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TV Shows of Eras(open)
- Thread starter North Timistania
- Start date
Essalanea: Schrott für einen guten Zweck!
(Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BP_x16VWnZc)
Greetings Battlers!!!! and welcome to Schrott für einen guten Zweck!!!
This week a brawl in the scrubland between the Karg and Rugen, all proceeds to go to the construction of hospitals. As always blunt weapons only and no striking the skull or genitals!
GUTEN ZWECK!!! GUTEN SCHROTT!!!
Announcer: FIGHTERS TAKE YOUR PLACES!!!
(Loud Airhorn Blares:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaUa_0qPPgc )
And the Match begins!
At the horns sounding two opposing rows of 12 horsemen race towards one another. War cries are shrieked and roared as hooves kick up clouds of dust as the stallions thunder past.
The clash is a discordant cacophony of clashing steel, wailing horses and cracking bones. The camera's pan around the ringed field, the only indication of order being the red and white sashes on the warrior's armour, red for the Karg, White for the Rugen.
The match will be broadcast into Kimbrian and well to do Neauanfang homes, more still will hear of from radios. To the untrained eye, the flurry of mailed bodies and screaming horses must seem like a war, that is entirely the intention.
Where missionaries and invading empires sought to tame the feuding impulses of the clans, Gaiseric has embraced them, now with controlled and (relatively) non-lethal venue the children of Essalan will continue to fight as they always have.
And fight they do, bodies bloodied and battered alike are dragged from the heaving melee, dragged to nearby field tents where bones will be set and wounds stitched. Unlike the ancient wars that claimed generations, most of these fighters will live, the swapping of endless deaths for the occasional fatality is considered a fair bargain by the clans.
Noses are broken, bones are wrenched from sockets in brutal wrestling, ribs are shattered by mallet and mace. The crowds bay like wolves hungry for more carnage, and it is not just the clans who crave it, across Eras those with fewer scruples tune in for the bloody spectacle, and the warriors deliver.
Finally, the dust begins to settle, a Karg bondsman named Thrasamund knocks the final Rugen from his saddle with a swing of his hammer, bloodied and limping he raises his arms and roars in triumph. cheers erupt as the announcer shouts.
It's OVER KARG TEAM WINS!!!!!
(Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BP_x16VWnZc)
Greetings Battlers!!!! and welcome to Schrott für einen guten Zweck!!!
This week a brawl in the scrubland between the Karg and Rugen, all proceeds to go to the construction of hospitals. As always blunt weapons only and no striking the skull or genitals!
GUTEN ZWECK!!! GUTEN SCHROTT!!!
Announcer: FIGHTERS TAKE YOUR PLACES!!!
(Loud Airhorn Blares:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaUa_0qPPgc )
And the Match begins!
At the horns sounding two opposing rows of 12 horsemen race towards one another. War cries are shrieked and roared as hooves kick up clouds of dust as the stallions thunder past.
The clash is a discordant cacophony of clashing steel, wailing horses and cracking bones. The camera's pan around the ringed field, the only indication of order being the red and white sashes on the warrior's armour, red for the Karg, White for the Rugen.
The match will be broadcast into Kimbrian and well to do Neauanfang homes, more still will hear of from radios. To the untrained eye, the flurry of mailed bodies and screaming horses must seem like a war, that is entirely the intention.
Where missionaries and invading empires sought to tame the feuding impulses of the clans, Gaiseric has embraced them, now with controlled and (relatively) non-lethal venue the children of Essalan will continue to fight as they always have.
And fight they do, bodies bloodied and battered alike are dragged from the heaving melee, dragged to nearby field tents where bones will be set and wounds stitched. Unlike the ancient wars that claimed generations, most of these fighters will live, the swapping of endless deaths for the occasional fatality is considered a fair bargain by the clans.
Noses are broken, bones are wrenched from sockets in brutal wrestling, ribs are shattered by mallet and mace. The crowds bay like wolves hungry for more carnage, and it is not just the clans who crave it, across Eras those with fewer scruples tune in for the bloody spectacle, and the warriors deliver.
Finally, the dust begins to settle, a Karg bondsman named Thrasamund knocks the final Rugen from his saddle with a swing of his hammer, bloodied and limping he raises his arms and roars in triumph. cheers erupt as the announcer shouts.
It's OVER KARG TEAM WINS!!!!!
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A man wearing a tuxedo with thick rimmed glasses welcomes the crowd back after the final commercial break of the night's broadcast. The audience is full and rowdy.
"Welcome back grapple fans! I'm Frank Damgaard welcoming you back to Alatavera Wrestling from the recently re-christened King Rikard III Arena at the historic Nordika Hotel. Join myself and my broadcast partner Ulf Steen as we wait for the contract signing for next week's Craviter Heavyweight Championship match between champion Viggo Vuse and challenger Lucas "the Berserker" Buch!"
"It's going to be tense Frank! I don't know if I can trust that double-crosser sycophant Vuse!"
"Oh will you be quiet Ulf!?"
The lights dim and an upbeat rock tune- one regular RUV viewers will recognize as a stock tune, but a memorable one none the less- plays as Viggo Vuse enters wearing jeans, boots, and a wife beater, the Craviter Heavyweight Championship sanctioned by Craviter All-Star Wrestling, draped over his shoulder. The crowd in the small arena usually used for concerts goes wild. Vuse plays to the crowd, holding the title up and even taking time to have his picture taken with a fan and his son before grabbing a mic and getting into the ring.
"Alaterva!"
The crowd goes nuts at the mention of the city where they live.
"It's been my honour to carry this title since the end of the war, when this proud company relaunched! I've faced challenger after challenger, and I've done it for each and every one of you!"
The crowd cheers as Vuse points across the stands.
"But last week the suits in the back tell me I've gotta put this title on the line against that psychopath Lucas Buch from Hadden! He didn't win no number one contender match, here, in Hadden, or in Beaconsviði! And I know he ain't stable enough to concoct a scheme to bride the suits at the Craviter All-Star Wrestling Alliance! So Lucas? I KNOW YOU'RE HERE! GET YOUR MANGY BUTT DOWN HERE! WHO'S PULLIN' YOUR STRINGS, BOY!?"
An angry guitar solo- more stock music- plays as Søren Nezer, the chairman of Hadden Championship Wrestling- emerges. This confuses the booing crowd, wondering why Lucas "the Butcher" Buch isn't coming out to what is clearly his theme. Nezer smiles wickedly as he raises the mic up to his mouth.
"Hello Viggo. It's been a long time."
"I should have known you'd be pulling Buch's strings! Where is he?"
"Oh he's here Viggo, but first you have to understand something. The winner of the Craviter Heavyweight Championship match next week isn't just going to be crowned champion! No, no, no! He's going to represent the ENTIRE Craviter All-Star Wrestling Alliance at the International Championship in Gotmark! You understand yet? You're not just going to lose! You're going to lose that belt to my man! The man who's going to bring the Heavyweight title back where it belongs! To Hadden! Not this rinky dink hick backwater!"
The crowd boos the devious Nezer, dressed in a clearly custom tailored suit. Nezer dismissively rolls his eyes at the crowd reaction.
"The nerve of that man! Coming here and talking to the good people of Alaterva like that!"
"Oh come on Frank! Everyone knows most people here only bathe once a week!"
"Will you stop, Ulf!?"
"Is that right? So how many favours you call in Søren?" Vuse calls out.
"You know what? It doesn't matter! Just get that maniac out here! I hope you taught him how to sign his name!"
"Oh I taught him to do more than that!"
Lucas "the Butcher" Buch emerges from an entrance behind the ring, wearing a black Alaterva Wrestling Club shirt over his tights. His dark brown hair is long and dishevelled and he's got wide, crazy eyes. He charges the ring and blindsides Viggo, beating him down as Nezer arrogantly makes his way to the ring, hitting his finisher- the side effect side slam- on Vuse as Nezer enters the ring. Nezer reaches down to grab the title belt and use it as a base as he produces a contract and a pen from his jacket pocket. An enraged Buch signs his name and tosses the belt, pen, and contract to the sprawled out Vuse as the crowd rains boos down, tossing paper cups and empty popcorn boxes at the ring. The devious chairman of Hadden Championship Wrestling and Lucas Buch are smirking as the camera pans on a defiant Vuse, picking himself up off the mat to sign the contract as the show fades to black as Frank Damgaard proclaims...
"Viggo Vuse won't be kept down! Join us next week on Alaterva Wrestling from the Nordika for the showdown to determine Craviter Wrestling's future!"
"Welcome back grapple fans! I'm Frank Damgaard welcoming you back to Alatavera Wrestling from the recently re-christened King Rikard III Arena at the historic Nordika Hotel. Join myself and my broadcast partner Ulf Steen as we wait for the contract signing for next week's Craviter Heavyweight Championship match between champion Viggo Vuse and challenger Lucas "the Berserker" Buch!"
"It's going to be tense Frank! I don't know if I can trust that double-crosser sycophant Vuse!"
"Oh will you be quiet Ulf!?"
The lights dim and an upbeat rock tune- one regular RUV viewers will recognize as a stock tune, but a memorable one none the less- plays as Viggo Vuse enters wearing jeans, boots, and a wife beater, the Craviter Heavyweight Championship sanctioned by Craviter All-Star Wrestling, draped over his shoulder. The crowd in the small arena usually used for concerts goes wild. Vuse plays to the crowd, holding the title up and even taking time to have his picture taken with a fan and his son before grabbing a mic and getting into the ring.
"Alaterva!"
The crowd goes nuts at the mention of the city where they live.
"It's been my honour to carry this title since the end of the war, when this proud company relaunched! I've faced challenger after challenger, and I've done it for each and every one of you!"
The crowd cheers as Vuse points across the stands.
"But last week the suits in the back tell me I've gotta put this title on the line against that psychopath Lucas Buch from Hadden! He didn't win no number one contender match, here, in Hadden, or in Beaconsviði! And I know he ain't stable enough to concoct a scheme to bride the suits at the Craviter All-Star Wrestling Alliance! So Lucas? I KNOW YOU'RE HERE! GET YOUR MANGY BUTT DOWN HERE! WHO'S PULLIN' YOUR STRINGS, BOY!?"
An angry guitar solo- more stock music- plays as Søren Nezer, the chairman of Hadden Championship Wrestling- emerges. This confuses the booing crowd, wondering why Lucas "the Butcher" Buch isn't coming out to what is clearly his theme. Nezer smiles wickedly as he raises the mic up to his mouth.
"Hello Viggo. It's been a long time."
"I should have known you'd be pulling Buch's strings! Where is he?"
"Oh he's here Viggo, but first you have to understand something. The winner of the Craviter Heavyweight Championship match next week isn't just going to be crowned champion! No, no, no! He's going to represent the ENTIRE Craviter All-Star Wrestling Alliance at the International Championship in Gotmark! You understand yet? You're not just going to lose! You're going to lose that belt to my man! The man who's going to bring the Heavyweight title back where it belongs! To Hadden! Not this rinky dink hick backwater!"
The crowd boos the devious Nezer, dressed in a clearly custom tailored suit. Nezer dismissively rolls his eyes at the crowd reaction.
"The nerve of that man! Coming here and talking to the good people of Alaterva like that!"
"Oh come on Frank! Everyone knows most people here only bathe once a week!"
"Will you stop, Ulf!?"
"Is that right? So how many favours you call in Søren?" Vuse calls out.
"You know what? It doesn't matter! Just get that maniac out here! I hope you taught him how to sign his name!"
"Oh I taught him to do more than that!"
Lucas "the Butcher" Buch emerges from an entrance behind the ring, wearing a black Alaterva Wrestling Club shirt over his tights. His dark brown hair is long and dishevelled and he's got wide, crazy eyes. He charges the ring and blindsides Viggo, beating him down as Nezer arrogantly makes his way to the ring, hitting his finisher- the side effect side slam- on Vuse as Nezer enters the ring. Nezer reaches down to grab the title belt and use it as a base as he produces a contract and a pen from his jacket pocket. An enraged Buch signs his name and tosses the belt, pen, and contract to the sprawled out Vuse as the crowd rains boos down, tossing paper cups and empty popcorn boxes at the ring. The devious chairman of Hadden Championship Wrestling and Lucas Buch are smirking as the camera pans on a defiant Vuse, picking himself up off the mat to sign the contract as the show fades to black as Frank Damgaard proclaims...
"Viggo Vuse won't be kept down! Join us next week on Alaterva Wrestling from the Nordika for the showdown to determine Craviter Wrestling's future!"
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LOYAL CITIZENS Of Astragon!!!
Are you tired From Work?
Does the daily task of maintaining our Great Empire make the small things a pain?
Well Now, there's a Solution!
Hire a Menial Caste Laborer Today!
They Cook!
They Clean!
They Even Raise Children!
Beat the Grind and Enjoy the Privileges Afforded Your Caste!
Don't Be a Menial, Hire One!
Speak to your Ministry of Labor Representative Today!
*Terms and Conditions Apply, One Menial Per Approved Household, Guildsman Caste and Higher only, No Refunds, Broken Menials Replaced at Owners Expense.
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fade into a match already in progress...Viggo Vuse and Lucas "the Butcher" Buch slug away at each other as the crowd at the Býkonsviði Memorial Colosseum hinges on the verge of eruption.
Frank Damgaard, thick eyeglasses and all, calls the action...
"Viggo is laying into the Champion! He's feeling the power of everyone here behind him! Don't let up kid! Make yourself famous!"
"Oh no!"
"Will you be quiet, Ulf?"
The Butcher, sensing that his reign is near an end, manages to duck out of the ring. The white hot crowd boos reletnlessly. Sören Nezer, Chief Financial Officer of Hadden Championship Wrestling and the Butcher's manager gets on the apron to taunt Viggo. Viggo and the executive are nearly face to face as the referee struggles to hold the challenger back when Nezer pulls out brass knuckles and lays out the ref!
"DID YOU SEE THAT ULF? DID YOU SEE THAT?"
"I didn't see anything Frank, and if you care about your job you didn't see anything either!"
"Job or no job I just witnessed a miscarriage of justice! A Craviter Wrestling Alliance executive just assaulted an official!"
Viggo pulls Nezer into the ring and the crowd goes insane! Just then though, Viking I and Viking II from Gotmark emerge from the crowd and hop in the ring! The beatdown is on! The Vikings take turns laying into Viggo as Nezer mocks him!
"Someone get an official out here and put a stop to this! This isn't a match, it's a damned execution!"
