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SWF LOCKDOWN!!!! (February 18, 2002), And here we go!
Guest_TheBostonStrangler_*
post Feb 18 2003, 09:10 PM
Post #1





Guests






Triple Threat Hardcore Match for the Number One Contendership to the HCG Title!
Annie E vs. Jay Dawg vs. Stryke
Annie E came up a little short last week in her quest to regain the Hardcore Gamers Title from decidedly unhardcore Judge Mental. If she wants another shot she’ll have to earn it, and why not make this a bloodbath for the ages? Three of the greatest Hardcore champs ever in the ring at the same time, but only one will move on to face the Judge!
RULES: Triple threat hardcore rules, which is to say none. Pinfalls count anywhere, no dq, no countout. Ropes will not break submissions. First fall wins, NON-ELIMINATION.
Word Limit: 5000
Send to: Suicide King

Tag Match
Judge Mental and Ejiro Fasaki vs. Longdogger Pete and Wildchild
Johnny Dangerous had to go do something spy-related, but LDP graciously volunteered his aid to Wildchild. Now “Long and Wild” will face the M7 team of Fasaki and Mental, with the winners going on to face Mak Francis and CIA next week for the number one contendership to the tag titles! It’s clear that the M7 has the support of the Commish though, but LDP and the Bahama Mama got that mad mojo, playa!
RULES: Normal tag match, DQ and countouts are in effect.
Word Limit: 4500
Send to: Grand Slam

Singles Match
Perfect Bo vs. “The Superior One” Tom Flesher, a World Tag Team Champion.
Flesher wanted a tag match, but his partner had ICTV obligations. No need to fret Tom; there’s a large angry black man, not Thugg, who wants to hurt someone real bad! You can wrestle him! Perfect Bo wants to show the world that he is the baddest man in the fed, and what better way than kicking the Superior One’s ass all over Memphis?
RULES: Normal singles match, countouts and DQ's are in effect.
Word Limit: 4750
Send to: chirs3

Threeway Elimination US Title Match
”The Franchise” Mak Francis vs. Fugue vs. Michael Craven
Mak showed the world that he had what it take to be a champion by defeating the now-absent Danny Williams. Fugue showed he could play with the big boys by taking Magnifico to the limit last show. Craven talks a lot. So let’s make Mak’s first defense a memorable one as he faces two equally capable challengers. Will Deathwish make his presence felt tonight?
RULES: Standard rules, but all three men in the ring at the same time. A person can be eliminated by countout, pinfall, DQ, TKO, or submission.
Word Limit: 5500
Send to: Grand Slam

The Main Event
Singles ICTV Title Match!
Frost © vs. CIA
Frost has laid down the law! He will be a fighting double champion, and the first person he looks to bulldoze over is CIA, who just lost a title match to him last week! Sadism and hossness form a strange symmetry in our Icelandic friend. CIA for his part is looking for a little redemption here, and a chance to show the fed that he has what it takes to play with the big boys! Well, here’s the biggest boy we got CIA! Have fun!
RULES: Standard singles match. Countouts and DQ's are enforced.
Word Limit: 6000
Send to: TheBostonStrangler
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Guest_TheBostonStrangler_*
post Feb 18 2003, 09:11 PM
Post #2





Guests






The screen lights up and the camera is already circling the Pyramid, from Memphis Tennessee! The opening promo may have caught some of the signs, but they still search for some more, signs such as "The Suicide King is the real King of Memphis!" and a sign with Annie Eclectic and her Kendo sword swinging down at the head of Judge Mental, with the words "Your days are numbered!" inked in a blood red shade. Before Riley and Stevens can shill that they are back on the air, the fans raise up to their feet in cheers as the Jay Gordon remix of Linkin Park’s ”Points of Authority” kicks up. After a few moments of the crowd getting hyped for some hardcore action, Stryke slowly walks out of the entranceway, orange and white pyro spraying up from each side of the stage.

Stevens: "And we are back here at SWF Lockdown! It is time for our opening battle! Stryke is coming down at the moment, and this man has been having a solid return to the SWF!"

Stryke briefly stops at the top of the ramp to soak up the cheers of the crowd, before making his way down.

Funyon: "Ladies and Gentlemen... the following contest is scheduled for one fall and is under hardcore rules for the hardcore title! Introducing first... hailing from Sydney Australia! He stands at Six feet Three inches and weighs in at 218 pounds... STRYYYYYYYKE!!!"

As Funyon finishes his spiel, Stryke quickly slides into the ring getting to his feet rather fast and preparing for the upcoming match at hand. He considers making a move to the outside, but decides against it.

Stevens: "It looks like Stryke wants to bring in a weapon pretty early. I'd actually say that's a good idea, with his two weapon happy opponents!"

Riley: "Especially with this next guy coming out!"

As Stryke stands in the center of the ring, high above his head, deep into the roof of the pyramid, thousands of tiny fireworks explode around the rafters and entrance ramp. The fans all stare in awe at the fantastic pyro display as the lights go out...

"THIS


IS


MAH


HOUSE!!"

The extremely loud pre-recorded voice of Jay Dawg echoes throughout the arena. The heavy beats of Rammstein's 'Du Haste' plays without the lyrics as the volume thunders itself 360 degrees all around the arena.

Riley: "Jay Dawg was the unlikely victim to the tag team of Wild and Dangerous on Smarkdown... and I can give you my word that he is in nothing but a foul mood after doing the job to those two rookies."

Stevens: "I have no doubt in my mind that you are right. Jay Dawg has an extremely bad temper for situations like that... and being placed in an environment that made him famous can not be good. However if he wins this match, I'd love to see him lay a hardcore bruising on our current hardcore champ. Judge Mental has slipped the grasp of one Annie Eclectic on many occasions!"

Jamie Drazon steps through the curtains, his head remains down. He walks to the top of the ramp, slowly raising his head. With his eyes closed, he glares straight at the man known as Stryke, ignoring the highly negative response from the thousands filling the pyramid. He lowers his head again, although not before planting a smile without good intentions all over his face.

Funyon: "and his opponent! He hails from Vancouver, British Columbia! He stands at Six feet Four inches and weighs in at 243 pounds... JAMIE 'JAY DAWG' DRAZON!!!"

Jamie slowly makes his way down the ramp, upon ringside he slides into the squared circle. He stands up shortly after and places his hands on his thighs, slowly cricking his neck as he absorbs the wave of boos. He proceeds to rest in the turnbuckles, keeping his "eye" on Stryke while waiting for Annie. "I Get Wet" by Andrew W.K. plays, taking over "Du Haste" as the lights in the arena dim, a red spotlight shining at the top of the Ramp. The song goes on until the synthetic trumpets play, before Annie bursts out from backstage at a full run as the thrash guitar takes over. Her Kendo stick in hand, Funyon says his bit as she runs down the ramp.

Funyon: "And their opponent! She hails from Indianapolis, Indiana! She stands at Five feet Six inches and weighs in at 175 pounds! She was one of the final three in this year's Cluster<BEEP>! ANNIE ECLECTIC!!!"

Annie dives into the ring, keeping her Kendo stick in hand. Stryke gives her the courtesy and exits the ring, but Jay Dawg isn't as polite, remaining in the corner. Annie plays to the crowd inside the ring as she swings her bokken around above her head. The crowd gives her a nice pop as the hardcore queen keeps her eyes on the hardcore king.

Stevens: "These two actually have quite the history! All summer, Annie had tried to get a hold of the hardcore title, but the extremely dominant reign of Jay Dawg just wouldn't let her break his streak! She's not the only one as current ICTV champion Frost and Michael Craven in his gimmick as Ash Ketchum also tried to stop!"

Riley: "Remember when Ash ate that urinal cake... ha ha ha!"

Stevens: "Nonetheless... Jay Dawg may have had a dominant run... but as evident on last Smarkdown and this year Clusterfuck... he is considerably rusty in a wrestling match."

Riley: "I have to agree, it was a huge disappointment that he had to job to Wet and Dangly back on Smarkdown."

Annie removes her Japanese style trench coat, revealing her button up shirt and brown slacks. Stryke decides to slide back into the ring, and the ref decides that this match shall start. Three rings later and it is now anything goes!

Stevens: "This is definitely a harsh match to predict. Annie could be considered the favorite, considering her raw determination and desire to be the hardcore champ. Jay Dawg can easily be a favorite, seeing as we don't know how well he fights hardcore! Then of course there is Stryke... who with a win here can definitely give him some momentum."

Riley: "He might want some of Jay Dawg anyway... especially with the lumping JD gave him at Clusterfuck!"

The referee stands in the fourth corner, as the three wrestlers have taken over the others. All three can be seen deciding their strategies. Annie gives a wink to Stryke, only to run at Jay Dawg with her Bokken. She swings down hard with the painful weapon, but Jay Dawg sidesteps the blow. Instead of countering Annie, he charges at Stryke, diving at the hardcore Aussie with a forearm. The blow connects and knocks Stryke back into the ropes. Jay Dawg quickly turns around, facing Annie E, and makes a charge for his former nemesis. Annie is most pleased at Jay Dawg's predictable attack, as she swings her bokken like a baseball bat...

SHWOOOSH WHACK!!!

Right into the mid-section of Jay Dawg! The blow puts JD in the air for a second, but he lands on his feet. Annie chops the stick down like an axe.

SHWOOOSH WHACK!!!

She connects painfully in the forehead of Jay Dawg. Remembering the lack of mercy she was shown mere months ago, Annie continues, swinging her stick two more times. A connection in the head and then the top of the shoulder later, and Jay Dawg still doesn't fall. Stryke feels it's his turn, and dives at Jay Dawg, returning the flying forearm he received earlier. The blow knocks Jay Dawg into the ropes. Agreeing to gang up on Jay Dawg, Annie and Stryke both grab a wrist and Irish whip Jay Dawg to the ropes. A bounce back later, Annie and Stryke hold the kendo sword out horizontally between them, and with the assistance of it, double clothesline JD into the mat! Jay Dawg hits the mat hard, but sits right up, clearly pissed off. He gets to his feet, but Stryke leaves his own to plant him with a dropkick. The impact shoots Jay Dawg through the ropes.

Stevens: "It looks like they want to gang up on Jay Dawg!"

Riley: "They all want to gang up on Jay Dawg!"

Jay Dawg spills through the ropes, landing on the ring apron, he uses it's assistance to land on his feet on the outside and reaches inside for the legs of someone close. Annie takes a step back, dodging easily; Stryke takes a more effective approach. He grabs the top rope and slingshots himself over, vaulting himself on top of one Mr. Drazon. Jay Dawg makes an attempt to catch him, but there's no chance as Stryke's weight plows him into the mat! The crowd gets loud and rowdy at the minor aerial display of Stryke.

Stevens: "And it's been taken to the outside!"

Stryke rolls off of Jay Dawg, but brings his hardcore foe to his feet. Annie steps through the ropes, and instructs Stryke to hold Jay Dawg down. Stryke double chickenwing the arms of Jay Dawg. Annie holds her sword above her head, and jumps off the apron. Jay Dawg revives himself enough, and drops down to his knees, despite Stryke's tight chickenwing hold. The weight of JD forces Stryke to bend over, but hangs onto the hold. It's too late for Annie though, as she bashes the bokken down into the rear of Stryke's noggin.

Stevens: "Jay Dawg broke free from that chickenwing in what may have been an effective counter, it definitely wasn't painless... that had to wrench both of his arms!"

Stevens is indeed correct, as Jay Dawg shows significant pain in his left shoulder. Annie swings her kendo sword straight for it, but Jay Dawg turns his back to it.

