All Stars 3: Extreme DDR Match(Participants inside)

[Richard Blonoff]

Steven Homie
Cosmo A
Michael Jackson's Reanimated Corpse
The Phantom of Paradyse
Sexton Tempest

Deadline is Tuesday, October 22nd, 11:59 PM(CST)​

 

[Miko]

"What the fuck is an 'extreme DDR match?'" Said a puzzled Sexton, looking at the All Stars match poster. The man on the end of the question, none other than backstage worker Bob, looks confused.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Sexton takes a puff of his cigar, a swig of his hip flask and puts on his sunglasses, all at the same time. Incidentally, a woman walking past reached the point of orgasm, but that might not have anything to do with anything (yeah right). He gives Bob a look of pure disgust, the scorn compounded by the scent of neat whiskey and cigar smoke that hits Bob, nearly singing his eyebrows.

"No."

"Well, its a..."

"Hey, Stacy" Sexton buts in, clapping his hands over Bob's mouth, he moves towards Stacy, who is stood by a catering table, he moves is perhaps the wrong phrase, he gyrates towards her, his large gut moving in time to the rest of his body. Stacy knows she should be repulsed by this, but the chest hair sticking out of the top of his shirt did strange things to her loins, hitting her like a potent laxative. He may be a dinosaur, but...

"Oh, its you..." She tries to say in a disgusted voice, what comes out on the other hand is half a whisper. Sexton winks at her and all feeling floods out from her knees, leaving her sprawled on the floor.

"Always could get a woman on her back." Sexton puts his hands to his hips and laughs vigorously at his own comment, a sound not unlike a disco greatest hits compilation.

Stacy climbs to her feet, using the table for support, Sexton turns his attention back to the poster. "Looks like I am up against another bunch of losers, hey!" This is directed at Bob, "you remember that Big Dick Davidson from last year? And I made that really funny joke at his expense, saying he was overcompensating," Bob laughs. "You know, for having a small dick?"

"Well it looks like he didn't have the balls to show up either, not like Sexton, the permanently erect, boulder balled, beacon of badassery."

"Didn't you lose the re-scheduled match?" Stacy eventually manages to say.

"Nope."

"I think you did, it was a tag match and you threw a toothpick..."

"Nope. Could someone this groovy lose a match?" Sexton said, tossing his hair, which flowed like a flock of angry geese chasing an unfortunate postman down the road. He winked at Stacy and even though she didn't move a muscle, she finds herself drawn closer to the stench of whiskey and garlic... and that chest hair.

"Look at all those other losers, Steven Homie? He looks like a relic from a by-gone era. Am I right?" Sexton laughs obnoxiously loudly, Stacy, despite everything finds herself giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Well at least you avoided the obvious trap of calling him Steven Homo..."

Sexton cursed under his breath, Steven Homo, that'd have been brilliant! Unperturbed, he knew he'd bring his superior wit to the next opponent.

"'Cosmo A?' What's this guy supposed to be? A fat alien?"

"Yes. He's the third member of Dance Party 95."

"Looks like he ate the other two."

"I'd think you've been beaten to that joke..."

"This guy couldn't eat Sexton, my moves are too fly, hell, my member alone is considered a three course meal in Balthazar... Something Stacy knows all about."

Stacy, having more willpower than Becky, does manage to roll her eyes at this comment. Curse that moment of weakness.

"Michael Jackson's reanimated corpse? Looks like they've finally found something that's stiffer than me." He winks again at Stacy, who is fighting the dual urge to throw up and shudder with pleasure.

"And this last guy, The Phantom of Paradyse. That might be gayer than Steven Homo," Sexton does a mental fist pump, pleased to have got that in. "Now we'll talk about getting something else in..." Sexton turns his attention back to Stacy, aiming a pelvic thrust in her direction, grunting absurdly as he does so.

"Err, what?"

Bob is ignored, Sexton is thrusting his way toward Stacy, who finds herself unable to resist, her senses clouding up as she suddenly realises Sexton has disrobed completely, true to his word, rock solid and grinning like a cheshire cat, she finds herself hypnotised by the movement as he thrusts. Sexton clears the food off the catering table with a sweep of his arm. Truth was there was about 8 feet of unused table, but that wouldn't have been anywhere near as manly and impulsive.