"Hehe, it's just getting good Frank!"
Viggo then lifts one of the Vikings up, and hits a Spinebuster, his finishing maneuver! Nezer desperately urges on the other Viking but he eats a Spinebuster! An amped up crowd goes insane as Viggo grabs Nezer and gives him a Spinebuster! The dastardly executive writhes in pain on the mat as Viggo gets amped up!
"Vigo is on a tear! Nezer's out! The Vikings are out!"
"This is a disaster Frank!"
"Oh be quiet! No wait! What's that? It's the Butcher!"
The Butcher slides into the ring behind Viggo is celebrating, and stalks his prey. When Viggo turns around he's caught in the Butcher's Fall of Man Slam.
"Fall of Man! Fall of Man! Fall of Man!"
The referee happens to come to, groggily and begins to count as the Butcher covers Viggo. One...
"Damnit! Damnit all to hell! The Butcher's gonna steal this one!"
Two...
"This is great Frank, soak it in!"
The referee's hand comes down for three but Viggo gets his shoulder up just in time! The arena loses its mind, erupting in a wild cheer.
"Viggo kicked out! He hasn't given up!"
The Butcher angrily pounds the mat and sets up for another Fall of Man slam...
"I don't know if Viggo can take two in one match, Frank!"
"You may be right Ulf!"
Viggo reverses the slam and forces the Butcher up, twisting in midair to slam him down in a Spinebuster that sends the crowd into a frenzy. An exhausted Viggo drapes himself over the Butcher as the ref counts one...two...three!
The crowd erupts, cups and popcorn containers fly as the mass of humanity screams and cheers in excitement. The referee hands Viggo the belt as he hugs it, before holding it up to the sky!
"He's done it Ulf! In all my years as a broadcast journalist, I have never seen such a determination to win! He's done it! He's done it! Viggo Vuse has won the Craviter Heavyweight Championship! This is the greatest night in the history of our sport!"
fade out on a triumphant champion
Frank Damgaard, thick eyeglasses and all, calls the action...
"Viggo is laying into the Champion! He's feeling the power of everyone here behind him! Don't let up kid! Make yourself famous!"
"Oh no!"
"Will you be quiet, Ulf?"
The Butcher, sensing that his reign is near an end, manages to duck out of the ring. The white hot crowd boos reletnlessly. Sören Nezer, Chief Financial Officer of Hadden Championship Wrestling and the Butcher's manager gets on the apron to taunt Viggo. Viggo and the executive are nearly face to face as the referee struggles to hold the challenger back when Nezer pulls out brass knuckles and lays out the ref!
"DID YOU SEE THAT ULF? DID YOU SEE THAT?"
"I didn't see anything Frank, and if you care about your job you didn't see anything either!"
"Job or no job I just witnessed a miscarriage of justice! A Craviter Wrestling Alliance executive just assaulted an official!"
Viggo pulls Nezer into the ring and the crowd goes insane! Just then though, Viking I and Viking II from Gotmark emerge from the crowd and hop in the ring! The beatdown is on! The Vikings take turns laying into Viggo as Nezer mocks him!
"Someone get an official out here and put a stop to this! This isn't a match, it's a damned execution!"
"Hehe, it's just getting good Frank!"
Viggo then lifts one of the Vikings up, and hits a Spinebuster, his finishing maneuver! Nezer desperately urges on the other Viking but he eats a Spinebuster! An amped up crowd goes insane as Viggo grabs Nezer and gives him a Spinebuster! The dastardly executive writhes in pain on the mat as Viggo gets amped up!
"Vigo is on a tear! Nezer's out! The Vikings are out!"
"This is a disaster Frank!"
"Oh be quiet! No wait! What's that? It's the Butcher!"
The Butcher slides into the ring behind Viggo is celebrating, and stalks his prey. When Viggo turns around he's caught in the Butcher's Fall of Man Slam.
"Fall of Man! Fall of Man! Fall of Man!"
The referee happens to come to, groggily and begins to count as the Butcher covers Viggo. One...
"Damnit! Damnit all to hell! The Butcher's gonna steal this one!"
Two...
"This is great Frank, soak it in!"
The referee's hand comes down for three but Viggo gets his shoulder up just in time! The arena loses its mind, erupting in a wild cheer.
"Viggo kicked out! He hasn't given up!"
The Butcher angrily pounds the mat and sets up for another Fall of Man slam...
"I don't know if Viggo can take two in one match, Frank!"
"You may be right Ulf!"
Viggo reverses the slam and forces the Butcher up, twisting in midair to slam him down in a Spinebuster that sends the crowd into a frenzy. An exhausted Viggo drapes himself over the Butcher as the ref counts one...two...three!
The crowd erupts, cups and popcorn containers fly as the mass of humanity screams and cheers in excitement. The referee hands Viggo the belt as he hugs it, before holding it up to the sky!
"He's done it Ulf! In all my years as a broadcast journalist, I have never seen such a determination to win! He's done it! He's done it! Viggo Vuse has won the Craviter Heavyweight Championship! This is the greatest night in the history of our sport!"
fade out on a triumphant champion
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Compatriots under the Baobab: Season 3: Episode 4: Pulling Teeth
(Mondesha, Patriarch of the Kuwashe family lies on his bed writing in pain, his wife Sorgo attempts to comfort him)
"Its okay Baba, the doctor is coming from the village, all will be well soon!" Sorgo says trying to sound reassuring
(Door crashes open as Solomesh, Sorgo and Mondeshas eldest enters in a panicked state)
"IYA THE ROAD HAS BEEN BLOCKED BY THUGS!!!" He screams as he struggles to catch his breath
(ominous music and evil laughter)
"Haha, the doctor will not be coming for dear old dad!" a familiar voice says mockingly
(Kinjala, the bastard son of Mondesha enters, he is wearing black aviators, an oversized leather jacket and he is smoking...the substance is not tobacco)
"Kinjala you bastard! I know where you live!" Solomesh roars as he tries to lunge at Kinjala, he is knocked down with a kick to his stomach
"SOLOMESH!!!" Sorgo screams as she runs to her son's side
"And now old man!" Kinjala says in a poisonous voice "I will take what is mine!" he pulls a pistol from his coat and points it at Mondesha
"You always were a rotten scoundrel!" Mondesha hisses painfully
(gun is armed, tense music grows tenser)
(A sound of screeching tires)
"Not so fast you hyena's backside!" A booming voice roars
(Its Kuba Na Babagide! LOCAL TOWN DENTIST AND VETERAN OF THE WAR!)
"Go and drown in the swamp Kuba! The ranch shall be mine!" Kinjali growls pointing turning to point the gun at Kuba
"We shall see!" Kuba yells back
(Standoff)
TO BE CONTINUED!!!!
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDDYlWLMGQQ)
(Mondesha, Patriarch of the Kuwashe family lies on his bed writing in pain, his wife Sorgo attempts to comfort him)
"Its okay Baba, the doctor is coming from the village, all will be well soon!" Sorgo says trying to sound reassuring
(Door crashes open as Solomesh, Sorgo and Mondeshas eldest enters in a panicked state)
"IYA THE ROAD HAS BEEN BLOCKED BY THUGS!!!" He screams as he struggles to catch his breath
(ominous music and evil laughter)
"Haha, the doctor will not be coming for dear old dad!" a familiar voice says mockingly
(Kinjala, the bastard son of Mondesha enters, he is wearing black aviators, an oversized leather jacket and he is smoking...the substance is not tobacco)
"Kinjala you bastard! I know where you live!" Solomesh roars as he tries to lunge at Kinjala, he is knocked down with a kick to his stomach
"SOLOMESH!!!" Sorgo screams as she runs to her son's side
"And now old man!" Kinjala says in a poisonous voice "I will take what is mine!" he pulls a pistol from his coat and points it at Mondesha
"You always were a rotten scoundrel!" Mondesha hisses painfully
(gun is armed, tense music grows tenser)
(A sound of screeching tires)
"Not so fast you hyena's backside!" A booming voice roars
(Its Kuba Na Babagide! LOCAL TOWN DENTIST AND VETERAN OF THE WAR!)
"Go and drown in the swamp Kuba! The ranch shall be mine!" Kinjali growls pointing turning to point the gun at Kuba
"We shall see!" Kuba yells back
(Standoff)
TO BE CONTINUED!!!!
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDDYlWLMGQQ)
NAESSERHAFEN BRIEF: Season 10: Episode 5: Heavy Freight
(The corrupt ambassador of Valland Heinrich Helmuth is holding the beautiful Mona hostage at the edge of the docks, Heroic supercop Jan Weismann is standing at the other end with his gun trained on Heinrich)
Heinrich: Its Over Weissman! you may have stopped the duckie arms deal but you cant prevent the coming war! i'll be making more money then you'll see in three lifetimes! You can stop me but you can't stop the Vallish banks!
Mona: (struggling against Heinrich) Shoot him Jan! I'll be fine just take this lobster roll out!
Heinrich: HAHAHA I wouldn't do that (produces Vallish passport) The Lord President protects me!
(Mona elbows Heinrich in the gut)
Heinrich: Achhh!!! YOU BITCH!! (raises his gun)
Weissman: (Shoots Heinrich point-blank in the head, Heinrich falls off the pier) Tell the lord-president a cabinet position just became vacant!
Mona: So? What now?
Weissman: There's Strudel place nearby
Mona: let's blow this joint meine Herr!
(credits: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8-bgiiTxhzM)
Extreme Noble Wives of Tyrooz
(the ladies are gathered at the salon of the Prince of Ise, Yashia is complaining about the price of diamond earrings to a bored Oja and Selise)
Yashia: ridiculous prices! I might have to downsize to a smaller palace! and did you see that bitch Tijala! she was clearly copying my style!
Oja: yes yes terrible truly, but where is our wine! what is this an Essalanean shack! Menial WINE ME!!!
Selise: I heard a rumour that you were seen at the theatre with a certain Mbuki
(Mbuki is Tijala's husband)
Yashia: Ha! I'm just using that fat oaf for some fun, she's too busy powdering her enormous head to notice!
(Door slams open, Tijala enters, her head is indeed enormous)
Tijala: YASHIA YOU FAT PROSTITUTE!!!!
(Tijala advances towards Yashias table)
Yashia: STAY AWAY! I WILL CALL THE PREFECTS!!!
Tijala: CALL THEM THEY CAN WATCH ME KILL YOU!!!
(Yashia screams as Tijala grabs her braids and begins beating her mercilessly)
(Selise and Oja continue conversing nonchalantly)
Selise: So I hear your husband is getting a new government position
Oja: Yes a posting in the ministry of education, very lucrative
Yashia: HELP ME YOU FOOLS!!!
Oja: My Husband is also doing well, he has bought us a second palace
Yashia: WHAT ARE YOU FOOLS TALKING ABOUT HELP ME!!! ARRGGGGHHHH
(Tijala smashes a bottle over Yashias head before fleeing, several waiters in hot pursuit)
Oja: Should we pay?
Selise: Yashia can take this bill I only had soup
(Both ladies leave while paramedics and police arrive)
- YouTube
Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube.
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Disclaimer: Extreme Noble Wives is a work of fiction, no nobility or their property were harmed in the making of this show. Tyrooz Mystic Pictures Inc. would like to remind you that committing harm towards nobility and their assets is a crime punishable by death! for more amazing television and great deals please visit our website!
www.TyroozMagic.ast.org
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(Scenes of ruins and rural poverty pan over the screen to sad nordic music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ICBPdayzeIc)
"Everyday children in Prydania go without basic necessities, decades of war and economic downturn has left the nation in tatters. Children are going to bed without proper nutrition, Children are going to school without vital resources for learning, some children are not going at all. The situation in this beleaguered nation on Keshavis is dire.
But for 15 Kashai a month, that's the price of a small coffee from your local Mainahs we can make a difference in the lives of millions! Your generous donations to the Ubasha foundation are helping to restore roads, cloth and feed families and give the most deprived a chance at a better life!
Please call now on 254 711 899 and give generously! or go to our website www.Ubasha.ast.org
Remember we are all one Kaid, let us show the world our commitment to peace. Ubasha! building brighter futures"
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- Pronouns
- He/Him, They/Them
Beef History: Amare Kwame and Oumar Okafor
"What happens when you have two of the best soccer players in the world, a culture of both winning and partying, and two undeniably oversized egos that want to be the centre of attention? Well, you have the perfect recipe for a multi-layered beef that lasted for years and shook Naizerri football to its core. Welcome to beef history.
Naizerre has always been home to high profile, flamboyant football players. The sport, in legend, originated in Naizerre when a victorious young Chieftain lopped off the head of a defeated rival and his soldiers kicked it all the way out of the hall they had taken. Nowadays football in Naizerre is less violent, mostly. But there was a period, from 1965 to 1979, when Naizerri soccer ruled both the back pages - and the front pages. And those front pages were full of the kind of things that the khat chewing chieftain portrayed of in the legend would probably have approved of - or partaken in.
As it entered the 60s Naizerri football was in the doldrums, unsuccessful both in club and international competition. But change was coming. Gritty elegance - a style of football taken from successful club teams from outside of Naizerre and improved on by the Djofa Invicta and Boango Wildstars clubs - was becoming more popular. Emphasising tough tackling and silky on the ball skills, gritty elegance also came to refer to the players off the field antics. Naizerri high society in the 60s was booze, drugs, glamour and more than one street brawl, and these players were on the bleeding edge - often literally - of a cultural revolution.
There was Rozar, the afro'd, acrobatic goalkeeper who was rumoured to have once bitten part of a fans nose off in a bar brawl. Uribe Abreu, a free scoring bad boy striker who had two spells in prison either side of scoring 38 goals in 32 games - the first on drug charges, the second for political dissent. Olajide Olatunji, who sometimes delighted fans with the move he innovated - the flip flap - but whose career endied in the early 70s after he was involved in a drunken car crash that killed both driver and passenger of the other car. And then there was Amare Kwame and Oumar Okafor.
Amare Kwame was the son of a plumber from Naizerre's biggest city and capital, Togbata, in desperate poverty. The shack they called home housed 13 members of their family, across four generations. Amare was scouted at age 15 - relatively late for the time - by representatives of Boango Wildstars, who picked up the midfield dynamo for a relatively small fee from his neighbourhood club - a set of balls and new nets for the goalposts, every other year for ten years. Such deals weren't unusual for the time period we're looking at - and a vast difference to the multi-million meten deals similar, albeit slightly older players go for today. With the deal done and accommodation in the upmarket Boango neighbourhood the Wildstars and city rivals United put their youth prospects in, and Amare was in an entirely different world.