WHACK

However he only regrets it, as the pain now transfers to his back. Jay Dawg doesn't clutch at his back, walking away from his abusive competitor. Jay Dawg takes a small rest on the guardrail, resting his back and arms on it. Annie stays on him though, ready to swing her patented weapon. Jay Dawg doesn't seem to have the energy to move, as Annie chops it down, directly for his shoulder. Jay Dawg makes a half assed attempt at moving, it's enough though, as the bokken barely misses his body and smashes into the railing. Suddenly, Jay Dawg kicks the sword out of Annie's hands, sending it into the ring. Before Annie can retaliate, Jamie swings his leg out, spinning 180 degrees, and smashes his heel into her jaw with a reverse spinkick! The crowd boos loudly at Jay Dawg's sudden advantage. He charges forward, and swings his left arm out, smashing it into Annie and knocking her down hard with the lariat. The blow makes him clutch his shoulder though.

Stevens: "It looks like the sudden shoulder attacks may be bothering Jay Dawg!"

Riley: "Not to mention those peckerheads Wet Dreams worked on it last Smarkdown."

Stryke is at his feet finally after taking the harsh bokken blow. Jay Dawg assists Annie to her feet. He scoops her up halfway, and then drops her ribs first on the guardrail. Annie bounces off the railing and curls up into the floor, clutching painfully at her already battered ribs. Stryke is promptly on top of Jay Dawg after he drops Annie, feeding him a pair of right hands. Stryke winds up for a third right hand, but JD is quick to counter. He ducks the blow and wraps his arm over Stryke’s chest. JD proceeds to hook onto his leg, and powers the 218 pound Aussie over his head, throwing him into the crowd with a T-Bone suplex! The crowd all bail as Stryke’s body hits nothing but empty chairs. Memories of the violence flood back to the crowd as they begin cheering for the destruction. Jay Dawg looks into the crowd, snarling at the body of Stryke, which lays half on and half off the broken chairs. He snarls at his Aussie foe and turns back to the one lying in front of him.

Stevens: “An amazing suplex by Jay Dawg! Stryke has to be feeling the pain there!”

Riley: “And now he’s got the fresh pickings for Annie Eclectic!”

A sadistic smile spreads over the face of Jay Dawg as he looks down at Annie, clutching her ribs. Jay Dawg pulls her to her feet, and thrusts his knee straight into her ribcage. Jay Dawg keeps her standing, as he scoops her onto his shoulder and walks toward the ring. On the right hand side of the ramp, Jay Dawg begins to move faster, dashing for the ring pole with Annie’s ribs prone on his shoulder. Within feet from smashing her ribs dead, Annie breaks free, sliding off of Jay Dawg’s shoulders and shoving him straight into the ring pole! SMACK!! Jay Dawg’s left shoulder sickly smacks into the unforgiving steel. Jay Dawg clutches at it in pain and a blood thirsty Eclectic is ready to pounce.

Stevens: “Jay Dawg looked to put Annie away for good with that ring pole, but it certainly backfired!”

Riley: “These two have proven time and time again that a ring pole will never take them out of the fight!”

Stevens: “An excellent point my broadcasting colleague!”

Jamie staggers forward but Annie is able to catch him in moments. She grabs onto his left arm, and before JD can strike, pulls him toward her and clotheslines him down hard. Annie kneels down and turns her attention to the ring, reaching underneath of the apron. She proceeds to pull out a steel chair, much to the delight of the fans. As JD lies on the mat, she places the chair over his face, and slides inside the ring. The hardcore queen sprints to the ropes, bouncing hard and returns only to see her chair fly into the ring. Annie stops running as the chair lands in front of her, puzzled, she slowly walks to the ropes to see Jay Dawg returning to his feet. Irritated, she reaches down and grabs the ponytail of Jay Dawg. She pulls him up to the ring apron, only to have a pair of hands latch over her cranium. Jay Dawg drops straight down, hanging Annie over the top rope. His ponytail has been broken and his hair merely dangles over his shoulders. He kneels down and reaches under the ring apron himself.

Riley: “Yes! Jay Dawg is about to get violent!”

Stevens: “He sure had a reputation for finding new ways to make a weapon!”

Jamie reaches around, and a smile on his face lets the crowd know he’s found what he wants. He pulls out a giant glass tube, with a branch of glass sticking out near the bottom. He holds the artifact high in the air with a mischievous smile as the crowd can clearly see what it is.

Stevens: “Ummm…”

Riley: “Heh heh heh! Go Jay Dawg!”

Jay Dawg slides into the ring as many fans are now cheering for him, while others are utterly repulsed. Jay Dawg continues to smile as he pops a lighter out of his pocket and instantly sparks it up. He sticks his mouth in the branching part of the bong, and starts to inhale. The crowd can’t believe what they are seeing as Jay Dawg is toking up in the center of the ring.

Stevens: “I would like to inform the crowd that it is cigarette smoke in that smoking device.”

Riley: “Bullshit.”

Stevens: “We might be having technical difficulties soon, folks!”

Stryke can be seen returning to ringside, and sliding under the ring apron himself. Inside, Jay Dawg finally finishes his toke, his cheeks beat red as he holds in his hoot. The crowd can’t believe what they just saw as JD exhales a thick cloud of smoke. Suddenly, in a surprising display of courtesy, Jay Dawg passes the bong to Annie. Confused, she accepts the bong, and then points behind him. Jay Dawg turns around, and there stands Stryke, with a fire extinguisher in hand. To woozy from his toke to even attempt an attack, Jay Dawg is victimized by the cloud of anti fire smoke. The audience laughs at Jay Dawg’s misfortune as Annie holds the bong in her hands, and maliciously swings it down hard over the head of Jay Dawg! Upon impact, the glass shatters everywhere as Jay Dawg falls to the mat. Annie proceeds to drop to her knees and make the academic cover.

One…

Stryke looks down at Eclectic trying to steal this match in front of him.

Two…


TH…No, Stryke pulls Annie off by the leg.

Stevens: “Annie seems to forget that this is a triplethreat match!”

Well aware that is was perfectly legal, Annie still isn’t too happy. She gets right up and into the face of Stryke, bits of glass, the fire extinguisher, the sword, the chair and the fallen body of Jay Dawg surround them. Although similar builds, Stryke is slightly higher as he looks down into her eyes. Annie swings first, connecting with a fist to Stryke’s jaw. Stryke retaliates with a right hand of his own. They start to exchange blows as the crowd eagerly waits to see who will come out on top. Stryke takes a smarter strategy, realizing Annie will never stop hitting him as long as he takes it. He ducks her next swing, and grapevines his right leg to her right, and drives her down into the mat with an STO.

Stevens: “Stryke with the upperhand!”

Jay Dawg begins to stir. Stryke reaches down for Eclectic, but the feisty Angel grabs his hair and pops him with a punch to the face. She gets up and instantaneously kicks Stryke in the face with a superkick! Stryke falls down hard and Annie hooks his leg for a cover moments later.

ONE…




TWO…




Stryke thrusts his forearm up hard and into the mid-section of Eclectic. She nearly breaks the cover but holds on for the pin…





THREE…NOO! Stryke kicks out anyway, barely getting his shoulder off the mat.

Stevens: “Stryke although hasn’t been involved as much, certainly has been on the defense end.”

Riley: “A lot must have been taken out of him from that suplex!”

Stevens: “And how about that Eclectic! She held onto that pin, despite the sacrifice on her body.”

Stryke gets up faster then Annie and goes directly to pick her up. He drops her down hard ribs first over his knee with a gutbuster. Annie gags out in pain from the blow and begins to crawl away. Stryke delicately walks toward her, he reaches down and cradles both her head and her legs, and somersaults over top of her, before rolling her up with an amateur cradle.

ONE…



TWO…



THR…as if the hardcore queen would get pinned by a gutbuster, in other words, shoulder up!

Stevens: “Stryke with the close fall!”

Jay Dawg is nearing his feet; small amounts of blood are dribbling from his forehead. Stryke lets Annie crawl away and turns his attention to Jay Dawg. His hardcore foe stumbles around, trying to regain his balance. JD is always ready to fight though, swinging a half assed punch at his rival, but Stryke easily ducks it. Stryke uses the momentum to duck down and lift Jay Dawg up onto his shoulders with a fireman’s carry. He swings the Canuck off his shoulders and lets him fall facefirst into his kneecap. Jay Dawg’s head bounces off the knee, but he remains on his feet as he staggers around like a drunk. Stryke slips behind him and locks on a sleeper hold, and drops down to the mat with the Sleeper Drop! As Jay Dawg’s spine smashes into the mat, Stryke reaches for his right leg, pulling it back and spreading his body over Jay Dawg’s with the cover.

ONE…



TWO…



THREE…NO!! Jay Dawg strongly breaks the pinfall attempt. He rolls over to his hands and knees, and crawls into the corner. Stryke returns to his feet and looks down at the nearby chair. He picks it up as a large smile spreads over his face. The crowd starts to get excited, but a couple of slaps on the chair by Stryke get them going strong, applauding for the Aussie. Stryke runs to the corner, straight for Jay Dawg, but Jay Dawg hops to his feet, bursting out of the corner and leaps into the air… spinning 360 degrees…

SMAAAAAAAAAASH!!!

A scintillating chair assisted Thai roundhouse kick knocks the life, blood, and maybe a few chunks of teeth out of Stryke. The chair remains stuck to Stryke’s face, leaving a small imprint on the other side as he falls to the mat.

Stevens: “OW!!! That had to do nothing but plain old hurt!”

Riley: “You can say that again… but I on the otherhand… plan to watch that again!”

A replay of the move pops up onto the screen, live with sound and everything, except the sound in the replay just doesn’t have the same impact or echo. Jay Dawg’s hostility only does one thing, he stares down at Stryke, and for the first time since his return, opens his eyes. The camera catches the sparkling blue which hides so much aggression, and some of the fans are chilled, as JD maliciously peels Stryke off the mat and scoops him onto his shoulder. He powers the Australian up off his feet, having him remain inverted to the mat. The fans start to erupt in cheers, confusing Jay Dawg as they have never cheered his violence. He finally sees what they are cheering at… Annie Eclectic is standing in front of him, with her kendo sword in hand. JD visibly curses, as his eyes pierce into Annie E. She grins wickedly before raising the sword and slicing it down into Jay Dawg’s cranium!

SMACK!!

Jay Dawg remains standing with Stryke on his shoulder. “Bitch!” is all Jamie can shout out in a weak exhale. Jay Dawg drops straight to his knees!

SMASH!!

TOMBSTONE PILEDRIVING STRYKE INTO THE STEEL CHAIR!!!

Stevens: “Oh my god! Despite taking that vicious bokken shot, Jay Dawg tombstoned Stryke into that chair!”

Riley: “Look at the dent that one left!”

Annie is not shocked at Jay Dawg’s resilience though, as the man stands on his knees. He holds up his hand and invites Annie to give him another shot. She gladly obliges, raising the bokken and striking down like an axe!

SMACK!!

Connecting cleanly with Jay Dawg’s left shoulder! Jay Dawg instantly clutches his shoulder in pain, resting his forehead into the mat as his arms are demobilized. Realizing that Stryke’s body state is cataleptic, Annie sees a golden opportunity with the wounded Jay Dawg. She holds her arms out for a second, stalking JD as the crowd goes nuts. She proceeds to hop onto his back and hooks her arm behind his left shoulder, and grips onto his face! Jay Dawg knows from first hand experience that he is in the Crossface Chickenwing, and immediately starts to flail. Annie tries to close the hold for the clutch but Jay Dawg keeps moving, somehow getting to his feet.

