“Loverboy†Vinnie Lane lay on his back on the uncomfortable machine, waiting for the electric hum to grow into a cacophonous throb. However, what he heard instead was the electronic voice of the doctor over the speaker separating their two rooms.
“Mister Lane, I’m sorry, I should have been more clear about how the MRI machine works, apparently. You can’t have ANYthing metal. You could be badly hurt.â€
“What, doc? I took out my earrings and nip ring. I don’t think I have any alien subcutaneous tracking devices or bullets lodged in me anywhere, dude.â€
Laughing at his own facetiousness, Loverboy snickers as he hears a door open and close, then soft footsteps approaching him from the side. From within the metal cylinder, though, he couldn’t see a thing.
“Here, Doctor Patel sent me to take this off of you.â€
Struggling just to lift his head and peer down the length of his bare torso, Loverboy sees a hand reach in and hesitate over his chiseled abs. Finally, nervously, the woman’s fingers graze against his midsection and linger for just a moment before running down the length of his stomach and gripping the leather border of his HART Championship belt.
“Pretty great, right? I’m shredded like a Julienne salad.â€
The nurse giggles as her hand runs around the length of the belt and finds the fastening beneath him. The belt loosens and he feels it slipped off from around his lithe waist, barely catching a view of it in the nurse’s pretty hands as a glint of light reflects off of the gold faceplate.
“Don’t worry, “Loverboy,†I won’t let anything happen to it. And when you’re done, maybe you can try to win it back from me?â€
“Every time I come to the doctor, you nurses treat me like a piece of meat… I love it!â€
The electronic voice returns as the door opens and closes again. Loverboy’s head flops back down onto the thin cushion of the MRI table.
“Are you finished, Mister Lane? May we proceed?â€
“Hey dude, not my fault your nurse caught the thirst. Well. Maybe it’s a little bit my fault. Look at me, you know?â€
“Right. Just relax, Mister Lane. Close your eyes and try to stay very still.â€
The low buzz of the machine intensifies, growing to a swarm-like hum. Loverboy’s eyes close and he breathes deep as the magnetic waves flow over him.
Slipping into a bit of a trance, Loverboy sees the trauma of the past months.
Quote:Vinnie with a clothesline to Gilmour! Gilmour hits the deck, but rolls to his feet and Vinnie with a Superkick! Gilmour is down! Vinnie walks over and he’s setting up a table! Vinnie walks back over to Gilmour and drags him to his feet. Vinnie slams Gilly’s head on the table a repeated number of times. Now Vinnie with the attempt suplex, trying to end it here! Gilmour locks his leg with Vinnie, then hits Vinnie with a knee to the gut! Gilmour walks away from Vinnie and we got a Tom and Jerry chase here and man, what a clothesline from Vinnie there. Vinnie rolls out of the ring and grabs a trash can lid and the trash can! He goes to where Gilmour is and he swings the lid at Gilmour Apocalypse blocks it and punches the lid, causing the lid to smash Vinnie in the face! Vinnie drops the lid and looks up, eyeing Gilmour as he delivers a charging clothesline to Vinnie. He picks up Vinnie and hits a sidewalk backbreaker to the back of Vinnie. Gilmour lifts Vinnie to his feet, but Vinnie counters and hits him with another Superkick sending Gilmour to the floor!
â€You’re fucking pathetic! I’m going to fuck your wife!!!
Gilmour’s eyes pop open and he lifts himself up. Gilmour charges and delivers a devastating clothesline to Vinnie! Gilmour lifts Vinnie to his feet and Gilmour hits Vinnie with Gilmour Cutter on the trashcan lid! Vinnie is bleeding! Gilmour lifts Vinnie up and ENDGAME THROUGH THE TABLE! VINNIE IS OUT!
Loverboy grimaces but remains still, the lights dancing across his prostrated body.
Quote: Dim wastes no time and rushes directly to Vinnie Lane blasting him in the face with The Dimsallishment! Instantly busting his nose open and sending Vinnie Lane crashing to the floor! Gilmourdow turns to find CorVus, who’s recovered and perched on the top turnbuckle. CorVus flies off and goes for a flying hurricanrana catches him on his shoulders and slams him down with a strong powerbomb into the turnbuckle!
He twitches, as if recoiling from an impact to his face. The flinch shakes wisps of blond hair into motion around his face, prompting the mechanized voice of Doctor Patel to once again emerge from the white noise of the MRI machine.