And it was a world that Oumar Okafor was already accustomed to. The then-19 year old had set a Naizerri transfer record when he was picked up by Wildstars for the equivalent of three-quarters of a million meten, the striker was lithe, quick and wound up opponents with both his mercurial play and how he ran his mouth. A referee once sent him off after he provoked an opponent into headbutting him during a confrontation. Okafor had got past his opponent, stopped the ball, waited for him to get back up, then beat him again, all whilst taunting the unfortunate player the entire time. The referee saw the spectacle, and decided both players needed punishing. Okafor laughed off the red card after the game saying 'I do what no one else can, and because I do what they can't, they can't understand it. I make music with the ball.'
And make music he did, playing Wildstars into title contention in each of his first three seasons at the club, scoring more than 20 goals each time - the first player to do so in their debut years. A call up to the national team soon followed - and it was here that he met some of those we mentioned earlier. In 1963 he played with Abreu for the first time, the next year he lined up alongside Olatunji and Abreu in a 7-0 win over neighbours and rivals Yando - they had to be evacuated out of the country in the middle of the night after aggrieved Yando fans issued death threats against them.
1965 saw Naizerre lift the CEFA World Cup for the first time, on home turf, in a dominant 4-0 victory over Prydania. Their previous best finish had been the quarter finals, and the country went bonkers - a number of the country's rebel groups announced ceasefires for duration of that year, in celebration of the win. Okafor was the star of that final, scoring twice and setting up Abreu for the fourth and final goal. Kwame, now 18, was one of the players called up as reserves for that squad, and remembers the awe he held of his older Wildstars teammate: 'Oumar was beyond human. The things he did with the ball at his feet, in that year, were beyond anything anyone could get close to. Every player wanted to be him.'
So how did these two, the World Cup winning superstar and the promising wonderkid who idolised him, end up having beef that gripped a nation? Well it all starts with an interview Okafor gave in 1970, in the run up to the CEFA World Cup. Now, the thing to remember is that by 1970, Amare Kwame wasn't a star struck teenager from the slums of Togbata. He was a bonafide superstar in his own right. Tall, strong, and certainly smooth and attractive enough with the ladies to get him on the front cover of the newspapers as the back, Kwame was the lynchpin around which the Wildstars midfield had built itself. And like his forebears in Oumar, Rozar and Olatunji, he liked to party. A lot, probably too much. Alongside similarly aged stars at other teams, they were hungry - for success on the pitch and with the national team, and also for the spotlight.
And Okafor was one of the few who didn't think this younger generation of stars wasn't ready. He gave an expletive laden interview in June of 1970 when it was suggested to him that Wildstars might sell the 31 year old to make room for some of the young strikers at the club: 'And which of those ****ers is going to replace me? None of those little ****s can polish my boots.' And to prove it, he went on one of the best scoring streaks of his career - 17 goals in 10 games and he demanded the coach of Wildstars ship the young strikers out on loan, declaring that he alone was fit was lead the Wildstars line.... and predictably, it ended poorly.
Having loaned their two back-up strikers, each in decent enough form at the time - they had no one to rely on when Okafor got himself suspended for 5 games for a vicious lunge on opposing goalkeeper - and international teammate - Rozar. Understandably unhappy about the situation, the hulking Djofa Invicta keeper looked to square up to Okafor, only to find Amare Kwame stood in his way. Rozar didn't often find himself looking face to face to someone as big as he was, and on this occasion, he left Okafor alone. The blood coming from the three inch gash the striker had left on his ankle probably had something to do with it.
In Okafor's absence, Wildstars had no one to lead their line, and slid down the league and out of title contention, even when Okafor came back. The striker had seemingly lost his touch - he scored just once in the remaining 12 games of the season as Wildstars imploded. Manager Ibrahim Uribe resigned, club chairman Anan Yaw put the team up for sale, and Amare found himself trying to right a rapidly sinking ship. He was, by this time, captain and representative of most of the players on the team, especially the younger and second string players. And they came together in the revolutionary spirit of the time, and approached interim manager Akpan Chidike with a plan - they would have final say over who played and didn't going forward into truncated 1970-71 season - and in return they wouldn't cause Akpan any trouble. Chidike, a company man who had gotten the role mainly due to being the only coach who hadn't resigned with Uribe, agreed, and the Playing Committee as they called themselves, were off to the races.
And what a race it was - a youthful, energetic Wildstars side led the season from start to finish, led by their talismanic captain Kwame, setting multiple scoring records along the way. They even found a role for Okafor, though he was relegated to a bench role, who scored 12 goals in 19 appearances, his last double digit tally in his career. Okafor chafed at the new reality - the kid he had taken under his wing had grown up and was leading what Okafor still considered to be "his" team. Said Okafor to a friend: 'they have taken the only thing I ever loved and bastardised it.' Harsh and bitter words about his own team - and one that would now form the nucleus of Naizerre's 1971 World Cup squad.
Captain of both club and country, Kwame made sure he had a big say on who would be going to the tournament - and there was no spot for his former friend and mentor, despite some good form. 'Oumar's time if over,' he tersely told a reporter when pressed on the issue and their personal relationship. This was likely Okafor's last chance at going to a CEFA World Cup, and Naizerre wasn't exactly overflowing with fit and ready attacking talent - both of Naizerre's first choice strikers were out of the tournament with injuries, but Kwame wouldn't be budged. 'We want a young team, a hard working, honest team'. That word... 'honest'. It was a little rich for Kwame to use it, considering they were currently deceiving both Wildstar's new owners and their fanbase with who really ran the team - Akpan was enjoying cult status and was unlikely to rock the boat.
Either way, Kwame's selection policy worked. Naizerre walked through the early stages of the tournament, and then beat Andrenne 2-0 in the final. It wasn't as exciting or momentous as the 1965 victory, but Naizerre were imperious, conceding just twice in the early rounds and once in the knockouts. The elegance was gone but the grit remained, and it all centered around Kwame.
And that was a big problem. Because Amare Kwame had a secret, and it was one his former friend Oumar Okafor knew about. In 1969 Kwame had injured his lower back muscles, and despite playing through the pain, he was close to calling the season quits and focusing rehabbing his injury. He confided his concerns with Okafor, who in turn introduced Kwame to a friend, a Doctor Abiyo Chuks, who recommended Kwame rub a cream he medicated into the painful areas. Almost miraculously, the pain went away - until Kwame went into the gym to try to pack on some muscle for the next season. Again, he confided in Oumar, who again recommended he go see Dr Chuks. By 1971, Kwame had cut out the middle man, and was seeing Chuks monthly to get steroid injections into his back - and he had begun to introduce teammates to Chuks, just as Okafor had managed to get himself clean.
Throughout 1971-72, again a triumphant season for the Boango Wildstars, Okafor tried to get the club to bar Chuks from seeing its players, but he was overruled by management because he refused to fully explain why. He said later: 'I had a meeting with the Chairman, who asked why I was trying so hard to bar Dr Chuks from seeing the players. I could've avoided everything if I had come clean there, but for the first time in my life I was scared. Scared of telling the truth. Because if I had told the truth, my career would be over.' Oumar's career was coming to a close anyway, with the Wildstars at least. Tired of his on and off form and the problem he was becoming in trying to stop Chuks from seeing the players, Okafor was asked to see the manager one day but when he went into his office Kwame was waiting for him, sat behind the desk. He told Okafor: 'Oumar, I'm afraid it is time for you to leave. The club will not be renewing your contract.' Okafor left without replying, though in his memoirs Kwame states that Oumar's face 'turned cold and he expression dark. There was a moment of great evil behind his eyes'. How much of that is actually true and how much is it Kwame trying to rewrite history, is something we might never know - Okafor's unfinished memoirs don't go into the episode beyond relaying what Kwame told him and then leaving.
Okafor's career was full of great moments, but also a number of petulant, petty acts. A stamp here and there, a tantrum after missing a chance, the 1970 tackle that took a chunk out of Rozar's leg. And in being forced out of the club that he had called his own for more than 12 years, he had one last act of revenge. In a series of interviews he revealed the existence of the Player's Committee, how powerless manager Akpan Chidike was and the widespread steroid use by the Wildstars and other members of the Naizerri national team. The resulting scandal cost Akpan his job, and led to bans for 14 of the Wildstar's 18 player squad, and much of the Naizerri 1971 World Cup winning squad was implicated. Kwame was banned from the national side for 6 years, and rest were given bans ranging from 6 months to 4 years. Wildstars were demoted a division and their 1971-72 championship was struck from record. Their 1971 accomplishments, both domestically and internationally, were kept as steroid use wasn't entirely illegal at the time. Cheating? Yes. But illegal enough to strike the World Cup win from record? Not for CEFA.
Kwame would even return to the national team, after his ban was up at the age of 32. He was one of a number of controversial players included in the 1979 CEFA World Cup squad. The 'Angry Old Men' as that squad were called were all grit, no elegance, as they kicked and scrapped their way into the final, only to go down to an emerging international rivals, Highton who were fielding their own Angry Old Men. Out of the Naizerre squad, only 2 were under the age of 30. The 1979 squad was the end of an era in Naizerri international achievement - it would be 12 long years before they escaped the first round of a CEFA World Cup again, and domestically the game contracted.
As for Oumar Okafor? Well, whilst he escaped a ban, he never played again. Essentially declared persona non grata by the sport, he failed to find a club and Wildstars struck all mention of him from their history books - a slight that wasn't corrected until 2015, when a new generation of political outspoken and historically inclined Naizerri footballers won the CEFA World Cup again. Led by future politician Jardel, the 2015 squad led a campaign to bring to light the full details of the 70s scandal. Okafor died in 1992 of a drug overdose, but his restoration was welcomed by his family. And whilst Kwame also welcomed the move, he never spoke to Okafor again after their 1972 meeting in that managers office, a fact that really underlines that this was a sad, tragic beef with no satisfying conclusion.
Join us again for beef history and if you have any ideas on beefs we’re yet to cover, hit us up on fluttr."
"What happens when you have two of the best soccer players in the world, a culture of both winning and partying, and two undeniably oversized egos that want to be the centre of attention? Well, you have the perfect recipe for a multi-layered beef that lasted for years and shook Naizerri football to its core. Welcome to beef history.
Naizerre has always been home to high profile, flamboyant football players. The sport, in legend, originated in Naizerre when a victorious young Chieftain lopped off the head of a defeated rival and his soldiers kicked it all the way out of the hall they had taken. Nowadays football in Naizerre is less violent, mostly. But there was a period, from 1965 to 1979, when Naizerri soccer ruled both the back pages - and the front pages. And those front pages were full of the kind of things that the khat chewing chieftain portrayed of in the legend would probably have approved of - or partaken in.
As it entered the 60s Naizerri football was in the doldrums, unsuccessful both in club and international competition. But change was coming. Gritty elegance - a style of football taken from successful club teams from outside of Naizerre and improved on by the Djofa Invicta and Boango Wildstars clubs - was becoming more popular. Emphasising tough tackling and silky on the ball skills, gritty elegance also came to refer to the players off the field antics. Naizerri high society in the 60s was booze, drugs, glamour and more than one street brawl, and these players were on the bleeding edge - often literally - of a cultural revolution.
There was Rozar, the afro'd, acrobatic goalkeeper who was rumoured to have once bitten part of a fans nose off in a bar brawl. Uribe Abreu, a free scoring bad boy striker who had two spells in prison either side of scoring 38 goals in 32 games - the first on drug charges, the second for political dissent. Olajide Olatunji, who sometimes delighted fans with the move he innovated - the flip flap - but whose career endied in the early 70s after he was involved in a drunken car crash that killed both driver and passenger of the other car. And then there was Amare Kwame and Oumar Okafor.
Amare Kwame was the son of a plumber from Naizerre's biggest city and capital, Togbata, in desperate poverty. The shack they called home housed 13 members of their family, across four generations. Amare was scouted at age 15 - relatively late for the time - by representatives of Boango Wildstars, who picked up the midfield dynamo for a relatively small fee from his neighbourhood club - a set of balls and new nets for the goalposts, every other year for ten years. Such deals weren't unusual for the time period we're looking at - and a vast difference to the multi-million meten deals similar, albeit slightly older players go for today. With the deal done and accommodation in the upmarket Boango neighbourhood the Wildstars and city rivals United put their youth prospects in, and Amare was in an entirely different world.
And it was a world that Oumar Okafor was already accustomed to. The then-19 year old had set a Naizerri transfer record when he was picked up by Wildstars for the equivalent of three-quarters of a million meten, the striker was lithe, quick and wound up opponents with both his mercurial play and how he ran his mouth. A referee once sent him off after he provoked an opponent into headbutting him during a confrontation. Okafor had got past his opponent, stopped the ball, waited for him to get back up, then beat him again, all whilst taunting the unfortunate player the entire time. The referee saw the spectacle, and decided both players needed punishing. Okafor laughed off the red card after the game saying 'I do what no one else can, and because I do what they can't, they can't understand it. I make music with the ball.'
And make music he did, playing Wildstars into title contention in each of his first three seasons at the club, scoring more than 20 goals each time - the first player to do so in their debut years. A call up to the national team soon followed - and it was here that he met some of those we mentioned earlier. In 1963 he played with Abreu for the first time, the next year he lined up alongside Olatunji and Abreu in a 7-0 win over neighbours and rivals Yando - they had to be evacuated out of the country in the middle of the night after aggrieved Yando fans issued death threats against them.
1965 saw Naizerre lift the CEFA World Cup for the first time, on home turf, in a dominant 4-0 victory over Prydania. Their previous best finish had been the quarter finals, and the country went bonkers - a number of the country's rebel groups announced ceasefires for duration of that year, in celebration of the win. Okafor was the star of that final, scoring twice and setting up Abreu for the fourth and final goal. Kwame, now 18, was one of the players called up as reserves for that squad, and remembers the awe he held of his older Wildstars teammate: 'Oumar was beyond human. The things he did with the ball at his feet, in that year, were beyond anything anyone could get close to. Every player wanted to be him.'
So how did these two, the World Cup winning superstar and the promising wonderkid who idolised him, end up having beef that gripped a nation? Well it all starts with an interview Okafor gave in 1970, in the run up to the CEFA World Cup. Now, the thing to remember is that by 1970, Amare Kwame wasn't a star struck teenager from the slums of Togbata. He was a bonafide superstar in his own right. Tall, strong, and certainly smooth and attractive enough with the ladies to get him on the front cover of the newspapers as the back, Kwame was the lynchpin around which the Wildstars midfield had built itself. And like his forebears in Oumar, Rozar and Olatunji, he liked to party. A lot, probably too much. Alongside similarly aged stars at other teams, they were hungry - for success on the pitch and with the national team, and also for the spotlight.