Stevens: “Annie looked to finish it with her patented Crossface Chickenwing Clutch!”

Riley: “But Jay Dawg will have none of it!”

JD starts to twirl his body into Annie’s, wrapping his arms around her waist. He proceeds to lift her up, but the young Carnie member hooks onto Jay Dawg’s shoulder, and with a simple armbar, kills the aggression in Jay Dawg’s lift, lowering her down to the mat. She pulls him into a standing headscissors, and double underhooks both of his arms, and the crowd loves it!

Stevens: “Annie is looking for that Daybreak pedigree, and the Pyramid is demanding it!”

With his right arm, Jay Dawg breaks it free and swings it directly into Annie’s ribcage, winding the current Carnie. Annie releases the underhook, and Jay Dawg once again wraps his arms around her waist. JD proceeds to squeeze with a bearhug, taking the life out of her ribs. Jay Dawg follows it up by lifting her high and throwing her over his head with a belly to belly suplex! Annie bounces off the mat hard and Jay Dawg instantly regrets his choice of moves, clutching desperately at his shoulder.

Stevens: “Jay Dawg nailed that textbook belly to belly suplex, but looks to be paying the price for it!”

Jamie stumbles around the mat, letting his left shoulder hang limp as he basically declares it dead. Jay Dawg reaches down and grabs the bokken with his right arm, raising it once and slightly shows off as he rotates it in a full circle. He holds the kendo sword above the fallen body of Eclectic.

Riley: “Payback time now, bitch!”

Jay Dawg raises the sword as high as his right shoulder can lift it, and whips it down into the back of Eclectic! The sickening smack gets the crowd going strong, booing the hardcore bastard. He shakes his head as he mercilessly swings the sword down again, smashing it sickly into Eclectic’s back.

Stevens: “Jay Dawg has lost it! He’s now just looking to murder Annie and Stryke!”

Riley: “Good! Two less pains in the ass to deal with!”

The crowd is visually repulsed as Jay Dawg makes Annie his little whipping doll. JD raises the cane once more, and strikes down but Annie rolls out of the way! The audience most appreciates the last display of effort as Annie returns to her feet. Jay Dawg swings the cane with his right arm, but Annie ducks, hooks her shoulder into his left armbar and pressures him down to the mat with an armbar takedown! Annie is swift as she applies the fujiwara armbar, pressuring down into Jay Dawg’s shoulder and elbow.

Stevens: “As well documented… Annie picked that move up from Danny Williams and it just might be what it takes to put away Jay Dawg’s tender shoulder!”

Riley: “Like Jay Dawg will EVER tap out?”

Jamie grips onto the mat, digging his nails deep into it’s padding. Annie’s grip begins to loosen as she attempts to put more pressure on the hold, and Jay Dawg pushes up and rolls forward. Jay Dawg returns to his feet and gingerly sidesteps Annie and applies a rear waistlock. Annie grips her hands onto Jay Dawg’s wrists, breaking free of the waistlock and rolls behind Jay Dawg. She refuses a waistlock and hooks her arms into Jay Dawg’s with the Crossface chickenwing!

Stevens: “She got it again!”

Riley: “I swear to you, that woman is like a pit-bull with a bloody lockjaw!”

A shot of Stryke is shown as he starts to roll off the chair, pulling it into his hand which makes it rest on his face/chest. The Crossface is starting to have its effects on JD, as he starts to slow down in his fight back. Annie grins at her opponent slowly giving in to her might. Jay Dawg suddenly straightens out, standing as tall as he is allowed, and shoots his leg back…

DING(Does it make that sound?)

JD flat out boxes Annie Eclectic and the ref can’t do squat! The audience goes nuts as Jay Dawg twists around, locking on a rear waistlock with Eclectic. The fans only pray that Annie will return the favor, but their prayers aren’t answered as Jay Dawg throws Annie high into the air and over his head… with so much force that SHE BACKFLIPS IN MID AIR!!!

SMASH!!!

ANNIE ECLECTIC IS GERMAN SUPLEXED FACEFIRST ONTO STRYKE!!!

Stevens: “Jay Dawg just suplexed Annie out of her boot! Now she’s on top of that chair and Stryke with a pin!”

Riley: “Oh my god, Jay Dawg doesn’t see it!”

Riley’s fears are correct, as Jay Dawg falls down onto the mat, sitting down as he clutches his shoulder in pain. Annie passes out on top of the chair, and the ref looks at it like a cover.

ONE…




TWO…



Jay Dawg sits up, realizing the count is going. He turns around and sees what I going on.





THREE!!!

Jay Dawg clubs Annie in the back of the head a nanosecond too late! The crowd goes nuts as Annie rolls out of the ring, despite being kicked in the head by Jay Dawg. Annie raises her arm on the outside as she clutches the back of her head.

Stevens: “Jay Dawg just unwittingly gave Annie the win!”

Riley: “I don’t believe it! That was robbery! Jay Dawg had the both of them beat!”

Jay Dawg goes insane, kicking the ropes and stomping the mat, Funyon’s spiel is only adding to the fire.

Funyon: “The winner of this match and once again the number one contender to the hardcore title! ANNIE ECLECTIC!!!”

The announcement only pisses Jay Dawg off even more. He demands that Funyon give him the mic, and the ring announcer happily obliges. JD pulls the mic up and is ready to shout at Annie, but changes his mind upon seeing Stryke moving.

"More bad news, Stryke." Jay Dawg growls as he pulls the Aussie into a standing headscissors over top of the chair.

Riley: "Damn rights it's bad news!"

Stevens: "Come on now! The match is over!"

Jay Dawg crosses Stryke's arms over his throat, leaps into the air...

SMASH!!

...and demolishes him facefirst into the steel chair! Jay Dawg stands up as Stryke lays limp in the middle of the ring, his face imprinted into the chair and shards of glass surrounding him. JD raises his arms only to get a loud wave of taunts and jeers from the Tennessee natives.

Stevens: "A sick display by Jay Dawg here!"

Riley: "It is not! He had this match won! He has every right to be pissed off!"

Stevens: "Whatever! Hopefully the commissioner will punish him for his actions tonight!"

Riley: "Yeah right."
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+Quote Post
Guest_TheBostonStrangler_*
post Feb 18 2003, 09:12 PM
Post #3





Guests






“Well, we’ve just cleaned up after one heck of a battle to determine the number one contender to the hardcore gamers title,” exclaims Mark Stevens. “So what better than to start the next match featuring the champion of that division, Judge Mental as he teams with Ejiro Fasaki to take on the team of Longdogger Pete and Wildchild. And so without further ado, let us get to the ring and get this match underway. Take it away Funyon.”

“HERE WE ARE! BORN TO BE KINGS, WE’RE THE PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE…”

With that a series of red and blue pyrotechnics explode high in the air and light up the arena as the time keeper rings the bell, signaling Funyon to begin his opening spiel...

“The following tag team match is set for one fall! Making their way to the ring at a total combined weight of 430 pounds. They are representatives of the most dominant stable in the SWF today, the Magnificent Seven, the team of SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion Judge Mental and Ejiro Fasaki!”

On the ramp, the technical wizards themselves step out from behind the curtain wearing black Magnificent Seven T-shirts. As the two men walk down the ramp, the two of them take their time to taunt the Memphis residents nearby; causing the fans’ boos to only rise in intensity. Stepping up to the apron, Mental looks out to the crowd as Ejiro climbs up to the middle ropes behind him to provide the fans with one really menacing photo opportunity as Stevens and Riley ramble along in their trademark style.

“You know I still think this is just about the harshest punishment that The Suicide King could have levied on these guys. It’s just not fair for those two to be in this match,” remarks Bobbie Riley, which in turn gets an interesting stare from Grand Slam.

“What are you talking about, Riley? These two guys are friends and work great together if past performance is really any indication. Personally, I thought King was going to have them wrestle each other in a ‘Hair vs. Hair’ Match. I think Ejiro and The Judge are really counting their blessings right now to actually get an opportunity like this one.”

“Who mentioned Ejiro and Judge? I was talking about Wildchild and Longdogger Pete, you moron. Those two suck so hard that the Magnificent 7 is just going to massacre them here in Memphis. This is the most colossal mismatch since Tom Flesher wrestled anyone.”

“It wasn’t such a mismatch two weeks ago when The Magnificent Seven lost to the team of LDP, Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous in that six man tag team match.”

"You will get yours...
you will get yours...
you will get yours...
you will get yours...

YOU WILL GET YOURS!"

After the fifth repetition of the opening line, an explosion of white fireworks goes off on the stage, as the entranceway fills with smoke. That is until Pete steps through the smog and wastes little time getting to the ring, walking down the ramp with one arm raised in anticipated victory. Yet he still finds the time to slap a few of the closer outstretched hands of the crowd as the lyrics continue on...

"You have no right to calm me down
You were never that around
And I have missed

Cold contagious
All the mighty mighty men
What you save is what you lose out in the end
Cold contagious
Cold contagious...!"

The lyrics die down as Longdogger waits outside the ring for his partner to make his appearance. But he and all of us don’t have long to wait until “The Everlasting Gaze” by Smashing Pumpkins begins to play. The crowd erupts as the well-toned body of Wildchild appears on the entrance ramp, rolling out and leaping back up to his feet at the center of the stage. He jogs down the ramp, nodding his head in sync with the beat of the music, before stopping right next to the massive Longdogger. With that, the partners both step into the ring together to a massive cheer.

Stevens says, “Well, it looks like the crowd is really into this duo! With Johnny Dangerous out for some unspecified reasons for the time being, Wildchild may have found the perfect replacement in Pete.”

“If by ‘perfect’ you mean ‘Run-down, injury-laden cripple who is long past his prime’, then I have to agree,” counters the always lovable Bobby Riley.

“Pete is in pretty good condition for what happened to him during the summer, and I certainly wouldn’t call him a cripple. Where the heck did you get that idea?”

“People on the Internet told me. They’re always right. I even met this guy named ‘Superior Stretch’ who likes Tom Flesher just as much as I do! We are going to meet in person real soon. Lord, I hope it doesn’t turn out that its some teenage belly-shirted girl when I’m expecting a overweight middle aged man with a receding hairline.”

At that disturbing remark, we cut back over to the ring as Wildchild steps into the ring for ‘Long and Wild’ and Ejiro takes center stage for the Magnificent Seven. But Ejiro is just not all that interested in restarting the rivalry from the SJL and immediately begins whining about wanting to face Pete in the center of the ring. But the focused Judge simply yells out to Fasaki with his bullhorn of a voice to just stick to the game plan. Satisfied to stick to Magnificent Seven business for now, Ejiro walks out to the center of the ring and waits on the Bahama Bomber to make a move. But before the ref can even signal for the bell, Wildchild also comes out to the center of the ring…


… and offers his hand out as a show of good sportsmanship to Ejiro?

“Well, after so many brutal battles between these two, it looks like Wildchild wants to move on to bigger fish.”

“Yeah, I suppose after getting squashed by one guy so many times you’d want to be destroyed by someone else for a change. How many times can you get stretched out before you want someone to just beat you bloody for a change?”

Ejiro cautiously approaches, looking nervously at the outstretched hand of the Bahaman Bomber, as Wildchild shakes it once, trying to get the Sarasota native to commit to the hand shake. Finally, Ejiro acquiesces and gives Wildchild’s hand a firm shake…


And immediately kicks Wildchild right in the jimmies!

“I guess we should have seen that coming.”

“Probably… but I think it’s best that it happened this way.”

Ding Ding Ding!

