Chair Shots Presents: DOA 2014 Semifinal Match 3 (Roman Reigns & EC III vs Luke Harper & Ghost JTG) & Voting Instructions
By Rob Simmons
Apr 19, 2014 - 9:00:16 AM
Well that's it readers. For those of you that have followed this since the beginning it's time to make a difference. The three final teams have been decided. It's up to you to determine who wins. Please cast your vote either by leaving it in the comments sections, emailing me personally, hitting me up on Twitter, or going to the Chair Shots Facebook page and voting there. Voting will be open until the end of the day 4/22 EST. As always, thanks for reading and indulging this insanity for another year!
Semifinal Battle Three
This is it, the final battle to determine the three teams that will make it to the finals of my DOA tournament. I watch from ahigh as the bloodshed continues. My island has never seen such carnage, and we're not done just yet!
Luke Harper & Ghost JTG vs. Roman Reigns & EC III
The water ran down Luke Harper’s weathered face, drenching his beard and dripping down to the shower floor below. The usually unsettling Harper was himself unsettled this morning, unable to relax in the luxurious hotel bathroom, unable to soothe his troubled soul and lose himself in the steaming downpour. Normally the shower was a safe haven for the Harper’s restless spirit, but ever since he had come to this damned island…
“Honestly, why do you keep coming in here? You don’t have to watch my back in the bathroom,” Harper said, squeamishly scrubbing his chest hair without taking his eyes off his ghostly partner. JTG, dead for the past 7 years but still collecting a paycheck, flashed his ghostly grill with a ghastly grin.
“Sho, cracka, but ain’t no rule on DOA Isle. You want that big Sam-oan sumbitch bursting in here, spearing you right in the middle of polishing your, eh, spear?” JTG’s eyes flicked southward, and not for the first time. Harper shifted uncomfortably.
“I told you, I’m not doing that again while you’re in here. I didn’t even know you were here the first time. And would you stop talking like that? Michael Hayes killed you, the least you could do is stop following the gimmick he came up with.”
JTG smiled again, an even more unpleasant experience than when he had been alive. “Shit man, I’m dead, I can do whatever I damn well please, and if I want to be an ugly stereotype then I’m damn well gonna be. Now do you want me to get your back or not?”
Harper started at the suggestion. “I thought you couldn’t touch anything?”
“Well, I can touch… some stuff…” JTG’s shade moved in closer. “It’s been so many years since I…”
“Ok, that’s it,” Harper jumped out of the shower still dripping wet as the water itself turned cold at the implications of the story taking such a turn. “If you don’t cut this shit out, I’m going to save Reigns the trouble and kill myself.
No sooner had Harper strode into the main room that the door exploded into a million tiny pieces of shrapnel, speared into oblivion by the tremendous power of Roman Reigns. The chiseled paragon of power, wielding a rocket launcher in one mighty fist stepped into the room, raised his head, and began to bellow:
“BELIEVE THA- Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Reigns took in the scene at a glance and reeled back. “Why the hell have I seen so many dicks in this contest? Did I get invited to the wrong place? Is this Fire Island or DOA Island?”
“Man, don’t be that way,” chimed in a passing Darren Young. “It’s perfectly natural for a hillbilly rapist and the ghost of a two bit criminal to express their love for each other. It’s kind of beautiful, in fact.”
“We do not have time to discuss the problems of homophobia in wrestling, especially not in an interracial necrophiliac nonconsensual setting!” Reigns shouted as he spun and fired his rocket in the direction of the unwanted participant.
“Interracial?” Darren had time to muse before the rocket blasted him and most of the hallway out over the pool, jungle, and beach to land somewhere out to sea.
“NOW!” Reigns spun back around to face his enemies, “You will face the wrath of- oh come on, you couldn’t grab a pair of pants that whole time we were talking?”
“Look man, I just don’t want to be fucked by a ghost. I got no problems with the natural human body,” Harper shrugged as Reigns tossed the expended launcher to the side. ”You got some kind of insecurity?”
“I’ll show you insecurity! BELIEVE THAT!” Reigns screamed, and after slamming his fist into the ground he flew at Harper in a rage.
“It’s still not working!” Ethan Carter III called out from below, as Reigns and Harper flew out the 4th story window trading savage blows before plunging hard into the pool below.