And Okafor was one of the few who didn't think this younger generation of stars wasn't ready. He gave an expletive laden interview in June of 1970 when it was suggested to him that Wildstars might sell the 31 year old to make room for some of the young strikers at the club: 'And which of those ****ers is going to replace me? None of those little ****s can polish my boots.' And to prove it, he went on one of the best scoring streaks of his career - 17 goals in 10 games and he demanded the coach of Wildstars ship the young strikers out on loan, declaring that he alone was fit was lead the Wildstars line.... and predictably, it ended poorly.
Having loaned their two back-up strikers, each in decent enough form at the time - they had no one to rely on when Okafor got himself suspended for 5 games for a vicious lunge on opposing goalkeeper - and international teammate - Rozar. Understandably unhappy about the situation, the hulking Djofa Invicta keeper looked to square up to Okafor, only to find Amare Kwame stood in his way. Rozar didn't often find himself looking face to face to someone as big as he was, and on this occasion, he left Okafor alone. The blood coming from the three inch gash the striker had left on his ankle probably had something to do with it.
In Okafor's absence, Wildstars had no one to lead their line, and slid down the league and out of title contention, even when Okafor came back. The striker had seemingly lost his touch - he scored just once in the remaining 12 games of the season as Wildstars imploded. Manager Ibrahim Uribe resigned, club chairman Anan Yaw put the team up for sale, and Amare found himself trying to right a rapidly sinking ship. He was, by this time, captain and representative of most of the players on the team, especially the younger and second string players. And they came together in the revolutionary spirit of the time, and approached interim manager Akpan Chidike with a plan - they would have final say over who played and didn't going forward into truncated 1970-71 season - and in return they wouldn't cause Akpan any trouble. Chidike, a company man who had gotten the role mainly due to being the only coach who hadn't resigned with Uribe, agreed, and the Playing Committee as they called themselves, were off to the races.
And what a race it was - a youthful, energetic Wildstars side led the season from start to finish, led by their talismanic captain Kwame, setting multiple scoring records along the way. They even found a role for Okafor, though he was relegated to a bench role, who scored 12 goals in 19 appearances, his last double digit tally in his career. Okafor chafed at the new reality - the kid he had taken under his wing had grown up and was leading what Okafor still considered to be "his" team. Said Okafor to a friend: 'they have taken the only thing I ever loved and bastardised it.' Harsh and bitter words about his own team - and one that would now form the nucleus of Naizerre's 1971 World Cup squad.
Captain of both club and country, Kwame made sure he had a big say on who would be going to the tournament - and there was no spot for his former friend and mentor, despite some good form. 'Oumar's time if over,' he tersely told a reporter when pressed on the issue and their personal relationship. This was likely Okafor's last chance at going to a CEFA World Cup, and Naizerre wasn't exactly overflowing with fit and ready attacking talent - both of Naizerre's first choice strikers were out of the tournament with injuries, but Kwame wouldn't be budged. 'We want a young team, a hard working, honest team'. That word... 'honest'. It was a little rich for Kwame to use it, considering they were currently deceiving both Wildstar's new owners and their fanbase with who really ran the team - Akpan was enjoying cult status and was unlikely to rock the boat.
Either way, Kwame's selection policy worked. Naizerre walked through the early stages of the tournament, and then beat Andrenne 2-0 in the final. It wasn't as exciting or momentous as the 1965 victory, but Naizerre were imperious, conceding just twice in the early rounds and once in the knockouts. The elegance was gone but the grit remained, and it all centered around Kwame.
And that was a big problem. Because Amare Kwame had a secret, and it was one his former friend Oumar Okafor knew about. In 1969 Kwame had injured his lower back muscles, and despite playing through the pain, he was close to calling the season quits and focusing rehabbing his injury. He confided his concerns with Okafor, who in turn introduced Kwame to a friend, a Doctor Abiyo Chuks, who recommended Kwame rub a cream he medicated into the painful areas. Almost miraculously, the pain went away - until Kwame went into the gym to try to pack on some muscle for the next season. Again, he confided in Oumar, who again recommended he go see Dr Chuks. By 1971, Kwame had cut out the middle man, and was seeing Chuks monthly to get steroid injections into his back - and he had begun to introduce teammates to Chuks, just as Okafor had managed to get himself clean.
Throughout 1971-72, again a triumphant season for the Boango Wildstars, Okafor tried to get the club to bar Chuks from seeing its players, but he was overruled by management because he refused to fully explain why. He said later: 'I had a meeting with the Chairman, who asked why I was trying so hard to bar Dr Chuks from seeing the players. I could've avoided everything if I had come clean there, but for the first time in my life I was scared. Scared of telling the truth. Because if I had told the truth, my career would be over.' Oumar's career was coming to a close anyway, with the Wildstars at least. Tired of his on and off form and the problem he was becoming in trying to stop Chuks from seeing the players, Okafor was asked to see the manager one day but when he went into his office Kwame was waiting for him, sat behind the desk. He told Okafor: 'Oumar, I'm afraid it is time for you to leave. The club will not be renewing your contract.' Okafor left without replying, though in his memoirs Kwame states that Oumar's face 'turned cold and he expression dark. There was a moment of great evil behind his eyes'. How much of that is actually true and how much is it Kwame trying to rewrite history, is something we might never know - Okafor's unfinished memoirs don't go into the episode beyond relaying what Kwame told him and then leaving.
Okafor's career was full of great moments, but also a number of petulant, petty acts. A stamp here and there, a tantrum after missing a chance, the 1970 tackle that took a chunk out of Rozar's leg. And in being forced out of the club that he had called his own for more than 12 years, he had one last act of revenge. In a series of interviews he revealed the existence of the Player's Committee, how powerless manager Akpan Chidike was and the widespread steroid use by the Wildstars and other members of the Naizerri national team. The resulting scandal cost Akpan his job, and led to bans for 14 of the Wildstar's 18 player squad, and much of the Naizerri 1971 World Cup winning squad was implicated. Kwame was banned from the national side for 6 years, and rest were given bans ranging from 6 months to 4 years. Wildstars were demoted a division and their 1971-72 championship was struck from record. Their 1971 accomplishments, both domestically and internationally, were kept as steroid use wasn't entirely illegal at the time. Cheating? Yes. But illegal enough to strike the World Cup win from record? Not for CEFA.
Kwame would even return to the national team, after his ban was up at the age of 32. He was one of a number of controversial players included in the 1979 CEFA World Cup squad. The 'Angry Old Men' as that squad were called were all grit, no elegance, as they kicked and scrapped their way into the final, only to go down to an emerging international rivals, Highton who were fielding their own Angry Old Men. Out of the Naizerre squad, only 2 were under the age of 30. The 1979 squad was the end of an era in Naizerri international achievement - it would be 12 long years before they escaped the first round of a CEFA World Cup again, and domestically the game contracted.
As for Oumar Okafor? Well, whilst he escaped a ban, he never played again. Essentially declared persona non grata by the sport, he failed to find a club and Wildstars struck all mention of him from their history books - a slight that wasn't corrected until 2015, when a new generation of political outspoken and historically inclined Naizerri footballers won the CEFA World Cup again. Led by future politician Jardel, the 2015 squad led a campaign to bring to light the full details of the 70s scandal. Okafor died in 1992 of a drug overdose, but his restoration was welcomed by his family. And whilst Kwame also welcomed the move, he never spoke to Okafor again after their 1972 meeting in that managers office, a fact that really underlines that this was a sad, tragic beef with no satisfying conclusion.
Join us again for beef history and if you have any ideas on beefs we’re yet to cover, hit us up on fluttr."
Í Kvöld Í Heiminum með Kraki Gyðingur
(Tonight in the World with Kraki Gyðingur)
Let me explain somethin’(Tonight in the World with Kraki Gyðingur)
Vallish lobster rolls are not only not better than Prydanian lobster rolls, they aren’t lobster rolls. It’s a fuckin’ lettuce rap. I’m surprised you haven’t thought to complete your Vikstad lobster rolls with some economy pack shredded carrots. It’s a bun you put a salad on with some lobster and, in defiance of G-d and man and all things holy you put spiced mayonnaise atop the lobster- atop! The mayo on display, cold, like some kind of mayo whore! You know the expression “there is no such thing as bad sex or a bad lobster roll”? Your lobster roll is like having sex with a corpse made of sandpaper! Let me tell you somethin'! This isn’t a lobster roll! This is cat food in a lettuce bun! This is an artisan spice rack for rats!
Let me tell you somethin’ about your fuckin’ not-lobster rolls. I wanna know that when I get drunk and pass out on my lobster roll that I’m not gonna wake up sneezin'! Let me tell ya somethin’! I look at this...I look at this...you son of a bitch...I look at this you geitagull! When I look at your lobster fuckin’ lettuce wrap I don’t know whether to eat it or give to someone who’s congested. And when your fuckin’ artisan spiced mayo clears out their sinuses they’re gonna ask for a real fuckin’ lobster roll!
Now with all due respect I realize it’s very trendy in Valland, very posh, you need to be able to, I donno, have a lobster roll you can wear as a fashion accessory. Seriously, who you kiddin’? Who uses chives to make a lobster roll?
Here’s how I know I’m right. You call it a vallish lobster roll, a Vikstad lobster roll, a Nidaros lobster roll. You know what we call this? takes out a Prydanian lobster roll A lobster roll! takes a bite
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unavailable2
A normal person
Kapil Sharmal Ke Salth Ek Olr Ralt
(Another Night with Kapil Sharma)
(Another Night with Kapil Sharma)
"Welcome to 'Kapil Sharmal Ke Salth Ek Olr Ralt' (Another Night with Kapil Sharma), presented to you by Verkil Technologies, powered by Homing Renovations and co-powered by Hendel Fruits." *munches Mango* "Akoginaia mangoes are the best." *A random man comes from the backstage* "You said what?" "Akoginaia mangoes are the best." "What? Clearly Araykogis are the best." *a random woman comes from the backstage* "Jwurr mangoes are better. You idiot!" *A random man comes from the backstage* "What! Anyone with common sense knows that Saagweus are better!" *the argument turns into a fight*. "Stop!" *everyone goes to the backstage*
Pikabo
Makopa/Zhen
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Klase!
Written by: Rüdiger Ben-Tov
#1810 "Klase! Execution Special"
This episode was copyrighted in 2002 by NTV.
Synopsis: Kyle the Tree protests against deforestation by throwing pamphlets around school when Murie the Grumpy Custodian scolds him for littering. Kalo the Grass Monster scares off Murie but Frau Pagaduan reminds them of the importance of doing the right thing. When classes begin, Frau Pagaduan and Herr Ghale/Der Bibliothekarheld were asked by a distressed Frau Direktor to turn off all the school televisions and hide today's newspapers as she warned them about the "grown-up news" that their students are not allowed to know. That didn't stop Jojo the Turtle from asking Frau Pagaduan about what happened in Prydania.
Directed by: Enoch Tatankolan{ } Braces encloses unclear speech.
The Cast
- Frau Pagaduan (Savana Joshi)
- Frau Direktor (Adita Takore)
- Kyle the Tree (Artemiy Vladimirovich)
- Herr Ghale/Der Bibliothekarheld (Tim Brötzmann)
- Jojo the Turtle (Fridegunde Stepanov)
- Kalo the Grass Monster (Erik Aleskey)
- Murie the Grumpy Custodian (Indira Holkvar)
Transcribed via VCR tape and microcassette. Missed the very beginning, though I'm sure the second title was "Klase! talks about PRYDANIA." (Not to be confused with #1476 "Klase! goes to Prydania.")< PART 5 >
[As we watch, FRAU PAGADUAN is about to begin today's lesson. But JOJO wants to ask a question.]
FRAU PAGADUAN
Good morning! It's nice to see you all again here today. I've got an exciting new lesson to share with you all, but first: Would anyone like to ask a question before we begin?
JOJO
Jawohl, Frau Pagaduan!
FRAU PAGADUAN
Ja, Jojo. What is it?
JOJO
Why did you turn off all the televisions in school?
FRAU PAGADUAN
Well, it's kind of distracting so Frau Direktor thought we could focus more on schoolwork if we turn them off.
JOJO
But then, why did Herr Ghale hide all the new newspapers in the library? It's not distracting.
FRAU PAGADUAN
Well...um. He didn't hide them. He is just...organizing them alphabetically so they'd look tidy on the news stand.
JOJO
I don't think that's what's happening, Frau Pagaduan. I've heard Principal Nakamasag talking about it with Herr Ghale.
[KYLE takes off a part of his costume, particularly the abundant green foliage covering much of his head. He needs to get himself through the classroom window. In the next window, KALO excitedly waves at FRAU PAGADUAN and JOJO. They are interested. FRAU PAGADUAN and JOJO waves back at him, though slowly as if reluctant or surprised.]
KYLE
Ja, Frau Pagaduan. My parents have been talking about it over breakfast. I tried to ask a question, but they said it's an adult topic.
KALO
I don't usually care about human civilization, but I'm now too curious to ignore this one.
[FRAU PAGADUAN blinks. She puts the length of her finger against her lips. Quickly, she snaps her fingers and sighs.]
FRA PAGADUAN
I believe we can't begin our lesson if we don't answer your questions first. What is your question, Jojo?"
[JOJO looks down on his desk. Then, slowly, he returns his attention to FRA PAGADUAN.]
JOJO
{So} what does execution mean?
[FRAU PAGADUAN looks to the side, to the door, afraid. She is twiddling her fingers.]
FRAU PAGADUAN
It means bad people getting killed by the government because they broke the law.
JOJO
But I heard a girl and her family {broke the law}. What did they do that was so bad that they were killed?
FRAU PAGADUAN
Have you heard that a lot today?
JOJO
Ja. I don't understand what happened.
KYLE
An entire family. Were they really bad?
FRAU PAGADUAN
Well, sometimes the government can be bad too. Government is full of people. People can get very angry that they do terrible things.
JOJO
The people wanted them dead?
FRAU PAGADUAN
Nein. They probably hated them, but I don't think all of them would've agreed. They didn't have a choice.
KYLE
So it was the government's choice?
FRAU PAGADUAN
Ja.