Before Ejiro can do anything else illegal before the match officially begins, Matthew Kivell signals for the bell, and the match is on! Now longer technically allowed to kick Wildchild low, Ejiro immediately wraps his arms around the cranium of the staggered Wildchild and takes a headlock. He wrenches the hold left and right to get Wildchild slightly off balance before arching his own head back. Screaming about a hair pull, Ejiro causes Kivell to check behind the pair of workers but there is no simply rules violation to witness there. Only if Kivell would have stayed where he was could he have seen Ejiro grab Wildchild by the hair and snap him to the ground as the crowd expresses their displeasure with a rush of boos.

“The tap out is imminent here, Mark, I can feel it!”

“… Bobbie, it’s a headlock.”

“I know! I can’t believe he’d go for it so early on in the match, but I guess that shows how talented the guy is.”

Regardless, Wildchild continues to suffer minor head trauma as Ejiro torques away on the hold like a pro, but the determined high flyer is able to bring himself back up to his feet again, and he begins to back up towards the ropes. He hits the middle of the ropes by the heel corner, and with a mighty ‘OOF!’ he throws Ejiro off running at the other side of the ring. Stepping towards the center of the ring, Wildchild leap frogs over a charging Ejiro with ease and hits the far ropes for more momentum. On the rebound, Ejiro attempts to take the Bahama bomber down with a clothesline but Wildchild easily dodges underneath and continues to try and up the tempo of this contest. But the aged Judge Mental has other plans as he drops down to the floor and from the outside grabs one of Wildchild’s feet bringing him crashing to the mat face first! Ejiro simply continues on his path back towards Wildchild and executes a snapping elbow onto the head of Bahama Bomber.

Stevens remarks, “It looks like Judge and Ejiro are intent on keeping Wildchild on the ground any way they can here tonight. And they are certainly not above cheating in order to get that advantage either.”

Ejiro gets back up off the mat and quickly picks Wildchild up before dragging him over into the Magnificent Seven’s corner. Ejiro harshly slams his foe’s braided head right down on turnbuckle with as much venom as he can muster and Wildchild’s head bounces right off the turnbuckle like a super ball. But Ejiro doesn’t stop there, and continues slamming his opponent’s head again and thrice against the turnbuckle! Wildchild’s legs wobble a bit after having his face slammed into the corner, and he is unable to do anything as Ejiro holds him tight and quickly tags off to Judge Mental. Stepping through the ropes, Mental almost casually drives a boot into the exposed chest of his opponent before Ejiro is forced out of the ring at the command of the referee. Hauling the stunned high flyer off the canvas, Judge Mental tosses his smaller adversary into the canvas with a hard slam. Hitting the ropes for a little extra steam, Mental drops down hard with an elbow smash to the chest. Moving back up to his feet with one fluid motion, Mental again hits the ropes and once again smashes down across the Bahama Bomber with an elbow. Hopping up with vigor uncommon for a man of his age, The Judge hits the ropes once more ... before hitting the canvas with his face!

“Mental gets a taste of his own medicine and I love it!” calls Stevens as a wily Longdogger Pete reaches out from the floor and trips up the hardcore champion.

“What are you talking about,” replies Riley, “How can you and these Memphis meatheads be so proud of your heroes as they break every rule in the book and twice on a Sunday!”

Getting to his knees, Judge turns around and points a finger right at the smiling Longdogger as Wildchild rolls up to his feet behind his opponent. Finally turning his attention back to the person in the ring, Judge is met right in the face with a hard sidekick from Wildchild that sends him falling all the way down to the mat! As LDP climbs back up to the apron and takes a hold of the tag rope, the veteran reaches out and makes the tag for his slightly more winded partner. Stepping over the ropes, Pete collects Mental and immediately starts to right his bell with a bounty of overhand rights to the head that drive Mental back against the ropes. Tossing the Magnificent Seven member into the ropes, Pete lifts his boot up high and catches Mental right underneath the chin with a boot that sends Judge flopping across the ring and to The Magnificent Seven corner. Reaching over the ropes, Fasaki tags himself into the ring as Pete watches on with a bemused expression. Charging into the ring, Ejiro leaves himself wide open as Pete turns suddenly and sends his smaller adversary over with a tight hip toss. Fasaki rises up again and is once more taken to the mat with simplistic ease. And while Pete pulls Ejiro up once more before dropping him right down with a Manhattan drop, Judge Mental is hatching a desperate plan of his own devising.

“What the devil,” begins an already indignant ‘Grand Slam’, “I think Judge Mental is trying to detach the tag rope from the turnbuckle. What do you think he is up to Riley?”

“I think I notices that Mental’s boot was a little loose, he’s probably going to ... put the rope in his tights to keep them on... yeah...”

Sneaking the rope away, Judge Mental awaits a chance at revenge on the Longdogger as Pete continues his assault on Ejiro Fasaki with a running lariat to the chest. Pulling Fasaki up once more, Pete ducks low and pulls his opponent up on his shoulders before falling backward with all of his weight and crushes Ejiro with a tremendous Samoan drop. Reaching backward, Pete hooks a leg as Judge Mental and Wildchild watch on from the apron.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOO!

Streaking a shoulder up and away from the canvas Ejiro escapes the pin and keeps the match alive for his team for the time being. Once more, Pete pulls Fasaki up to a vertical base and calls out Wildchild to put a knee over the top rope. Taking Ejiro by the hair, Pete rams him into the knee of Wildchild before reaching over and making the tag. Leaping over the top rope as Pete pulls Ejiro up into a bear hug, Wildchild quickly hits the ropes for a head of steam. Flying back on the rebound, The Bahama Bomber catches a defenseless Fasaki across the brow with a leaping spin wheel kick while at the same time Pete crushes him down with a spinebuster slam!

“What a double team maneuver by the team of the Wild Doggahs!” concludes Stevens as Pete voluntarily leaves the ring as Wildchild continues his attack on the Magnificent Seven.

Not satisfied with the damage he has done to Ejiro thus far, Wildchild hits the ropes once more before bringing down all of his weight on Fasaki with a rolling senton bomb. Rolling right up to his feet, Wildchild doesn’t even bother to look backwards before propelling himself into the air once more with fluid ease and coming down on Fasaki with a standing moonsault press. Hooking both legs as tightly as he can, Wildchild tries to keep his former nemesis on the canvas as Kivell counts away.

ONE!

TWO!

THRNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“A thrilling combination of splashes by Wildchild is still not enough to keep the tough as nails Fasaki pinned to the mat,” says Stevens. “What do you think Wildchild and Pete need to do to keep their opponents down for the three?”

Slapping the canvas in a mild bit of frustration, Wildchild still keeps his mind on his business as he pulls Ejiro off the mat in order to keep the contest off the mat. Winding Ejiro up in a wristlock, Wildchild opens up his opponent for a series of quick slapping kicks across the chest. With Fasaki almost totally deprived of any wind, Wildchild tosses him across the ring and into a neutral turnbuckle with an Irish whip. Hitting the buckle at full speed with his back, Fasaki slumps in a corner as Wildchild gets a bit of momentum going and unleashes a dropkick to the cornered Ejiro. But there is a slight problem with Wildchild’s choice of attack, that Ejiro is no longer in that corner.

“Mental pulled Fasaki out of the corner!” shouts Stevens as Wildchild crashes into the buckle. “And now Wildchild has tied himself up in the tree of woe! Can you believe that Riley?”

Slumping to the corner, Ejiro still manages to pull the referee’s attention away with some high intensity complaining as Judge Mental puts the plan into action. Using the tag rope he had removed earlier from The Magnificent Seven’s corner, Mental strangles the prone Wildchild from the apron as the fans roar in protest. As a matter of fact, they aren’t the only ones to raise a stink as Longdogger Pete immediately makes his way into the ring immediately to protest this action. But the referee, who only seems interested in removing Pete from the ring, immediately cuts off the imposing veteran. Judge Mental continues to choke away for a few seconds more before leaving the tag rope on the floor and climbing back up to the apron to receive a tag from the extremely tired Fasaki. Stepping into the ring, Mental watches on as Kivell finally finds the time to free Wildchild from the tree of woe and send him down to the canvas. Staggering up to his feet as quickly as he can, Wildchild fights to keep from getting taken down to the mat by the technically advanced Mental. But that will not save Wildchild as Mental easily tosses him right into the ropes and catches him around the throat on the rebound with a chinlock. Using his weight advantage, The Judge forces Wildchild down to the mat and holds him down there as Ejiro takes care of some business on the arena floor.

“It looks as though Fasaki is retrieving the tag rope that Mental used so effectively earlier... but I think LDP has something to say about that!”

Leaving his corner, the powerful Longdogger comes streaking around the ring in order to intercept Ejiro and possibly remove that tag rope from this match. But once again, Referee Matthew Kivell is the only man in the ring that can stop Pete’s path of rage. Sliding out of the ring, the referee stops Pete’s advance and attempts to force him back out to his corner as Fasaki slides into the ring. As Judge Mental forces Wildchild to a seated position, Ejiro slides in alongside his partner and wraps the rope around Wildchild’s throat once again. And as Judge Mental rolls out of the ring, Fasaki conceals the rope with what appears to be a perfectly legal reverse chinlock. Returning to the ring, Kivell slides into position to check for a submission as Fasaki covertly chokes away on his opponent to the fury of the Memphis faithful. Slowly cutting away all the air to Wildchild’s lungs, Fasaki almost laughs as he slowly forces Wildchild ever closer to an unconscious state.

“This is ridiculous! Fasaki and The Judge are using that rope illegally and Kivell could not be any more clueless if he was Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick.”

Regardless of the intelligence level of the referees employed by the SWF, Ejiro still has a rope wrapped around Wildchild’s throat and is slowly forcing him into dreamland. Sagging under the lack of oxygen, Wildchild slumps to the mat as Kivell checks in closely for any sign of life. Finding none, Matthew nonetheless goes through the motions of lifting Wildchild’s arm to see if he is still with us.

ONE!

“If that arm falls two more times, this match is going to be over just like that! What a travesty of justice that would be!”

TWO!

THRNAHHHHHHHHHHWAAAYYYYYYYYYYY!

Using his last bit of energy, Wildchild keeps his arm from falling to the mat once again and costing his team the match. Finally fighting up against the pressure, Wildchild starts to work his way back up to his feet in order to fight off the pressure that is wrapped tightly around his jugular. Battling to his feet, Wildchild turns into Ejiro to relieve some of the pressure around his throat and get himself into position to fight his way free. Using this position, Wildchild drives an elbow deep into the breadbasket of his foe as Fasaki struggles to hide the evidence of his foul play from the referee’s watchful eye. Pulling the rope free of Wildchild’s windpipe, Ejiro slyly under hands the illegal weapon to Judge Mental (who casually sneaks the rope underneath his kneepad) as Wildchild continues to elbow his way free. Finally having an opportunity to make his escape, Wildchild heads into the ropes for some momentum only to get cut off with a striking knee strait to the chest that sends the Bahama Bomber flipping back towards the center of the ring. Reaching over to his partner, Ejiro makes a tag out to Judge Mental in order to catch his breath and get a fresh pair of hands onto Wildchild’s winded body.

“See Stevens, The Magnificent Seven know the fundamentals better than any other group in wrestling. They know how to cut a ring in half, how to isolate an opponent, and how to keep the fresh man in the ring at all times.”

“How to choke a guy out with a tag rope?”