Stacy, on seeing this is about to succumb completely again when a smacking sound distracts her, Sexton's eyes roll into the back of his head, he falls forwards, his huge manhood going through the concrete floor like wet cardboard. Standing over him is Leon Kensworth, steel chair in hand.

"Disco is dead, motherfucker!"

"Leon..." Gasps Stacy.

"Stacy..." He gasps back.

She rushes forward, embracing the other announcer. "You're a true friend." Leon can't hide his dissapointment, however much he tries, but together they leave, arm in arm.

----------- ----------------- ------------

Sexton still lies unconscious, vaguely humping the floor as a shadow falls over him, the figure takes hold of Sexton's hand, putting a hotel room doorkey in it and wrapping it into a fist, Sexton stirs slightly as Jonny Klamor smiles and leaves the scene.

 

[JGlass]

In 1977 a film called Saturday Night Fever was released in theaters around the world. This film starred a young John Travolta as a kid from Brooklyn that threw his tough guy ways to the wind just so he could prove that he was the king of the dance floor.

It was after seeing this movie that a pivot in reality was created. In one universe, Steven Holmes saw the film and thought it was complete and total crap. This Steven Holmes used his considerable wealth to purchase the cinema he saw the movie in and had it turned into an Asda, which he then proceeded to burn down for the insurance money.

However, this was not the only outcome of that fateful day in 1977. In an alternate reality, Steven Holmes loved the film so much that he went out and spent his money on a Beegees album. From there it was a slippery slope that lead to Steven Holmes leaving his life behind to become someone different, someone that would go on to become the greatest roller disco king in the world. This new man was called Steven Homie.

Steven Homie reigned supreme in the UK disco club scene of the late 70s and early 80s, and with his success came a massive ego that turned off nearly every man, woman, and child that came to the discos to challenge Steven Homie for his title. By the time the mid 80s rolled around, nobody dared step foot in the clubs Steven Homie considered his kingdom. Couple that with the hot funky beats coming from the hip-hop movement as well as a second British invasion, and disco quickly died in the United Kingdom.

Steven Homie is still the disco king of the UK, but his kingdom is in ruins. He and his queen, Sissy Scarlett, still skate nightly at the clubs to audiences that rarely exceeds a dozen. However, tonight, on October 22nd 2013, Steven Homie will meet an exciting new challenge that promises to give new meaning to his pathetic existence.

--------------------​

Steven Homie skates up to a dimly lit bar in a club. A Donna Sommers track plays in the background, but the bar’s patrons don’t seem to really be interested in the music. Steven Homie waves down the bartender, but the bartender holds up a finger.

Bartender: I’ll be with ya in a minute Steven!

Steven Homie scoffs.

Steven Homie: You will not make your king wait, and you will not use my Christian name you plebeian!

The bartender rolls his eyes and puts down the glass he was cleaning before walking over to meet Steven Homie.

Bartender: Alright Mr. Homie, what is it you need?

Steven Homie: I need you to breath some life into this morgue! Sissy and I are putting on the show of a life here, and all these morons are staring down at their drinks!

A patron sitting right next to Steven Homie falls backwards off his stool, passed out.

Bartender: Look Mr. Homie, I can’t make these people watch you dance. If they just want to sit at the bar and get drunk, that’s their prerogative, and I’m not gonna stop ‘em.

Sissy Scarlett skates up behind Steven Homie and throws her arms around her man.

Sissy Scarlett: ‘Ey, whass goin’ on ‘ere?

Steven Homie: This commoner refuses to respect the fact that we are creating miraculous art mere feet from where he stands.

Bartender: Mr. Homie, you know I respect what you do, but you have to face the facts: these people don’t want to see you dance. Disco is dead.

Steven Homie’s patience has run out at this statement. With lightning fast reflexes he reaches across the bar and slams the bartender’s head into bar, knocking him out.

Sissy Scarlett: Christ Steven, that bloke wuz gonna pay us!

