Who do you think we are??? Idiots...

(*snoring, sounds of waking up* Huh? Wha? We're on?! Oh! Uhh...wait...uhh...*papers shuffling* Oh, forget it. Just go on without me.)

(The scene begins in the locker room area of The Pepsi Center in Denver, Colorado. GWA Avalanche sure enough rocked the house, and as of this recording, its conclusion is only a few minutes old. We come to the Heavy Artiller locker room, and the door opens. Inside we find Doom and Jim "The Icon" Daher. After a few seconds, the bathroom door swings open, and out steps Doomsday, holding an ice pack to his head. The Icon looks up at Doomsday and raises an eyebrow.)

The Icon: Oh, come on. I know Dark Star dominated your ass, but-

(Doomsday cuts him off with a wave of his hand and takes a seat across from the two men.)

Doomsday: No, no...it's not that. I just have a hangover that rates about a 10 on the Richter Scale.

(The Icon opens his mouth to speak, then shuts his mouth as understanding dawns on him. He smirks and raises the eyebrow again.)

The Icon: Took in a bit too much booze at that party that The Brotherhood threw for us after lettin' us in, eh?

(Doomsday visibly winces.)

Doomsday: Shh. Not so loud.

Doom: That explains why ya weren't mountin' any offense in that match. Only question I have is...where the hell did Selrack disappear to??? I was supposed to kick his ass tonight, an' he never showed up. I was waitin' back here for my cue to make my entrance...but the end of the night came, an' I got no such cue. Someone came back here an' told me Selrack never showed up. I think I can assume, then, that I get the win...by a freakin' forfeit. Ya know, I shoulda know this would happen. It always does. I get a match of even vague importance...and somethin' happens to ruin it. Son of a bi-

(He's cut off as Doomsday lauches himself out of his seat and dashes into the bathroom, jerking the door shut behind him. Sounds that will not be described here are heard from inside the bathroom. While Doomsday takes care of his...uhh...business, The Icon looks over at Doom.)

The Icon: Ya think you've got problems? You saw the Falconer Title No. 1 Contenders Match, right? By rights I should be the number one contender to the Falconer Title. I hit The Icon's Smackdown. I made the pinfall. The ref's hand counted three. The bell sounded. I got my hand raised. Only thing is...a second referee had to bring his dumb ass into things and screw me outta my shot! Now we've got Joe FREAKIN' Russa as the number one contender...a position that should be currently held by the pinnacle of athleticism, the paragon of charisma, the summit of intelligence, and the epitome of greatness! No, I'm not talkin' about the slime mold that could pin his ass any day of the week. I'm talkin' about none other than the man, the myth, the legend, his personal god, and the planetary MESSIAH, none other than yours truly, Jim "The Icon" Daher!

(Just then, a toilet flushes in the bathroom. Water is heard running, and Doomsday staggers back out of the bathroom, retaking his seat.)

Doomsday: Now that I think about it, there's something that's pissed me off about the way things went down tonight. Yes, Dark Star defeated me. Never mind the fact that I was still hung over. Hell, the only reason I didn't wince during that match from sound alone was because I was wearing ear plugs and couldn't hear anything. I lost. I can handle a loss. What pissed me off is what Dark Star did after the match. Attacking me with baseball bats? Even when I'm hung over, that's just going too far. I want a message conveyed to him. On the next event - when I am no longer hung over - I want a rematch. And if he wants to use baseball bats, that's fine. I'll bring two tazers, and we can really go at it. And just to make it interesting...let's put it in a Hell in a Cell cage...and ban everybody from ringside, including The Brotherhood and that Chill character that follows Dark Star around. I want that message conveyed to him...oh, and tell him I said this: Dark Star, your own...Doomsday...is at hand. Accept your fate...for you cannot hope to change it.

Doom: Consider it done, Doomster. An' I think even you are beginnin' to understand what I mean when I say...if it ain't hardcore...it ain't cool.

(Even while hung over, Doomsday manages a sinister smile. The scene then slowly fades to black.)

Come on.
Mess with us.
We dare you.