Pulling Wildchild into a corner, Mental reaches down into his kneepad and retrieves the rope once more out of the line of sight of the referee. Coyly wrapping it across his fist, Mental slowly grinds the nylon cord into the eyes of the suddenly screaming Bahama Bomber as LDP seethes in his corner, knowing that getting into the ring would not help Wildchild one bit at this point. But still Kivell’s five count finally causes Mental to release Wildchild and allow him to fall to the center of the ring as Mental slides the rope back into his tights once more. Almost laughing at Wildchild’s attempts to stand, Mental clobbers the smaller man with a huge right hand across the bride of the nose that sends Wildchild falling back down to the mat. Shuffling his feet back and forth, Mental calls Wildchild to rise once more as Ejiro Fasaki looks on from the apron with a smile on his lips. Once again, Wildchild rises and once again Mental is there to send him back to the mat with a devastating haymaker punch to the head. But this time, it takes a fraction of the time for Wildchild to rise back up to his feet. Looking mildly concerned, Judge Mental slams his fist into Wildchild once more... but this time Wildchild merely wobbles and refuses to fall. Another punch and Wildchild just stands there! Right, right, right from Mental and Wildchild does the one thing you never want to see happen in Memphis!





HE SLAPS DOWN THE STRAPS!





The Memphis crowd ROARS as Wildchild blocks the next blow and smashes into Mental with one of his own. Another block and Wildchild sends Mental rocking back on his heels before Wildchild sends him winding back to the ropes with a flurry of punches that sends the crowd into what we in the business call a tizzy. Grabbing Mental by the arm, Wildchild tries to send him flying across the ring with an Irish whip but the heavier Mental manages to reverse the whip and send Wildchild in instead. But Wildchild is who he is for a reason, and as he steps seamlessly to the middle rope everyone knows something big is coming. Turning and rising all the way to the top rope, Wildchild catches a charging Judge Mental around the head before driving him down strait on his head with a Rey Mysterio frankensteiner! Unable to hold onto the cradle, Wildchild instead pulls his worn and beaten body across the mat in order to make that one final leap and make that one difference-making move!

“Wildchild makes the tag!” screams Stevens as Longdogger Pete comes storming into the ring with vengeance on his mind.

“BOOM!” sounds the crowd as LDP’s fist makes contact with Judge Mental’s scalp and sends the member of The Magnificent Seven crashing to the canvas. “BOOM!” resounds once more as Pete turns in time to catch a charging Ejiro Fasaki with another one of his patented shots. Grabbing the rising Fasaki by the hair, LDP almost casually dumps Ejiro right over the top rope before going back to work on his legal foe. Getting a head of steam going, Pete runs right over Mental with a running clothesline! And then another! And then a third crushing blow sends Mental careening to the canvas in a heap as Pete raises an arm into the air to the Memphis crowd. But it is where Pete puts that hand which provides the greatest interest to Riley.

“OH MY GOD! BEST MATCH EVER!” screeches Riley as Pete places his hand down the front of Judge Mental’s tights.

“For the love of...” groins Stevens. “He’s going for the tag rope you sick bastard.”

Indeed. Pete pulls the rope that has been causing his teammate so much anguish in this match and holds it high to the delight of the fans. That delight rises to near nirvana as LDP tightly wraps the chord around the gullet of Judge Mental and chokes away within the clear view of the referee, who immediately struggles to get Pete to release the hold. Finally allowing a groggy Mental free to fall to the mat, Pete tosses the rope into the crowd of passionate observers before going back on the assault. Taking Mental by the head, Pete bounces The Judge off the top turnbuckle as Ejiro comes into the ring from behind. But it is a futile gesture as he is immediately cut off with a sidekick from the restored Wildchild that sends Ejiro falling into the ropes. Trying to keep control of this match, Kivell immediately tries to push Wildchild back to his corner as Pete takes Mental back down to the mat with a big boot to the head. But the real story is that Fasaki is still down and oddly enough digging into his boot...

“He’s got that chain again! He used that on LDP just last week and he’s brought it with him tonight as well!”

Pulling Mental up once again and cinching him up for the Longdogger Clogger double arm DDT, Pete has no idea that Ejiro is even there before he feels the taste of metal colliding with the back of his head once again. As Ejiro tosses the chain away, he is tackled by a vengeful Wildchild and taken all the way out of the ring as Judge Mental is left alone with a Longdogger who is just about out on his feet. The Judge looks to put an end to that whole ‘on his feet’ thing in just a second. Pulling Pete’s head down between his legs, Mental jerks him high into the air and drops him down with the most feared maneuver in Memphis history!

“PILEDRIVER!” shouts Stevens as Pete’s head collides with the mat as the crowd lets loose a horrified scream as one. Judge Mental reaches over and hooks a leg as Kivell turns to the action and counts...

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING! DING! DING!

“It’s over! Judge Mental and Ejiro Fasaki are going on to face Mak Francis and CIA to get a shot at the World Tag Titles!” cackles Riley.

“I’m not sure those two could have cheated anymore in this match if they just shot Pete and Wildchild. This is a disgrace, and Ejiro using that chain is starting to become way to common an occurrence.”

“I’m sure The Suicide King will look right into that... BWAHAHAHA!”

“With that in mind... it’s time for a commercial... we’ll be right back.”
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+Quote Post
Guest_TheBostonStrangler_*
post Feb 18 2003, 09:13 PM
Post #4





Guests






Fade in on the Pyramid in Memphis, Tennessee. Fans are holding up such signs as “LDP Fears Tag Ropes,” “Frost Fears Canadian Immigration” and “Bo Fears Angina.” As the camera sweeps over the crowd, which is chanting “GRAND SLAM! GRAND SLAM!” for no readily apparent reason, it finally settles on the SmarkTron, with “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley seated at the announcers’ table in front of it.

“Welcome back to SWF Lockdown,” says Stevens. “Fans, we’ve got a fairly serious situation on our hands this week. One of our stars has suffered a fairly severe heart attack, and we’re frankly very certain that we’re not going to be able to put on one of our matches. Nonetheless, Perfect Bo is in the building, and his family is in the front row here tonight.”

The camera pans by the ring, where a very nervous Lwanda and an obliviously happy three-year-old Alex sit. Lwanda ignores the camera entirely, while Alex waves and says, “Fee’betta, Daddy!”

“That’s just bullsh*t, Stevens,” growls Riley. “These fans paid to see Tom Flesher destroy Perfect Bo, and these fans are going to get to see it whether the doctors like it or not.”

“This is why we don’t give you that front office job you keep asking for,” sighs Stevens. “And besides, Tom Flesher doesn’t NEED a personal assistant, much less a professional asswiper.”

“Listen, I’m just trying to make things easier on him.”

“Jesus, Bobby,” growls Stevens, “it doesn’t matter! Let’s just get Flesher out here, give him his forfeit and get the US Title match going.”

Funyon stands in the ring, and announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to announce that one of our superstars has fallen ill. However, Tom Flesher has INSISTED that we award him a forfeit victory in the ring, so… soon to be making his way to the ring, from Buffalo, New York, and weighing in at 213 pounds, I give you ‘The Superior One’ Tom Flesher!”

“This is just despicable,” says Stevens, before getting cut off by the BOOM! of the stage lighting up with a blue explosion. With that, Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” begins to blare over the Pyramid’s sound system, and the crowd starts a deafening chorus of boos. After a moment, Tom Flesher steps through the curtain and onto the stage, clad in his standard blue warmup suit with his SWF Tag Team Title belt slung over his shoulder. Smirking with a look of great satisfaction on his face, Flesher struts to the ring as the screen shows half-second clips of his favourite moves cut with the words “SUPERIORITY COMPLEX,” “MAGNIFICENT SEVEN,” “AWARD-WINNING” and “KING’S ROAD.” Once he finally gets to the ring, Tom walks up the stairs with a bounce in his step, wipes his feet off on the ring apron and centres himself in the ring just in time for “Kashmir’s” symphonic hook. As Flesher’s customary blue and white fireworks go off, the crowd choruses with a “YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE! *clap clap clapclapclap*” chant, which Flesher meets with a broad, diplomatic smile.

“I can’t believe he’s making the crowd go through all this,” says Stevens. “Doesn’t he have any compassion for what Perfect Bo and his family are going through? Look at the dedication that Lwanda and Alex are showing!”

“Dedication? Hell, they got free tickets. Why would they turn those down?”

As the music fades out, Flesher stands in the center of the ring, and motions for Funyon’s microphone. The crowd continues booing as Flesher pats his Tag Team belt and smirks, then takes a deep breath as if he were savouring the clean air of the country.

“Ah, Memphis,” he says, with the fans completely ignoring his attempt at a cheap pop. “Home to such wrestling legends as Ronnie P. Gosset, Jackie Fargo, and Jimmy ‘Mouth of the South’ Hart… not to mention the Memphis Eel.” The crowd steadfastly refuses to give Flesher the pop that he wants. “Why, I’d say that the best match ever took place right here in this arena… when JERRY LAWLER….” The crowd allows Flesher a slight pop for the King of Memphis. “When Jerry Lawler was DISQUALIFIED for piledriving Andy Kaufman!” He smirks and nods as the crowd boos him loudly, still angry over the match from twenty years ago. “Yes, the one and only legend of wrestling, Andy Kaufman, is undefeated here in Memphis, and much like Andy Kaufman, I have to say, I have TRULY got the brains around here. You see, I’m not going to make Perfect Bo come out here and wrestle me. He can make up all the ‘medical excuses’ that he wants, about heart attacks, and sore chests, and lacking testicles. It doesn’t matter. You, the fans here in … Maimphis, Tain’see… can buy into it all you want, but I’m Tom Flesher! I’m from Buffalo, and I’ve got the brains ’round here. I know better, because I am TRULY the Superior One! So Eddy Long, get your sorry behind over here and raise my…”

The lights dim into a dark blue color, catching Flesher by surprise as the firey red lights illuminate the dimmed arena. The SmarkTron awakens with the words, "Wait is over" as it quickly cuts with scenes of Bo's greatest moments and victories. A loud voice echoes around the arena, saying, "Damn Homie, in Highschool you was man Homie...what the f**k happen you."

Funyon, caught off guard, murmurs, “Uh… making his way to the ring, from the Bronx, and weighing in at 285 pounds… PERFECT BO!!!!!!”

The song "Wanksta" by 50 cent starts to as Bo slowly comes out from behind the curtains into a chorus of boos. Bo has his head down but he slowly raises it up to see the crowd as they boo him with no remorse... all except for a select few who cheer his fighting spirit. Bo looks around with a sly smirk on his lips as he cracks his neck. He slowly descends down the ramp and stops right in the middle. He looks to his left and to his right, he then raises both his hands exposing his middle and index fingers crossed together as his pinky and thumb sticks out leaving the ring finger curled up in his palms. As both arms reaches it peaks, two red pyros blast from the ground into the air as the Tron changes images as two words are implanted on the screen that say "THUG LIFE".

Lwanda and Alex look up, with Alex waving happily at his father. Lwanda simply looks down at her lap, concerned for her husband’s very existence.

Bo hobbles into the ring, as Flesher strips off his warmup suit and sets it down in the corner. Still keeping the microphone, he calmly says, “Cut the music.”

Flesher struts over and looks at the obviously ailing Bo. He looks up, having to crane his neck because of the eight-inch height disparity. Dissatisfied, Flesher shoos Bo out of the way and climbs onto the bottom turnbuckle in order to look his opponent in the eye.

“Bo,” he says, then shakes his head and murmurs, “strike that… Chucky. Chucky, you and I both know what’s going on. This isn’t a silly wrestling angle like Tod deKindes’ knee, this is serious. This sort of sh*t is why Sydney Sky is backstage in a wheelchair, and why Chris Raynor’s booking the fed instead of winning the World Title from that god d*mned pinball, Magnifico. There’s no shame in going back to the locker room right now, because you and I both know that you’re in no condition to fight tonight, so just give me my forfeit and we can all go home happy.”