Steven Homie: You saw how he disrespected me! I couldn’t let him get away with that!

Sissy Scarlett: We better beat it before ‘e comes to!

Steven Homie nods in agreement and the two start to skate towards the exit. Steven Homie opens the door to leave, but is immediately grabbed by a strange, spandex clad man.

???: Oh yeah, you’re DEFINITELY the guy I’m looking for.

Sissy Scarlett jumps on the back of the spandex clad man.

Sissy Scarlett: Let go o’ my boyfriend you bastard!

???: I guess you’re coming too then.

The spandex man pulls a trigger out of his pocket and clicks it, and in the blink of an eye the three characters disappear.

--------------------​

The trio magically reappears in a strange laboratory to little fanfare; they just sort of pop back into reality. Sufficiently confused, Steven Homie begins shouting.

Steven Homie: WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? WHERE THE HELL ARE WE? WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?

???: So many questions! What is this, the SATs? My name is Saboteur, and you’re in my reality. I brought you here because I hate Steven Holmes and I want to see you embarrass him.

Steven Homie: Steven Holmes is dead, and I killed him myself. There is only Steven Homie now.

Saboteur: In your reality, yes, but not in my reality! You see, in my reality, Steven Holmes hated Saturday Night Fever so much that he decided to go out and start beating people up to release his anger, and he found out he was quite good at it. In fact, he’s so good at it that he decided to do it professionally. Most recently, he and his Amazonian girlfriend, Celeste Crimson…

Sissy Scarlett: Oi! What kinda stupid name is that?!

Saboteur: I don’t know, I think it’s Russian. Anyway, he and Celeste Crimson beat me for my beloved tag team champion belt, and I wanted to get revenge, so I brought you here, to my reality.

Steven Homie: I’m not a dancing monkey for your ammusement, send me and Scarlett back to our reality!

Saboteur: I could do that Mr. Homie, but I could also send you to a reality where the 70s never ended and disco never died.

Sissy Scarlett: We was doin’ jus’ fine in our own reality, thank you very much! Ain’t that right Stevie?

But Steven Homie remains silent.

Sissy Scarlett: Steven?

Steven Homie: Who are we kidding, Sissy? Nobody wants to see us roller disco anymore. If this man can offer us a chance to live in a world where disco never died, shouldn’t we take that offer?

Sissy Scarlett: I don’ know Steven, it seems awful risky to me. How do we know if he’s tellin’ the truth?

Saboteur: I’m sorry, but did I not just teleport you from a dive bar in England to a secret basement laboratory in Wyoming?

Sissy Scarlett: I s’pose that’s true.

Steven Homie: So what do you want me to do? Find your Steven Holmes and challenge him to a dance off?

Saboteur: No, I want you to win a dance contest on a worldwide broadcast of a professional wrestling show.

Steven Homie: Um… what?

Saboteur grabs a poster from the desk and shows it to Steven Homie and Sissy Scarlet.

Saboteur: All-Stars 3. I may or may not have signed you up for a dance contest that is going to be held on this wrestling program. And by may or may not I mean that I did.

Steven Homie: So let me get this straight… you traveled through the space time continuum to find me so you can enter me in some hackneyed dance contest on a wrestling program?

Saboteur: Yes.

Steven Homie: Then you came to the best! The commoners of the world today are dancing to their dubstep and hip-hop, but these are the dances of the classless. These fools at a wrestling show will surely bow down to my superior, classy, and groovy roller disco beats.

Saboteur: Sure they are, champ. Now just promise me you say your name plenty of times, and don’t do a thing about that hair!

Steven Homie takes out an afro pick and gives a tug at his beautiful, voluminous, afro.

Steven Homie: Ahhh yeah baby, me and this beautiful hair are gonna show those dorks while they call me the Dancing King of Funkingham Palace. Sissy! Lace up, we’ve got a show to put on.

 

[The Doctor]

Ever since their spectacular victory at last year's WZCW All-Stars event, our heroes, the intergalactic time-traveling tangoing team Dance Party '95 have felt...empty. The dancing duo of Sin Cobra and AKIMan sat inside Starship Funk staring at each other, gloomy expressions on their masked faces.