KYLE
But isn't the government supposed to be doing the right thing? I don't think killing a girl and her family is right.
JOJO
Ja. And my parents and I visited Prydania many times. They're very nice people.
FRAU PAGADUAN
Prydania isn't like Lawston. -Or Goyanes. -Or Saintonge. -Or any other country in the world. Something bad happened in Prydania. The government there isn't the same as the government when you visited them, Jojo. The government we have does the right thing, but it isn't perfect either.
KYLE
What's wrong with them?
FRAU PAGADUAN
Government. People. We all make mistakes, Kyle. And like us, they also forget to listen and understand. That they would rather do what they think is right instead of asking themselves if it is wrong.
JOJO
Thank you, Frau Pagaduan. I think we should talk about it some other time. Many people are talking about it.
KYLE
Too many people are talking about it. Many people are sad and scared about it, you know.
FRAU PAGADUAN
Now, if there are no more questions, let's begin today's lesson!
[time approximation: 4:00]
< PART 5 >
Last Updated: 31 October 2002
This fan page is for curiosity and fun. This is not intended to infringe on any copyright nor to encourage such.
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BOMBATE
(This Scene taken from the legendary period play Bombate, conceived in 1850 by playwright Amare Na Achebe, Bombate concerns the adventures of swashbuckling captain Bombate Na Lumba during the golden age of Astragon. In this scene Assasins sent by the lord Monashe attempt to punish the womanizing captain for turning down marriage to the lord's daughter in favour of an affair with an Ulsthomian noblewoman)
Captain Bombate Na Lumba walks down an empty Tyrooz street, dust kicks up as a cold wind drifts across the coast, the end of the road is blocked by three armed men in black robes
Assassin: BOMBATE!!! Running back to your Paleshi Whore in Ulstome so soon!!! Lady Na Monashe has not forgotten how you slighted her! She demands satisfaction
Bombate: (throws his cloak down) Her father should take responsibility for his own acts, move or I will remove you Balkaid!
(Assasins draw their weapons and advance with blades raised)
Bombate draws his sword and adopts a defensive stance, the first assassin lunges with his blade only for Bombate to casually sidestep him and plunge the tip of his sword through the downed assassin's neck
Bombate: There's more room on the barge of the dead if you wish to join this one! I am happy to oblige!
The other two assassins roar and charge Bombate, he brings the sword up and slices the throat of the first man in a single practised movement, The leader of the assassins brings his blade down on Bombate only for the captain to block the weapon with his own. The two blades shake wildly as both men attempt to break the stalemate, Bombate gradually overcomes the assassin with his strength. Bombate pushes aside the sword of the assassin and smashes the hilt of his blade into the assailants face with a spray of blood and teeth.
Bombate: (grabs Assasin and hauls him up by the scruff of his robe) Go to your master and tell him to settle his dispute in person next time! (Bombate drops the assassin who collapses onto the dusty ground)
Assassin: You can't run to the seas forever Bombate!
Bombate: Perhaps not! but today the winds are rather welcoming! Tell the Lord Na Monashe my lady sends her regards from Ulstome!
(Bombate Strides off toward his waiting galleon)
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A Prydanian animated teen drama/comedy, RÚV
Season 1 Ep. 2
"Hey."
The greeting startled Kjell. He looked up at a smiling Hilidrid. She was a girl in his class. Nice, outgoing. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a green polo shirt.
"Hey," he said back, flicking a crumbled up straw wrapper at the back of an empty chair. The soft thump of the paper echoed through the mall food court.
"Nice beanie," Hilidrid said, sitting down.
"Heh," Kjell replied, "thanks."
He adjusts the red beanie on his head.
"No problem!" Hilidrid replied.
"I saw that you were alone and could use the company."
"You want to spend time with me?" Kjell replied with a deep blush.
"Yeah! You're nice," Hilidrid replied.
"And you looked sad. Is everything ok?"
Kjell sighed.
"I mean, I'm not sure."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm not sure you would understand."
"There's a lot you'd be surprised I understand."
Kjell looked up at Hilidrid.
"This beanie is a Côme FC beanie. It's from Saintonge."
"Yeah, that's where you're from right?" Hilidrid asked.
"Because I think your accent is really cu...I mean cool."
Kjell's eyes widened and he blushed deeply.
"Um thanks, but I guess I'm not from Saintonge."
"You're not?" Hilidrid asked.
"I mean I am, but I'm not. That's what's got me...thinking? I was actually born here in Rauosgil."
"Really?" Hilidrid asked.
"We had to leave when I was one," Kjell explained, "because of the Syndicalists. So I grew up in Côme."
Hilidrid nodded.
"So what brings you back here?"
"My parents got our farm back. They decided to come back and reclaim it instead of selling the land."
"That's cool," Hilidrid replied.
"My pabbi was able to start a farming equipment company after the War. Maybe our parents are working with each other?"
"Yeah...maybe," Kjell replied.
"You still seem sad."
"I was always a Prydanian in Saintonge. And I'm a Santonian in Prydania. I've never been able to fit in," Kjell said, looking down as he sighed.
Hilidrid nodded and placed a hand on Kjell's.
"Well I think you're a sweet, cool guy. With a cool accent," she said with a smile that elicited a smile from Kjell as well.
"And maybe that's enough for now?"
"Heh, thanks," Kjell replied.
"Thank you, Hilidrid."
"You can call me Hilli," she replied.
Kjell grinned. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad?
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OOC Note: This is a scene from an episode from a Santonian-Prydanian television series titled "The Reluctant Queen." Click on the name of the series for background information! (doooo ittttt it's fun)
The Reluctant Queen, Season 7, Episode 12
1855
Saintes, Saintonge
Luta's jaw was clenched shut. She knew who she was waiting for but she had no idea who would walk through that door.
It had been over thirty years. Who was the person her sister had become? And what would she say?
The diplomats had worked out the Treaty of Fontainebleau, but she had heard nothing from her sister, aside from that the finished treaty had met with her approval.
She had seen Alexandria earlier. At her and Brice’s coronation. They had not spoken, but she saw her. And she got no sense of what she might have thought.
And now...well...Alexandria wasn't just a Queen Consort. She reigned in her own right. Her request to see her sister- after all that had happened- couldn't be denied.
And yet...who would walk through that door?
“Luta.”
She looked up. Alexandria stood before her, by the door. Luta stood.
“Sister I…” she paused. She was expecting something from Alexandria. She got nothing.
“I…”
“Yes?” Alexandria replied, slowly walking towards her.
“I…” Luta tried to think. Nothing she could say seemed right...it all sounded so...insufficient.
“I’m sorry,” she said. It’s all she could say.
“I’m sorry that I caused you so much stress. Or that I complicated things. I didn't mean to, I never wanted to take anything from you and I…”
“Stop,” Alexandria said. Her voice was firm, but there was a trembling to it. If even slightly.
Luta stopped as her sister stared at her, the two only a few feet away now.
“I…” Alexandria began. She had developed a reputation of being icey back home. She had to be, to deal with the politics of a man’s world. What that meant, though, was that she had to keep emotions in check. And there was no such check here.
“I don't care about the throne. Not this one or that one,” Alexandria said, her voice shaking and her eyes clearly trying to hold back tears.
“I...” she stopped herself to breathe.
“I cared about my sister. How my sister vanished and how I had to comfort mamma and pabbi…”
“I never intended to hurt…” Luta began, but Alexandria cut her off.
“It doesn't matter! You did! You did…” Alexandria looked down and put a hand to her face as she began to cry.
“I...we...mourned for you…I know you never cared for pabbi but…”
“I loved him!” Luta shot back. Yes. She had to answer to her sister for much, but she wasn't going to be accused of not loving her parents.
“You left him! And mamma! And me!” Alexandria replied.
“They were devastated. You can't imagine…” she continued, still crying.
“They loved you...I loved you…” Alexandria collapsed to her knees.
“I thought I’d never see my sister again…” she began to bawl openly. Part of her wanted to hug Luta tight, but another part of her was too angry too.
Luta knelt down by her sister, hanging her head a bit as reached out to stroke Alexandria’s shoulder. Alexandria didn't resist. She just cried more...and then put her hand over Luta’s.
“Mamma and Pabbi were so sad… and I was too. When we finally thought...that you were dead...I couldn't even mourn. I had to be there when Pabbi just went through his days listlessly and Mamma just stopped talking all together. I lost my sister...and I had to mourn her privately because I needed to be strong…”
Luta knelt there as Alexandria cried. She didn't say anything, instead letting her sister work through everything.
Finally, Alexandria quieted down.
“I love you Lexi…” Luta said softly.
“Why did you leave?” Alexandria asked.
“Koðrán…” Luta replied.
Alexandria looked at her with tear-soaked eyes. She knew exactly what her sister meant. She had watched Luta fall apart when Koðran was taken away, and then when news of his death reached her. Luta simply saying that name explained so much about why this had happened.
“I knew Pabbi would find a way to keep Brice and I apart if he found out. I needed to go,” Luta continued.
“There was no time. I was afraid they’d discover us. So I ran. I didn’t think, I ran. I loved him, and I had to run.”
“You could have told me…” Alexandria replied, still crying.
“I missed you so much…”
“I missed you two. And Mamma and Pabbi...but I loved Brice. I wanted nothing more than to be with him. Not as a queen, but as his beloved,” she bowed her head.
“Please understand…please forgive me.”
Alexandria looked at her big sister and reached out to raise her head with a finger on her chin.
“Look at me, stóra systir*,” Alexandria said through tear soaked eyes. Luta raised her head, her heart fluttering in her chest as Alexandria called her that.
“I love you...and I thank God you're alive,” she said as she embraced Luta and buried her head into her shoulder, crying softly.
“I’m so happy to see you again, Lexi,” Luta replied with a soft smile. Alexandria chuckled, squeezing her sister again.
The two embraced each other for a few moments longer, even if it felt like hours. The politicians and diplomats had done their jobs, but right now all that mattered was that they had found each other again.
*stóra systir- big sister
OOC Note: Posted with permission from @Kyle
The Reluctant Queen, Season 7, Episode 12
1855
Saintes, Saintonge
Luta's jaw was clenched shut. She knew who she was waiting for but she had no idea who would walk through that door.
It had been over thirty years. Who was the person her sister had become? And what would she say?
The diplomats had worked out the Treaty of Fontainebleau, but she had heard nothing from her sister, aside from that the finished treaty had met with her approval.
She had seen Alexandria earlier. At her and Brice’s coronation. They had not spoken, but she saw her. And she got no sense of what she might have thought.
And now...well...Alexandria wasn't just a Queen Consort. She reigned in her own right. Her request to see her sister- after all that had happened- couldn't be denied.
And yet...who would walk through that door?
“Luta.”
She looked up. Alexandria stood before her, by the door. Luta stood.
“Sister I…” she paused. She was expecting something from Alexandria. She got nothing.
“I…”
“Yes?” Alexandria replied, slowly walking towards her.
“I…” Luta tried to think. Nothing she could say seemed right...it all sounded so...insufficient.
“I’m sorry,” she said. It’s all she could say.
“I’m sorry that I caused you so much stress. Or that I complicated things. I didn't mean to, I never wanted to take anything from you and I…”
“Stop,” Alexandria said. Her voice was firm, but there was a trembling to it. If even slightly.
Luta stopped as her sister stared at her, the two only a few feet away now.
“I…” Alexandria began. She had developed a reputation of being icey back home. She had to be, to deal with the politics of a man’s world. What that meant, though, was that she had to keep emotions in check. And there was no such check here.
“I don't care about the throne. Not this one or that one,” Alexandria said, her voice shaking and her eyes clearly trying to hold back tears.
“I...” she stopped herself to breathe.
“I cared about my sister. How my sister vanished and how I had to comfort mamma and pabbi…”
“I never intended to hurt…” Luta began, but Alexandria cut her off.
“It doesn't matter! You did! You did…” Alexandria looked down and put a hand to her face as she began to cry.
“I...we...mourned for you…I know you never cared for pabbi but…”
“I loved him!” Luta shot back. Yes. She had to answer to her sister for much, but she wasn't going to be accused of not loving her parents.
“You left him! And mamma! And me!” Alexandria replied.
“They were devastated. You can't imagine…” she continued, still crying.
“They loved you...I loved you…” Alexandria collapsed to her knees.
“I thought I’d never see my sister again…” she began to bawl openly. Part of her wanted to hug Luta tight, but another part of her was too angry too.
Luta knelt down by her sister, hanging her head a bit as reached out to stroke Alexandria’s shoulder. Alexandria didn't resist. She just cried more...and then put her hand over Luta’s.
“Mamma and Pabbi were so sad… and I was too. When we finally thought...that you were dead...I couldn't even mourn. I had to be there when Pabbi just went through his days listlessly and Mamma just stopped talking all together. I lost my sister...and I had to mourn her privately because I needed to be strong…”
Luta knelt there as Alexandria cried. She didn't say anything, instead letting her sister work through everything.
Finally, Alexandria quieted down.
“I love you Lexi…” Luta said softly.
“Why did you leave?” Alexandria asked.
“Koðrán…” Luta replied.
Alexandria looked at her with tear-soaked eyes. She knew exactly what her sister meant. She had watched Luta fall apart when Koðran was taken away, and then when news of his death reached her. Luta simply saying that name explained so much about why this had happened.
“I knew Pabbi would find a way to keep Brice and I apart if he found out. I needed to go,” Luta continued.
“There was no time. I was afraid they’d discover us. So I ran. I didn’t think, I ran. I loved him, and I had to run.”
“You could have told me…” Alexandria replied, still crying.
“I missed you so much…”
“I missed you two. And Mamma and Pabbi...but I loved Brice. I wanted nothing more than to be with him. Not as a queen, but as his beloved,” she bowed her head.
“Please understand…please forgive me.”
Alexandria looked at her big sister and reached out to raise her head with a finger on her chin.
“Look at me, stóra systir*,” Alexandria said through tear soaked eyes. Luta raised her head, her heart fluttering in her chest as Alexandria called her that.
“I love you...and I thank God you're alive,” she said as she embraced Luta and buried her head into her shoulder, crying softly.
“I’m so happy to see you again, Lexi,” Luta replied with a soft smile. Alexandria chuckled, squeezing her sister again.
The two embraced each other for a few moments longer, even if it felt like hours. The politicians and diplomats had done their jobs, but right now all that mattered was that they had found each other again.