“I can’t believe we’re even going through this,” says Stevens. “I know Bo’s his own man and there’s nothing we can do to stop him from competing, but why won’t he listen to doctor’s orders? Why doesn’t somebody try to stop him?”

“Flesher IS trying to stop him,” says Riley. “And if this doesn’t work, then Flesher’s going to stop him with a Boilermaker.”

“How can you joke about that?”

“That’s the thing, Mark. I’m not joking.”

Bo simply stares at him, even as pale, sweaty and clammy as he is, and says, “Ring the d*mn bell.”

Eddy Long walks over and looks up at Bo as Flesher steps off the turnbuckle and stretches out. Obviously concerned, Long looks at Bo and says, “Do you understand the risks you’re taking?” Bo nods. “And you’re sure you want to go through with this?”

“I said ring the muthaf*ckin’ bell!”

Long steps away, the matter obviously weighing hard on his conscience. Lwanda looks up, wringing her hands. Long simply calls for the bell.


DING DING DING!!!!!


Flesher walks over to Bo, very businesslike, and without a moment’s hesitation, slaps him across the face open-handed.

*SMACK!!!*

Bo staggers backward as Flesher jumps up and dropkicks him dead-on in the kneecap. Bo tumbles to the mat, unable to keep his balance in the condition he’s in. Flesher rolls on top of him and looks up at the shaken Eddy Long, who drops down and counts,

ONE!


TWO!



THR- NO!!!!!!!!!

“Bo gets his shoulder up!” says Stevens. “Bo’s not going to give up without a fight!”

“What a freaking tool,” says Riley. “Didn’t Flesher talking about Raynor and Sky mean anything?”

“You were right when you said it’s going to take serious measures to stop Bo. Unfortunately for Flesher, I don’t think Bo’s going down easily.”

Flesher looks down at Bo, trying in vain to get his weak muscles to do their work. Flesher lifts Bo up by his left arm and jerks it hard, yanking Bo to his feet and whipping him into the opposite corner. Bo hits hard, grabbing his left arm and screaming out loud. Lwanda stands up, yelling, “HE’S HAVING ANOTHER ONE!!!!!” Nearby security steps in front of her, trying to restrain her from rushing to the ring to check on her husband.

Flesher, meanwhile, charges in at full speed and slams a shotei into Bo’s jaw.

“Come on!” says Stevens. “This isn’t funny!!!!!”

”You’re d*mn right it’s not funny,” says Riley. “Now if only Bo would stop trying to fight back…”

Flesher grabs Bo around the ribs, and with Bo unable to sandbag, arches backwards in a picture-perfect Railgun suplex! Bo hits the mat hard, screaming in pain. Flesher drops onto him carelessly and looks at Long. Long reluctantly counts,

ONE!


TWO!!!



THR--- SHOULDER UP!!!!!!!! The fans explode for Bo’s valiant effort to keep from getting pinned, but both Long and Lwanda are concerned.

“How much longer is this going to go on?” says Stevens. “This is just unfair!”

“Hey, he keeps coming back for more. It’s his own fault.”

Flesher looks up at Long and glowers. Without a word, the Superior One rolls Bo over onto his stomach. Flesher locks his arms around Bo’s waist, then lifts him up with a burst of strength. He arches his back, then pops his hips to send Bo flying through the air and onto his upper back and neck! A loud THUD echoes through the arena, and Bo doesn’t move. Flesher, ignoring that, gets back up. Long tries to stand in his way, but Tom shoves him to the side and grabs Bo in another waistlock. With another strong lift, Tom Flesher hoists Bo into the air, then arches back and pops his hips forward to toss Bo onto his shoulders again with a sickening released German suplex! The fans boo as Flesher gets up, dusts himself off and goes at Bo again.

“Now,” says Stevens, “this is ridiculous! What can Flesher POSSIBLY hope to gain by continuing his assault on Perfect Bo?”

“Listen,” says Riley quietly, almost as if he doesn’t believe himself at the moment, “Bo brought it on himself.” In almost a whisper, trying desperately not to break character by showing sympathy, Riley continues, “Flesher has to show his superiority.”

Flesher’s eyes light sadistically as he goes over and grabs Bo once again. This time, he lifts Bo to his feet before locking on the reverse bear hug… and then ducks his head under Bo’s left arm.

“No…” whispers Stevens. “He wouldn’t.”

Riley, in disbelief, simply refuses to continue.

Bo fights as best he can, trying to flail his limbs, but his muscles refuse to cooperate. Even an attempt to hook Flesher’s leg fails. The Superior One smirks as he lifts Bo high into the air, almost parallel with the mat… and then simply falls backwards. Bo tucks his chin, unable to do anything else to counter, and Flesher spikes Bo neck-first into the mat with a sickening backdrop driver! After a moment to recover from the impact, Flesher rolls away and… gets to his feet.

“Jesus Christ,” murmurs Stevens. “He’s going to try for more.”

Eddy Long stands up and steps in front of Flesher. He warns Flesher not to continue, but he steps forward nonetheless. Long stands his ground, though, and implores Tom to simply go for a pin. Flesher smirks and mouths the words, “Yeah, that’s gonna happen.” Finally, Eddy looks back over his shoulder at Bo’s carcass, spread-eagled on the canvas. He looks back at Flesher, then back at Bo. Wordlessly, Long drops down, kneels on Bo, and waves his hand like a boxing referee.


DING DING DING!!!!!


Funyon catches on quickly. “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match, via referee’s stoppage, ‘the Superior One’ Tom Flesher!!!!!!”

Flesher looks sourly down at Eddy Long, who doesn’t even look back. Rather, Long raises both hands into the air and blatantly, without even trying to disguise it, forms an X. Lwanda looks into the ring, her eyes rapidly filling with tears, but security holding her outside the ring. Flesher continues staring at Bo, contemplating doing further damage… but shrugs and spits into the corner instead. He slides out of the ring, angrily grabs his warmup and Tag Team belt, and starts toward the back.

“Folks, we’re obviously having some technical problems here,” says Stevens, using the announcers’ cover line for a legitimate injury. “Perfect Bo seems to be having some… uh serious problems… and so…”

“Just go to a commercial,” murmurs Riley.

Flesher slings his Tag Team Title belt over his shoulder, and as the medical technicians rush out of the locker room, Tom stands on the stage. One the EMTs clear out, he drops his warmup next to him, raises his arms and spreads them, forming a universal pose of victory as his adversary lays on the mat.

The Memphis fans boo Flesher loudly, screaming vile and profane insults at him as he claims credit for Bo’s current physical condition. As Flesher stands on the stage, soaking up their hatred, SWF Lockdown fades.
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+Quote Post
Guest_TheBostonStrangler_*
post Feb 18 2003, 09:14 PM
Post #5





Guests






“This was a brutal match and Tom came out on top, does this mean what I think it means?” Mark said, knowing that the end is about to happen.

“I really hope not, because Bo really didn’t show any signs of fatigue, he was just out wrestled by Flesher, that’s all. It happens to everyone.” Riley said, hoping that this isn’t the end.

Bo starts to get up from the mat, holding his chest with his left hand and his head with this right hand. He gets to one knee with a face of disappointment as he stares at Flesher going up the ramp. He looks down on the mat and shakes his head. Flesher leaves the area and Bo finally gets to his feet…walking around the ring with a face of disgust. He looks towards his wife that’s at the front row and he sees a tear strolling down her cheek as she carries Alex.

“This really doesn’t look good for Bo, this might be the end of an era.” Riley said feeling a bit sad for what just happen to him.

Bo goes towards the side of the ring and extends his hand through the top and middle rope as he signals for a mike. He receives a mike and walks around the ring a bit before putting the mike around his mouth. He’s breathing hard on the mike as the crowd quiets down to hear what he’s about to say. “You know…” Bo started off, he brings the mike down to catch his breath and lifts it up to his lips to continue. “You know, I’ve been in this business for about 3 years and I’ve seen people come and go…but legends…they stay in people’s mind…forever.”

“Where is this going?” Mark asks.

“I don’t know…if you shut up then you will know the answer for your question.”

“Now, I’m not saying that I’m a legend…I’m not a Edwin MacPhisto, nor a ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens.” Bo said as he pointed to Mark at the announce table. “They were greats, they are legends. I’m just me, and I can’t change that.”

Bo drops the mike down towards his stomach and walks around the ring while looking up at the light. The audience still quiet, waiting for what Bo has to say. Bo raises the mike to his lips again and said: “I will never be classified as a legend, but I just hope and pray that people can remember me as a man that has a heart the size of a watermelon. A man that would do anything to get to the top, a man that went through numerous obstacles to be the man that he is today…Bo.”

“You know, that’s true. He went through a lot back in the day in the JL, in his life, the lost of his brother, legal actions, and to be where he’s at right now is a remarkable thing. Because people that goes through the situation he went through usually end up in jail, in the hospital with mental deficiency, or dead. I commend him.” Mark said, knowing Bo almost as well as anybody in the industry.

“But now, there’s an obstacle that I have to face…my biggest challenge yet. This challenge has forced me………” Bo lowers the mike as well as his head in feeling a shame of himself. He looks up and it’s noticeable that his eyes are watery. He raises the mike towards his mouth and said: “…this is something that’s already hard for me to do, so I’m asking my wife Lwanda to please come up here with me. I need all the support I can get.” Bo waves to Lwanda who’s already in tears as she makes her way to the opening of the barricade and the gate. She carries Alex in her arms as she makes her way up the steel steps. Bo goes towards that direction and stretched out the middle and top rope as he sat at down on the middle rope. She goes through the ropes, clutching the baby tight to her chest…she stands up and waits for her husband to go next to her. He gets to his feet, goes towards her and kisses her and Alex right on the mouth. Bo then turns towards the crown and said: “This is my inspiration…these are my life.”

“Bo is there with his wife and kid…and now this is the time that might change his life forever.” Riley said.

“What you people don’t know is that when I come out here night in and night out…it’s to entertain you.” Bo points at the crowd and gets a bit of a cheer. “I bust my ass every time for you people, some of you hate me, some of you love me. Although, I can assure you that you have respect for me because you always see me giving it my all. The reason why I do this, why I bust my ass for ya is because of them.” Bo turns and points to his wife and kid. “Now, people say that that’s being selfish, no, that’s being a family man. Wrestling is my life…they (Pointing at his wife and kid) are my life, but I have a choice to make. I need to get rid of one of my life and it’s not an easy one to get rid of because I loved it for such a long time.”

Mark looks closely at Bo and then said: “If Bo does what I think he might do…he’s a real asshole.”

Riley just stares at Mark and said: “Whoa…Mark, this is a televised show, and it’s televised for the public…you cannot use those kind of words here…have respect.” Then Riley smiles.

“This is my wife and my baby…this is my life, and without a new heart, I cannot take care of my life. Therefore, I have to retire from the SWF.”

“Well, he did the right thing…and it’s a shame that he has to go. He had a good run, but this is his life and his heart is more important then winning matches.” Mark said with a sigh of relief.

“I hate retiring like this, but this is something that I have to do…this is something that I have to go through because just like my wife said to me before. How can I take care of them if I cannot take care of my self? That’s why I have to quit so I can get a new heart, because if I don’t…I will die.” Bo drops his head down and you can finally see tears dropping from his eyes. He looks up and his eyes are red and watery as tears stroll down his cheekbone. “I get emotional because through out my years in this business, I went through so many things that involved my health and my family…I took this business to the heart and now I have to let it go. You fans, hated or loved me, ya stay true to this company and for that I thank you.”