“He’s just not right to not take your advice, sir!” Rockstar Spud stood, as always, next to his mentor and friend EC3, and was as always wearing a suit garish enough to make the eyes bleed. “Everyone knows you’re the pinnacle of wrestling ability and knowledge! There’s none better than you sir!”
EC3 stared blankly into the distance for a moment. He could hear the faint voices screaming derisively in his ears, but he pushed them aside. Those days would stood be behind him.
“You have a plan, don’t you sir? Of course you do, you always have a plan! Why just the other day someone was telling me that you don’t have a plan, but you know what I did sir, I bopped their ears sir, I did sir, because no one can say such a thing with me around-“
“Quiet, Spud,” Ethan stopped his overexcited confidant with a wave of his beautifully manicured hand. “Of course I have a plan.”
Spud leaned in eagerly against the backdrop of the titanic battle raging behind him, as Roman Reigns snapped the entire diving board across the back of Harper, and Harper responded by shrugging his shoulders and booting Reigns so hard he cracked into the cement behind him.
“This,” EC3 said confidently, “is a proton pack.” He hefted the equipment off the ground from beside his poolside tanning spot and began strapping it onto his back. He stopped momentarily as he say the confusion in his sidekick’s eyes. “Haven’t you ever seen Ghostbusters?”
“Ah, of course sir!” Spud sputtered. “Er, that is to say, I know the song! Da-da-da-da-da ain’t afraid of a ghost, da-da-da-da-da, who are you going to call? But sir, where did you get such a thing, and why…”
“As to the where, it was just sitting in a pile of Zack Ryder’s discarded stuff… it’s not like he was going to need it anymore, eh? And the why should be pretty obvious…” The much-needed scion of the Carter family smiled coolly and pointed upwards at the floating spectre of JTG as Spud nearly did a backflip of joy.
“You are quite simply the most brilliant man I’ve ever met sir! Einstein himself could have taken lessons from your genius! The Pope should be kneeling down to kiss your feet! In all the-“
EC3 once again cut off his overzealous cohort. “I know, Spud. I know.”
Reigns was preparing to powerbomb Harper into the same poolside cement that had already spelled doom for one of the DOA’s contestants this year, but remembering the unfortunate nudity of his opponent Roman suddenly stalled, allowing Harper to backdrop him through a table. EC3 chuckled at the carnage as he raised the neutrino wand.
“Work smarter, not harder!” EC3 said with a smirk, and pulled the trigger. “That’s how you make up a catchphrase!”
“Amazing sir! They’ll sell a million t-shirts with that printed on them!”
“I know, right? I just made it up just now.”
The stream of particles had blasted the racially offensive apparition floating above the battle and EC3 couldn’t help but congratulate himself on his own amazingness. His sense of smug satisfaction started to fade, however, when he saw that JTG’s ghost was showing no signs of being busted.
“I don’t understand! Why isn’t it working?” EC3 fumed.
“Man, I don’t think you get the joke. Nothing can get rid of me. It’s physically impossible. I’m, like, part of the fabric of existence. The Pope couldn’t exorcise my black ass ghost.”
“Seriously, why all the race stuff in this one?” A bloody Darren Young said, having dragged himself back from the beach to make this contribution before dying.
Spud began sputtering excuses and EC3 dropped his weapon in despair. He turned to see Reigns finally worn down by Harper, who had locked him in a gator hold and was slowly squeezing the air out of him.
“I don’t understand! I have all the powers of the WWE Universe! I have the keys to the kingdom! I am the next chosen one!” Reigns wheezed against the chokehold.
Harper grunted. “You’ve got a good look kid, but out here that doesn’t count for much. I’ve been battered around by all the strongest and sickest freaks in every dark underbelly of the wrestling world and I’m still here to talk about it. Being the golden boy who looks good on TV isn’t worth much when a naked cultist is squeezing your last breath out of you on a godforsaken island,” Harper said, tightening his grip. “Do you see the stars yet? Do you miss your mother as you feel the life drain out of you?”
“It’s… getting cold… and dark…” Reigns strained out in a whisper, feeling his trachea about to crack and give way.
“Welcome to my world,” Harper said, his eyes like ice. “It’s always cold here.”
“Well, I guess it’s up to me!” EC3 proclaimed, posing extravagantly as he made his way towards the struggling pair.
“Yes indeed sir! Give him the old one two! Give him what for!”
“Of course I will chum, don’t worry about a thing. A Carter always wins!” EC3 stopped to give his loveable sidekick a reassuring pat on the back, as Reigns wheezed in disbelief.
