The 1st Annual Non-Political Body Building Qualifier (Open)

[Scott Norton Fanclub]

The camera fades in from the commercial break as the midcard of WWFG populates the ring. Among them is DJ Killa Kyle, dressed in a Moncler posing speedo with baby oil lathered all over him, his bird chest glistening under the bright lights as he looked up at the sign that hung over the arena. No, it wasn't the Wrestlemania sign. It was the Non-Political Over The Top Rope Battle Royal sign. Twisting and stretching his body, making sure to hit his obliques, the worlds famous Tik Tok star, musician and feature on the cover on Teen Beat had spent weeks dieting for this event.

For him, and for many others who had been cast aside by the pencil of the WWFG office, this was the last shot to secure that sweet PLE payday. Emile Rizzoto stands in the middle of the ring, looking spiffy in his tuxedo with his hair slicked back without a single stray. At ringside, the judges table is populated by the management of Midnight Marauders International. "The Hollywood Hitter" Jack James and Paul Summers sit on the far end of each side of the scoring table, while the middle seat is conspicuously empty with the nameplate reading Brantley Summers centered in gold framing. Tugging at his collar, Emile reads from his hand:

[rizz]"Hon hon... Hon hon.... Weeelcom, to ze first evuh non-poleeetickaaaal qualifier for the non-poleeeeetickaaaaal battle royale!! All me to explain ze rules. This iz an open competition, entrants in the competition will be graded based off several categories: Aura. Phyzeek. Mass. Defineetion. Wingspan. Zymmetry. And most importantly, heart.. Those who meet ze non-political standards of ze committee organized by Monsieur Summers will advance to the tournament, those who do not will be eliminated with a chance for arbitration later in the week. Those who advance will compete at ze Royal Rumble in an over the top battle royal for ze opportunity to shake hands with our CEO. Now the we have arrived at ze understanding, I would like to introduce to you ze man responsible for this illustrious event. Ladies and gentiles, your judge for ze evening, Brantley Summers!" [/rizz]

Duals cannons of confetti shoot from each corner of the ring post as a massive banner unfurls from the completely empty, tarped off balconies that the cameras ordinarily went out their way not to shoot. All of the heads in the arena turn to the ramp in anticipation.  

[Definitely not Stone]

Well I'm workin' real hard
I’m just a middle class man
Workin' for a man that I can’t stand

A familiar tune to those in the industry begins to play. The song was melodic but almost as if Bob Couch was speaking to you personally. Out onto the stage walks master body guy and a man Olympia has been calling for years, Brantley Summers. He was wearing a bow tie, cuffs, tuxedo pants, and suspenders. Vaseline Man is behind him squirting so last minute accent booster on him to really display his tone at the scorer's table.

Sometimes it takes all I got to get me through the day
So when I get home about half past five
I need to do something that helps me unwind
I need to do something that keeps me from going insane

Summers was milking the song on the stage after realizing he went out too early. Summers would show his back, display his traps, and define what this competition would truly be about when he nailed quarter turn after quarter turn until he faced the ring and delivered a pristine front lat spread. As Summers showed off for the amazed crowd, sprinkler fireworks rained down on him while the song continued.

I NEED TO PUMP IRON
I NEED TO PUSH OUT ANOTHER SET
I NEED TO PUMP IRON
I GOT TO WORK OFF ALL THIS SWEAT

Summers would make his way down the ramp and over to his judging booth where he would be flanked by his team to deliver in this qualifying competition. Summers was the only one with a microphone in front of him so he would grab it as the music faded out.

"Ladies and gentlemen, all the Summerslagtites out there, what we're about to witness will put the WBF to shame and the IBBF on notice. What this industry has come to praise is a far cry from what we found out in the 80's. The people that tune into our programs want to see two shiny men in great shape do what DJKK says and 'flex' on each other. We've been watching everyone throw together these choreographed 'workhorse' spotfests for too long since I came back. The mission of the Marauders is to bring wrestling back to its Golden Age. When Hollywood was knocking on our doors, not just mine. I was at the finals of the NBA's great In Season Tournament when I came up with the brilliant idea to take the politicks and charades out of wrestling. So tonight, we're going to kick it off with the qualifier for the first Non-political Battle Royale presented by The Panera Bread Lemonade Drink at the upcoming Royal Rumble. We're not advertising title shots that will be snaked from under you and the fans. We're selling everyone on good ol' fashioned call-it-in-the-ring competition and a delicious, energizing drink from out friends at Panera Bread. So without further ado let's get the body guys of WWFG out here!"

Summers put the microphone down and the Marauder collective at the table clapped for the Master of Ceremonies and soon to be mega star Emile Rizzoto.  

[Scott Norton Fanclub]

The music dies down, and as one track fades away another starts to build and swell through the arena:

If you're horny, let's do it
Ride it, my pony
My saddle's waitin'
Come and jump on it

The bassline of Ginuwines pony pounds and throbs, standing in the middle of the ring now with a flattened out cardboard box, DJ Killa Kyle looks up in the sky raising his hand up in the air. Down from the ceiling descends a cupholder with the Panera Bread Charged Lemonade Drink. Slowly the item descends into the hand of the young white black man, gripping the plastic cup he pops off the lid, turning the drink upside down and into his mouth. Pouring into his throat, onto his chest the Tik Toker begins rubbing the beverage and all 300 miligrams of caffeine into his pores. Unable to contain himself, the teen sensation begins shaking, vibrating, frothing at the mouth before finally collapsing to the ground.