Bo turns to face the announce table and said: “Mark Stevens, you have been an inspiration for me for a long time. Left me so you can do you and became one of the top stars in the business, we’ve had battles and at times I hated what you did to me, but I will always respect you. I may have hated you, but you are my brother and I love you man. Riley, you’re a sick bastard and a good man, we’ve may have not look eye to eye at some points but you were still down, and you’re a good man.”

Bo turned around to face the ramp and then said: “To the man that I just faced, Flesher…you’re a great competitor, I may not know you very well, but, thank you for beating me, because I know that I had to quit regardless, and you beating me made me just realize that my heart cannot cut it anymore. You have talent man you will make it. For the people in the back…thank you and keep your head up.”

Bo continues to show his emotion as he wipes the tears off his face, his wife goes to him and kisses him on the neck. Bo looks down and kisses Alex on the forehead and then looks at his wife. They stare at each other for about 5 seconds when…Bo grabs his chest and his eyes rolled back, he then falls back as he passed out again.

“Oh no…” Mark said as he quickly removes the head set from his ears and quickly makes his way towards the ring. Lwanda screams in sheer terror as the baby starts to cry, Mark slides in the ring and quickly goes to check on Bo. Riley himself removes the headset from his head and makes his way towards the ring…he slides in and joins Mark in checking Bo. Mark grabs Bo’s wrist as Riley puts his ear towards Bo’s chest. “Please help him?” Cries Lwanda, the baby still crying as the crowd in the stadium stand up to see what’s going on. They’re in utter shock as the Suicide King runs down the ramp…he quickly slides in the ring to check on Bo as well as Riley gets up to comfort Lwanda. King looks at Mark and Mark shakes his head. “He’s not breathing and I can’t find his pulse.” Mark said.

“Shit…if we don’t get him out of here………” King said, not finishing the sentence as he looks up at Lwanda crying.

The EMT’s now makes their way down the ramp with a stretcher…both EMT’s slides in the ring and they check on Bo quickly. They check his pulse, his heartbeat and his breathing. They look at each other but don’t say a word. “He’s going to be ok…right?” Cries Lwanda.

One of the EMT said: “Get me the oxygen mask and lets get him out of here…now.” The other EMT person grabbed the oxygen mask. The first EMT lifts Bo’s head up a bit so the other one can put on the oxygen mask. After they put on the mask, one of the EMT’s goes towards Bo’s feet and begins to pull him out as the other one slowly pushes him out. They finally get Bo into the stretcher and straps him down…Bo’s wife quickly goes towards the corner and through the ropes to go down the stairs. She still has the baby clutched around her chest. The EMT’s quickly roll Bo up the ramp as Lwanda follows, but as they make their way up the stairs all the SWF superstars begin to walk out of the back…people like Frost, Tom, TnT, Jay Dawg, ELM, all of them have came out and they begin to clap their hands. The whole audience all stand up and they start clapping their hands in respect for Bo. They finally leave the area as the WF locker room and the stadium continue to clap their hands.

--------- Switch Camera Scene ---------

At the back, the EMT’s quickly goes to a part Ambulance…they open up the back and put the stretcher in. Lwanda and her child climb up to be with Bo as one of the EMT bangs towards the front of the vehicle, and that’s when the lights came on and the sirens.

The last thing the camera catches is the ambulance leaving the parking lot and into the busy streets of Tennessee.

Still in the arena, people are still clapping showing their respect to the fallen Bo…and the final time Bo will be in the SWF.

End.



Conclusion: Bo is now retired and will not returned to action. He will be fighting for his life for now until he receives a new heart. If he cannot get a new hot in a month, he will die. Although, due to the intense environment the SWF is, Bo can no longer compete under those circumstances. He may be physically fit later on in the future, but the doctors told him that he couldn’t compete in the same level as before. This is if he does get a heart. In a month, or sooner you will get an update about Bo’s condition, but this is his final day in the SWF. He thanks everybody for the opportunity in competing with talent stars in the company, but now Bo has to depart.

On a personal note…I cannot give anymore to this company. I am not the same anymore and therefore I will retire. When I came back I saw the SWF in good position. They have talented writers, I am not mad at the SWF, they’re doing a great job, but I have to retired because I’m no longer needed in here. Thanks to everybody and I had a blast.

Chucky
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+Quote Post
Guest_TheBostonStrangler_*
post Feb 18 2003, 09:19 PM
Post #6





Guests






“Welcome back folks,” announces Mark Stevens, “I’m Grand Slam Mark Stevens, here as always, calling all the exciting Smarks Wrestling Federation brand action with Bobby Riley,” Riley takes his cue giving the peons a half hearted wave, “And your watching SWF Lockdown!” finishes the Heavy Hitter with a broad smile on his face.

“What, no shilling Mark?” questions Riley. “No, ‘WE ARE LIVE from the Pyramid in Memphis Tennessee! … yadda yadda yadda…’, MARK?”

“Riley,” growls Stevens, “if you value your life, which I don’t by the way,” adds Stevens for good measure, “then you will quiet down and let me shi-err… shell out all the info.”

“Be my guest.” responds the quieted heel announcer, who now fears for his life.

“*Ahem*, we are LIVE from the Pyramid in Memphis Tennessee! Home of some of the best fans this business has ever seen!” Stevens continues his spiel, even after Riley called him on it. “We’ve seen wonderful action so far tonight,” the Heavy Hitter pauses, “but we’ve come to the first of our two title defenses… the challenger CIA versus Frost for the ICTV Title and this one,” adds Mark, “a three way Elimination match for the SWF US Title!”

“Yeah,” begins Riley, “on one hand we’ve got Fugue… the all around badass malcontent musician, who took the SWF World Champ, El Luchadore Magnifico to the limit,” Riley coughs, “not to mention he’s a member of Tom’s Magnificent Seven.” Stevens just shakes his head and lets Bobby continue his verbal blow job. “And on the other hand we’ve got Mike Craven… I mean he’s a multi-time Hardcore champ and I kinda like his new attitude,” Bobby shrugs, “but he’s still the guy that had the pokemon fetish… nuff said.”

“Although you forgot to mention the current United States champ, Mak Francis, who has stepped up his game recently!” starts Stevens. “Here’s a guy that has garnered the respect of our viewers and also got a HUGE win over “Deathwish” Danny Williams to get the title!”

“He cheated and then got a fluke roll up against a god amongst men!” shouts Riley.

“But in the end he won and while I don’t condone it,” Mark nods his head back towards the crowd, “it seems that these fans do.”

“This contest is a THREE WAY Elimination match for the SWF UNITED STATES TITLEEEEEEE!” announces Funyon, who is by far the best dressed snack food in the business.

Suddenly, the lights go out completely, and the contemplative tones of classical music echo throughout the arena. White lights flash and strobe about as a gangly man, smile plastered across his scraggly face, steps from behind the curtain to Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D minor"! The crowd, predisposed to booing the flashes of Mag 7 clips, go apeshit as the wide brimmed cap wearing Fugue slinks down the ramp, trench coat billowing behind him, hiding a set of bolt cutters!

“Making his way to ringside, weighing in TONIGHT at ONE hundred and eighty one pounds, from Philadephia, PA… FUUUUU-GUEEEEEE!”

Fugue slides into the ring and goes to the various sides to look at the crowds, not raising his arms or doing anything to acknowledge the crowd except smile, before giving his personal effects to a ring attendant that places them near the announce table.

“And Fugue looks in high spirits for this contest. You have to wonder just what is going through the head of a man like him!” While he says this Riley casually pulls out a banana and begins to peel it. “Or and man like this guy beside me…”

The lights cut out and the crowd begins to boo a little. Strobe lights pulse to the beat as Audioslave’s “Cochise” kicks in, smoke spewing from vents in front of the entrance as the drums cue, Christian’s entrance pyro begins flowing from the top of the SmarkTron.

A huge pyro blast kicks up from the front of the stage at the guitar drop, flames simultaneously shoot high up into the air on the edges of the stage not touching the ramp. They shoot up Booker T style into the air in beat with the song following the initial blast, as a red tint covers the stage. Suddenly, as Chris Cornell begins to sing, a spotlight shines down on Mike Craven as he bursts through the smoke cloud. He stops turning to look at the fans and does things to pump them up. After doing this for a short amount of time, he turns around, points at the ring as he hops in place and sprints down to the ring, casually neglecting to slap hands with as many, if any of the fans he can.

"Making his way to ringside, weighing in TONIGHT at TWO hundred and sixty pounds, from Tampa, Florida… MICHAEL CRAAAAAA-VEEEEEENNN!”

Still in full stride, he slides under the bottom rope, to a chorus of boos and then Mike hops up to his feet, turning around and snapping the ropes violently, turning back around in a flash. He climbs the turnbuckle closest to the crowd and Mike then lifts both arms into the air with an intense look, hops off the turnbuckle, climbs another, repeats the arm-lifting, then hops down and awaits his final opponent, as Fugue pretty much scoffs at the display.

“And here is Mike Crave looking to gain his first US Title reign!” mentions Stevens. “But this crowd has really turned on Mike lately, in particular since his loss to Annie Eclectic for the Hardcore Title.”

“Huh…” mumbles Riley too busy peeling the banana he just brought out, when suddenly the house lights shut off and the wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena. You can feel the pulsation of the light dings, as a hard beat done by violins, suddenly strikes up slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm.

“So do you wanna’ be a Franchise… And live large… A big house… five cars…”

The SmarkTron flares up with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ‘The Franchise’ in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat.

“The rent charge… Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody… Gotta’ look over your shoulder constantly!”

As the opening lyrics from Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill, slightly altered of course, blare over the PA system, it takes a little while but eventually the self proclaimed franchise makes his way through the curtain. The lights come back up and Francis comes out onto the stage, tilting his shades down on the bridge of his nose, before looking left and then right…

“I remember the days, when I was a young kid grownin’ up… Lookin’ in the mirror dreamin’ about blowin’ up!”



PWI-SHOW! PWI-SHOW! PWI-SHOW! PWI-SHOW!



He readjusts his shades with a smirk, before slowly strolling down to ringside, to a healthy reaction!

“Making his way to ringside and weighing in TONIGHT at TWO hundred and twenty five pounds, from Philadelphia, PA… your REIGHING SWF US CHAMPION…“The Franchise” MAAAK FRAAAAANCISsssssss!”

After walking up the ring steps, he cockily wipes his feet on the apron, giving a salute to the crowd, mockingly or not, no one except him knows, before entering through the middle ropes. Mak quickly climbs the nearest turnbuckle and poses with both fists raised in the air, eliciting a pop from the audience! Francis drops down of the buckle and cracks his neck, smirking at Craven, until Fugue catches his eye, causing Mak’s face to go neutral. He takes off the US title and hands it to referee Sexton Harcastle, who raises it in the air!

“The Franchise has seemly won the SWF crowd over,” notices Mark, as a side note, “And that is understandable with his affiliation to the Midnight Carnival and vendetta with the Magnificent Seven!”

“We get the drift MARK!” shouts Riley taking a break from deep throating the banana he pulled out earlier. “This is good!” can be heard mumbled through a full mouth.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“What does it look like?”

Mark just shakes his head and sighs. “This from the guy who made fun of Craven for having a pokemon fetish…”

Riley finishes the banana in one gulp and darts his eyes too and fore before placing its peel onto the announce table. Mark stares on in wonder. “Now why would you keep that?”

