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(Okay...let's look at what we got for Saturday Pinnacle, huh? Hmm...well, looks like Doom and Jim "The Icon" Daher are gonna be in a tag match against Scotty Thunder and the man with the pink bunny nightmares, Tempest. That could be interesting. Oh, what's this? A Revenge Match? Ha ha, yes! Doomsday gets his rematch against Dark Star, and if I'm looking at this right, it's going to be a Hell in a Cell Match, too! Now, contrary to what you would expect, Doomsday and the team of Doom & The Icon both have their own separate promos, and Doomsday's is first. That said, let's go ahead and check this shiznit out.) (The scene begins in a graveyard on a foggy night. The camera man slowly and cautiously advances through the graveyard, swinging the camera left and right in an attempt to keep alert for whatever may come out of the shadows. Eventually, looking between two headstones, we spot the darkly-clothed figure of Doomsday, seated on the headstone of an empty grave. As the camera man approaches, an owl is heard asking its monotous question of "Who?", then wings flap and the owl flies away into the night. Doomsday watches the owl, a strange smile spreading slowly over his face. He then looks over at the camera, and he adds a raised eyebrow to the smile on his face. He chuckles, then speaks.)
Doomsday: Ahh...Dark Star. So...you're a corpse. Is this supposed to intimidate me? Many have made that claim. None have been original. I could claim myself to be a corpse, but that would be foolhardy. No...I am simply a two-legged bloodhound for the Darkness, searching for wayward souls - like yourself - to add to Its power. You can claim that a hangover is a weak excuse, and that you heard my screams of agony. Frankly, you heard only what you wanted to hear. I truly was hung over, but even hung over...I still busted you wide open. I'm sure you recall the vision disappearing in that eye, the taste of your own blood. So...if you are a corpse, then what should I use as a weapon? Garlic? A cross? Perhaps a wooden stake and a hammer? Or would simply exposing you to sunlight do the job? Or even better...
(He reaches behind the headstone and pulls out, of all things, a rather sinister-looking sword. He slices a paper-thin piece off the headstone, then plants the sword in the ground beside him and holds the thin shard of rock in view of the camera. On the small piece of rock appears to be a small carving of Dark Star's face.)
Doomsday: You see, Dark Star, there are many ways to dispose of someone, even if that one is a corpse, as you claim to be.
(He tosses the rock shard away, then continues.)
Doomsday: However, there is one point on which the the both of us agree: Normal matches are far too...limiting. There a countless punishments I am more than willing to unleash on my opponents, but the only problem is...all but the few I display would get me disqualified, and even arrested in some states. But...this is a no disqualification match. That means that I will at last be free to do whatever I wish. If I wish to Cataclysm you off the roof of the Cell and through the commentator's table...it will be legal. If I wish to blast you in the face with a tazer...it will be legal. If I wish to drag you to the highest location of the building and toss you straight down...it will be legal.
(A sinister chuckle escapes his lips before he continues.)
Doomsday: Do you realize the enormity of the mistake you have made yet, Mr. Star? You have unleashed something within me that I thought was long gone and buried...a monster that would gladly set a person on fire just to watch him or her burn. You could have taken your win and been on your way...but no. You chose instead to equate the incomprehensibly powerful entity known as Doomsday with the mere playthings that call themselves humans, and now...you must face the consequences. This situation advanced beyond your control the second you took those two baseball bats from that Chill woman that follows you around. And speaking of Chill, I am curious...why, if you obviously cannot stand her, do you continue to tolerate her presence? Were I in your position, she would be fulfilling her name...by feeling the cold chill of the ground as I bury her in it. And Mr. Star, please, do not act so foolish. You know very well what I meant when I said that there would be no interference. Even through an enclosed Hell in a Cell cage, there are ways to interfere. Passing a baseball bat or tazer through the fencing, for example, or spraying mace or pepper spray in the eyes of one of the combatants as their face is pressed into the side of the cage. That is why no one is to be at ringside. Not The Brotherhood of Agony. Not Heavy Artillery. Not Chill. Not the minions of Hell. Not anybody. I will expect no further argument on this point.
(The odd smile once again reasserts itself, joining a raised eyebrow on Doomsday's countenance as he continues.)