“Who are you talking to?” Harper asked with wide eyes.
“Why, I’m talking to…” EC3 turned back to see no one standing where he believed Spud had been a moment ago.
Harper let out a grating bark of laughter. The voices started to get louder.
You can’t wrestle!
“You’re going to die Roman, but I think you’re still better off than this delusional bastard!” Harper sneered.
You can’t wrestle!
“The man is so delusional I think he’s got himself an imaginary friend!”
You can’t wrestle!
EC3 began to tremble.
“He probably imagined that he’s a wrestler too… everybody knows…”
EC3 could barely hear Harper over the voices.
You can’t wrestle!
“…that he can’t even wrestle!”
YOU CAN’T WRESTLE!
The voices blasted in his ears so loud that last time that all Ethan could hear was ringing, and all he could see was red.
Roman Reigns regained consciousness sometime later. He tried to stand only to slip and fall almost immediately, smacking his face into the ground. Standing again, more carefully, he realized the floor was covered in a thick coating of blood. He blearily looked around to see the man that was Ethan Carter III standing, covered in blood from head to toe and completely naked, save for the severed and skinned beard of Harper handing around his neck and the cracked and splintered remains of some kind of movie prop handing limply out of his hands.
“Ethan… what…?” Reigns croaked out.
The gore coated Carter turned his head to stare blankly at Roman. The crickets were chirping as the sun began to go down.
“I… CAN… wrestle…” Ethan said blankly. “Right, Spud?”
The silence deepened as Ethan rubbed the blood of Luke Harper into his chest like so much sunscreen. Reigns finally nodded cautiously, and Carter slowly began to walk back to the hotel. Reigns stared after him before shaking his head.
“Why in god’s name do they keep flashing their dicks in my face?”
Reigns suddenly jumped in the deepening twilight, startled as the ghost of JTG materialized next to him. “Mmmmm, works for me!” JTG flashed garish grin one last time before trailing after the vanishing figure of EC3. Reigns leaned against a tree and shut his eyes.
“If someone was going to be naked, why couldn’t it be AJ? Goddamit, I hate this island. Believe that.”
WINNERS: Reigns & EC III
Cult Icon Presents
Sheamus & Daniels vs. Mark Henry and Alberto Del Rio
Announcer: We are coming to you live from poolside of the DOA Island for second round coverage of TripleR’s annual DOA tournament! The first round is over, some have went the way of the New York Knicks, and now six teams remain to decide who will be the third ever DOA Champion. Today’s match up will feature Alberto Del Rio and “the World’s Strongest Man” Mark Henry against the Pale Angels Sheamus and Christopher Daniels. Hello everyone, I am the Cinderella Man Announcer, whose name people still haven’t been able to figure out.
Cult Icon: Not for a lack of trying.
Announcer: Joining me today for the third year in a row is LOP Forum’s columnist Cult Icon, and with us as special guest, former NXT Champion and future WWE Superstar Bo Dallas.
Cult Icon: Rock n’ roll!
Bo: No more Bo…wait.
Announcer: Great start there Bo! Now Cult, we’ve been here for three years now and this is the first time we’ve had the privilege of calling a match right before the championship round. You’ve gotten to see first hand how both of these teams looked in their respective first round matches, who do you think has the advantage here today?
Cult Icon: Let me tell you something, like Rocky Balboa, them Pale Angels Sheamus and Christopher Daniels are on a mission TONIG…wait a minute, did you fucking write this script for Booker T?
Announcer: Indeed we did Cult! He canceled at the last minute to be at Stevie Ray’s comeback match!
Cult Icon: Seriously? You have me, esteemed author of the critically acclaimed An American Motion Sickness series…
Bo: Cheap Pop City!
Cult Icon: No more Bo! As I was saying, you have someone like me here year after year, and somehow I always end up getting to read the lines of some washed up WCW veteran who can’t cut Hulk Hogan’s mustard. I do have my own voice you know; sure it’s about as extraordinary as Megan Fox reading Shakespeare, but I have it dammit. So you want my opinion? Let me tell it to you the way Kevin Nash would like you to hear it; the only reason the Pale Angels continue to breathe right now is because Mark and Del Rio allow it! They’ll kick their teeth down there throat!
Announcer: Riveting stuff Cult! Bo Dallas, is there anything you would like to add?