Sin Cobra: AKIMan, my good and faithful friend...

AKIMan: What is it, Sin Cobra?

Sin Cobra: Ever since our spectacular victory at last year's CNW Neon Nights event, I have felt empty!

AKIMan: I believe you mean WZCW All Stars.

Sin Cobra: As I said, WWE Battleground! Though we hipped and we hopped, we boogied and broke it down, and even though we shuffled and stomped, I just don't feel like our victory was enough!

AKIMan: That is a problem. The music, which never stops while we are around, seems to have stopped.

Sin Cobra: It's true! The funk is finished! The dance is dead! AKIMan, my friend, I think we may be completely kaput!

AKIMan held a hand over his heart.

AKIMan: Say it is not so, Sin Cobra! We live for the dance! We love the dance!

Sin Cobra: But does the dance love us still, my friend?

The two morosely stared out of the window at Sin Cobra's philosophical question.

Sin Cobra: If only we had Cosmo A with us...

AKIMan nodded.

AKIMan: Cosmo A would know what to do.

Sin Cobra: Cosmo A always knew what to do! It was he who suggested we come and get him after we finished refueling on Earth. I remember it very clearly, AKIMan. We were to pick him up six months after we had scouted the planet.

AKIMan: Cosmo A was truly an inspiration. If he were here, I can bet he would stand up straight and tall and say something incredibly inspirational!

The two sighed in unison.

Sin Cobra: AKIMan, my friend, do you have the time?

AKIMan stared at his wrist.

AKIMan: Sin Cobra, I regret to inform you that I am not wearing a watch.

Sin Cobra stared at his own wrist.

Sin Cobra: Blast! Neither am I! How could I have been so naive? Computer!

Sin Cobra flips a switch on the dashboard. There is a pause. In the distance, a kettle boils. Sin Cobra slammed a fist onto his armrest.

Sin Cobra: This is preposterous! We have no computer!

AKIMan: Sin Cobra, my friend, I have calculated the time by staring for a very long time into the sun!

Indeed, AKIMan was staring out of the ship's periscope as he spoke. Sin Cobra got to his feet and clapped his friend on the back.

Sin Cobra: Excellent work! What time is it?

AKIMan: Half past noon!

Sin Cobra: Well, that's not so bad...

AKIMan: ...in October 2013.

Though it was impossible to see under the mask, one could assume the color drained from Sin Cobra's face.

Sin Cobra: Are you certain, AKIMan? Are you positive? Tell me!

AKIMan nodded, gravely. Sin Cobra buried his mask in his hands.

Sin Cobra: AKIMan...we have made a terrible mistake.

-----​

Sin Cobra: ...And that is why it took so long, my friend!

In a certain lounge on a certain planet, a certain band stood on stage playing the same song over and over again. In the very far back corner, reclined in a plush armchair, was a large dark-skinned humanoid dressed in a garish red, white, and purple sweater and a purple mask emblazoned with a red A. There was only one possible person it could be.

Cosmo A: Man, I beeba thinkin yall habba the lefta man in the play of the day and I'mma been a-wastin' 'way.

AKIMan: We understand, Cosmo A. Please forgive our transgressions. As Sin Cobra will attest, it simply has not been the same without you.

Cosmo A interlocked his fingers and stared at his two masked bretheren.

Cosmo A: Now, youbba better be a-thinkin' befo' you be a-drinkin' iffin you know whatta meanin'.

Sin Cobra nodded vigorously.

Sin Cobra: My friend, without your influence, we are barely a dance party at all. We cannot exist without you. We sincerely apologize - It was only meant to be six months!

Cosmo A sighed.

Cosmo A: Thibba loungin' playin' same ol' same ol' ya feelin' ma feels mah boys' an' mah gills?

He gestured towards the band.

Cosmo A: Onlee thin' they be a-dancin' is witha zombies iffin' ya know.

AKIMan: We understand you must have been very bored waiting for us here for eighteen years, my friend-

Cosmo A: You ain'in' know halfin'!

AKIMan: -but please forgive us! If you join Dance Party '95 again, we'll do our best to make it up for you from now until the end of time!