“Mister Lane, we need you to remain perfectly still. There is no danger from the MRI, you are perfectly safe.â€
“Yeah… says the dude hiding in the other room…â€
“Please. We are nearly finished.â€
The machine continues, and Loverboy once again closes his eyes. Once again, he is brought back to brutal moments in his matches.
Quote: Jim Ross: You don’t think he would…
Then…
JOEY STYLES: Is he really going to…
LEAPS!
Bobby Heenan: Why would he do that?!
From the top of the cage!
The loud OOMPH is heard as both men’s bodies thud against the mat!
Lane had delivered a moonsault from the top of the cage taking down both Cain and himself!
Both men are out.
In the chamber, Loverboy twitches again. His body spasming lightly as if falling from the cage again and again. Warning continue to filter through the speaker system, but they go unheeded.
"Mister Lane! Mister Lane!"
Quote: A hooded man enters the ring holding Lane’s championship, but Lane and Cain are faced the other way! The hooded man runs across the ring and clobbers Lane in the back of his head with the belt!
Lane hits the mat hard!
The hooded man picks up Cain and nails him with a spinning kick!
He lifts up Vinnie again and nails a fireman’s carry into an ace crusher!
JOEY STYLES: Wait… there’s only one person I know who uses that move and that’s…
The hooded man removes his hood to reveal the face of TJ Wallace!
And Loverboy’s eyelids flutter, the images in his mind taking him back to the moments of his highest suffering. The muscles in his neck stiffen and his mouth forms a grimace of anguish.
“Mister Lane! Please! You must relax!â€
Quote: Mastermind takes the moment to embrace the crowd. He lifts the chair in the air and the crowd pops big. They want the Extreme tonight! Mastermind slowly turns around with the chair with a grin on his face. He walks over and brings it down, but Lane rolls out of the way! He quickly gets to his feet, but Mastermind swings for the fences! Lane ducks and dodges but he looks alarmed. He catches the hands and the two battle back and forth trying to win the chair. Lane kicks M in the gut and takes the chair. He pulls the chair up over his head! Mastermind charges him and flips him over his back! The chair falls out of hands of Lane onto the fallen cell wall. Lane is flung over!
LANE CRASHES BACK FIRST ONTO THE BARBED WIRE BAT!
JOEY STYLES: “Oh my God…â€
Lane is writhing in pain from the barbed wire slicing into his skin! Mastermind’s eyes seem to light up as an idea forms! He flips onto his stomach and locks in…
THE MIND CONTROLLER!
As if pulsing with a thousand volts of electricity, Loverboy’s upper body arches and twists in agony. Every cord of muscle in his neck, arms and back are taut and locked. He no longer hears the impassioned pleas of the doctor asking him to lay still, nor does he hear the door open and close again as attendants hurry in to subdue him.
With his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he hears nothing at all.
Quote: JOEY STYLES: “The champion survives!
“Barely!â€
Muddy Waters is slightly frustrated, but knows there's still work to be done. He gets back to his feet and lifts Lane to his. He then delivers the stump pile driver, driving Lane head first into the steel chair!
JOEY STYLES: “The Pike County Plunge!â€
And then Loverboy’s eyes snap open, looking for the source of the terrorized scream echoing in the MRI machine.
As he loses focus and drifts away into the embrace of unconsciousness, it occurs to the rock n’ roll megastar that the voice screaming in anguish is his own.
“Baby? Baby are you awake?â€
The sweet voice breaks through the haze of darkness around Loverboy’s throbbing skull.
He opens his eyes and sees those of his beloved, the dreamlike beauty of Roxy Cotton. Her eyes are pools of moisture, barely contained within dark eyeliner. He knows she’s been seconds away from tears.
“Hey girl.â€
He manages a smile, and she laughs. He feels her hand gripping his on top of the rough hospital sheets, and as she brushes some wet hair away from his sweat-drenched forehead, he tries to sit up.
“No, no, Vinnie, you have to take it easy.â€
The pained grunts Loverboy responds with are enough to make him listen to her and acquiesce to her suggestion. His pounding head settles back into the pillow as he hears a knock on a door.
“What happened to me? I don’t remember…â€
Roxy walks to and opens the hospital room door, allowing a shapely Asian nurse to enter. In the nurse’s arms, she carries the HART belt like a newborn baby. She and Roxy whisper to one another before they approach the confused and aching megastar.
“Hello, nurse.â€
He raises his eyebrows repeatedly in his goofy, flirtatious way.