Bo: You know Cult, Grandpa Coolbreeze, the teams need to remember this today; when things seem to be impossible, they need to remember the word is really I’m Possible. Anyone can win this; all they have to do is Bolieve. BOLIEVE THAT!
Cult Icon: Is there any substance to you at all?
Bo: I’m like Roman Reigns Cult; I have bloodlines and I do only three things really well. That’s the ticket to succeed these days. That and BOLIEVE!
Announcer: I cannot believe the power of the words from Bo Dallas! Normally we’d turn things over to our poolside announcer, but there was no Hulkamaniac there when we called, and James Van Der Beek is still recovering from being killed in last year’s DOA tournament.
Cult Icon: How do you recover from being killed?
Bo: By BOLIEVING!
Cult Icon: Dude stop! It doesn’t make you unique, it makes you a tool!
Bo: A tool for all to BOLIEVE in!
Cult Icon: I’ve fallen into Tim Burton’s Alice and Wonderland movie haven’t I?
Announcer: Complete with a refurnished pool Cult! And here come the contestants now as they approach the north end of the pool.
Cult Icon: I’ll never get why they always start right near the edge. Very easy to slip, fall, and crack you’re head open. The match could be over before it even begins.
Announcer: Right you are Cult. It appears though they will make it with minimal slippage. Del Rio looks to be facing off against Daniels while Henry and Sheamus take each other.
Cult Icon: Good strategy there.
Bo: BOLIEVE THAT!
Announcer: There’s the bell and the fight begins! One of these teams will find their way to the finals, while the other will be as lively as a Kevin Costner performance. They’re about to square off and…wait a minute, that noise!
Cult Icon: Oh no, not again!
Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen, there is a gurgling/roaring sound coming not too far from here. It’s loud enough that it’s put a stop to the competitors from fighting! What could this possibly be?
Cult Icon: It can’t be!
Bo: I don’t Bo what’s going on!!!!
Cult Icon: Dude, no.
Announcer: The sound is getting closer! It’s coming from right behind the hot dog…MY GOD, THE HOT DOG STAND HAS BEEN DESTROYED! AND IN IT’S PLACE ARE ODB AND ERIC YOUNG!
Cult Icon: Holy fuck, they’re both zombies!
Announcer: I can’t believe it! ODB and Eric Young lost in the first DOA tournament two years ago, only for EY to be spared after ODB sold her soul to Satan. At last year’s tournament, EY joined us for guest commentary, only to flee when ODB returned in zombie form. Apparently she must’ve caught him after all!
Cult Icon: I can’t believe you remembered all that shit.
Announcer: And I can’t believe it’s not butter Cult, but alas it isn’t! The competitors are stunned; they don’t know how to react. ODB is reaching down and…OH MY GOD CULT! IS SHE ACTUALLY…
Cult Icon: She’s tearing off her own breast…AND EATING IT!
Bo: BOLY SHIT!
Cult Icon: That’s what you get for always grabbing them in real life. I’m surprised this didn’t happen last year honestly!
Announcer: Outstanding observation Cult! This might be the most sickening thing I’ve ever seen in my fictional broadcast career. Alberto Del Rio has passed out from the pain! What a turn of events here!
Cult Icon: It looks like our competitors here are going to have to fight Zombie EY and ODB first if they even want a shot at the finals.
Announcer: That’s exactly what they are going to do Cult! They’ve split off into two pairs, the Pale Angels are going after EY, and Mark Henry will be taking on ODB!
Cult Icon: That’s a match up right there; the World’s Strongest Man against the Underworld’s Strongest Woman.
Bo: That was a woman?
Announcer: Yes she was Bo! And here we go! Henry and ODB are locking horns! ODB is frantically biting at Mark, who is holding her back with all he’s got!
Cult Icon: He literally cannot let her get to him here guys. One bite and Mark’s a zombie too; that’s a double whammy of being dead and losing the match without being touched by your opponent!
Bo: Bolieve that!
Announcer: Right you are Cult and Bo! On the other side of the pool, Daniels and Sheamus have caught up to EY, who is dead eyeing them right now. Who is gonna make the first move here? And it’s…it’s EY! HE’S RUNNING AWAY! Unbolievable! Even in his zombie state, EY is still running from his life!
Cult Icon: Did you really just do a Bo Dallas?!
Announcer: Yes I did Cult. Bolieve that!
Bo: BOLIEVE THAT!
Cult Icon: Man, the Rotunda house must be hell.
