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Posted in: Chair Shots
Chair Shots Presents: DOA 2013 (Day 4: The Final First Round Battle)
By TripleR
Apr 15, 2013 - 10:17:19 AM

doa-dead-or-alive-20070509033142348_640w photo doa-dead-or-alive-20070509033142348_640w.jpg

With two wins on Day 3, today's tag-teams have mounted a comeback. With one final battle in the first round, will the Legends have the upper hand, or will Aries and Roode tie things up for the current crop of tag teams? Whatever the case, more brutality awaits you....

Cult Icon Presents

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Aries & Roode vs Booker T. and Goldust

Announcer: We are coming to you live from DOA Island for coverage of this first round match up of second annual TripleR DOA Tournament! Today, at pool side, you will witness this opening round match up pitting odd couple tag teams Goldust & Booker T vs. Austin Aries and Bobby Roode! Hello everyone, I am the awesomely loud nameless announcer from Ron Howard’s Cinderella Man, joined here today by columnist extraordinaire Cult Icon and current TNA Superstar and former DOA participant Eric Young!

Cult Icon: Rock and roll!

Eric Young: Don’t fire Eric! (looks around all paranoid)

Announcer: Never fear Eric! You can’t be fired on your first day! Cult, let’s start with you. It must be great to be sitting here with your former Tag Team partner in an arena that feels like home to you!

Cult Icon: Really? Did you guys really try to hire Kevin Nash again only to replace me with him?! What is your obsession with this guy? Do you just like to bring in tall old guys who can’t speak anymore for this? Where’s Hogan? Doing another episode of Blunder in Paradise? Where’s the Macho Man huh?

Announcer: Sorry again Cult. We really need to fire the guy who writes the lines for these things!

Cult Icon: Seriously. And while we are at it, why is Eric even here? Didn’t you get killed at the end of last year’s DOA tournament?

Eric: Yeah, but ODB made a deal with the devil where I was brought back to life. Not sure what she had to give up, but hey, I’m here aren’t I? (gives paranoid look around the area again)

Announcer: How romantic EY! You must really love her!

Eric: Yeah….

Announcer: Anyways EY, you have been in ring with all four of these competitors at some point in your career. Hell, you and Roode were close friends as members of the immortal Team Canada stable. Who do you think is the key to this match for either side?

Eric: All of them are good competitors, but the key here today is the new Hall of Famer Booker T. When he was in TNA with me, his main strategy was to get himself into a group with fellow wrestlers, allow them to do the heavy lifting while he fought all the easy matches. Look for him to lean on Goldust here to do the heavy lifting and then to pick off the scraps. (looks around all paranoid)

Cult Icon: Man that harsher a review for Kevin Nash’s acting in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2!

Announcer: Right you are Cult! Now let’s take you down close to the action where our side pool reporter James Van Der Beek is standing by! What do you have for us James?!

 photo VanDerBeek_zpsd40b818a.jpg

Announcer: Not surprising at all James! I’m stunned your even down there so close to what should be a violent contest.

Cult Icon: Probably doesn’t want to wait for his life to be over.


Announcer: Outstanding burn Cult! I see you’ve been working on your jokes!

Cult Icon: You think that’s good, my critically acclaimed An American Motion Sickness series (available one Tuesday’s and Saturday’s for you reading pleasure) has even better ones. That and David Duchovny memes!

Eric: Fuck Duchovny.

Cult Icon: What was that?!

Announcer: Here come the competitors to poolside! All of them look to be in good condition, and there appear to be no nerves. Almost the polar opposite of you last year EY!

Eric: You try fighting in a match to the death and see how you like it (paranoid look around the area again)

Cult Icon: Why do you keep giving paranoid looks like Fran Kranz in Cabin in the Woods?!

Announcer: And the match has begun! And it appears that Goldust is attempting to seduce either Aries or Roode!

Cult Icon: That won’t work on Aries. He may try a counter seduce on Goldust.

Announcer: Right you are Cult, and that appears exactly what he’s trying to do! Roode is looking on entirely confused, and here comes Booker T with a tackle to Aries!

Eric: Why would he do that?

Cult Icon: It’s perfect! Booker can take care of Aries while Goldust gains the psychological advantage on Roode. Great move there by Booker!

Announcer: Great analysis Cult! And Booker is going right after Aries with a spinaroonie kick!

Cult Icon: He’s break-dance fighting!

Announcer: Oh, Aries counters with a stiff kick to the back of the head. Booker is wobbling to his feat now, and Aries is delivering the rights to Booker! Meanwhile, Goldust has Roode backing towards the pool in fear!

Eric: Bobby has to do something here or he’s going to get wet one way or another!

Announcer: Bobby has tripped and fallen! He’s on the edge of the pool and Goldust is getting closer! Bobby reaches into the pool and OH WHAT A SPLASH! Right into the eyes of Goldust!

Cult Icon: He will not be able to see very well Cotton!

Announcer: Right on again Cult! That will temporarily blind Goldust, and Roode is taking full advantage of it. There’s a right by Roode. Another right to follow. Goldust is reeling here, and Aries and Roode appear to have everything under control.

Cult Icon: I haven’t seen a one sided beat down like this I tried to promo battle with CM Punk…man what the hell did Kevin Nash do to you guys?

Announcer: He was a male stripper Cult! Back to the action, Aries and Roode have taken full control of this fight! Oh my God, Aries is now beating Booker T down with James Van Der Beek!

Eric: Holy shit!

Cult Icon: This is the greatest moment of my life!