*stóra systir- big sister
OOC Note: Posted with permission from @Kyle
An advert for the hit reality cooking program "MOZUMA'S NIGHTMARE KITCHEN!"
"From Studio that brought you "The Great Savannah cookout" and "Jene's Cookbook Journeys" Comes the next season of a show Iterian Culinary Magazine dubbed "Eras's most controversial show" join us as budding contestants attempt to survive seven gruelling weeks of cooking challenges and verbal abuse at the hands of everyone's favourite cuisine madman, Master Chef Mozuma Muumbe!!!!"
BRUTALLY HONEST
Male Contestant: This was my grandmother's recipe for Yam Curry
Mozuma: And was it this recipe which killed her?
MERCILESS!
Female contestant: I might have overcooked the tomatoes
Mozuma: YOU DID NOT REMOVE THE SEEDS!!! THIS FOOD IS INDIGESTIBLE!!! OUT OF MY KITCHEN!!!!
INSENSITIVE
Mozuma: WHEN I SAID TO CAPTURE THE FLAVOUR OF RAFHAZAN I DID NOT MEAN THE CAMEL PENS!!!!
MISTAKES WILL BE PUNISHED!!!
Mozuma: THIS DURBAN FLAMBE HAS SO MUCH OIL IT SHOULD BE SOLD TO ASTRAPROM!!!
NO ONE SHALL BE SPARED!!!
Female contestant: My husband and children love my coconut curry
Mozuma: I am sorry to inform you that your husband and children must be mentally unwell!
"season three of MOZUMA'S NIGHTMARE KITCHEN! is coming to ACN this summer!"
WATCH IF YOU DARE!!!!
Mozuma: (Addressing the viewers) You have been warned!
"From Studio that brought you "The Great Savannah cookout" and "Jene's Cookbook Journeys" Comes the next season of a show Iterian Culinary Magazine dubbed "Eras's most controversial show" join us as budding contestants attempt to survive seven gruelling weeks of cooking challenges and verbal abuse at the hands of everyone's favourite cuisine madman, Master Chef Mozuma Muumbe!!!!"
BRUTALLY HONEST
Male Contestant: This was my grandmother's recipe for Yam Curry
Mozuma: And was it this recipe which killed her?
MERCILESS!
Female contestant: I might have overcooked the tomatoes
Mozuma: YOU DID NOT REMOVE THE SEEDS!!! THIS FOOD IS INDIGESTIBLE!!! OUT OF MY KITCHEN!!!!
INSENSITIVE
Mozuma: WHEN I SAID TO CAPTURE THE FLAVOUR OF RAFHAZAN I DID NOT MEAN THE CAMEL PENS!!!!
MISTAKES WILL BE PUNISHED!!!
Mozuma: THIS DURBAN FLAMBE HAS SO MUCH OIL IT SHOULD BE SOLD TO ASTRAPROM!!!
NO ONE SHALL BE SPARED!!!
Female contestant: My husband and children love my coconut curry
Mozuma: I am sorry to inform you that your husband and children must be mentally unwell!
"season three of MOZUMA'S NIGHTMARE KITCHEN! is coming to ACN this summer!"
WATCH IF YOU DARE!!!!
Mozuma: (Addressing the viewers) You have been warned!
- Pronouns
- He/Him, They/Them
Fight Forever Weekly, 2008
“Now, in just a little less than a weeks time my next guest will have the chance to realise a dream few will ever achieve in our sport - in 6 days time they will step into the ring with one of the greatest of all time and yjru will have a chance to become the Heavyweight Champion of the World and I just want to thank them for joining me at this time.”
“I’m very happy to be here, thank you.”
“And what a polite man you are. Mr Dominik Drahomir, my first question to you is something that’s been playing out in the media, been talked about in the newspapers and on the radio, and was even mentioned by your opponent, the Worlds Heavyweight Champion Dai Bevan. Do you, Dominik Drahomir, have the right background to be the Heavyweight Champion that the world needs at this time?”
Dominik Drahomir fixed the interviewer with a level stare. “Kevan Stamfield, you are one of the legends of your industry. You’ve done, what, hundreds of interviews? Thousands? You’ve interviewed them all! Big, small, champions, challengers, winners, losers! In that time have you ever asked anyone if they had the right ‘background’ to be in the position they’re in?”
“It’s not something that’s come up often, no, but it’s a question that’s been raise-”
“It’s a question that’s been raised because I am who I am. It’s a funny thing isn’t it? 114 years the lineage of the Worlds Heavyweight Title and I am the first challenger ever to hail from Rhuvish stock. Oh there’s been Rhuvish trainers, and the Rhuvanland was the home base to the entire Odinspyl team in the past. But not a single one of my people has ever been risen up to be in a position to challenge for the Worlds Heavyweight Title.”
“Well I don’t think this is a racial issu-”
“Oh? Well if it’s not my racial background maybe it’s a different aspect of my life. Let’s compare myself and the champion. Dai Bevan, 32 years old, in the prime of his life and his career and he’s unbeaten, undefeated, never lost a round, never been knocked down - except for the times he has but I’ll admit it’s a nice little ditty.
Now Dai Bevan, I have nothing against Dai Bevan but I resent the position he is in because Dai Bevan of everyone in this great sport has never had to fight or scratch or claw his way to succeed. Dai Bevan was born to wealth and privilege and it showed in the way he was protected and guided and through his career.”
“Well he’s a fighting champion despite all tha-”
“He is indeed a champion who fights. Has to if he wants to keep the most important prize in this sport - the most important prize in his life. Now let’s talk about me, everyone else is doing it so I think I’m entitled to as well.
I am 37 years old and I have been a professional at this sport for 22 years. You know what that means, Mr Stamfield? It means I had my first professional fight at the age of 15. I even kept the card results - a win via tko in 7th round. For which I was paid 80 dwsin, all of which went to feed my little brothers and sisters. Because that’s where I found myself, as a 15 year old child - responsible for 5 younger siblings.
And being responsible for 5 younger siblings, I quickly found that what was needed was to fight and scratch and claw my way through life in order to feed them and clothe them and home them, because that’s what we Rhuvish do. So whether that was working in a lumber mill by day or fighting at night, I made sure that come what may my brothers and sisters were clothed and fed and homed and they didn’t go without. And when I got older and I started my own family, I did the same for my kids and my wife too.”
“Well that’s certainly an inspiring story but do you feel that you are ready for Dai Bevan, someone who is in the shape of his life at the moment, putting on fantastic performances? You’re a 90-1 outsider at the moment.”
“I saw an interview Dai Bevan gave, with you, Mr Stamfield. He was dressed up in a nice Antonius Scalissus suit, and he had on these nice Valentine Dion shoes and he showed you his nice expensive Amser watch. Now I’m sitting here with you and whilst I’m not badly dressed, you can see the difference. I’m not in a nice, expensive suit. I’m wearing training shoes. And my watch? My watch is a Kosh brand mechanical watch that I’ve had since I saved up a month's worth of wages and fight money to buy when I was 18 years old. It still works. I still work.”
Dominik Drahomir is no longer looking at the interviewer, but instead is directing his words straight down the camera.
“So that’s who I am. And that’s who Dai Bevan is. We are people from two different worlds. Two very different worlds but in six days time those two worlds will collide in the biggest fight of Dai Bevan’s life. For me it will be the pinnacle of my career but in terms of my life? My struggle? It will be just another day, where I get up and I go to work to make life better for my family. When Dai Bevan and I fight in six days time, I will meet Dai Bevan’s privilege with every bit of heart and fight and struggle in my soul.
So he can bring his fancy coaches, his nice suits and watches, and his entourage. He can bring his silver spoon and in fact he can bring the whole damn silver drawer. Bring it all, so long as he brings the one thing that matters most in the world - the Worlds Heavyweight Title. Because no matter what he throws at me, no matter how much he plays up our differing ‘backgrounds’ and no matter how much his friends in press do it too, the only way I don’t leave that ring as the Heavyweight Champion of the World…
Is if Dai Bevan kills me. Six days. I want you get the camera up real close on me.” The cameraman obliges. “Six. Days. In six days time myself and Dai Bevan do battle in the biggest fight for years. In six days these beat up, worn down, sly dog of a fighter takes everything life has thrown at it, balls it up into a fist just like this and uses it to break a man who hasn’t ever faced anything like I’ve faced.
In six days I will become the World’s Heavyweight Champion, and nothing is going to stop me.”
The camera fades out as Dominik Drahomir stares down the viewer, and Kevin Stamfield throws us to a commercial break.
“Now, in just a little less than a weeks time my next guest will have the chance to realise a dream few will ever achieve in our sport - in 6 days time they will step into the ring with one of the greatest of all time and yjru will have a chance to become the Heavyweight Champion of the World and I just want to thank them for joining me at this time.”
“I’m very happy to be here, thank you.”
“And what a polite man you are. Mr Dominik Drahomir, my first question to you is something that’s been playing out in the media, been talked about in the newspapers and on the radio, and was even mentioned by your opponent, the Worlds Heavyweight Champion Dai Bevan. Do you, Dominik Drahomir, have the right background to be the Heavyweight Champion that the world needs at this time?”
Dominik Drahomir fixed the interviewer with a level stare. “Kevan Stamfield, you are one of the legends of your industry. You’ve done, what, hundreds of interviews? Thousands? You’ve interviewed them all! Big, small, champions, challengers, winners, losers! In that time have you ever asked anyone if they had the right ‘background’ to be in the position they’re in?”
“It’s not something that’s come up often, no, but it’s a question that’s been raise-”
“It’s a question that’s been raised because I am who I am. It’s a funny thing isn’t it? 114 years the lineage of the Worlds Heavyweight Title and I am the first challenger ever to hail from Rhuvish stock. Oh there’s been Rhuvish trainers, and the Rhuvanland was the home base to the entire Odinspyl team in the past. But not a single one of my people has ever been risen up to be in a position to challenge for the Worlds Heavyweight Title.”
“Well I don’t think this is a racial issu-”
“Oh? Well if it’s not my racial background maybe it’s a different aspect of my life. Let’s compare myself and the champion. Dai Bevan, 32 years old, in the prime of his life and his career and he’s unbeaten, undefeated, never lost a round, never been knocked down - except for the times he has but I’ll admit it’s a nice little ditty.
Now Dai Bevan, I have nothing against Dai Bevan but I resent the position he is in because Dai Bevan of everyone in this great sport has never had to fight or scratch or claw his way to succeed. Dai Bevan was born to wealth and privilege and it showed in the way he was protected and guided and through his career.”
“Well he’s a fighting champion despite all tha-”
“He is indeed a champion who fights. Has to if he wants to keep the most important prize in this sport - the most important prize in his life. Now let’s talk about me, everyone else is doing it so I think I’m entitled to as well.
I am 37 years old and I have been a professional at this sport for 22 years. You know what that means, Mr Stamfield? It means I had my first professional fight at the age of 15. I even kept the card results - a win via tko in 7th round. For which I was paid 80 dwsin, all of which went to feed my little brothers and sisters. Because that’s where I found myself, as a 15 year old child - responsible for 5 younger siblings.
And being responsible for 5 younger siblings, I quickly found that what was needed was to fight and scratch and claw my way through life in order to feed them and clothe them and home them, because that’s what we Rhuvish do. So whether that was working in a lumber mill by day or fighting at night, I made sure that come what may my brothers and sisters were clothed and fed and homed and they didn’t go without. And when I got older and I started my own family, I did the same for my kids and my wife too.”
“Well that’s certainly an inspiring story but do you feel that you are ready for Dai Bevan, someone who is in the shape of his life at the moment, putting on fantastic performances? You’re a 90-1 outsider at the moment.”
“I saw an interview Dai Bevan gave, with you, Mr Stamfield. He was dressed up in a nice Antonius Scalissus suit, and he had on these nice Valentine Dion shoes and he showed you his nice expensive Amser watch. Now I’m sitting here with you and whilst I’m not badly dressed, you can see the difference. I’m not in a nice, expensive suit. I’m wearing training shoes. And my watch? My watch is a Kosh brand mechanical watch that I’ve had since I saved up a month's worth of wages and fight money to buy when I was 18 years old. It still works. I still work.”
Dominik Drahomir is no longer looking at the interviewer, but instead is directing his words straight down the camera.
“So that’s who I am. And that’s who Dai Bevan is. We are people from two different worlds. Two very different worlds but in six days time those two worlds will collide in the biggest fight of Dai Bevan’s life. For me it will be the pinnacle of my career but in terms of my life? My struggle? It will be just another day, where I get up and I go to work to make life better for my family. When Dai Bevan and I fight in six days time, I will meet Dai Bevan’s privilege with every bit of heart and fight and struggle in my soul.
So he can bring his fancy coaches, his nice suits and watches, and his entourage. He can bring his silver spoon and in fact he can bring the whole damn silver drawer. Bring it all, so long as he brings the one thing that matters most in the world - the Worlds Heavyweight Title. Because no matter what he throws at me, no matter how much he plays up our differing ‘backgrounds’ and no matter how much his friends in press do it too, the only way I don’t leave that ring as the Heavyweight Champion of the World…
Is if Dai Bevan kills me. Six days. I want you get the camera up real close on me.” The cameraman obliges. “Six. Days. In six days time myself and Dai Bevan do battle in the biggest fight for years. In six days these beat up, worn down, sly dog of a fighter takes everything life has thrown at it, balls it up into a fist just like this and uses it to break a man who hasn’t ever faced anything like I’ve faced.
In six days I will become the World’s Heavyweight Champion, and nothing is going to stop me.”
The camera fades out as Dominik Drahomir stares down the viewer, and Kevin Stamfield throws us to a commercial break.
Burger Stadt Triple Stack Sensation Burger
An upbeat jingle is playing in the background, while the camera zooms in on a sizzling, perfectly stacked burger.
"Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for a taste sensation like no other!" the announcer proclaims as the camera pans over the burger, capturing its delicious layers. "Introducing the Triple Stack Sensation from Burger Stadt! It's the burger bonanza you've been waiting for!"
As the announcer continues, there are quick close-up shots of the juicy beef patties, cheese melting, and fresh ingredients.
"Triple the delight, triple the flavor! Three juicy beef patties, a mountain of cheese, crispy bacon, and all the fixings your heart desires!"
The camera zooms in on the sauce oozing from the burger.
"And that sauce... that secret Master Burger sauce... oh, it's pure saucy perfection!"
As the announcer speaks in the background, the camera cuts to a smiling family enjoying the Triple Stack Sensation at a Burger Stadt restaurant
"But wait, there's more! For a limited time only..."