Bo: Actually it’s kind of like the prison from Orange is the New Black, minus all the hot women making out. BOLIEVE that!
Announcer: Botastic Bo! Sheamus and Daniels have no idea what to do here! They are just watching as EY slowly tries to get away.
Cult Icon: They can pretty much do whatever they want here. As long as they stay away from EY’s teeth, he should be the easiest zombie to kill since the first boss in Dead Rising. But holy shit, look at Mark Henry!
Announcer: The World’s Strongest Man has broken his grasp from ODB and he’s wailing on her! There’s a right! Another right by Henry! He’s delivering some haymakers to ODB!
Cult Icon: She’s still up though! Are they having any affect?!
Announcer: It’s hard to tell Cult! She appears to be woozy, but then again she is a zombie after all!
Bo: BOLIEVE THAT!
Announcer: Right you are Bo as Henry delivers another right. And another right! AND ANOTHER RIGHT! He’s stopping now too; OH MY GOD, HE’S GOING TO TRY TO SLAM ODB!
Cult Icon: The first ever body slam of a zombie ever!
Bo: You could say it was a (puts on sun glasses) BO…dy slam. (The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” starts to play)
Cult Icon: Did you really just rip off my Caruso joke Dallas?
Bo: You best Bolieve I did!
Cult Icon: Is there an eject seat for him?
Announcer: Not a chance Cult! But how can you think of that when Mark Henry is attempting to body slam a zombie?!
Cult Icon: To be fair, she’s not that big. I don’t see how hard it could…oh shit, I was wrong!
Announcer: He can’t lift her! He can’t lift her! Mark Henry has collapsed, having been unable to bring zombie ODB off the ground!
Bo: She must be a zombie with super strength or something. Whatever, it’s Bo-ver guys.
Announcer: It appears so Bo! Mark has dropped to the ground in pain. ODB is standing over him, readying for the kill. The World Strongest Man is about to be the World’s Strongest Zombie dinner!
Cult Icon: That’s even worse than some of my lines.
Announcer: Right you are Cult, but wait! ODB has been hit in the head with something.
Cult Icon: Looked like a shrunken UFO.
Announcer: That’s not a UFO, it’s an old record! It’s Daniels and Sheamus; they are tossing old records at both ODB and EY from a distance!
Cult Icon: The old Shaun of the Dead strategy! Brilliant play by the Pale Angels here!
Announcer: The records are flying! …And Justice for All connects with EY! There’s a Hall and Oates album soaring into ODB! Is that Bjrok colliding with EY?!
Cult Icon: This is definitely Daniels’ collection here. No way Sheamus is a Bjork guy.
Announcer: Right you are Cult. AND OH MY GOD, IS THAT JOURNEY FLYING THROUGH THE SKY?!
Bo: Don’t stop…BOLIEVIN!
Announcer: In all my fictional years of broadcasting, I have never seen anything quite like this. What was supposed to be a second round match up in the DOA tournament has turned into a fight for survival involving feats of brute strength and the tossing of old records.
Cult Icon: I can’t even keep track of what records are being tossed at this point. This is amazing!
Bo: Guys, I bolieve the Pale Angels are down to their last record!
Announcer: Indeed you’re right Bo. There’s only one album left for Sheamus or Daniels to throw. Can you tell what it is Cult?
Cult Icon: It appears to be the single for Reel Bad Fish’s cover of “Take Me On.” Much better than the original version by the way.
Announcer: We’ll agree to disagree there Cult. Daniels gives the record for Sheamus to toss. Will this record succeed where the other records failed to do so?!
Cult Icon: Here it comes!
Announcer: Sheamus with the toss…off with his head! OFF WITH HIS HEAD! EY has been beheaded by Reel Big Fish’s cover of “Take Me On!”
Announcer: He’s dead! He’s dead!
Cult Icon: I guess he will be gone when he wants to huh?
Bo: BO ZING!
Cult Icon: THAT IS IT! I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOUR BO THIS AND BO THAT! WILL YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT THE BO UP?!
Announcer: Good lord, Cult Icon is attacking Bo Dallas here at the announcers table! Oh the humanity, we’ve got fight’s everywhere!
Bo: Oww! You’re messing up my hair!
Cult Icon: BO ME!
Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen this is off the page! Back in at the poolside, ODB hasn’t noticed what has happened to her beloved yet! She’s going after Mark Henry, while the Pale Angels just watch on! They’re going to let ODB do the work for them! Dammit Cult, where are you to play off me like you always do?!