Announcer: Unbelievable! He just picked Van Der Beek up like he was nothing and his beating both him and Booker to death! And he tosses Van Der Beek’s lifeless body into the pool!

Cult Icon: That will come back to haunt him. He had Booker dead if he continued that massacre.

Announcer: Right you are again Cult! What would we do without you?! But it appears Aries wants to deliver more punishment. He and Booker are closing in the hot dog stand!

Eric: It may not matter guys! Roode is going in for the kill! YES! (jumps out of chair with excitement)

Cult Icon: Partisan much?

Announcer: You’re right EY, Roode has got a towel in hand and looks like he is going in for a chokehold on Goldust. And he…wait, he missed! He went for the throat but instead got Goldust on the face!

Cult Icon: He accidentally got the eyes! Goldust can see again!

Eric: Dammit! Someone end this match! (looks around paranoid)

Announcer: What a mistake by Roode, but he still has Goldust struggling. Oh, a low blow by Goldust! Had to be out of desperation! Roode is backtracking and he goes into the pool!

Cult Icon: We are getting into Spring Break Nitro territory here!

Announcer: Right you are Cult! Goldust has his sight back and his making his way towards the pool! He has Roode backing up!

Cult Icon: This is it here. Goldust has got Roode unless Aries finishes off Booker first. And even then it may not matter!

Announcer: Aries and Booker have made their way over to the hot dog stand right near us! Aries still in control, delivering the right hands at a rapid pace! Booker is nearly out of it, resting against the stand! Aries is going in for the kill! This fight is...(gurgling/roaring sound is heard)…what the hell was that sound?

Cult Icon: Sounded kind of like a zombie or something.

Eric: Oh no! NO! (drops headset and runs away in fright)

Cult Icon: What the hell was that about?

Announcer: Folks, Eric Young has left the announcer’s table in a state of panic! That zombie sound is growing closer and closer! It’s coming from behind the hot dog…OH MY GOD! The hot dog stand has been completely destroyed by some creature! Booker and Aries have been sent flying!

Cult Icon: It’s ODB!

Announcer: My God Cult you’re right, it is ODB! And yet, it isn’t!

Cult Icon: She’s a zombie! My goodness, this must’ve been the price for Eric Young’s soul. Even in death he can’t escape her!

Announcer: Young looks petrified, and zombie ODB is making her way right towards him! EY is jumping into the pool! He’s desperately trying to get away!

Cult Icon: He’s just backing himself into a corner. For a fight that needs only one death, we’re going to get at least three!

Announcer: Right you are Cult! Aries and Booker are out of it from being trampled, but both still seem to be alive. Meanwhile, Goldust has Roode backed into the corner of the pool! He’s got him right where he wants him!

Cult Icon: He needs to hurry though! Young is heading towards him and ODB won’t be far behind!

Announcer: My God, Young is heading over! He’s doing the quickest Mark Henry impression I’ve ever seen with his waddling!

Cult Icon: Clearly you haven’t seen Davey Boy Smith try to save Sting from an exploding boat then.

Announcer: ODB is in the pool! She’s closing in on EY, who has reached Goldust! And he’s holding onto Goldust for dear life!

Cult Icon: What the hell is going on here?

Announcer: All chaos has broken loose. Goldust is trying to shake EY off, and he does! He nails Young with a right hand! And that doesn’t seem to please ODB!

Cult Icon: If she can’t kill Eric, no one can!

Announcer: She is heading towards Goldust, who appears to have no idea she is heading towards him! Roode is cowering in the corner! Who is going to get killed first?!

Cult Icon: She’s got him!

Announcer: ODB has Goldust! And she is tearing his apart limb by limb! Roode is getting out of the pool at a rapid pace! This is the most brutal death I have ever seen in DOA history!

Cult Icon: Roode and Aries are going to win! Unbelievable!

Announcer: That it is! Goldust is nothing more than food now! Roode and Aries have survived in the most shocking of endings I have ever seen!

Cult Icon: I guess you could call that ending a…(takes off sunglasses that weren’t just there a minute ago)…Dustin Finish. (“Won’t Get Fooled Again” by The Who begins to play somewhere close by)

Announcer: Outstanding Caruso impression there Cult! You have been spot on here once again today! I’m so inspired by you, that I may have to take a ton of time off after this performance and disappoint all the people who follow me!

Cult Icon: Come again?

Announcer: Roode and Aries are making their way out of here like scolded dogs as ODB has now given chase to EY! Is she going to catch him?! She’s got him folks, and she is tearing into him as we are out of time! We are going to head off the air! From pool side of TripleR’s second DOA Tournament and for pop culture expert Cult Icon, I am the announcer from Cinderella Man. So long folks, and don’t fire Eric!

Eric (screaming in pain): Don’t fire Eric!!!

Coming Soon- the Semifinals of DOA. Stay Tuned

Day Three

I watch intently as we are halfway through the first round of battle. The Legends have completely destroyed today's current tag teams, barely taking any punishment. It will be interesting to see if that trend continues. The battles continue....

Oliver Presents

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Team Hell No vs. Demolition

Daniel Bryan paced a diamond across the floor, between the door of the treehouse and all three windows, one on each other wall. He shouldn’t feel this ill at ease –Kane had been gone for a little over three hours now, and whilst he had sent up a confirmatory plume of smoke that he had reached the outpost at the edge of the woods, all had been quiet since. Everything was as they’d agreed, a short signal only so as not to give away their location and then radio silence. Metaphorically, of course – nobody had radios here. Christ, what was this, the Hunger Games or something? But Daniel had this feeling, almost a nausea, rising in his gut. Something was wrong. He continued to pace as he ran back over the plan in his mind.