Going into a seizing motion, paid actresses dressed as nurses flood into the ring to administer CPR to the young man. After a few compressions and tense moments, the lemonade drink shoots up from the boys mouth into the air like a geiser. Eyes popping open, pupils dialating, DJ Killa Kyle kips up to his feet like nothing happened sliding his feet along the cardboard mat showing off various capoeira moves. After several minutes of this display, he lands in his B-Boy stance before striking a double bicep pose as camera bulbs flash from every direction.

"Come on everybody! Give it up for DJ KILLA KYLE!!!"

Paul Summers voice echoes throughout the intercom as everybody claps politely. The judges at the table convene, writing furiously in their notepads, exchanging ideas in a free flowing, judgement free way that could only truly be done as members of Midnight Marauders International. As the applause dies down, several assistance rush in to remove the cardboard from the ring for the next competitor.  

[Cartwright]

BANG BANG!

The arena erupts in shock and excitement as Mick Foley’s TNA theme blasts through the speakers.

Mick Foley slides in to the ring from ringside, he isn't afraid to be amongst the sea of midcarders, he would have spoilt the surprise if he made a grand entrance.

JR: "What's Mick Foley doing out here?
He's never been a body guy, King."

King: "I think Mick Foley misheard and thought it was an eating competition!"

The former General Manager of the WWFG begins to do a dance, putting his hands on his knees and switching them around in a Dude Love-esque maneuver.

King: "This is embarrassing, JR!
He’s making a fool of himself!"

JR: "He’s having a blast, King!
He’s entertaining the fans like only he can!
He's showing a lot of heart!"

King: "I reckon he can score big on mass...oh no!"

Mick Foley stops dancing and smiles at the crowd.

He unbuttons his flannel shirt and throws it to the side, revealing his massive belly.

Mick Foley rubs his stomach and makes it bounce up and down, drawing cheers and laughs from the fans.

"Let's hear it for MICK FOLEY!!!"

Crowd: "FOLEY!
FOLEY!
FOLEY!"

JR: "The fans loved it!"

King: "These idiots will cheer for anything!"

Mick Foley pulls out a microphone from his pocket and puts it to his mouth.

Foley: “These are the lengths that I will go to, to get back in to my home, The Midnight Marauders International.
Have a nice day!”

 

[HiroShinMozas]

DID I REALLY JUST FORGET THAT MEL-O-D....

The first line of bbno$ and Y2K's "Lalala" began to play, but quickly slowed down and was accompanied by a record scratch. It had been months, but like clockwork -- the fans would boo. The green lights shot out from the stage and in white Jets-like font the letters "BTY." would flash on the titantron with A$AP Rocky's "Wild for the Night" dubstep vehicle pumping from the speakers situated throughout the building. The booming bass was enough to drive most people nuts, and the visual they'd just gotten of Mick Foley was certainly disorienting of nothing else.

Uh
Wake up feeling blessed up
Pistol on that dresser
Ain't afraid to show it, I'll expose it if I dress up
Riding in that Testarossa, ***** catch up
Sipping on that syrup 'til I'm messed up like yes sir
So now I'm getting change, people looking at me strange
Like ***** switching lanes, never changed, still the same
We ******** bitches, get paper, you ******** niggas on papers
We walk around with lasers, you probably own some tasers
Lame niggas disgrace us, they girlfriends want date us
Got different hoes, I'm pimpin' hoes, you could tell by my pay stubs
My niggas getting right, smoking weed with dirty Sprite
I'm going wild for the night, ******** being polite, I'm going

From the back came the Canadian Sensation, Perfection's Equal, and Aaron Rodgers' best friend -- Better Than You.! He was clad in a Jets football helmet, full padding on his lower body as if he were a football player, and kelly green cleets that were clearly meant to be warn by a Philadelphia Eagles player, not a New York Jet. The only thing he was missing was a shirt -- and boy did he look chiseled. The booing was being sliced to nothing by his sharp, rock-hard abs, as BTY. had subscribed to the notion that if a wrestler is off tv for a few months they need to come back to work in the best shape of their lives. He stomped up the steps after reaching ringside and entered the ring, producing a full squeeze bottle of Gatorade from his backside that was tucked into the pants. He began to squeeze it all over himself, Cool Blue flavor by the way, and rubbed it on his chest to a continued chorus of boos. BTY. would flex his musculature for the judges, expecting a high ranking as he was combining the excitement of a big return from injury late in the season from an injury nobody ever returns this quickly from with the skills of looking like one of the greatest of all time. He especially would flex his newly built up muscles towards his Wrestlemania rival DJ Killa Kyle, perhaps trying to send a message that he was, in fact...Better Than Him.  

[Vic Venom]

If the arrival of Foley on the scene was a political disaster, the arrival of BTY. was one of the greatest atrocities of the 21st century. Whether it was the way that he latched onto little bits like the Jets gimmick for way too long, driving it into the ground, or the odd pattern of censorship in posting his song lyrics (choosing to selectively censor certain swear words, while conspicuously leaving the n-word uncensored, etc.) Given most audiences neutral to slightly negative reactions towards the young star, it was easy to see why the Jets representative slipped the cracks as a non-political entity.

But they forgot about Kyle, who had spent this morning in the shower trying to come up with a response to a subtweet from his rival that had gone viral. Now that same man was flexing and finessing right in front of him. And that simply wouldn't stand. Making sure to push past Emile so he would restrain him from actually fighting, the famous Tik Toker gets chest to chest with BTY:

"You wanna step outside? Come on. You think this is just a hobby to me, p***y? Let's ******** GO!!!"

Eventually the two are separated, Ariana Grande's self-proclaimed ex-boyfriend returning to his corner to cool down as the Judges at ringside organize their notes, Emile heading back into the ring giving one last opportunity for non-political combatants to throw their hat in the ring before rendering the scores.