“Uh,” starts Riley, “a memento?”

“I don’t believe you, but it’s time to start this match, as all three competitors are in ring!” says Mark. “It’ll be interesting to see how the history between Fugue and Francis plays out as the match goes on.”

DING! DING! DING!

Mak and Fugue stare each other dead in the eyes, as Craven looks back and forth between the two. The crowd is starting to gain some momentum, as they start a “Franchise” chant! Mike looks around at the audience and then Mak, before quickly pearl harboring the self proclaimed Franchise! Mark has heart attack number one about the cheap shot by Michael Craven! “What a dirty way to start a contest Bobby!” says Stevens and Riley replies with a cheer.

Fugue just smiles and nods his head as Craven slugs away with forearm shots to the back. Francis fights back, but Craven has a distinct advantage after the sneak attack. Mike scores a few more stunning right hand strikes, before grabbing Mak and tugging him into an Irish whip – but the Franchise reverses and sends Mike off to run the ropes, and also directly at Fugue! The M7 musician hits the mat, forcing Mike to leap over him while he bounds towards the ropes. Then, as Craven returns, Fugue leapfrogs the bigger man, who ducks and continues on his way… right into a Mak Francis right hand that sends him to the mat! Craven scrambles to his feet and gets sent off towards the ropes by an Irish whip from Francis, this time towards the ropes perpendicular to Fugue! Craven hits the ropes, but the crazy composer takes this opportunity to dart forward and attack Mak! But Francis, wary from the start catches Fugue in a drop toe hold, sending them both to the mat, as Mike leaps over them! Fugue and Francis stand, only to have Mike barreling down upon them, so Fugue hits the mat again, causing Craven to hop him… and land onto the hunched over form of Mak Francis, as he tucks his head underneath Mike’s arm… snitches an arm around his waist in MID AIR and flips him over top in a Northern Lights suplex!! Sexton Hardcastle falls to the mat for the count…

“Francis scores an early Northern Lights suplex!” says Stevens. “What a picture perfect bridge!”

ONE



TW-


No! Only a one count, as Fugue is quick to break up the bridge, by sweeping Mak’s feet from under him with a sweep kick!

Fugue yanks Francis away from Craven by his legs but Mak only falls to his back for a second, before kicking his M7 opponent in the chest and kipping up to his feet! Fugue gains some momentum by bouncing off the near ropes and comes at Francis with a clothesline, which he ducks and Mak watches as Fugue rebounds off the ropes for a second attempt! Francis readies himself for an Overhead belly to belly of Franchisable proportions… or would have if Miek Craven hadn’t just grabbed his leg! The Franchise instinctively looks down as a combination of Craven, pulling at his leg and Fugue nailing him with a spinning shoulder tackle takes him to the mat! Francis sits up, a little dazed and confused as someone from behind him, rolls over top snapping his neck! The Franchise holds his neck with one hand, blinking in pain and confusion as Mike Craven now flies in front of his face and over top with a flipping neckbreaker!!

“What a torrid pace to start this match with!” exclaims Stevens.

“I love it!” shouts Riley as Francis continues to try and gain his bearings. “Not only the fast pace,” adds Bobby, “but the fact that they’re killing Mak’s neck!”

“True Bobby.” starts the Heavy Hitter. “After Craven distracted Francis and helped take him down,” adds Mark, “Fugue and Mike came together for a viscous flipping neck snap and neckbreaker combo! And now that Francis is down I’m sure they’ll take advantage!”

And true to Mark Stevens words Fugue and Mike Craven start laying the boots to the US champion. Fugue very purposeful in his attack, as he stomps away on the right arm and shoulder, while Mike just stomps at whatever is available! Craven yells to Fugue that they should pick him up, as the boos rain down! They grab Francis by the arm. “Double Irish whip!” calls Stevens, as Francis gets flung to the opposite side of the ring. As he flies back, Francis runs straight into a double back elbow from the two evil doers! Fugue quickly grabs the right shoulder of his Franchisable opponent and falls into a knee drop, while Mike taunts the crowd a little bit. Fugue wrenches away at the shoulder and Francis kicks his feet, trying to gain some kind of leverage!

“Fugue is a very cerebral and methodical wrestler.” states Grand Slam. “Just look at the way he’s been immediately going after the body parts most essential to withstanding his Harmony finisher!”

“Don’t forget how Danny Williams took out that right arm of Francis in their Storm match!” reminds Riley. “No arm, no big suplexes!”

“Mak’s shoulder wasn’t picked on a great deal last show, so he’s had a little while to rest it up and I doubt that he won’t be able to execute some of his great suplexes after a couple of knee drops and stomps-”

“But he’s one Major Chord or Harmony away from being out of this match at the hands of Fugue!” says Riley. “Don’t think I haven’t done my homework, as back in the JL Fugue defeated Francis with the Harmony in the center of the ring!”

“Yes that’s true but-”

“No ‘buts’ about it… well only if it’s a nice one…”

“Shut up Bobby.” deadpans Mark, who really doesn’t want to deal with this tonight.

Back in the ring Fugue has let go of the right arm, signaling for Mike to come over as the makeshift alliance picks the self proclaimed Franchise up to his feet! Francis squirms in the grasp of the two men, but a few Craven forearm shots to the back put an end to that. Mike and Fugue quickly check with each other, before hoisting him up into the air and stalling… and stalling… for one… two… three… four… FIVE seconds and dropping him to the canvas with a nice double vertical suplex! Fugue looks to go for the cover, but Craven steps in and tells him to back off! Fugue just steps away and lets Mike cover as Hardcastle counts…

ONE


TWO

No! Craven barely gets a two count as Mak kicks out!

“Smart move by Fugue there, as his little alliance is on shaky ground. No need to fight over the pin in an elimination match up!”

Mike moves off to the side and once again goes back to taunting the crowd as Fugue slides right in, extending the right arm and dropping multiple knees onto the shoulder!

“And once again Fugue pulls at the right shoulder of Francis after those solid knee drops.” says Stevens as Fugue pushes Mak onto his belly and now back to back with him, he links Francis’s arms with his in a leg scissors, then grabs the other one, executing the minor chord!

“Fugue gets the Minor chord early!” yells Stevens. “This submission can really tear at an injured body part!”

“Mak’s shoulder to be specific, right Stevens!”

“Yup Bobby.”

Meanwhile, in ring Francis has quickly gotten a rope break, which forced Fugue off his arm. The maniacal musician still maintains a standing wristlock though and Mak smirks up at him, before rolling forward executing a headstand flip and snitches in a wristlock of his own. Mak shakes out his right arm obviously not too affected by the amount of time he was in the minor chord and grinds in his wristlock. Craven is still busy playing to the fans, as Francis beat the crap out of Fugue’s neck with repeated elbows! Mak Irish whips a stunned Fugue to the far ropes – but Fugue locks his arms about the cables stopping his momentum. Francis takes this opportunity to pearl harbor Craven for his earlier attack! The crowd lets loose a big cheer of ‘WHOOO!’, as Mak twists Mike to face him and wallops him with a knife edge chop! Francis hits a second ‘WHOOO!’ and a third ‘WHOOO!’ until he backs Craven into the ropes. The Franchise goes for an Irish whip – but it gets reversed and Francis goes darting towards the other side… and tumbles over the top and to the outside, hitting the light padding after Fugue pulled down the top rope! Hardcastle starts the ten count, “ONE!”, as Riley marks out.

“What a counter?!” shouts Riley, ”TWO!”, obviously pleased with the result. “That was pure athletics there from Fugue.”

“Pulling down a rope, “THREE!”, is considered athleticism now…” asks Mark in disbelief, as Mak rolls on the ground in discomfort.

“Hell yeah!” responds Riley as Fugue lays in wait. The Franchise pushes himself up off the ground at “FOUR!” and is almost up to his vertical base, clearly a little woozy, as Fugue dives over the top rope with a somersault plancha to the floor!! The crowd instinctively pops for the high risk aerial maneuver as both men are down on the outside, Fugue looking to have fallen badly!! Mike hearing the crowds cheers, looks over and sees Fugue and Francis down on the outside, so he decides to join the fun! As those two get up, Craven gains a full head of steam and leaps over the top rope in a tope suicida!!! The three grapplers are now a sea of humanity, as Craven definitely came out the best of that exchange, followed closely by Francis and bringing up the end, Fugue.

“A tope suicida and somersault plancha to the floor!” says Mark. “Wild moves out of some mostly ground based wrestlers.” Meanwhile, Bobby Riley looks awful suspicious, as he whistles to himself and looks away from the camera. “Hey, what did you do Bobby?” questions Stevens catching on to his behavior.

“I DID NOTHINGZ!” shouts Riley now sitting at attention. Mark scans the area and notices something IS missing.

“Where’d you put that banana peel Riley?”

“I didn’t throw it near Francis so that he’d trip on it if that’s what you’re asking!”

Sure enough, as Mak and Mike stumble to their feet, a banana peel can be seen a few steps behind Francis! While they struggler to get their balance, Fugue starts crawling over towards the ring, holding his rib cage and shaking out his knee a little from the bad fall. Mike scores a right hand… Mak answers back and they do this two more times to determine exactly who will be in control, but after a shot from Craven, Francis takes a step backwards and lands on his back, after slipping on a banana peel…

“Geez,” mumbles Mark, “Well I guess it is Memphis…”

The crowd accepts the act as a Memphis joke and applauds the effort as Craven raises his hands in victory like his punch was the only thing involved in Francis falling down! Mike points at Mak before he pulls a protective mat away from the concrete! He dismisses the fans boos and screams out a hearty “WHO BETTER THAN CRAVEN?” to which the crowd of course shouts back “EVERYBODY!” Craven then gets a disgusted look across his face and hoists Mak up into a standing head scissors!!! He locks his arms about Mak and tries to pull him up for what can only be a piledriver on the outside. “Oh no!” shouts Mark getting into the Memphis spirit. “A piledriver on the outside is one of the most lethal attacks in the business… in Memphis that is…” mumbles Mark. Craven smiles like he’s Jerry Lawler, as he yanks at Mak’s torso…

“Go CRAVEN!” cheers Bobby. “Break his little twig of a neck!”

While all this has been happening, the lone M7 member of this match, who was crawling over towards ring apron has made it back inside. Hardcastle begins his count again as Fugue re gains his breath. ”Good job Fugue,” says Riley, “now you can win on a double count out!”

“ONE!” shouts Sexton as he watches the action on the outside.

The Franchise blocks though and as Mike tries again, the self proclaimed Franchise stands tall and sends him over with a back body drop to the concrete!! “TWO!” The Memphis crowd starts another small “FRANCHISE!” chant as Mike lies on the ground holding his neck and arching his back! Mak quickly rolls into the ring and Fugue dives on him with a double axe handle to the back of the head! Francis lays sprawled from the shot, as Fugue back mount him and grabs a full nelson!! He stands up a little, pulling Mak away from the ropes, before flipping over into the picture perfect bridge, placing all his weight on Mak’s neck and shoulders!!

“Cattle Mutilation?! CATTLE MUTILATION BY FUGUE!!” shouts Stevens as Mak is seen writhing in pain. Fugue arches up on his bridge as Bobby comments.

“Call it what it is MARK! The Major Chord!” yells back Riley, with a smile plastered across his face. “And what a chord Francis is hitting with his screams of pain!” Bobby laughs at his own joke and starts again. “Look at that wonderful head bridge by Fu-huh-”

Riley’s sudden stutter comes from the fact that Mak Francis is, as he speaks, slipping out of the Cattle Mutilation!! