Chapter 2
"I run the show around here, not him. That guy is nothing but trouble! Nothing! I'm in charge!" JBL's backstage rant against CM Punk was shown on the huge screens throughout the stadium.
Ajuur, also onscreen, was less than impressed. "You know, Layfield, despite your desperate speeches, I still rather like the idea of a Triple Threat Match for the World Heavyweight Championship at the Trans-Galactic Brawl."
"Come on, Triple H has nothing on me. And we all know that it should be me, JBL, facing CM Punk at the Brawl, not this guy Kane. Everyone here knows that the longest reigning Heavyweight Champion in history...was ME. Furthermore, it's MY money, MY determination, and MY long history of glory that's keeping the TWE running. If anyone deserves a one-on-one match with CM Punk, it's me."
"Yes, yes, that may or may not be so. But our viewers want something exciting. Something... invigorating! Something they've never seen before!"
JBL's face sagged in protest. "With all due respect, Ajuur, what greater excitement could there be than me, JBL, facing--"
Ajuur interrupted him with a wave of his enormous arm. "As it turns out, Bradshaw, I like both ideas so well I'm going to make a compromise; if Triple H wins, then he gets his Triple Threat Match. But if you win, then Kane's out and you can pick the third man."
A conspiratorial grin spread over JBL's podgy face. "Good call."
And then, as suddenly as the pointless clip began, it ended.
Carth was totally, hopelessly confused. Nothing had made sense to him from the moment he'd laid eyes on John, from his baseball cap to the baggy denim shorts. Since then, between standing around clueless while John did all the talking and desperately trying to free himself from the clutches of hordes of barely-dressed women, it seemed as if the whole galaxy were trying to tear loose his fragile grip on sanity.
Out of the corner of his mouth, and covering the microphone with his hand, Carth whispered to Jerry Lawler. "So is there ever actually any fighting?" Lawler assured him that there was and that actually there was a match coming right up.
His words proved prophetic a few minutes later.
"The following match is scheduled for one-fall, it is for the right to date the new commentator, Michael Cole, and will be a Fatal Four-Way match-up!" the Twi'lek ring announcer announced. The screens promptly lit up yet again and more music blasted through the arena. This time, instead of an ear-assaulting heavy metal rip, a grinding rock song, or a moo-punctuated anthem of mock nobility, it was a horribly produced, cringe-inducing dance mix of an obnoxious pop hit.
Carth groaned as he recognized the scantily-dressed figure of Kelly Kelly jaunting down the ramp to shimmy her way into the ring like nothing so much as a stripper. The ring announcer announced her with gusto as Kelly paraded herself around the ring, making sure every last person in the audience could tell just exactly how much skin her outfit did or didn't cover.
She was followed by the bounciest, merriest, most sickeningly cheerful bimbo Carth had ever seen. She skipped into view wearing a marginally more modest outfit than Kelly Kelly, featuring ridiculously swishy pants and a top that at least made a pretense of trying to contain her plastic cleavage—though not by much. The Twi'lek announced her as the "TWE Women's Champion, Mickie James!"
There were scattered cheers, but most were lost to the overpowering sleaze of James' theme music as she slithered into the ring, again reminding Carth of strippers. She regarded Kelly Kelly with a venomous cat glare, which the petite diva returned in kind.
The loudspeakers burst afresh into song as two people appeared at the top of the ramp. One was a busty brunette chick in tight purple pants and a staggeringly brief top, and the other was a lumbering lummox of a man with long scraggly hair and a face that looked like it had gotten stuck in a blender.
"Accompanied by her brother Paul, is the top contender for the TWE Women's Championship, Katie Lea Burchill!"
Carth felt his stomach lurch; that guy was her brother? She was draped all over him!
All three divas circled each other in the ring shooting each other hot glares, as the speakers changed tune for the fourth and final time. "And finally, the fourth contender for the right to date Michael Cole--The Glamazon, Beth Phoenix!" This time, there were actually some enthusiastic cheers as Beth stalked down the ramp in her shiny black outfit--which, shockingly, was mostly there, with only perfunctory skin-flashing.
She seemed twice as tall as the others, with pale hair, a jutting jaw and more than a hint of Cathar blood. She was the first Carth had seen who looked like she might actually possess just the faintest bit of dignity. Then he remembered that she was going to be fighting for the right to date him. Never mind.
Barely had the Twi'lek ring announcer scrambled out of the ring and the bell rung before the four divas launched themselves on each other, shrieking and clawing and showcasing their hair's swishiness. Carth felt like he was watching some kind of bizarre hybrid of gladiator match and shampoo commercial, transpiring in debatable glory right before his eyes. In a battle of pink sparkle and purple shimmer, Kelly Kelly and Katie Lea were locked into arm grappling, while Beth Phoenix wasted no time whaling on Mickie James. James made a hapless grab at Phoenix's arm to try and throw her against the ropes, but the Glamazon merely slammed her down, sending her swishing and yelping to the floor of the ring.
Meanwhile, Kelly Kelly had wriggled out of an arm hold and sent Katie Lea to the floor in a purple plummet. All but yelling "Stripper Powers, Activate!", Kelly shimmied up a corner of the ring--but instead of bodyslamming the prone Katie, Kelly hurled herself onto Beth Phoenix, who had Mickie James in a hold while the referee urgently pounded the mat.
Carth feigned a coughing fit to have an excuse to look away while the two scandalously-dressed women rolled over each other in the ring. His fakery was interrupted by an ignominious smack! Kelly Kelly had hit the floor, having been hurled from the ring by the Glamazon, who turned her attention to the now-grappling Mickie James and Katie Lea.
Like a fashionable streak of lightning, Phoenix set on them both and dragged them down by the necks. While they lay still for a moment, The Glamazon circled like a hawk, then seized Katie Lea by the hair and seemed to haul her upright (though the other woman was suspiciously cooperative). She threw Katie Lea against the ropes and aimed a kick at her the head, but missed. But Katie Lea went down anyway, like a ninepin who knows its tricks even when they aren't called for.
The Glamazon then tried to hold Katie Lea down long enough for a three-count, but she was kicked in the back by Mickie James, who barely had time for a victorious shriek before she was set upon by the remergent Kelly Kelly. The match rapidly degenerated into an out-and-out cat-fight between the four women, featuring much flailing, hair-swooshing, scrambling, kicking, satiny grappling, and other vaguely violent action, none of which seemed to disarrange their clothing, makeup, or hair.
The incredible stupidity of the whole thing seemed to have the crowd in a stranglehold. Feeling like he might either be sick or have his retinas implode (and almost hoping for the latter), Carth launched into another convenient coughing fit. He actually managed to get something caught in his throat in the process, thus invoking more coughs and allowing him to concentrate on something besides the 'wrestling match' going on in the ring. He was sure this qualified him for the "Worst Announcer Ever" award, but somehow he just didn't care.
When Carth's throat cleared and he looked up, Beth Phoenix was stalking triumphantly around the ring to her victory music, smirking at her three opponents. He felt his face go beet red as she slyly blew a kiss at him and strode from the ring, leaving Mickie James, Kelly Kelly, and Katie Lea groaning in conspicuous fakery. They struggled to their feet, their hair still somehow smooth and shiny. As the Glamazon sauntered victoriously up the ramp, the defeated trio glared at her receding figure with enough malice to melt starship hull.
A period of nothing followed, which Carth took for another commercial break. It was rather refreshing to catch his breath while the divas exited the ring with absolutely no fanfare or dirt-awful theme music. However, the idea that lurking somewhere was Beth Phoenix intent on dating him kept Carth's heart-rate uncomfortably high. Thus, he was even more relieved when the speakers blasted forth once again to announce the arrival of a new, non-diva, wrestler.
The music, however, was as scrawny as the small man who was sidling down the ring. The crowd barely noticed him, taking the opportunity to refill their juma glasses, stretch their legs, or storm the bathroom. According to the announcer, who sounded bored herself, the scrawny guy was some nobody named 'Deadeye Duncan'. Wearing stretchy black briefs, Duncan looked like he'd have a hard time of intimidating a starved Jawa. He wasn't even given time to mosey about the ring before another, equally sucky theme started playing.
The next newcomer was another shrimp of a man in stretchy-pants, who was announced as Jamie Noble. He marched down the ramp as if he had something to prove, strutting along like he was someone to be respected. But those of the crowd who weren't snacking, drinking, chatting, or halfheartedly booing, were out-and-out asleep.
In short order, the bell was rung and the match between the two insignificants began. It started out as another grapple-fest, almost like watching monkeys squabbling over a banana. The only difference was the absence of a banana. After a few minutes of incredibly boring "action" - including a couple failed attempts at bodyslamming and some exercises in obvious fakery - Noble seized a convenient chance to clamp Duncan into a leg-hold long enough for three-count. The five-minute match, which had felt more like half an hour, was finally over. Noble's music played triumphantly, but no one cheered. No one cared. Carth very much doubted whether anyone had even noticed.
"I'M GONNA TA-AYKE WHAT'S MAHN!"
Noble's victory music was interrupted by a considerably more impressive theme song, promptly followed by the appearance of well-dressed man whose main accessories were an extremely large, glittery belt and a superior smirk. His Mandalorian physique made him about twice Jamie Noble's size. Without preamble, he dove into the ring and lunged at Noble. Hooking an arm around the smaller man's neck, he threw his body forward, slamming Noble down the floor of the ring and leaving him prostrate and senseless. He rose, glaring around at the booing crowd. Carth mentally added him to the ever-lengthening list of People to Avoid in the Near and Distant Future, right up there with Beth Phoenix. Although he doubted this one wanted to date him.
According to Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler, the new guy was TWE Champion, Randy Orton, nicknamed the Star Killer. On cue, his music stopped and he raised a suddenly-there microphone.
"I know I'm not supposed to be here right now," Orton began, his voice exuding an inflated ego and supreme sense of self-righteousness. "But I just wanted to let everyone in this arena know that I Am TWE Champion! I beat Triple H," - the crowd booed - "I vanquished Ric Marl," - the crowd booed louder - "I destroyed Shawn Michaels," - the crowd's boos grew deafening - "and every challenger since then has met the same fate! I am the Star Killer. So tonight, when the torch is passed to me, I will be The Champion! Undisputed and unquestioned, the Champion. And I will finally have the respect I deserve!"
With a studied sneer, Orton made one last sweep of the crowd, who were screaming their hatred and loathing, and exited the ring.
Carth made a mental note: One should never, ever, let Mandalorians compete in a sport where the object was to beat people up. Ever.
Elsewhere in the arena, John watched Orton on a convenient television screen. The man's arrogance was ridiculous. But as John thought about what he had planned for later on that night, the typical smile returned to his face. Randy Orton was going to have quite a surprise on his hands.