Though their faces were covered with masks, the alien duo stared at their fat friend with puppy dog eyes. Several uncomfortable moments followed, the silence broken by the band playing the same song over and over again. Finally, the big man broke into a large and warm smile.

Cosmo A: Y'all beein' the silliness ya know even if'm right!

With a sigh of relief, AKIMan and Sin Cobra broke out into a celebratory Cha Cha Slide.

Cosmo A: Nah mean I already be uppin' plannin' Earth ev' since I hear 'bout you two jukin' the jibbly. I been' pushin' tha pumpkin and slammmin' the jam until I be landin' in the ham, ya feelin' me?

Sin Cobra nodded eagerly, cha-chaing real smooth.

Sin Cobra: That is wonderful news, Cosmo A! I take it you've decided to compete at TNA Bound For Glory as well?

Cosmo A nodded.

Cosmo A: Mannin' they be puttin' in the DDRin.

Sin Cobra stopped, looking horrified.

Sin Cobra: An Extreme DDR Match? What could possibly be extreme about the daily dairy report?

Cosmo A shook his head violently as the band played on.

Cosmo A: Heyman you been gettin' the p's and the q's bees and boozed. In da match we dancin' and we fightin' just like we always do the thing.

Sin Cobra probably smiled as he clapped his hands. Clap, clap, clapped his hands.

Sin Cobra: Another piece of excellent news, my friend!

AKIMan: An environment built for us! There is no doubt we will prevail!

Cosmo A shook his head.

Cosmo A: Nah man and man two, you don' een know. They gotta the besta dancin' in the galaxy.

Sin Cobra: Better than us?

Cosmo A: Steeben Homie man he been rollin' and ridin' and the flappy flantom oven the pretty place and boy oh boy you can't even know. Man they even gotten the Sexton.

Sin Cobra stopped mid-Electric Slide.

Sin Cobra: Sexton Tempest?

He might have looked horrified.

Sin Cobra: That's terrible! That's illegal! That's dreadful! How can a play compete in a dancing competition! Earth is full of strange customs, but I never expected something so vulgar!

Cosmo A nodded impressively.

Cosmo A: Man bt you been seein' the shufflin' and the walkin' and the biggidy boppin' zombie zoopin' thibbidy place habin and you been too scared to handle up in your britches. But lemme tellin' ya boys some big noise. Cosmo A been outin' the place an' it been eighteen years but he goin' back in the place for he been a showin' no fears. And I'mma like it be liek we always been sayin' in that yoou better know what you be doin' else you be screwin' and man that's one tum-tigerin' jiggerin' best on the livin' givin' fried chicken.

Sin Cobra: Well said, my friend!

AKIMan: I could not have put it better myself! Cosmo A, it is wonderful to have you back.

The big man got out of his armchair and smiled at his best friends.

Cosmo A: Now how about we havin' some good music?

With that, he clicked his fingers, the lights dimmed, and Dance Party '95 celebrated and trained for Cosmo A's match the only way they knew how. The Dance was back in Dance Party '95, and the world never looked brighter.

 

[Con T.]

The camera pans in on an auction, somewhere in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. A gavel pounds harshly, as a large, mustachioed man begins to speak at a rather loud voice.A small group of men await the bidding, settling their paddles and making idle talk when necessary. Save for one man; an aged Andre Saxton, who sits alone, barely moving.

Auctioneer: Lot 665, we have hear, Mr. Baller's head! One of a kind, still firmly kept in place. Easily adjustable, no tools required for assembly. And, it is said on certain nights, you can hear the head weeping. May I commence at 20 Francs?

A hand raises to place a bid.

Auctioneer: 20, thank you. Do I hear 30?

Another hand is raised.

Auctioneer: I have 25, do I see 30? Ah yes, thirty, thank you. 40? Would anyone like to bid at forty?

Andres Saxton has yet to move, as the bids are placed.

Auctioneer: 50? Yes, fifty, in the first row. Do I hear 55? Will someone give me 55? I have 50 once, 50 twice...

A long pause, as the Auctioneer bangs his gavel.

Auctioneer: Sold! Will you take that head to its new owner?