Doomsday: I wonder...do you yet realize the sheer futility of the task at hand? Clearly, anyone with an intelligence level higher than that of the average amoeba would at the very least rethink their game plan. This will by no means be anything like Avalanche. What you fought then...was nothing but a husk, an empty shell, a shadow of the monstrous entity I truly am. On Pinnacle, I will be in full possession of my mental and physical faculties. If it is escape from this existence that you desire, then you can rest assured that on Saturday...you will receive your blessed released. The Cataclysm is coming. Doomsday is here. Your insignificant world has already changed...and the New Era...has already begun. On Pinnacle, prepare yourself to be the recipient of your own...personal...DOOMSDAY!!!
(At Doomsday's shout, the sky is suddenly filled with flashes of lightning, and an all-out thunderstorm quickly begins. Doomsday remains on the headstone and begins laughing sadistically as the scene slowly fades to black.)
(Well, I promised you two promos, and here's the second one. Thus, prepare to gaze in wide-eyed awe at the wonderment that is a Doom and Jim "The Icon" Daher promo!)
(The scene begins in a local gym. (Sharp contrast from Doomsday's graveyard scene, eh?) Lots of muscular-looking men (and women - happy, ladies?) are working out on the various exercising machines. As the camera pans around the room, we find a professional-looking wrestling ring in the center of the gym. Two muscular-looking men climb in and limber up. Then, the dressing room doors open, and out step Doom and Jim "The Icon" Daher, both wearing their wrestling attire, which for The Icon is indistinguishable from his street clothes. They climb into the ring and limber up, then a bell dings. As the big man and small man adjust to each others' styles, they seem to work pretty well as a team. Eventually, The Icon hits The Icon's Smackdown on one man, and Doom hits the Nuclear Winter on the other. They pin both men simultaneously and the ref counts three. The bell sounds, and Doom and The Icon exit the ring, grabbing their thermos bottles and taking a drink. The camera then approaches them.)
Camera Man: Doom and Jim "The Icon" Daher, right? I'm with the GWA, and I'm here to get your comments on the tag match you have this Saturday against Scotty Thunder and Tempest.
(Doom sets down his thermos, then looks into the camera and speaks.)
Doom: Scotty Thunder and Tempest, eh? Well, let's see. Scotty Thunder I've never heard of, but I'll be keepin' an eye on him. Now, Tempest...he's a weird one. Nightmares about pink bunnies? Come on, man. You oughta be in an institution somewhere, not wrestlin'. Ah, well. Plain and simple: If either one of ya piss me off, don't be surprised if I go Nuclear on yer asses. I didn't get the fight I was promised at Avalanche, so I'm all rested up. Scotty Thunder, Tempest, ya both better be ready to find out what I mean when I say...if it ain't hardcore...it ain't cool.
(He then takes a seat on a nearby bench. The camera swivels over to The Icon, who is standing by with a smile and a raised eyebrow.)
The Icon: Scotty Thunder and Tempest. Scotty, I ain't heard of ya either, so I ain't gonna waste my breath on ya until ya show yerself. For now, I wanna talk about...Tempest. Well, well, well. Thinkin' about me day an' night, are ya? Come on. We all know about that little nightmare ya had featuring yours truly as a psycho pink bunny with a steel chair. That's your subconscious tellin' you...you're overmatched. As soon as our names were paired together as opponents, all the 6.2 billion Jim-ciples around the world knew it was only a matter of time before you were thoroughly jackassenized by the man, the myth, the legend, your personal god, and the planetary MESSIAH, none other than yours truly, Jim "The Icon" Daher. Ya really think you can go toe-to-toe with THE bad mofo? Little did you know, you can only go DOWN from here, yo! Prepare to receive the beating of your life courtesy of the pinnacle of athleticism, the paragon of charisma, the summit of intelligence, and the epitome of greatness! No, I'm not talkin' about the amoeba that could pin yer ass any day of the week. I'm talkin' about the master of The Icon's Smackdown himself, Jim "The Icon" Daher. Doom and I will be seein' you in the ring, so thank you, and have a nice FRICKIN' day!
(With that, Doom stands up. The Icon and Doom then exit the building, talking inaudibly between themselves. The scene slowly fades to black, then to an advertisement about GWA Saturday Pinnacle.)
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