Cult Icon: I’m a bit busy turning Dallas into PlayBo! (turns back to Bo) How does it feel when other people say it?!
Announcer: Right on Cult! ODB is ready for the kill! But first, she is going to eat her other boob! Man alive, this is the most traumatizing thing I’ve seen since Jim Braddock lost to Joe Louis!
Cult Icon: (returning to the booth) About time you mention the thing you were involved in. Wait, what’s going on with ODB?!
Announcer: She appears to be stumbling backwards. She’s fallen into the pool and isn’t moving!
Cult Icon: Is she dead?! Did eating her boob kill her?!
Announcer: It did Cult! My goodness, apparently all you need to kill a zombie is a head shot, a copy of Reel Big Fish’s cover of “Take Me On”, and getting a female zombie to eat their breast!
Cult Icon: You learn something everyday apparently.
Announcer: Right you are Cult. Unbelievably, our two teams have disposed of zombie Eric Young and ODB, and now have to find it in them to face each other!
Cult Icon: I have a feeling we haven’t seen anything yet…Del Rio is back up!
Announcer: Alberto Del Rio is getting up! After sleeping through the zombie attacks, he must be the only fresh man left.
Cult Icon: Now at least JBL can call him the Mexican Rick Grimes or Cillian Murphy I guess…wait, did he just slip?!
Announcer: My God, Del Rio slips as he’s making his way to Henry. OH MY GOD, HE JUST CRACKED HIS SKULL ON THE SIDE OF THE POOL!
Cult Icon: You have got to be kidding me. Don’t tell me he’s dead!
Announcer: He’s dead! They’re ruling he’s dead! The Pale Angels will move on to the DOA finals, and they didn’t even have to touch their opponents to do it!
Cult Icon: Did we really just see a DOA match that featured zombies and more fighting between two announcers than the actual teams? Is Shyamalan directing this? Who wrote this crap?
Announcer: The same man who goes months without writing a column and probably won’t post his COTM column for the second consecutive year!
Cult Icon: What was that?!
Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen we are out of time! Stay tuned for the post DOA show hosted by the Great Epic T.O. immediately following this broadcast, including interviews with the winners. Till next year, for Cult Icon and the broken beaten former carcass of a man Bo Dallas, I am the announcer from Cinderella Man saying no more Bo!
Bo: (weakly) No more Bo…wait.
WINNERS: Sheamus & Daniels
Semifinal Battle One
Six teams have made it this far. The TNA contingent did not fare so well, with only a couple of warriors making it to this round. My Hounds of Justice came through unscathed, but all that was going to change now with the first battle of the semifinals. Let the battles continue!
John Cena & Seth Rollins vs. Dean Ambrose & Bray Wyatt
“Bray, would you stop eating dammit? We’ve got to keep an eye out for Cena and Seth. I know we had it pretty easy with Santino and the Solid Gold Dancers but this time we’ve got a real challenge.”
“Dean, you have such little faith in the ways of truth and necessity. For I am Bray Wyatt, Eater of Worlds and at this moment Eater of this delicious chicken fried steak.”
“For shit’s sake Wyatt, you’ve had enough run-ins with Cena to know he’s almost unstoppable and I know Seth inside and out. Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight Bray, because that’s what we’re up against?”
“What I’m up against Dean is the philisophicality of whether or not this poor lobster that I’m drenching in butter screamed when it was boiled alive or not. Does a living thing with no thought processes feel pain? If Zack Ryder hadn’t already been eliminated we could have asked him.”
“Jesus Bray, what do you have on that plate anyway? Tacos, Tikka Masala, Fish & Chips, Chicken Fried Steak, Bratwurst….”
“I’ve got the whooooole world, in my hands. I’ve got the whole wide world in my hands….”
Just as Bray was about to get into the second verse, Seth Rollins burst through the cafeteria doors. Ambrose, always on his toes, and way too wired from 32 cups of coffee grabbed a melon baller and started advancing on his Shield compatriot.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa; slow down Dean. I’m not here as your enemy. I wanted to tell you that you already won. I couldn’t stand hanging around Good Two-Shoes anymore so I tied him up when he was sleeping and threw him in the piranha pool. He’s so chewed up now we finally can’t see him.”
As Dean hugged his partner, the kitchen door flew open, revealing none other than Seth’s partner, John Cena. Ambrose looked at Rollins in disgust, thinking his own Shield partner had lied to him. Bray Wyatt continued to eat a Turkey Pot Pie.