An officer carries the head of Mr. Baller over, as Baller sheds a single tear. The head is placed in the lap of Hollywood Jameson, who licks his lips at the sight of the head.

Auctioneer: Lot 666, then. An arena scoreboard, in shattered pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of Paradyse. A most peculiar case, never fully explained. We're told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very scoreboard which figures in the infamous disaster. Gentlemen....

[YOUTUBE]sLJv_q4FgsA&hd=1[/YOUTUBE]​

As the music plays, the scoreboard arises, and the scene begins to turn into a wrestling arena. The lights begin to show a wrestling ring rising from the ground, and the scoreboard being placed in the middle of the arena. Saxton and the auctioneers leave, and the stage gives way to wrestlers performing moves and holds on one another. This is the tale of that mystery, as we witness Stacy Madison, Becky Serra, Leon Kensworth and Big Dave in the middle of the ring, with a legion of extras. The scoreboard is finally constructed, to show the name of our performance...

The Phantom of Paradyse​

Stacy begins to belt a high note clearly out of her reach. She prances around the ring in a very pretentious manner

In walks Vance Bateman, interrupting the rehearsal.

Vance: Ladies and Gentleman!

Dave: Vance, we're rehearsing. Surely this can wait, you know how...Temperamental Stacy gets at being interrupted.

Stacy huffs at this, and goes leaves the ring, making sure to let everyone know she is displeased at this interruption.

Vance: I do, yes, but I felt it best to have this meeting now. Everyone, gather around, please.

All of the performers come close to Vance, with Leon and Becky standing next to each other. Leon whispers into Becky's ear

Leon: This isn't like Vance to interrupt a rehearsal.

Becky: Whatever shuts up Stacy is perfectly fine by me.

Vance: Now, As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these are all true.

A large cheer is given by all except Vance, who looks on with bemusement.

Vance: Right. Anywho, I'm proud to give to you all the new Co-GM's of Ascension, Andres Saxton and Firmateur.

Andres and Firmateur walk in, essentially Action Saxton and Saboteur with poofy powderdered wigs on their heads.

Stacy: These two?! No. No, I will not perform for these two... These two peons!

Firmateur: These two... Peons, as you like to call us, now sign your checks, hussy. Will you get a load of this, Andres? Peons. I haven't had to go since we've gotten to the arena.

Stacy: I quit this! You can find yourself someone else to do this show! I will not take part in this.

Stacy storms out of the ring and out of the arena, leaving a wake of destruction in her path.

Saxton: Well, that's just lovely, now we're out one interviewer already!

Firmateur: Who cares, she's a backstage interviewer. We don't need many of them, we could probably dress up Kensworth over there in a blonde wig, and no one would tell the difference!

Leon's shoulders slump a little.

Saxton: That was before my first act as Co-GM, sucka; have the interviewer sing multiple musical scores to the audience.

Firmateur: Why would you ever do that?

Saxton: Showmanship, my boy! And now we're out one interviewer, so it looks like we're out one show idea, Sucka!

Leon: Becky Serra could do it!

Becky: Leon, shut up!

Firmateur and Andres look to one another, realizing this idea can be salvaged. Firmateur points to Leon. In the background, we can see

Firmateur: You! Generic looking interviewer! Elaborate, before we stick you in a blonde wig.

Leon speaks up a little more.

Leon: Becky. Becky Serra. She... She could be your singer. She's been taking vocal lessons from a coach.

Saxton: Is that true?

Becky: Well, yes... Yes, it's true. Though I've never met the man...

Firmateur: Well, if this coach is so dedicated, perhaps he'd like to show his face, now!

Andres Saxton stands next to the skeletal remains of Firmateur, Becky, Leon, and the other cast members. He looks old, almost as though he's teetering on the brink of life. He looks out to the audience.

Saxton: What were you expecting? Armando Paradyse never shows up...

Phantom of Paradyse: I'm ready, guys!

We see Armando Paradyse, only wearing his mask, and nothing else, riding the arena scoreboard. He swings the scoreboard across the arena, and crashes into the wall. The scoreboard explodes, as Andres looks on in complete apathy