“Vinnie, you have a lot of worrisome injuries. On top of a severe concussion, you have multiple herniations in your cervical spine and in your lower back as well. To be perfectly honest, the doctors are shocked that you are even able to walk.â€
“Well… I’m a medical freak of nature, you know.â€
Loverboy forces another smile, although it sends a jab of pain down his neck and into the cramped and knotted muscles of his shoulders.
“Yes, you seem to be.â€
The nurse places the championship belt on the bedside table and looks toward Roxy, who smiles and slips the lock into place on the door.
Understanding dawns across the face of Loverboy as the nurse lifts her leg over his form, straddling him on top of the form bed.
Roxy walks up behind the nurse and reaches around her torso, gripping the nurse’s ample cleavage and squeezing her breasts together in her purple-manicured hands.
“Nurse Callahan doesn’t have a lot of time before she’ll be missed, Vinnie… but we decided you could use some… physical therapy.â€
The nurse’s bra is unfastened, and she leans down onto Loverboy, leaving a trail of lipstick down his neck and chest, as Roxy smiles and steps out of her dress, wearing nothing but her stiletto heels.
“Dude… I am so happy I have good insurance…â€
I gotta tell you, man, this Mayweather-Pacquiao stream is more stop and go than Morbid Angel’s prostate-strangled urine flow. Although, honestly, if I really wanted to watch two old dudes hug each other I would have popped in my DVD of Cocoon.
While this bullshit buffers so I can watch the damn thing, I guess I might as well keep up with the old man and do like he does – come at him with a half-assed, lazy promo.
As you can see, I’m going into this triple threat match against medical advice… but really, has anyone checked to make sure Morbid Angel is cleared to compete? The dude’s eyes are staring at each other like they’re in love. His BMI is a mathematically impossible 100 percent, regardless of what he tells you all about his steroids and his ‘protein supplements’ which, spoiler alert, he drinks out of his own cock. On top of all that, the only way you get nipples as cock-eyed and crooked as his is by getting a botched titty augmentation from Mexican surgeons.
The dude is one KFC Double Down away from having a full0n grabber in the middle of the ring, man. Why do you think he takes such long vacations? Every time he gets too close to the microwave he’s reheats his Whoppers in, his pacemaker goes into a frenzy and sends him into an infarction.
You want a reason why I didn’t mention you pinning me as a possible outcome this week, Stay Puft? How about because you won’t be close enough to your emergency inhaler to wheeze your way through the three count? How about because the only thing in your life celebrating ‘victory forever’ is your cardiologist’s bank account?
I’m guessing ol’ Kyril was just feeling a little butthurt that I spent my last address speaking solely to JACK… and, honestly, I can kind of see his point. If he was more worried about that wrapped up former Shriner’s kid than he was about me, I’d probably take it personally… but only for as long as it took for me to remember how incredible I am. So, basically, as soon as I found a mirror.
Don’t mistake my confidence for my conceit, dude. They both exist, but both for very different reasons. I was BORN gorgeous and talented, but I had to EARN my ability and my status. I’ve spent the last few months attaining accolades like the HART Championship, the Madness Series win, and the number one contendership while the biggest achievement you’ve managed to unlock is getting your hands on the name brand BBQ sauce at Wal-Mart without getting up out of the scooter. You think you can beat ME? You can’t even beat gout.
The fact of the matter is simple… I’m on another level from you, dude. We were equals at one point, but you went downhill faster than a fat kid in a roller coaster. I’m shooting across the sky and I’m not ever coming down, dude, and you’re just the next reoccurring name on Celebrity Fit Club.
Look around you, man. Look at the audience next time you bother to show up to an XWF show. Look at the ocean of fans wearing my face on their shirts, or writing my name in glitter and puff paint all over their poster board signs. I’m the dude the girls come to see and the guys want to be. See Morbid… it’s great to be important, but it’s also important to be great… and I AM great, dude. None of your impressions change that. You can try and impersonate my voice, but you’re physically incapable of impersonating my ability.
And… just as a little parting advice before I go back to watching the ‘fight of the century’ here… I figured you’d at least not be one of the losers who tried to get to me by attacking my girl. Dude, you’ve MET Roxy. I saw you looking at her tits when we were hanging out together. The only way you’d possibly think she was a guy is if it’s your own private fantasy, since we all know there hasn’t been a closet built that could hold you inside. Now why don’t you go back to washing your Escalade in your thong like a fat, hairy Tawny Kitaen and leave the wrestling and title holding to those of us good enough to do it, man?
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