It had been his idea to build the treehouse overlooking a small clearing, although it was Kane who suggested building the outpost so they could scout. Through an intricate system of pulleys and rope bridges, they could span the treetops between the two. It had been hard work to assemble everything, forming ropes by plaiting vines together and scouring for suitable materials to build the two wooden buildings. But it had all been worth it, in Bryan’s mind – not only had they given themselves the high ground, an advantage not to be underrated in this sort of terrain, but they’d also avoided any marauding bears. He admired and feared bears in equal parts, and avoiding them was a big part of why Daniel suggested the treehouse high in the foliage in the first place. Whilst they were beautiful creatures, without question, he knew what they could do to a man and didn’t want any of that. He liked his intestines just where they were, thank you very much.

As he paced, sharpening the crude axe he’d put together from a stone and length of wood all the while, he thought about all the past he’d been through – the hours he’d spent in the ring, the days he’d spent in the gym – all of it had led to this. And here he was, waiting for two guys in bondage gear to appear in the middle of the woods. What a farce. But he knew the plan was solid – one signal from Kane and he could get ready to strike, whilst his partner came back through the canopy. Kane hadn’t said what he’d use; just that Daniel would know it when he saw it…

A jet of fire shot up in the distance, and Daniel knew immediately two things – one, that Demolition were nearby, and two, that they were screwed. Fire plus a dry forest equals disaster. ‘Shit’, he muttered to himself, as he pulled everything together, tucking the axe into his trunks, strapping on his quiver and bow, and tucking the knife down his boot. He’d leave the heavy stuff for Kane – he’d travel light, the better to help him leg it if things got nasty. Kane could handle the fire, he’d survived once before anyway. Gazing out from the window, he saw the smoke billowing from the edge of the forest – not only had the fire started to encroach deeper, but it had spread around the circumference of the woodland, encircling them. They were trapped.

A rustle in the surrounding foliage preluded a leg coming through the window. The rest of the body followed, much to Daniel’s relieve – for a moment, he thought a bear had got to his friend – and Kane stooped before him.

‘You fucking idiot’, said Daniel.

‘What?’, said Kane, ‘I gave you a clear signal, didn’t I?’

‘Fire!? FIRE!?’, Daniel was screaming now. ‘What sort of twat uses fire in dry woodland?’

‘…oh. Shit. Sorry.’


Daniel’s furious tirade was cut off as Kane threw him to one side, launching himself out of the doorway. Daniel couldn’t believe what his partner had done…hari kari? Are you serious? Didn’t Kane remember that once one of them died that was it for the team? Tentatively, he crawled to doorway and looked down. Below, sprawled out on the ground, was his partner. Either side were the convulsing bodies of two men, dressed like gimps – Demolition had been trapped by the fire ring too, and had stumbled into the clearing beneath the treehouse. Kane has spotted them, and launched himself at them with a flying clothesline. Daniel felt a swell of pride in his chest – his partner, no, his friend, had just given them an invaluable advantage. Without a second thought, Daniel readied himself on the doorstep, spread his arms wide, and dived.

He landed head first on Ax’s chest, stunning himself. He rolled away, knowing he had a concussion, but as he looked back he knew it had all been worth it – the left side of his targets chest was concave, probably from broken ribs, maybe even a punctured lung underneath. To his right, Kane and Smash were stirring. At least Crash wasn’t here, Daniel thought to himself – it was a fair fight, and he and his friend had the advantage. To his right, Kane and Smash were on their knees, going at it punch for punch. Ax was on his side, spitting blood. As Daniel stood up, clutching his head, he felt the heat of the fire on the back of his neck – it had now closed to a ring around them, and was still encroaching on the clearing. They didn’t have long until they’d be burnt to a crisp. As Ax came to his knees, Daniel struck him with the hardest kicks he could to his already injured chest. Every kick caused a spurt of blood to issue from the bigger man’s mouth. He took a step back and then, letting out a scream, roundhouse kicked Ax square in the head, knocking him out instantly. As he took a step back to admire his handy work, he caught a sudden heat on the small of his back – his shirt was on fire. He ripped it off as quickly as he could, but still could feel his back burn, and it hurt.

He turned to check on his ally – he was in a bad way. The diving clothesline had smashed Kane’s mask up, and bits of it were now sticking out of his cheeks and forehead. Smash had taken the advantage and had him caught in a Boston crab which was causing Kane, if his face was anything to go by, incredible pain. With his opponent facing the other way, Daniel snuck up behind him and with a swift kick to the head broke the hold. Crash went down, absolutely poleaxed, and Kane could breathe again.

‘It’s time…to end this’, Kane gasped, wincing in pain as he extracted some of the mask from his cheek. Daniel nodded his agreement, and looked over to where the flames were licking at the leg of Ax, who was starting to come round.

‘Then we should get out of here’, he said.

Daniel ran to Ax, knocking him out again with another stiff kick to the face and sending him rolling into the flames. Behind him, his friend picked up Smash and nailed a tombstone piledriver, the crack of Smash’s neck compounding against the soil echoing off the trees. He ran over and locked a No! lock on the man, wrenching back so far that he could feel the discs in his opponents neck slip out from between his vertebrae. He wrenched further and further back, feeling the skin tighten and start to tear. After what felt like an age, he started to feel warm liquid wash over his fingers – blood, as the skin had given out. He looked down, and saw Ax, the stumps that were his legs smoking, crawling towards his partner, screaming at him to stop. With Ax looking on, Daniel increased the torque, and seconds later snapped backwards. Smash’s head had popped clean off his body and flew into the air, landing in front of his partner. Kane grabbed Daniel around the waist and they fled through the firey circle, trying to block out the cries of Ax as his skin slowly burnt up. They ran and ran, only stopping at the edge of the forest, out of reach of the fire.