A flashy "Limited Time Offer" graphic appears on the screen.
"You can savor the Triple Stack Sensation for just 9.50 IBU*! Yes, you heard it right, folks – only 9.50 IBU*!" they say as the camera pans out, showing the burger and a fantastic price tag.
"Don't miss out on this unbeatable deal. It's a taste explosion that won't break the bank!"
Exciting visual effects and flashing text show up on screen.
"Visit your nearest Burger Stadt location today and indulge in the Triple Stack Sensation. Your taste buds and your wallet will thank you!"
The screen fades out as the jingle returns.
"Burger Stadt – where burger dreams come true!"
The advertisement ends with the camera zooming out to show the Burger Stadt logo and contact details, while the upbeat jingle fades out.
OOC: The proceding was a TV commercial promoting a special item from a Mintoria-based multinational fast food chain.
*Note: As IBU is a unit of account instead of an actual currency, you can replace it with the currency your nation uses.
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NAESSERHAFEN BRIEF: SEASON 4 EPISODE III: POKER NIGHT
Synopsis: Having just put crazed neo-dachsi Oskar Brandenveldt behind bars the gang retires back to the station house to blow off steam with a game of poker
Jan Weissman (smirks as he views his cards)
Hans: Look at this smug bastard! probably has the shittest hand this side of Gothis but grins like he's already won
Jan: I'll be doing more than grinning when I get my hands on that gold watch of yours
(Jan takes a sip from his Hessunblad gold, Hans makes an obscene gesture with his thumb and forefinger)
Ulrika: (enters the room carrying a bag of goodies) Market only had the shitty Frisian bread but I got sausages and enough beer to sink the hessunland fleet...again
Hans: Works for me, long as you didn't get any of that overhyped Goyanean shit
Ulrika: Such a patriot hans! (she says as she cracks a can of what is clearly Goyanean beer)
(Jan ignores the squabbling partners and focuses on his hand, it is in fact a royal flush in the making, his phone an oversized 1980s mobile begins to ring loudly)
Hans: Fucks sake schweinhund! you should have left that brick in the auto!
(Jan puts the phone to his head)
Jan: Hallo?
Oskar: You must be feeling pretty good about putting me in the stocks, a brave hero of mittel gothis come home to feast and carouse!
Jan: How did you even get this number, pretty sure they don't allow cellphones in Stahlberg!?
Ulrika: Jan who is it....
Oskar: The brotherhood has eyes everywhere weissman, even in your police force...
Hans: (waving the entire thing off dismissively) Probably just some prank caller, I'm getting a sausage!
Jan: I hope you're enjoying this asshole, it's the last phone call you're going to be making for a very long time!
Oskar: Perhaps but sometimes a single conversation is all one needs, tell me, Herr Weissman, did you check the fridge?
(Hans reaches for the handle of the large staff fridge an audible *click* is heard)
Jan: Hans! don't move!
Oskar: The fridge handle is a dead man switch, if your friend takes his hand off the bomb will be detonated, a little parting gift from the true sons of Gottia, goodbye detective *hangs up*
Hans: Jan? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON! I JUST WANTED A GOTTENDAMN SAUSAGE!!!
Ulrika: That was him wasn't it?"
Jan: yes and he's rigged the bloody fridge to go off!
Hans: Oh shit! it's a Hessun farewell!
Ulrika: A what!?
Hans: During the bloody war, we were always retreating! the black shirts used to leave surprises rigged up in houses for the Goyaneans to find...Shit! I spent the entire war trying not to get blown up by Goyaneans and now one of those Dachsi fucks is going to do it for them!
Jan: Don't Panic...DON'T PANIC!!! I have an idea...Hans, I need you to trust me
TO BE CONTINUED!
*********************************************************************************************************************************************
(A crazed-sounding narrator extolls the virtues of Gruber's bratwurst and beer amusement center while cheerful oompa music plays in the background)
"Sein Fleisch und sein Gemüse gibt es sowohl nur im Grubers-Restaurant als auch im Fun-Time-Vergnügungszentrum!!!!
Willst du Bier, Gruber's!
Willst du Fleisch? Grubers!
Will Spaß? GRUBERS!!!"
(Jarringly switching to mercanti) Conveniently located off Johan Strasse in the heart of sunny Franktorf!!!
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THE ERASIAN HISTORICAL SOCIETY PRESENTS
ITERIAN HISTORY: ASTRAGON EMPIRE OF BLOOD AND FAITH
The Murabande Offensive and the immediate aftermath
ITERIAN HISTORY: ASTRAGON EMPIRE OF BLOOD AND FAITH
The Murabande Offensive and the immediate aftermath
The year is 1949, Astragon has been at war for over a decade, across Eras the world is aflame as the fascist wars that began in 1936 hurtle toward a bloody climax. For Na Themban dictator Oliver Ngeme it is the end of his ambitions to rule a nationalist state separate from Astragon, for the people of Thembaland, it is the beginning of a reign of terror that will scar a generation.
Three years earlier a complacent Astragon found itself attacked from both within and outside its borders, Skanda launching its full might at south Iteria and Na Thembaland rising in revolution with the latters blessing. The Na Themba army falls upon the Mondabaland region, gutting the Centre of Astragon. Armed with fascist supplied guns and tanks, the breakaway tribe rapidly advances, soon the entire region is embattled.
Facing the collapse of his empire Sakard Valdishah acts with ruthless pragmatism, caste laws forbidding military service outside of the Kaiderin are abolished and when that proves insufficient the caste laws themselves are outright struck from the country's laws. Entire sections of society are turned over to industry, soon the coasts of south Iteria hum with activity as rounds, tanks, shells and warships are churned out day and night by an endless chain of factories.
Three years follow, three years of violence and sacrifice, Astragon endures and as the war turns against the Na Themba and their Skandan allies, the moment to land the killing blow is chosen. A lightning counter-attack is planned, leveraging the newly minted armoured divisions that the imperial army has painstakingly assembled, the Murabande or mid section of the empire is to be the site of a vast offensive consisting of hundreds of thousands of soldiers, tanks and airmen all seeking to liberate their homes form a nationalistic menace. The offensive catches the unprepared Na Themba off guard and by September of 1949 they have been pushed all the way to the border.
Sakard pushes the Na Themba to a small and relatively insignificant valley at the edge of Mondabaland, a dry and rocky stretch of land known as Kosh Kosad. It is here that the final battle will rage.
On June 14th, 1949, the full might of the Imperial army descends upon the entrenched Na Themba, it is a battle of monumental significance. Thousands die in the first few hours and the constant shelling and aerial bombardment drives countless men insane. Scenes of great heroism will emerge, stories of courage that will remain in the minds of Astragonese people for generations. The Mondabaland Regiment, eager to avenge its homeland, charges and seizes Na Themba trenches armed with bayonets and Asegai’s on three separate occasions and the daring aerial feats of the aviation corp will become the stuff of legend.
Over the course of 120 hours the Na Themba military is isolated and destroyed without mercy, the valley is quickly reduced to a charnel house of burning wreckage and rotting corpses. In the end the banner of Astragon stands triumphant and the Na Themba are so utterly crushed that they will not raise arms against Astragon for decades to come. Oliver Ngeme manages to flee first to Skanda and then Demescia, he will die a decade later in exile.
The Aftermath
The battle is a resounding victory both for Astragon and Sakard himself, with the internal conflict finished he will be able to deploy the countries full might to Iraelia and take the fight to Skanda. But first he has scores to settle, the Na Themba have been a problem for a long time and one he intends to deal with severely. Dr Louis Mojembe of the university of Domesha explains:
“When we consider the history of Astragon and Na Thembaland it has always been the odd tribe out, their language diverges away from the wider Hailakaid people and their culture looks outward toward other sections of the continent for inspiration. By the time of Kosh Kosad they have been fighting the empire for decades, Sakard grew up on stories of how his father was humiliated by the Na Themba, their revolution In 1929 forcing the emperor to make painful concessions to the region. Sakard intended to make these people suffer and I have no doubt he enjoyed the reversal of fortunes and the chance to exact revenge”
As the army enters Na Thembaland Sakard makes a fateful decision, he allows militia forces to run amok in the region without restraint, sending columns of irregulars into the province days ahead of the main army. Nade Kwazatenga leads the bulk of this unofficial army and his actions in the coming days are the stuff of nightmares, author Mandy Bawaseko explains:
“Kwazatenga was not a regular soldier, he was really more of a peasant chief who had cobbled together a rabble with the emperors blessing, his unofficial militia forces had served to slow down and harass the enemy during the years leading up to Kosh Kosad but they were primarily ill disciplined and angry young men from Mondabaland, when Sakard unleashed this force upon the province he was essentially condemning thousands to death and torture”
Three days pass as the militia’s loot, kill and burn everything in their path, entire villages are depopulated, and the smoke can be seen for miles in every direction. Infuriated by this Field Marshal Abashad Kevshah decides enough is enough, Dr Louis Mojembe:
“When we think of Sakard theres two schools of thought, apologists will claim that the emperor had little choice in his actions, that the militia were a force that could be spared to enforce occupation whilst the field army was send abroad to Iraelia, the other school of thought though takes In my opinion a more realistic view
Sakard was infamous for his harshness and his tendency to take black and white views of justice, he modelled himself in many ways after the Maliks in the Shaddaist writings and considered his rule divine and rebellion against said governance a mortal sin. Sakard knew the horrors the militia would perpetrate, he wanted Na Thembaland to know the price of defiance.
His brother, Abashad was a very different man, a professional soldier and a person who prized honour above all else. When the news of massacres reached his ears the field marshal did what he believed to be right and defied the emperor in the process”
Abashad Kevsha marches his army in Thembaland, militia caught engaging in looting and killing are hanged from Baobab trees. In the space of a week, he executes some 300 men including Kwazatenga. Order is restored and by the time Sakard can react the marshal and his troops are safely across the border in Iraelia. This defiance will cost the marshal, in years to come his brother will ensure he is all but exiled from court, he will not speak his name for decades and only Abashads death in 1969 will prompt rare moment of remorse as the emperor weeps at his funeral. For now, though the marshal's defiance has paid off and the advance on the holy land can begin.
Conclusion
The Murabande offensive is a resounding success, Astragon’s army has evolved from an antiquated force into a modern military capable of challenging any on the continent. Sakard secures himself the title “Lion of Kosh Kosad” and even his fiercest critics will struggle to separate this achievement from his less idealized truths. The cost is high, in the aftermath it is estimated some 50,000 people are murdered in Na Thembaland and the political repression that will be unleashed on Iteria’s oldest empire will only grow more brutal as the years pass.
Next time on Erasian History:
Sakard rules over his empire with an iron fist, trade unions and dissenters are massacred, he harnesses the power of the nuclear age to secure his rule and has no qualms about sending his son to die in a wasteful war across the border.
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UNCLE GUNNAR
"Guess who's coming to Dinner!"
"Olaf Gunnar is a over the hill Prydanian software developer suffering from chronic depression and loneliness in the wake of his contract forcing him to move to Astragon, Bill "Zik" Azikiwe is a hot shot graduate of Tyrooz U who has no time for Gunnar's ponderous and folksy ways. When a series of chaotic events end with the two sharing dinner at Zik's family home a new lease on life is offered to the lonely Prydanian"
Streaming exclusively on Bvundza the show is already generating rave reviews:
"August Pernar's performance as uncle Gunnar manages to be comical without becoming a caricature and also vulnerable without becoming melancholy" -Tyrooz Daily
"Witty, full of cross-cultural jokes and also a heartfelt commentary on the struggles of expats, Uncle Gunnar is probably Clara Ambode's greatest work since King Mittens!" - Iterian Writers Weekly
"Hilarious! the lobster roll episode had me in stitches! Also love how Zik and Gunnar take turns at being the straight man!"-Vuvuzela
Trailer:
Zik: Now remember, you are just a colleague who i am giving a lift home
Gunnar: Got it, in and out, ill use the bathroom, call a taxi and be out of your hair!
(Mama Zik opens the door!)
Mama Zik: Oh hello! is this one of your friends Zik? He simply must stay for dinner!
Zik: what could possibly go wrong....
(Montage of chaos as lobster rolls explode, the two fight over a hard drive and run through the streets of Tyrooz being chased by a crowd of people in animal costumes)
Uncle Gunnar now playing every thursday at 10 AM
Only on Bvundza the home of Iterian classics!!!
"Guess who's coming to Dinner!"
"Olaf Gunnar is a over the hill Prydanian software developer suffering from chronic depression and loneliness in the wake of his contract forcing him to move to Astragon, Bill "Zik" Azikiwe is a hot shot graduate of Tyrooz U who has no time for Gunnar's ponderous and folksy ways. When a series of chaotic events end with the two sharing dinner at Zik's family home a new lease on life is offered to the lonely Prydanian"
Streaming exclusively on Bvundza the show is already generating rave reviews:
"August Pernar's performance as uncle Gunnar manages to be comical without becoming a caricature and also vulnerable without becoming melancholy" -Tyrooz Daily
"Witty, full of cross-cultural jokes and also a heartfelt commentary on the struggles of expats, Uncle Gunnar is probably Clara Ambode's greatest work since King Mittens!" - Iterian Writers Weekly
"Hilarious! the lobster roll episode had me in stitches! Also love how Zik and Gunnar take turns at being the straight man!"-Vuvuzela
Trailer:
Zik: Now remember, you are just a colleague who i am giving a lift home
Gunnar: Got it, in and out, ill use the bathroom, call a taxi and be out of your hair!
(Mama Zik opens the door!)
Mama Zik: Oh hello! is this one of your friends Zik? He simply must stay for dinner!
Zik: what could possibly go wrong....
(Montage of chaos as lobster rolls explode, the two fight over a hard drive and run through the streets of Tyrooz being chased by a crowd of people in animal costumes)
Uncle Gunnar now playing every thursday at 10 AM
Only on Bvundza the home of Iterian classics!!!
Nev
Registered
[The scene opens in the roaring Axefell Arena, the crowd packed and frenzied. Spotlights sweep the crowd. A bombastic guitar riff echoes through the sound system. The camera pans down to the announce table at ringside where two veteran broadcasters are ready to call the action.]
JOËL REUTER (gruff, fired-up tone):
“Welcome back to Meterra Championship Wrestling! I’m Joël Reuter and joining me, as always, the man who still wears a crown to bed—Jean-Luc Junker!”