“Dammit Dean I told you the truth. I killed the son of a bitch.”
“He’s right Dean Ambrose. Seth Rollins did indeed tie me up and feed me to the piranha, but you should know by now that it takes a lot more than murderous sea life to keep down……Super Cena,” Cena said proudly, posed with his hands on his hips.
As Cena stood heroically, America flag waving behind him, Bray Wyatt snuck up and stabbed him in the neck with a pair of salad tongs.
“John, don’t you see that arrogance and pride will be your downfall. You’re not the good guy John. You need to embrace the evil inside of you and let it bubble to the surface like the creatures emerging from the depths of Hell.”
As Cena pried the salad tongs from his neck, Ambrose grabbed two loaves of sourdough bread and began to beat John repeatedly about the head and neck. Rollins, who had officially turned on his partner, climbed up on top of the soft-serve ice cream maker and leapt onto Cena, smashing him across the face with a stack of waffle cones.
“Ooooh, soft serve.” Bray Wyatt crab walked over to the ice cream machine, flipped the switch labeled “SWIRL” and allowed the vanilla & chocolaty goodness to cover his face.
Ambrose and Rollins continued to double-team Cena, binding his arms behind his back with dish towels, while squirting him in the eyes with Spray Cheese. Wyatt motioned to both men to bring him into the kitchen area, where he had turned out the lights. Cena was left alone in the darkness, unable to fight back. His eyes, clouded with Velveeta, had not yet adjusted, but his ears were picking up even the faintest of sounds. He was on edge, not knowing where the next attack would come from.
Finally, Cena saw light. It was coming from a lit burner on the stove. He knew Wyatt and The Shield had to be close. As he approached the flame, Bray Wyatt stepped into view.
Wyatt blew out the flame and madness erupted in the darkened kitchen. Pots and pans flew in every direction. Wooden spoons and spatulas were wielded like nunchucks. Someone’s hair was pulled through a pasta maker. But in the blackness, it was impossible to see who had the upper hand. Finally, after several minutes of mayhem, there was quiet. The kitchen light was flipped on.
Dean Ambrose had a colander wrapped around his head.
Seth Rollins’ hair was now perfectly formed fettuccine.
Bray Wyatt’s hand was pressed inside a waffle maker.
And John Cena stood unscathed next to the light switch, hands on his hips, American flag waving behind him.
“You see gentleman, it’s impossible to beat John Cena. I stand for everything that’s good in this world. I believe in truth, justice, and freedom. I fight for the Make-a-Wish kids all over the world. I proudly display my face on Fruity Pebbles boxes, and by God I will not be defeated two Joker wannabe’s and a Hawaiian-shirted Hagrid from Harry Potter. You can beat me down. You can stomp on my face. You can make me eat lima beans, but you will NEVER defeat John Cena.”
Bray Wyatt stopped pouring syrup on his hand for a moment to stare at his opponent. The Eater of Worlds broke out in maniacal laughter, which echoed off the stainless steel kitchen appliances.
“Oh John, you don’t see it do you? It’s as plain as the nose on your face. I never needed to beat you. You’ve already been beaten. The battle was over before it even started,” said Wyatt, reaching into his shirt and retrieving an official looking document. He handed it to Cena, who began to shake and quiver as he read the words on the page.
“Oh your eyes are opened now aren’t they John. For that is an official edict from the WWE Creative Department issuing the order to turn you heel. No more Hustle, Loyalty and Respect. No more wishes for sick kids. No more large merchandise checks. Now you have to embrace the Dark Side. John, I see the red door and I want to paint it black. You’re one of us now.”
Cena’s eyes began to bulge. His muscles began to spasm. The blood beneath his skin began to boil.
Not unlike the witch from Oz, John Cena began to melt down into a multi-colored pool of blue and yellow until all that was left was his “You Can’t C Me” ball cap. Super Cena had been defeated not by violence, but by words.
“You’re right John, we can’t see you anymore. Tiiiiiimeee is on my side.”
Ambrose celebrated another victory for The Shield, pleased that he didn’t have to kill his partner and friend. The battles weren’t over yet. There was one more to go and he knew that it would be the toughest one yet. It was time to prepare, if only he could get Bray Wyatt away from the dessert table.
WINNERS: Ambrose & Wyatt
Until next battle,
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