‘Good job, man’, panted Daniel.

‘Thanks’, said Kane, ‘you didn’t do too badly yourself’.

‘Not too badly?’, Daniel said, his voice rising. ‘Not too badly?! I won us that!’

‘No!’, fired back Kane, ‘I started it. You just finished my work.’

‘Yes! I was the master behind everything!’





As the two bickered, the flames behind them subsided. They’d survived this round, but what horrors awaited them over the coming days?

Sierra Bravo Presents:

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Midnight Express vs. Team Rhodes Scholars

"You know I once saw a little boy walking along this island at night, desperately crying out for help. I stopped him and told him it was dark outside and he shouldn't be walking by himself. I say to the boy “I’ll help you find your daddy!”, and the little boy screams “No, not my daddy, he beats me!' So I say “Alrighty then boy, I'll take you to your momma!” And the little boy screams again, “No, not my momma, she beats me too!” Finally I ask, “Well, who DO you want me to take you to?!” “

“And you know what he says to me? That little boy says “Please Mr Cornette, take me to Team Rhodes Scholars, they don't ever beat anybody!”

The grating Southern shrill of Jim Cornette’s voice echoed around the outskirts of DOA Island. In typical Midnight Express fashion, the brash and vocal manager was flanked by the only two men cockier than their adversaries, Stan Lane and Bobby Eaton, and he knew it. A sense of safety filled the bespectacled Texan to the brim as he bellowed his gloating diction all over the eerie island.

"I've wined and dined with kings and queens, and I've sat in alleys eatin' pork n beans, so trust me when I say boys, I have no problem being out here to see you two pummelled into the salts of the earth by the tag-team that has won titles worldwide and wrecked more homes than Hurricane Katrina, it’s Sweet Sta..AAAAAAAARGH!"

Cornette crumpled to the floor; partly due to the shock of somebody finally interrupting the seemingly unstoppable promos that drip from his mouth, but mainly because of the sheer ferocity which accompanied Cody Rhodes’ kick to the back of his skull.

The Midnight Express lunged into action, thoroughly taken aback by the ambush by Rhodes. The former NWA Tag Team champions had come prepared; armed with the sort of arsenal that wouldn’t look out of place in a videogame. Moving as a unit, both men leapt toward the Moustached One.

Alas, they weren’t dealing with any old ignoramous’. The formidable duo of Cody Rhodes and the still absent Damien Sandow had become a part of the “unwashed masses” in the literal sense since their arrival on the island, and they were determined to remain as intellectual saviours to save two people more important than any - themselves. Rhodes was fully aware that he only had a number of seconds to execute an ambush before the surprise factor wore off, and with the drop of a smokebomb, he was gone.

Lane and Eaton, now hyper-aware of the dangers they were facing, regrouped as they tended to their fallen narrator.

“Ladies and gentlemen, INTERESTING developments at the top of the hour on DOA Island. If you’re just joining us here, and indeed even if you were already watching, let’s take you to a replay of what went down earlier on tonight as Cody Rhodes ambushed The Midnight Express! You have to wonder how wise it was of Rhodes to do so, and also the whereabouts of his partner Damien Sandow! TOUT!”

The silence that was to be expected with the war that was brewing was broken abruptly by a boisterous Michael Cole, who was sat watching on from the safety of a beachside hut above the sandy shores. It was unspecified exactly how long Cole had been left on the island on his own, but as a former war reporter, this was bread and butter for the excitable announcer. He crouched behind the wooden door of the hut, his grey suit now torn, bloodied and dirty. He readjusted the broken and shattered glasses hanging off the edge of his nose and continued on with his brave coverage.

“I’d just like to remind you folks, we encourage you to send all your TOUTS into us here using the hashtag #CodyRhodesAmbushedTheMidnightExpressButWheresDamien, and we’ll select the best TOUTS to use live on the show later tonight! TOUT! It’s time for a quick break here but don’t go anywhere, because up next we’ll be taking an exclusive look at what happened here moments ago as Cody Rhodes ambushed The Midnight Express! We’d also like to remind you to download the WWE App, where you’ll see EXCLUSIVE footage of my exile here on the island! Don’t forget to TOUT about my journey using the hashtag #MichaelColeStranded!”

Down in the trenches, Cornette was coming to his senses, and they were telling him to get his men to cover and away from the glare of the vultures. He barked at Lane to drag him to the remains of a small stonewall to provide some much-needed thinking time for the trio.

As Cornette’s weak carcass was hauled to the perimeter of what had effectively become the battleground, an ominous clang sounded from across the desert of sand and rock.

“We’re back live on Thursday Night DOA Island Deathmatch Sponsored by Tout, and some INTERESTING developments here as Team Rhodes Scholars are storming the island to confront bitter rivals The Midnight Express! Don’t forget, we encourage you to TOUT using the hashtag #TeamRhodesScholarsConfrontBitterRivalsTheMidnightExpress to air your views! Oh my!”

Rhodes had returned, this time with a suit of armour and some valued protection in the form of Damien Sandow. They charged across the golden grounds to lay some opening fire down on their opponents, but this time the Midnight Express was ready.

Like four alpha males all wanting to take sole ownership of what was perceived as their rightful land, nobody was backing down. It was do-or-die time in every meaning of the term.