JEAN-LUC JUNCKER (laughing high-pitched, cocky tone):
“Wait a minute! That’s not a rumor, Joël! I got the royal sheets to go with it!”
JOËL:
“We are moments away from what’s being called a disciplinary hearing—but make no mistake, folks, this is going to be anything but orderly. The Front Office has ordered Malrik Vox to answer for his attack last week on ring officials, security guards, and—if you count the catering truck—pretty much everything that moved backstage.”
JEAN-LUC:
“You leave catering outta this! All those mashed potatoes! Gone! Wasted!”
[A sharp cymbal crash. Lights dim to an angry red glow. “No Heroes Left” by Bleeding Valor hits. Malrik Vox walks out slowly, dragging a steel chair behind him, scraping it against the metal ramp. He's shirtless under a tattered leather vest. His eyes scan the booing crowd like he’s memorizing every single insult. He walks with that kind of swagger you only get after knocking out four people in a hallway with a trash can.]
JOËL:
“And there he is... Malrik Vox. The Renegade. Unrepentant. Unhinged. Unwelcome.”
JEAN-LUC:
“I dunno Joël... he’s kinda got a certain charm! I mean, yeah, he powerbombed a referee into a janitor's cart, but who hasn’t wanted to do that?”
[Vox slides into the ring, sets the chair down, and sits backwards on it, staring at the stage with a crooked grin. A pause. Then: orchestral music blares. “Symphony for Dominion” hits. Out walks General Manager Cordwyn Alric, flanked by two stern-looking security officers in body armor. Alric wears a navy suit and a lapel pin shaped like a gavel. His expression is pure fury.]
JOËL:
“That’s Cordwyn Alric, and he’s about the only man in Meterra who hasn’t taken a bump from Vox in the last month. But he’s marching down here like he’s ready to fix that.”
JEAN-LUC:
“He’s got backup, though! Joël, look at those guys! They look like they’re about to install martial law in the locker room!”
[Alric climbs into the ring slowly. The two guards remain outside, watching. Alric stares Vox down. Vox doesn’t move.]
ALRIC (into mic):
“Malrik Vox. This isn’t a match. This isn’t a brawl. This is a reckoning. Last week, you assaulted three officials, destroyed $14,000 in broadcast equipment, and hit a cameraman so hard the lens embedded in his jacket.”
[Crowd cheers at the recap.]
VOX (grinning, leaning into mic):
“Wasn’t my fault, Cordy. The camera got too close to the truth.”
[Crowd oooooohs.]
ALRIC:
“You want to be a martyr, Vox? That can be arranged. You’re this close—this close—to being banned from every Meterra-sanctioned building from Axefell to Highgate. But I’ve got an alternative. Since you want to tear through everything in your path... I found something that might just tear back.”
[Alric gestures to the stage. Silence for a beat. Then the lights cut out entirely.]
JOËL:
“Wait, what—what’s going on—?”
JEAN-LUC:
“I DON’T LIKE THIS, JOËL! I’M ALLERGIC TO THE DARK!”
[A thunderous tribal drumbeat begins. Smoke erupts on stage. A hulking figure steps through—face covered in tribal-esque paint, shoulders wrapped in thick iron chains. It’s The Obelisk, the silent, towering enforcer from the Caliphate in Iteria. He’s six-foot-eight, bare-chested, body scarred, eyes locked like a predator.]
JOËL:
“BY THE AXE OF JARN! THAT’S THE OBELISK!”
JEAN-LUC:
“Do you know how many people it takes to build an obelisk?! AND IT ONLY TOOK ONE TO DESTROY ME! NO THANK YOU!”
[Vox stands. The chair clatters behind him. He smirks. Walks to the ropes and leans on them, staring The Obelisk down. No fear. Just tension. Electric. The Obelisk walks slowly to ringside, then climbs onto the apron and steps over the top rope. The two stand face to face. Vox says nothing. Obelisk doesn’t blink.]
ALRIC (shouting):
“Two weeks. Great Arlon Bash. Vox vs. Obelisk. No count-out. No DQ. No escape. This is your judgement.”
[Alric drops the mic. Walks out. Obelisk still hasn’t spoken, hasn’t moved. Vox nods once... then throws a punch.]
JOËL:
“Vox throws the first shot—NO! Obelisk catches it!”
JEAN-LUC:
“HE’S GOT HIM BY THE THROAT! HE’S LIFTING HIM—”
[Obelisk hoists Vox up with two hand and slams him down with a chokebomb. The ring rattles. Vox rolls, coughing, stunned—but laughing. Blood oozing out of his gums. Smiling. Obelisk backs away, still silent.]
JOËL:
“GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY! The Obelisk just planted Malrik Vox through the mat!”
JEAN-LUC:
“Joël, I think he likes it! He’s laughing!”
[Vox crawls to the ropes, wipes the blood from his lip, and wipes it across his leather vest. He mouths something—camera zooms in.]
VOX (barely audible):
“Make it hurt.”
[Camera cuts to black mid-crowd roar. Static hits, then a graphic appears on-screen: “GREAT ARLON BASH – THIS SUNDAY.”]
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Nev
Registered
[Opening Match – Meterra Championship Wrestling – One Fall]
[The show opens with roaring cheers inside the packed Axefell Arena. The camera sweeps past waving fans, homemade signs ("FACEBREAKER TIME!" / "LOCKE FLIES HIGH!") and settles at the announce table where JOËL REUTER and JEAN-LUC JUNCKER are ready for action.]
JOËL (excited, fired-up):
“Welcome back to another wild night of Meterra Championship Wrestling—I’m Joël Reuter joined by Jean-Luc Juncker—and we are kicking off tonight with a clash of styles if I’ve ever seen one!”
JEAN-LUC(grinning):
“Oh ho yeah, Joël! We got bricks vs. birds! A wrecking ball of fists going up against a human slingshot!”
[Suddenly, gritty blues-metal riff hits. Lights strobe amber and red as BRIAN GOWER walks out. Stocky and broad-shouldered, Gower wears taped fists, black trunks with “GRIT” stitched in dull silver, and a sleeveless denim vest with blood-red “GOWER RULES” on the back. He doesn’t play to the crowd. He stalks.]
ANNOUNCER (ring mic):
“The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first—from Trenchmouth Flats, weighing in at 238 pounds—BRIAN GOWER!”
JOËL:
“He’s not flashy, he’s not pretty, but you don’t want to meet Brian Gower in a bar... or a dark alley... or even a well-lit sidewalk.”
JEAN-LUC:
“He once headbutted a guy for using his gym locker. The guy was his cousin, Joël!”
[The lights cut to a cool electric blue. Electro-synth pop hits. The crowd cheers as ADAM LOCKE sprints through the curtain, pumping his arms, finger-guns blazing, energy bouncing like a ping-pong ball. He wears silver and blue tights, long wrist tape, and a beaming grin. He tags hands on the ramp and climbs the turnbuckle in one leap, saluting the crowd with both arms outstretched like wings.]
ANNOUNCER:
“And his opponent—from Zephyr Grove, weighing 188 pounds—ADAM LOCKE! ”
JOËL:
“Locke is lighter, quicker, and absolutely fearless. If there’s air above him, he’s gonna use it.”
JEAN-LUC:
“Yeah, but if there’s a jaw in front of him, Gower’s gonna punch through it!”
MATCH STARTS
[Bell rings — DING DING DING!]
JOËL:
“Here we go, folks! Gower versus Locke — grit meets flight! Let’s see who sets the tone for tonight!”
JEAN-LUC:
“Joël, if this goes more than five minutes, I’ll eat your headset. Gower’s gonna flatten this boy!”
[Gower steps forward slowly, fists up. Locke bounces on his heels, hands low, eyes locked on Gower’s shoulders. Lock-up in the center ring — Gower bullies Locke into the corner with raw power. Ref counts to four before Gower gives a mocking pat to Locke’s chest and backs off.]
JOËL:
“That’s intimidation—Gower’s making a point early.”
[They circle again—Locke feints a lock-up, darts under with a leg kick, then a second, then a spinning back kick to the ribs. Gower grunts, throws a haymaker—Locke ducks—knife-edge chop!—then another—then a backflip off the ropes into a headscissors takedown!]
JEAN-LUC:
“Hey! Hey! He’s not supposed to move like that! That’s cheating gravity!”
JOËL:
“Gower wants a collar-and-elbow, but Locke’s not giving him the grip—quick drop step—Locke with a leg kick—whoa!”
[Locke dives into a low basement dropkick to the shin—Gower stumbles—Locke springboards from the ropes—arm drag! Gower rolls up—Locke hits another springboard—missile dropkick!]
JEAN-LUC:
“He’s bouncing around like a caffeinated squirrel, Joël! I love it!”
[Locke sprints—goes for a running shooting star press—Gower rolls out of the way—Locke crashes stomach-first—crowd groans—Gower immediately dives into a mounted barrage with his elbow, driving sharp, hard forearms into Locke’s neck and shoulder.]
JOËL:
“And there’s the concrete fists! Gower doesn’t do finesse—he hurts!”
[Gower yanks Locke up—belly-to-back suplex—then holds on and deadlifts into a backdrop driver!]
JOËL:
“GOWER WITH A DEADLIFT DRILL! Right into the canvas!”
JEAN-LUC:
“That ring's got padding, but that just means you bounce before you bruise!”
[Cover attempt—Locke kicks out at two. Gower grimaces, pulling Locke by the hair, setting him for a short-arm clothesline. Locke ducks—spins behind—pushes Gower chest-first into the turnbuckle! Locke leaps—dropsault into Gower’s back! Locke kips up—crowd cheers! Locke hits the ropes as Gower struggles to get up—springboards—flying crossbody! Gower catches him mid-air—powers him into a slam! Gower hooks the leg—ONE—Locke kicks out.]
JOËL:
“You can’t outfly a brick wall. Gower absorbed that and slammed it back!”
[Gower grabs Locke by the wrist—short-arm clothesline—Locke drops—but Gower keeps the wrist, yanks him up again—another clothesline! Still holds wrist—drags Locke in—belly-to-belly suplex with a snap! Gower covers again—TWO.]
JEAN-LUC:
“That suplex sounded like a car crash in a gravel pit, Joël!”
[Gower gets to his feet, slow, methodical. Stomps Locke’s shoulder. Then the ribs. Then pulls him up by the hair into a sickening body shot! Locke reels—Gower hits a spinebuster with such torque Locke bounces. Crowd gasps. Gower sits up, staring coldly at the ref.]
JOËL:
“Pure malice from Gower—Locke’s gotta create space, or this ends early.”
[Gower pulls Locke up for a vertical suplex—gets him vertical—Locke knees him in mid-air—once—twice—lands behind Gower! Locke runs—rebounds—low dropkick to Gower’s knee! Gower buckles—Locke hits the ropes—Shining Wizard!]
JOËL:
“Locke finally finds a gap! Gower’s rocked—he’s down!”
JEAN-LUC:
“Only way to get a man like Gower horizontal is to chop him down like a tree—and Adam Locke just found the axe!”
[Locke climbs the ropes—springboard moonsault—lands it! Quick cover—ONE—TWO—Gower shoves him off with sheer power. Locke hits the turnbuckle but rolls to his feet. Gower rises slowly—Locke runs—Gower counters with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! Locke’s back folds! Gower hooks both legs—TWO—and a half!]
[Gower lifts Locke up to his feet and hooks his arms in a double underhook—lifts for a tiger driver—Locke kicks free mid-air—lands on his feet—jumping enziguri! Gower staggers—Locke hits a springboard tornado DDT!]
JOËL:
“SPINNING THE BIG MAN DOWN! LOCKE’S IN CONTROL!”
[Locke hits the apron—springboard dropkick! Gower stumbles out of the ring. Crowd rises. Locke sprints full speed—dives through the ropes—tope con hilo! Both crash into the barricade! Fans explode!]
JEAN-LUC:
“OH COME ON! That’s not a wrestling move! That’s a cannonball! Where’s the sanity!?”
[Ref starts the ten count. Locke up at five. Rolls Gower into the ring—climbs to the top—goes for the Shooting Star Senton—Gower rolls away! Locke crashes stomach-first again!]
JOËL:
“High risk—no reward! That crash might’ve cracked a rib!”
[Gower uses the ropes to pull up. Sees Locke gasping. Grabs him—lifts him in a fireman’s carry—spins into a gutbuster over the knee! Locke flops! Gower picks him up—hangs him in the ropes—slingshot DDT! Gower covers—ONE—TWO—NO! Locke barely kicks out!]
[Both men are breathing heavy. Gower wipes sweat from his brow—shakes his head—grabs Locke by the jaw and slaps him across the face. Locke’s eyes go wide. Gower pulls him in—reverse facelock!]
JEAN-LUC:
“Wait—wait—he’s going for it! It’s Concrete Kiss time!”
[LOCKE spins out! Lands behind—hits the ropes—springboard cutter! Crowd ERUPTS!]
JOËL:
“He escaped the finisher! Locke’s still alive!”
[Locke climbs top—points to the sky—crowd on its feet—he leaps—Shooting Star Senton—HITS! Locke hooks both legs!]
REF:
“ONE! TWO! THR—NO! GOWER KICKS OUT!”
JEAN-LUC:
“WHAT!? What is this man made of!? Steel and grudge!”
[Locke, wild-eyed, slaps the mat—climbs again—goes for a second—Gower stumbles up—jumps to the ropes—PUNCHES LOCKE IN MID-AIR! Locke crumples over the top rope! Gower climbs second rope—pulls Locke up—top-rope facebreaker DDT position!]
JOËL:
“Wait—wait—is he going for it from the top!?”
JEAN-LUC:
“Oh my sweet carnage!”
[GOWER LEAPS—CONCRETE KISS—FROM THE SECOND ROPE! LOCKE’S FACE SNAPS AGAINST HIS SHOULDER—FLATTENS on the mat. Gower sprawls over him, forearm across the face.]
REF:
“ONE! TWO! THREE!”
[DING DING DING]
ANNOUNCER:
“Here is your winner—BRIAN GOWER!”
[Gower rises, cracking his knuckles. He doesn’t celebrate. He just stares down at Locke, expression unreadable. Then he leaves the ring without looking back.]
JOËL:
“Brian Gower just silenced the sky. He cut the wings off a high-flier with one move.”
JEAN-LUC:
“And I think he cracked the mat in the process! Joël, I don’t think Locke even knows what planet he’s on!”
JOËL:
“We’re just getting started tonight! Stay tuned—more Meterra action still to come from Axefell Arena!”
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