you, Merritt. If you want to give the ball to someone who's just going to drop it before he even gets onto the court, that's your prerogative. But somehow, I think you're a bit smarter than that. Fifteen years don't lie.

(Cut back to Sands.)

SANDS: But hey, like I said - it's up to you. One way or another, though, you'll see me somewhere near the top of the mountain in the future.

("Dark Machine" hits again as Sands tucks the mic into his trenchcoat pocket, strolling to the back.)

JS: Quite a statement from Mr. Sands!

MJ: Visual art! Scoring point with "Chartmaster" Merritt. This guy has brains. A brown noser. Me likes.

JS: That's all it takes huh? To get the Juarez endorsment. Visual aid.

MJ: Manny easy to please. But Sands set bar too high for himself, maybe. What happens next week?

JS: You're right. Still photographs...tough act to follow. (rolls eyes.) We'll be back after this.

The match started humbly, just as it's relaxed competitors were. Kalas jumped ahead with a DDT, followed by tactical submission moves to weaken Cleaver O'Connor's massive arms. A slightly boring, one-sided encounter this match was.... until a flicker of life arose in O'Connor. Cleaver fought his way out of Kalas' mounted fury of punches, eventually scrambling to his feet and leveling Kalas with a clothesline. The fans began cheering rabidly as O'Connor turned the match into a literal spot fest, unloading his arsenal of mid-range power moves on his overwhelmed opponent. Snap Suplex...Samoan Drop...Powerbomb...German Suplex.

The onslaught seemed endless.

About five minutes in, Kalas pounded his palms on the mat with O'Connor's painful Boston Crab. He quickly balled them into fists and gritted his teeth instead. He wasn't about to submit. Too much was on the line; starting his career strong and a possible Greensboro title shot were a few attractive examples.

1!

2!

Cleaver O'Connor went for the pin, and Kalas defiantly kicked out after two. Cleaver O'Connor was shocked, and as he lamented over the missed three count, Kalas jabbed him in the gut and jumped to his feet. O'Connor slowly stood and advanced, only to receive a stiff boot to the gut, followed up by a neck-destroying Diamond Cutter. The fans booed as the hero flopped on the canvas like a wounded fish.

Ten minutes had passed by, and Kalas was taunting the upset crowd. He had just unleashed his own helping of fury, successfully landing a Double Underhook Neckbreaker and Jackhammer, as well as giving his Scottish opponent a Spear for good measure. They showered their boos, but it didn't phase him. He was moments away from victory. He could just taste it. With one quick cutthroat motion, one could assume that he was going for the win. Lifting Cleaver his sweaty mop of golden hair, he plunged O'Connor head and shoulders between his legs. By all accounts, it looked as though Kalas would finish the match with The Opiate, his famed sitout powerbomb maneuver. However, Cleaver relented when Kalas attempted to lift him.

He wasn't budging.

The fans continued their ever-crescendoeing chant of "Clea-ver! CLEA-VER!" It was obvious that this young man, through his suffering and determination, had won them over. A look of obligation then crossed O'Connor's sweaty face. He wasn't about to let them down. With a mighty roar, Cleaver O'Connor back body dropped his 378 pound opponent! He grabbed his lower back ala Hogan and stumbled around as the crowd erupted. He flashed a quick smirk but he realized his work was not finished. He lifted his stunned opponent to his monstrous feet, and hit the HEAT STROKE on Kalas! The fans went berserk as Kalas went down like a Jenga tower. Cleaver hooked Kalas' leg for the pin. The deafening crowd shouted out the count as the ref pounded the mat.

1!

2!

3!

The bagpipe riddled sounds of of "Chutes and Ladders" by Korn began to serenade the victorious Scot and all in attendance. The fans cheered and applauded as Cleaver rolled out of the ring. O'Connor beamed as he ascended the ramp humbly and receded into the back.

WINNER: Cleaver O’Connor

After 15 years of waiting and watching from the sidelines, Troy Douglas was finally in the CSWA, and he left no question as to his intentions when he faced off against CSWA veteran and fellow Greensboro native Michael Gettis.

Gettis tried to take control early with a bulldog, but Douglas shoved him into the turnbuckle and dropped him to the mat the a high-angle back suplex. It looked like Douglas’ adrenaline might have gotten the better of him at one point, as he went up top looking for a flying lariat, but Gettis ducked.

“Big Time” followed up with a diving chop, followed by an inverted atomic drop and a ring-shaking spinebuster that garnered a quick two count. Disappointed, Douglas slapped himself on the head.

“…don’t get wrapped up in the moment, kid. Just play your game,” Douglas said to himself. Gettis tried to score a German Suplex after a go behind, but was met instead with an elbow to the side of the head and a springboard forearm smash from Douglas. Mike managed to irish whip Douglas, but the clothesline missed and Douglas quickly took advantage with a knee to the stomach and a swift Double Arm DDT.

It looked like that may be it for Gettis, but he was too close to the ropes and got his foot on the bottom cord before the three count could be completed.

Douglas dragged Gettis up and threw him hard into the corner, catching him on the rebound with a spinning backbreaker, which he quickly flowed into a standing Dragon Sleeper. Gettis struggled to break the hold, but when it looked like he had a chance at the ropes, Troy pulled out the desperation move by yanking Gettis back and dropping him with a modified Scorpion Death Drop.

Again, it looked over, but Gettis is a veteran, and the frustrated CSWA rookie could only get a two count. Gettis tried to come back, and rolled up Douglas from behind, but Douglas reversed it into a pin of his own, which Gettis managed to slip out of. Douglas went for a brainbuster, but Gettis slid in an inside cradle attempt, which Douglas turned into a backslide for a very close two count.

Mike Gettis went for an arm drag takedown to try and even the odds, but Douglas overpowered him with a knee to the gut and a face first Russian Leg Sweep. Douglas applied a standing arm wringer, which Gettis tried to escape with a high crescent kick, but that only resulted in Troy getting Michael into suplex position, lifting him up, and swinging him forward with the Broken Dream.

Normally, Douglas would bring his opponent to the top rope for the End of the Road at this point for the quick finish. He thought about the second rope underhook piledriver that has won him countless matches for a moment, but he quickly realized there was something special about this night. He’d known how he was going to finish this match for almost 16 years.

He pulled Gettis to his feet once more, but instead of going to the corner, he hit him with a boot to the gut and a second Broken Dream facebuster suplex.

Troy had practiced this next part countless times since he first set foot in the Merritt Auditorium in April of 1988. Lift the legs, step between, grapevine, and turn over.

The Scorpion Deathlock.

He arched back on the hold he’d learned from watching his idol over and over throughout the years. Gettis screamed in pain, and while Douglas had his usual look of supreme intensity on his face, there was a glint in his eyes of joy, elation for finally making after years of waiting.

All of his frustration and energy went into that hold, and eventually Gettis could withstand in no longer, tapping out quickly.

As he walked back up the entranceway at the Cricket Arena, it was easy to spot Douglas speaking to himself.

If you listened closely, you could hear him speak.

“That’s one. No more playing around, it’s time to make my mark.”

WINNER: Troy Douglas

“No Rain” by Blind Melon blistered the world with its sheer amount of rock-n-roll as it reverberated over the speakers. Henderson Bramble was warming up in the ring, though one with working eyes could easily see that the sheer amount of rock-n-roll trembling through his 40 year old body was causing him to shake, rattle, and roll. Pink Fireworks exploded on the ramp as ten men in robot costumes walked out in two lines of five, and began doing the robot like so: *does the robot*. As they danced ‘till 1999, Mittens T. Cat stepped out from the back like a rock star, wielding his pink axe of rock music with the force of a mighty mountain man… a mountain man of Rock.

The dancing fools in costumes circled the ring, backing that thing up to the hottest women on the front row as Mittens walked down the aisle. Hell, he even had the audacity to find the woman with the biggest breasts standing by the ramp and give her a great, big pelvic thrust.

He rolled underneath the bottom rope, but Bramble wasted no time stomping on Mittens’ head. But folks, for future reference, please realize that Mittens is in a GIANT, FRICKIN’ CAT COSTUME WITH A GIANT, FRICKIN’ CAT HEAD THAT’S SEWN ON SO THAT IT MAY NEVER COME OFF WITHOUT THE REST OF THE COSTUME. JESUS, FRICKIN’ WRESTLERS THESE FRICKIN’ DAYS!! FRICKIN’ A!!

So, naturally, the PUZZAY~! stood and irish whipped the former ABWA champion into the ropes, and the sluggish Bramble ran right into a moonsault dropkick. MTC bounced off the ropes himself and laid a legdrop on him. Not once, not twice, but thrice. Thrice he legdropped Henderson right across the throat, and boy did it smart. Finally, Mittens lifted Bramble up by his balding hair and tossed him through the middle rope.

The PUZZAY~! was on FIYAH~!

He jolted toward the ropes on the side of Bramble, but Tiger Feigned through the middle rope. Bramble nearly dropped dead of a heart attack right there, but Mittens only laughed like a pirate and spring-boarded over the top rope and dropkicked him right in the colon!
Henderson felt like submitting, but he was a former champion. And he’d prove it tonight, starting with a punch to Mittens’ face…

What the HELL did I SAY about MITTENS’ BIG FRICKIN’ FACE!?!

Just for that: *KIKZUFACE!*

Which is a move that’s really not a kick to the face, it’s actually a low blow from behind. But whatever, not like any of you morons know the difference, much less what testicles are.

Henderson Bramble was rolled back into the ring, and Mittens pulled his cat trousers down and moons an old man at ringside. A few, “AAHS!” from the ladies came, albeit no one was for sure if those yelps are good or bad.

Mittens flipped over the top rope with a springboard as his leverage, however the legdrop that was supposed to follow up was avoided. It appears that even though Bramble has lost a couple of steps in speed, he still hasn’t lost the desire. Bramble reached his feet the same time as MTC, and began pummeling on Cat’s abdomen, finally realizing the face punches had no effect other than causing a strange stagger in Mittens’ steps. Cat was hunched over, and Bramble sent a big knee right into his throat.

Mittens hit the mat, gasping for whatever oxygen he could, but the experienced Bramble wasted no time. But just as a leg lock was about to be placed on him, Mittens kicked Henderson away and reached all fours. Bramble ran and almost kicked MTC in the gut, but the faster Mittens rolled forward and away, finally reaching his feet.

The two once again began to square off, or so it appeared. Mittens merely kicked Bramble in the gut and gave him a mighty running knee lift. Much to the crowd’s delight, Mittens began his climb to the top turnbuckle.

Bramble didn’t move a muscle.

Mittens reached the top, and feigned a jump. The crowd was a bit dismayed, that is until Mittens pelvic thrusted several times, and made the ladies’ vaginas catch on fire with excitement…

At least, that’s what he thought.

And with that, MTC jumped and soared higher than most men in high school mascot costumes would, and landed an amazing shooting star press that made the entire crowd gasp in unison.

Who said cats land on all fours?

*Dr. Evil pinky*

And with that, the referee of the bout counted to three, and Mittens debut was a successful one.

WINNER: Mittens The Cat

(CUTTO: Someone in a big dog uniform running down to the ring with a supersized dog bone.)

(As the crowd laughs, Mittens turns preparing himself to salute the fans. First night in and they’d elect him Mayor if he ran. It’s too easy. As Mittens completes his spin, the giant pup smashes Mittens across the head with the bone, knocking him unconscious.)

(He takes off the mask of the outfit, and rip it off to reveal Jerome Henderson, Scotty's partner in crime.)

(CUTTO: ON TIME Set Entrance. Scotty Michaels is standing at the top of the entrance with a mic.)

SCOTTY MICHAELS: Like I told you, Mittens.. I don't have time for you, but my boy, Jerome... he's gots all the time in the world.

(Jerome meets Scotty at the ramp, and grabs the mic.)

JEROME HENDERSON: When it comes to 'da battle between cats and dogs, the BIG DOGG wins ev'ry damn time! If you wants to start somethin', big cat, I'll be waitin' for ya.

(Fans roar with laughter as Scotty and Jerome walk out of the arena. Somewhere Mr. Hung is having the last laugh.)

(CUE UP: "Dark Machine" again. The lights dim and the crowd boos as Christian Sands strolls down to the ring, mist curling about his feet as usual. He promptly snatches the nearest mic.)

SANDS: It's always such a novelty to be down here in the Carolinas... Such a family atmosphere. And I mean that literally, you inbred pack of plebians.

(The crowd, naturally, boos that.)

SANDS: Now the big boss man here in the CSWA has been talking about new blood. Look no further. I am the new blood of professional wrestling. I've proven myself to be one of the best in this business in every promotion I've stepped into, and I'm going to repeat the process here. So listen up, and you might learn something about how a future legend handles his business. Right now I'm cutting a little something called a promo. That means I take this microphone and talk into it about whatever's on my mind. Here's what I'm thinking. It's obvious to me that the monkeys in the back want to test the waters and get a look at what I can do before they throw me on the front lines. Aight, I'm own. Watch closely, because I'm going to show you exactly what I can do. You might want to take some notes on this, by the way. Now this next thing I'm going to have is called a match. That usually involves another guy coming down to the ring so I can beat the sh(FCC) out of him. So let's get his thing started. Send the kid out here. Don't keep me hangin', already.

The match began innocently enough with a collar-and-elbow tie-up. However, from there it quickly degenerated into a rout. From the first go-behind it was clear that Christian Sands was easily Paige's superior in terms of technique, as he took the other man down with a waistlock and attacked his neck and shoulder, forcing Paige to scamper to the ropes. Taking a moment to pat Paige insultingly on the cheek, Sands backed off, smirking. Another tie-up followed, and Sands again took control, this time snapmaring Paige and ruffling his hair. The big man snapped Paige into a tight inverted facelock, quickly drilling him with a reverse suplex, following with an impressive military press slam that drew plenty of boos from the crowd.

Casually, Sands strolled over to the slowly-recovering Paige, shoving him into the corner and slapping his face a few times. Paige managed to work up enough energy to fire off a few punches, but Sands responded with a series of brutal knife-edged chops that raised welts on Paige's chest. The unfortunate victim staggered out of the corner, and Sands swept him to the mat with a headlock takeover, cinching in the hold. The mic on a nearby camera was able to pick up Sands notifying Paige, "This is called a headlock."

After a moment, Paige managed to fight to his feet, only for Sands to bulldog him to the mat again. Smirking, Sands rolled to his feet and pushed Paige's head with his left boot a few times, then picked him up and drove him ruthlessly back to the canvas with a stump piledriver. The big Canadian covered Paige, but grabbed him by the hair and pulled him off the mat at the two count. Sands covered a second time, but again pulled Paige's shoulders off the mat to break up his own count. Apparently he wasn't done toying with the young man yet. Cinching Paige's arms in a double chickenwing, Sands heaved him to the mat to drop him on his neck and upper back with a chickenwing suplex, holding on and rolling through to deliver two more chickenwing suplexes in rapid succession. With that, Sands rested his hands on his knees and waited for Paige to rise, but grew impatient after about twenty seconds and dragged him to his feet. Clasping Paige in a cobra clutch, Sands heaved him off the mat and slammed him to the canvas with the Sand Blaster, covering, but again he pulled Paige's shoulders up at two. After a quick middle finger to the booing crowd, Sands rolled Paige onto his stomach and locked him in the cobra clutch crossface known as the Sandman's Clutch. The referee quickly dropped down to check on Paige, whirling to signal to the referee as the young man weakly slapped the canvas thrice before slumping into insensibility. The bell rang, and Sands was awarded the victory by a submission.

WINNER: Christian Sands

(CUTTO: Backstage at the Cricket Arena, as Suicide is shown walking with a cigar in his mouth through the slit in his mask. As he grabs a black bag that was sitting in the front of the locker room entrance, CSWA President Chad Merritt walks up to Suicide.)

Merritt: Ulysis Solian, better known to the world as Suicide. Where are you going son?

Suicide: Home. I did what I came here for. And since I'm done, I figured...

Merritt: No, no, no Ulysis. You should stick around because I have an announcement to make in just a few minutes and you might be interested in what its about.

Suicide: I hope this is at least a bit amusing sir, because I don't like surprises.

Merritt: You’re new here kid, so this probably needs to be said. I pay you to stay until I say go home. Understood? Now...as I said, stick around I just something of importance to say in a few.

(The camera shows President Merritt leaving its view as Suicide just stares on, motionless.)

Heeee-heeee! Shamon and Nathan Cross started off as odd as you can expect. Shamon moonwalked to the ring, stopping to do a spin or whatever it is Jackson impersonators do. Cross came out, one silver glove on his right hand. He held it into the air, getting a laugh from his Crossovers. The glove, however, went into his wrestling trunks.

Shamon charged up the ramp... well, charged in a 'shamon' sorta way. Cross nailed him with a punch, and another, immediately sending Shamon back toward the ring the hard way... rolling down the rampway. Nate tossed him into the
ring, following quickly with a springboard senton. Shamon wailed in his high-pitched way, rolling on the mat. Cross stood up, turning to his CROSSovers.

"I want a champion in here!" He shouted. "is this the 'new blood' they're talking about?"

The CROSSovers worked into a chant of NATHAN CROSS that echoed around the arena, even pulling in some of the other fans. Cross' ignoring of Shamon proved costly, however, as Shamon snuck up behind him for a definite low
blow...that didn't come.

Instead, Shamon reached inside Cross' trunks, grabbing for the silver glove. He pulled on it, Nate's hips thrusting forward and bumping Shamon on the face. Nate immediately pulled back, shocked that his crotch slammed into Shamon's jerry curl. Shamon, however, was not going to give up something as precious as that glove THAT easily. He yanked harder, pulling one finger from the trunks so that everyone could see. Nate grabbed the limp finger and yanked back.

Shamon yanked.

Cross yanked.

Shamon.

Cross.

And that finger just kept growing, yanked to a new length as it dangled from the top of Cross' trunks. The fans erupted as Nathan slid outside of the ring, Shamon on the chase. Nathan ran onto the top of the ringsteps and
backflipped into the air, Shamon running underneath him and directly into the stairsteps. Doubled over, Shamon turned toward Cross who immediately put him into a powerbomb and that powerbomb into a spinning, sitting powerbomb that got a HUGE pop from the crowd.

Cross stood up, working the crowd into a frenzy by pumping his hands in the air. He stopped, turned, and signaled to the CROSSovers who immediately responded, a few more than was there a moment before.

Nathan tossed Shamon into the ring, leapt onto the top rope, and off with another rolling Senton. Quickly he ran into the far ropes, inside the ring spring, and off the middle rope with a 'lionsault' that Nate calls "aCROSS the world".

The 3 count was a given, and then Nate gave the glove back to Shamon, shoving it over his face.

WINNER: Nathan Cross

(CUEUP: A modified version of "Hail to the Chief.") Out walks CSWA owner Chad Merritt to a mixed reaction from the crowd. He enters the ring and acknowledges the hot Charlotte crowd in the Cricket Arena. He takes a microphone from his coat pocket and begins to speak to the crowd.)

Merritt: As you know, I stated that the "new blood" were going to make an impact here in the CSWA. I told every wrestler who has made a name for themselves over the past few years to watch their backs.

Before this event, I let all our new talent know that after tonight, one of them was going to get a Greensboro Title shot at the next ON TIME. That means that even a young champion like Jean Rabesque has to watch his back, knowing that one of these six men from earlier tonight are going to challenge for the title in a couple of weeks.

Well fans, after seeing all these young, gifted, talented athletes competing here tonight, I've made my decision. So if you can come out here......Suicide, please come to the ring.

(Cue up: "Woodpecker From Mars" by Faith No More as Suicide heads down to the ring to the fans cheering loudly for him. He walks very calmly towards the ring, entering it in similar fashion. Suicide walks over to Merritt, standing about 6 feet across from him in the middle of the ring. Merritt claps his hands as the fans chant Suicide's name.)

JS: Who would have thought that Suicide would be the guy that would impress Mr. Merritt?

MJ: I think he is a joke, Juan. He became known in IWF... they try to make money off someone named Duct Tape Man. Hey, maybe Chad can restart it and send Mittens there.

Merritt: So for better or worse, you're my choice for tonight Suicide. And not for nothing, every other guy that wrestled tonight were very impressive. But you, you not only impressed me.....but you surprised me the most. Who knew some kid wrestling in the backyard of some maniac wrestling promoter's home in Connecticut would be standing in my ring. Despite where you've come from, despite some of the questions about your personality, your character...

(Suicide snatches the microphone from Merritt's hand as he stands there staring at him from behind his mask.)

MJ: This guy is a rude, pompous ass! How dare he do that to our esteemed president!

JS: I don't know, but it looks like Suicide may have a response to Mr. Merritt's choice of words for him.

(Suicide raises the microphone to his mask, continuing to stare at Merritt sternly.)

Suicide: While I thank you for your "kind" words Mr. Merritt, let me get a couple of things straight. First off, I didn't come here to the CSWA to be lumped with the rest of these guys you collectively labeled "new blood". I didn't come here to the CSWA to impress these fans, to impress the guys in the back....

(Suicide steps closer to President Merritt, looking him right in the face.)

Suicide: .....and I didn't come here to impress you. You want to give me that next title shot against Jean Rabesque? Well thanks......but no thanks.

JS: Incredible ladies and gentlemen! Suicide doesn't want the next Greensboro Title shot!

MJ: He doesn't deserve it now. Not what he just did to our president!

Suicide: In fact Mr. Merritt, do me a favor.....don't lump me with your little "new blood" group that you so love and cherish. I'm not here to fight the new blood, I'm not here to fight the old guard......I'm here to fight everybody. So give your title shot to someone who likes kissing your ass. Because as much as I would love to face Jean Rabesque, whom I have unfinished business with that doesn't concern you, I want to EARN my shot.

JS: Suicide is a man of honor. He would rather earn his keep than just be given a shot on a silver platter.

MJ: Yeah well, what I think of Suicide is.....wait a minute! Who the hell is that!?

(The camera cuts to ringside, as a man jumps the guardrail with a steel chair in hand. He slides into the ring and stands behind Suicide.)

JS: It's Autumn! One of the newest CSWA wrestlers that President Merritt has under this "new blood" label.

MJ: And he's packing heat!

(As Suicide turns around, Autumn slams the chair right on his head.)

JS: Brutal chairshot by Autumn!

MJ: What the hell!? Suicide is standing there like it didn't even phase him! His head must be empty, I knew it!

(Suicide just shakes his head as Autumn, as he comes across with another chairshot across his head.)

JS: And AGAIN Suicide takes another chairshot to the head! But he's still standing there!

MJ: This guy is either impervious to pain or he's just stupid to know he's hurt.

(Autumn looks a bit confused, as Suicide looks at him through his mask unmoved.)

Suicide: If this is what you have to offer in the ways of "new blood", then I guess I....

(As Suicide turns around to face President Merritt again, Autumn comes running and smashes the chairshot right on Suicide's head from behind. Suicide falls down as Merritt leaps out of the ring. Autumn then continues his assault on Suicide, with repeated chairshots to his head.)

JS: Autumn is going to town on Suicide with that chair, as he finally got to the mysterious wanderer.

MJ: My goodness! Suicide is busted open! Just look at that white symbol of his on that mask he's wearing! It's soaked blood red!

(Suicide tries to stand on his feet, fighting the pain, but Autumn gets a running start and swings for the fences, smashing his face in with the chair. More chairshots to the back and head of Suicide by Autumn, as the fans are booing loudly. Autumn then celebrates in the ring, raising that chair, as Suicide lays on the mat with a small pool of blood under his head.)

JS: After having a few choice words for President Merritt, this Autumn comes out of nowhere and attacks Suicide viciously!

MJ: Oh cry me a river! Suicide deserved it and besides, he's used to this sort of trash. This is nothing new to him. A couple of stitches to his ugly face will fix that up quick.

Merritt: Well Suicide, maybe all the naysayers were right when they tried to tell me about your attitude. I guess we'll find out. I think I have just the opponent for you at the next ON TIME, and it's not Jean Rabesque. He'll be facing Cleaver O'Connor. Can somebody get out here and clean this mess up?

JS: We’re out of time! Say goodnight Manny!

MJ: Goodnight Manny!

JS: Be sure to catch the upcoming CSWA PRIMETIME in Atlanta LIVE on NCN where Tom Adler will challenge Dan Ryan for the CSWA World Championship!

(fade to black)