Eaton shoved Cornette out of the action and lifted Lane up high. Sandow and Rhodes witnessed this act of retaliation but realised that anything other than carrying on and fighting now would just be, well...bad form. They didn’t even flinch and instead continued straight onto their headfirst collision.

20 yards...10 yards...5...

Lane was Rocket Launched out of the grasp of Eaton and straight onto Rhodes Scholars. In the resultant fall of all three men, Lane and Sandow scuffled into a flurried ball whilst the third generation star remained.


The bearded messiah had bested “Sweet” Stan Lane and was crouched over him, emphasising every blow with another bestowment of knowledge upon the hapless grappler.

Eaton scurried over to the scene to support his comrade whilst the egregious Cornette uttered instruction and words of advice from the sidelines. Amidst all the chaos, still nobody had bothered to check on the status of Rhodes – not The Midnight Express to check if they could finish him off, nor Sandow to check if his best friend was salvageable.

Crimson blood was leaking from every crevice of the Dashing One’s head, being absorbed by the pure golden brown sand and horribly distorting into a cloudy grey colour.

His murmurs for help were noticed not by the intended party, but by the very men who would pounce. Eaton’s smarmy smirk returned as realisation dawned. He had successfully downed Rhodes, and now he and Lane had the best chance available to take advantage of what had become a handicap match and vanquish the last remaining Rhode Scholar.


Cornette’s shrill orders carried across the rocks, across the dirtied sands to the edges of the shore where the four men now stood and lay. Eaton nodded at Lane, the latter taking his time to clamber up to the grassy verge as the big man hoisted Sandow into position.

Lane was stumbling up top, feeling all the effects and more of the skirmish. Eaton was eager to hurry the process as his grip on Sandow was loosening.


Lane wobbled and delayed, like Rico waiting on the tope rope at Madison Square Garden for Jeff Hardy.


Eaton’s bloodied hands, desperately clasped together with all the rips and tears in his skin, were starting to slip apart.


Lane finally soared off the verge in the signature legdrop position, ready to deliver every bit of impact he could muster onto Sandow’s neck.

But his jump was mistimed. Would he even reach Sandow?

With Lane ready to descend, and Eaton’s previously firm grip starting to waver, the crafty Jimmy Cornette could see what was about to happen from a mile away. Quite literally.


It all went down in the space of milliseconds. Eaton did his best to crane his neck around whilst attempting to keep hold of the Intellectual Saviour.

All at once, Lane landed awkwardly on Sandow at exactly the same time as Eaton was met by a heinous “CLUNK!” to the temple...


It had always been a rather eventful island. But for now, it was enjoying its rare peaceful moments with a burst of sunshine. Silence was once again the only thing occupying the clear air.

The tag team who for so long had always claimed to be friends as well as partners were left lying. For all the talk of friends and companions; when it was all said and done, it was the return of an old friend which yielded the end of this short, horrific brawl.

Cody Rhodes wiped the fresh blood of Bobby Eaton away from his old mask and dropped it to the floor. Damien Sandow sat next to him, holding onto his neck in a vain effort to subsidise the pain.

Over at the shady side of the island, the areas surrounded by trees and rocks neglected by the sun, a single body lay in the dirty gravel. In the distance, the figures of Jim Cornette and Stan Lane could be made out, hobbling away, howling in agony. Both physical and mental.

Rhodes and Sandow limped over to the scene, where Eaton lay – his head busted wide open, his torso battered and bruised. Twitching, he lifted his head ever so slightly in the direction of the victors. What was designed to be a disrespectful spit at their feet by the Midnight Express man ended up being merely a dribble of saliva.

Sandow turned to his saviour and nodded.

The purple-trunked athlete lifted his hands above his head tauntingly, as Cody placed the same rock which had earlier incapacitated him down onto Eaton’s chest.

Damien yelled up to the beaming skies before completing his pose and striking his elbow down into the heart of Beautiful Bobby. His final breath was excruciatingly drawn out, his last sight being the matey embrace of the Rhode Scholars.

Sandow looked down, half in plain anger and half in what was apparent pity.

“You’re welcome.”

The duo turned on their heels and strolled off, another day survived on this hellish land. The sun skulked off behind the forming clouds, signalling the end of another challenge for the pair, and surely the beginning of a new one. Darkness began to reign down, the horrors of the DOA Island erased yet again in anticipation of the ones yet to arrive. Once more, silence was the only entity living.

A door creaked open above the scene of the crime...

“Hello? Hello?!

I should point out, ladies and gentlemen, that that right there was the Cubito Aequet. Of course, Latin for ‘The Elbow of Disdain!’ #HowManyTimesWillColeTranslateSandowsElbow...

Tout it!”

Day Two

The first battle was decisive, but not a hair was touched on the combatant's. No blood was shed, no bones were broken. That was all about to change as the battles continue...

TripleR Presents

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Aces & Eights vs. Nikolai Volkoff & The Iron Sheik

“Dude it was dumb to bring out motorcycles. There’s nothing here but sand and water. What the hell were you thinking?”

“We’re Aces & Eights Wes; we’ve got to keep our image up. Plus my Dad told me it would make me look cool. I mean check out my cool facial hair. It took me almost three months to grow it. I think my pubes are coming in too.”

“Fantastic, now you’re a real boy. But look bro, we’re got to represent the club in this thing. Bully put his faith in us to bring home the DOA crown for Aces & Eights. We’ve got to do this, and none of these old has-been teams are going to stop us. Now keep pushing your bike out of the sand.”

While Bischoff and Brisco were busy trying to dig out their stalled motorcycles, they didn’t notice two very large men walking the beach behind them, proudly waving Iranian and Russian flags- their opponents Nikolai Volkoff and The Iron Sheik.

“Nikolai, we’re going to fuck the Aces & Eights like the dead dog. They have no respect for the legends. We will fuck them old country way.”

“Yes comrade, they do not even see us coming. They are too busy digging their motorized bicycles out of the sand. Stupid Americans!”

“You are from Silver Spring, MD you stupid piece of shit. Now we will beat them senseless.”

“Yes, but before we do that, we must sing the Soviet National Anthem.”

“Yorn desh born, der ritt de gitt der gue,
Orn desh, dee born desh, de umn. Bork! Bork! Bork!”

“Nikolai, that isn’t the Soviet National Anthem, that’s the piece of shit Swedish Chef song.”

“How am I supposed to know, I’m from Silver Spring, MD”

As Volkoff & the Sheik argued over Muppets vs. Soviets, Brisco & Bischoff had noticed their opponent’s arrival. They rushed the legends, driving them both into the sand. Bischoff mounted Nikolai, slapping him soundly across the face like a little girl.

“How dare you think you can sneak up on the Aces & Eights? That’s totally unfair! Don’t make me tell my Daddy Eric on you.”

Bischoff continued to slap Volkoff repeatedly on the chest, as Nikolai stared dumbfounded at the ridiculousness of his attack. He grabbed Bischoff’s beard, yanking the dozen hairs clean off his face.

“Hey! It took me forever to grow those. Now I’m going to have to start all over again.”

Bischoff rolled off Nikolai and sat on the sand, pouting as if someone had broken his favorite Barbie doll. In the meantime, Brisco and the Sheik were having a staredown, preparing to re-engage in battle.

“Hey you stupid jabroni, why do you puff your face out like you’re having a seizure? You want a seizure, I will break your stupid back and humble you like the fuck Hulk Hogan.”

Brisco rushed the Sheik, who kicked him square in the nuts with his pointed shoe.”

“Now you talk like the Kim Kardashian. I fuck her old country way bubba.”

The Sheik picked up his flag, smashing the flag pole across the back of Wes Brisco. Grabbing him from behind, he began to choke out Brisco with the Iranian flag, but not before kicking him yet again in his Aces & Eights.

“Now you respect the legend.”

“Hey Sheik, look at this other one. He’s sitting on the sand crying.”

“Fuck him like the dead dog Tito Santana Nikolai.”

Volkoff grabbed Bischoff by his ears, lifting him off the ground with amazing strength. He pressed Bischoff, who was still weeping over his premature exfoliation, over his head and threw him onto the stuck motorcycles. The bikes toppled over, as did Bischoff, who surely now had some broken bones.

The Sheik continued to beat Brisco senseless with the flag pole, and now his partner joined in, using the Soviet flag as a weapon as well. Brisco was getting beaten about the head, back, chest, legs…pretty much anywhere he could be beaten. Sheik and Volkoff picked up Brisco and heaved him onto the fallen motorcycle/Bischoff amalgamation that was now a part of the beach. He landed face first in his partner’s crotch, causing Bischoff to cry out in pain like a little girl, or himself as there wasn’t much of a difference.

“Do we finish this now Sheik?”

“Yes Nikolai, now we make them dead dogs for good.”

Nikolai and Sheik picked the bikes up off the ground, standing them up straight. They sat their fallen opponents on the motorcycles, tying their hands to the handlebars with their flags, as well as whatever clothing they had available. Once they were firmly secured on the bikes, Volkoff and the Sheik pushed the fallen Aces & Eights members down the beach into the ocean. They watched as the surf carried the “gang members” out to sea.

“Arrivederci Aces & Eights, you were worthy foes.”

“Nikolai, that’s not how you say goodbye in Russian.”

“How would I know? I’m from Silver Spring, MD.”

Freeman Presents

 photo New-Age-Outlaws-num1_zpsf7500887.jpg photo 06233fc5-2f27-4f09-81d4-f3421ba69b65_zps67bfb3e5.jpg

New Age Outlaws vs. Bad Influence

The delicate waves crashing against the beach provided the perfect contrast to the battle that was about to take place. The defending champions, the New Age Outlaws, had to see off the challenge of Bad Influence if they were to get passed the first round of the tournament. Both teams start with an epic stare down, with Kazarian wondering how he'd managed to marry someone who looks more masculine than him. Titties were everywhere. A high pitched Japanese sounding voice squealed “Get ready...Fight!” and this one's under way.

Right from the start, Road Dogg targeted Chris Daniels, who seemed to be paralysed with fear and unable to move, until he discovered his controller was out of battery. Billy Gunn with a rest hold to Kazarian. A rest hold? Seriously? And you all wonder why that fucker didn't get over. Road Dogg with a huge kick to Daniels, who hit the deck and got straight back up. Road Dogg with a jumping high kick to Daniels this time, who yet again gets straight back up. The lack of selling here could hurt the final match rating. Kazarian with a spear to Billy Gunn, no not the wrestling move, but an actual spear resulting in a punctured lung. Kazarian could smell blood now, but that was probably because Tracy was on the rag that morning. With Kazarian charging at him full pelt, Billy leapt into the air and hit Kaz with his finishing move that fucking Dolph Ziggler now uses as a regular move and only gets two count. With Kazarian lying unconcious on the floor, Billy proceeded to finish him off with his spear, and then he stabbed him.

After withstanding a barrage of impressive looking roundhouse kicks and uppercuts from Road Dogg, Daniels finally managed to plug up his controller and begin the fight back. Road Dogg came at Daniels with the force of a thousand bulls. Daniels pissed his pants. However, this unfortunate accident appeared to work in his favour, as Road Dogg was temporarily distracted by the smell. With Daniels now smelling worse than a public toilet, Road Dogg, overcome with the intoxicating aroma of piss, was subject to a near fatal combination of high punch, high kick, high fart and high shit. Daniels, attempting to seize the opportunity, picked up a nearby metal pole and began to swing it at Road Dogg. Daniels connected twice, and Road Dogg, sensing the end was near, knew he had to dig deep. In a rare moment of spectacular video game crossover, Road Dogg bellowed the words “Go... Zubat!” As the Pokeball burst open and predictably nothing happened, because Pokemon aren't real fucknuts, the distraction bought him enough time to flick some pissy sand in Daniels' face, causing him to drop the aforementioned metal pole. Road Dogg, seizing the opportunity, drove the pole right through Daniels' body, and then he hit him with the piece of metal. With both Kazaraian and Daniels suffering brutal deaths, this one was over.

Damn, that was kinda gay. Also, Billy Gunn came out of it with a punctured fucking lung for Gawdsake. It's OK though, he can just skip back to Miami for treatment without telling anyone where he went and he'll still be able to film his new movie. Oh wait...

Day One

Sometimes we write for a specific purpose or idea. Other times we write just to have fun. This is one of those times. Last year in the Columns Forum I created a mix of a video game franchise and professional wrestling and came up with the madness that was DOA: Dead or Alive. It was voted the Creative Column of the Year in the CF. So this year, we’re bringing it back. Hopefully you’ll enjoy this for just the fun and absurdity of it. At the end, you the reader will play an important role in the outcome. If you want to take anything out of it, take it as a veiled statement on the death of tag team wrestling, but if not, just enjoy this bit of craziness.


It had been many years since I came to this island. I’ve enjoyed the magic and wonder that surrounds me every day. But this island has seen its share of pain and punishment, and it’s about to see that again. It was hard to believe that it had already been a year since the last tournament; a tournament that may have been the best ever. Yet here we are again, ready to induct 12 more teams into this madness that I have created. I watch as they arrive, some by boat, some by plane, and others by small watercraft. Some have no idea what is in store for them, others come prepared. But no matter how prepared you are, you will never be fully prepared for….

doa-dead-or-alive-20070509033142348_640w photo doa-dead-or-alive-20070509033142348_640w.jpg

“Welcome everyone to DOA Island. You have all been chosen to compete in this illustrious contest by my competition committee, great men who’ve accepted the challenge I put forth to them. I’m glad you all accepted YOUR challenge; because it will be unlike anything you’ve ever been involved in. I’m sure you may all be familiar with each other, but for the sake of formality, let me handle some introductions.”

“Everybody knows who we are babaaaay! We are the greatest rock band of alllll time!”

“Thank you Mr. Slater, but for ceremony sake I shall continue. Representing the WWE we have Daniel Bryan and Kane, otherwise known as Team Hell No. We also have Team Rhodes Scholars- Damien Sandow and Cody Rhodes.”

“You’re Welcome!”

“Finally from the WWE, as you’ve already heard, we have Heath Slater and Jinder Mahal, otherwise known as 3MB. Representing TNA are the teams of Bobby Roode and Austin Aries, Bad Influence- Christopher Daniels and Kazarian, and two members of Aces & Eights.”

“They sent Bischoff and Brisco? I could be drunk off appletinis and beat those morons.”

“But as you’ll see, there are only six of you here. The other six teams have already arrived, and they represent some of the best tag teams in wrestling history. Let me introduce to you the teams of Nikolai Volkoff and the Iron Sheik, The Midnight Express, Demolition, Money Inc., Goldust and Booker T., and the reigning champions of DOA, The New Age Outlaws. The New Age Outlaws outlasted 11 other teams last year, defeating The Motor City Machine Guns, and Eric Young and ODB in the finals. Now I suggest you take what little time you have to prepare, as the tournament started the moment you arrived. Match-ups can take place at any time, so may the best team survive.”

Skulduggery Presents

 photo 3mb_zpse8bac615.jpg photo moneyinc_zps9a99486f.jpg

3MB vs. Money Inc.

“This is the life, I tell ya, ol’ Jinder! Tropical island, beautiful women, and finally 3MB’s chance to shine!” Heath Slater exclaimed, excitement visibly brimming from his body. He and his partner had just landed ashore and departed from the small motorboat that had escorted them to a beautiful island resort.

Jinder Mahal was far less enthused. It had been months ago that he and Drew McIntyre had been recruited for a team effort that promised success beyond any of their individual accomplishments. At the time, Jinder had shared Slater’s wild and possibly naïve fervour. However, as time passed, and any sort of triumph had continued to evade the trio, pessimism was slowly starting to creep back into Jinder’s mindset. Nonetheless, he forced himself to make conversation with his friend.

“You raced through it when you told me about this trip earlier, Heath. Remind me – what is this all about?”

“Oh, Jinder, buddy,” Heath replied. “From what I understand, this is a tournament called ‘Dead or Alive’. And ‘Dead or Alive’ is a great band! We’re gonna go to this island, jam with Dead or Alive, and come out of it looking like the superstars we are! Record deals! Concerts! 3MB is going platinum, babayyy!”

“But it’s supposed to be some sort of competition. Look,” Jinder pointed to a schedule posted on a building. “We are to face Money Inc.”

Heath scoffed. “I’ve never even heard of that band! We got nothin’ to worry about, ol’ Jinder. There’s no way any wannabe band on this island’ll stack up to the musical quality that is 3MB!”

Unconvinced, but acutely aware of how difficult it was to break his friend’s blissful obliviousness, Jinder reluctantly followed up to the main resort building. As he trudged along, he couldn’t help but notice other tag teams emerging from jets and yachts in the distance. His sore knees and strained ear drums reminded him painfully of their 5 hour ride in a tiny motorboat to the island.

As the duo approached the doors, they were welcomed by Teddy Long, who donned a ridiculously large nametag.

“Welcome to DOA, playas! If y’all just step this – “

“Teddy Long!” Heath interrupted. Giving a hearty clap on the shoulder to the bellhop, he continued, “What are you doing here?”

“Well…you know me, playa. I love myself a good tag team match. And this tournament’s full of ‘em!” Teddy looked around, as if expecting someone else. “Uh…where’s Drew McIntyre?”

Jinder provided the answer. “He had trouble with his Visa. Didn’t allow him to travel here.” A wry smile crept onto the face of Teddy Long.

“So when’s the first battle of the bands, Tedayyy?” Heath asked.

“Well, ‘battle of the bands’… ‘tag team match’…they’re all really the same thing, aren’t they?” said Teddy. “And actually, they all ongoing. So best of luck, playas! Feel free to use anything you can find as weapons, and anything goes. Your motel is the small one at the east end of the strip. Holla!”

“Weapons?” thought Jinder. Before he could ask for clarification, he found himself being steered away by Heath, who was rambling at top volume. Jinder was wallowing in confusion before his partner’s verbal barrage finally brought him back to the conversation.

“ – time for a drink!” Heath finished. The ginger pointed toward a sign that simply read “BAR”. The sight of this sign and its symbolism relaxed Jinder a little. He nodded his head, and the pair entered. They took seats at the bar.

“Barkeep, we’ll have two of your most flavorsome Bacardi breezers!” Heath said, far too loudly.

“No!” Jinder interjected. He whispered to Heath, “Are you crazy? Drew told me coolers are for fourteen year old girls!”

“Nah, they’re tasty is all, Jinder!”

Unable to concede leadership to his friend for the first time in a long time, Jinder shook his head and motioned to the bartender. “We’ll have scotch. Two.”

The bartender nodded, and turned away to mix the drinks. Looking slightly upset, Heath removed his sunglasses. “Scotch?”

“Yes. I’ve come to learn it’s an honorable drink.”

Shrugging, Heath said, “I guess I could try it.”

Glancing around the bar, Jinder recognized a few tag teams – none of whom were musically inclined, to his knowledge, yet all of whom wore faces of resigned determination. There was an air of grave seriousness in the room, and, though he couldn’t understand why Teddy had said them, the bellhop’s words – “anything goes” – wouldn’t leave Jinder. For the first time, a touch of fear entered his mind. He turned to Slater. His friend was spouting off what was likely nonsense to the bartender, who still had his back turned, evidently perfecting the two scotches.

“ – and that’s when we won our second match – “

“Heath!” Jinder once again spoke in a whisper. “Are you sure this is a competition of bands?”

Heath laughed confidently. “Of course!” Sarcastically, he added, “What else would ‘Dead or Alive’ mean?”

The bartender finally brought two glasses to the pair. Jinder couldn’t help but notice a look of steely coolness on his face. He shook his head. A drink would ease his state of mind.

“To 3MB!” Heath raised his glass, apparently forgiving the fact that he wasn’t able to drink a strawberry-flavored sugary drink. Jinder clinked glasses with his partner and shot down his scotch.

Heath slowly started to sip his scotch, but the second it touched its lips, he spat it out. It tasted horrible! Before he could begin to voice his distaste, however, Jinder suddenly fell to the floor!

“Jinder! JINDER!” Heath started to panic, slapping his friend’s face.


From the corner of his eye, Heath saw two figures emerge from the dark corner of the bar. Ted DiBiase, Sr. and Irwin R. Schyster approached the bartender, the former cackling evilly.

“Everyone’s got a price!” exclaimed DiBiase triumphantly. He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and handed it to the bartender, who, in turn, slid a black canister back to the Million Dollar Man.

“What’s going on here?” Heath shrieked, clueless as ever. “Is this what scotch does?! My friend is dead!”

The bartender, DiBiase, and IRS exchanged glances, each rolling their eyes in a manner that suggested each man was experiencing pain. Heath stood up, fighting back tears for his deceased friend, and pointed an accusatory finger at the bartender. “You had better take alllll of your scotch, and pour every – last – drop OUT! Look what it did to my partner! Now I have to perform as the One Man Band!”

The bartender glanced toward DiBiase and muttered, “He’s not getting it.”

The evil millionaire simply reached into his pocket again and pulled out another generous stack of bills. Slapping it on the counter, he motioned to his hired gun.

“Whatever you’re buying, don’t buy scotch!” Heath yelled.

The bartender accepted the cash and pulled out a gun. Firing it, he put a bullet between Slater’s eyes. He quickly threw the gun aside, pocketed his reward, and dashed out of the bar, as patrons watched carefully.

DiBiase and Schyster shook hands and left the bar. The other tag teams could not peel their eyes away from the two fallen members of 3MB. A few moments later, a faint yet clearly evil laugh, emanating, no doubt, from DiBiase, reached their ears…

The games were on.

Join us tomorrow for two more battles

Until next time,
Trip Out!

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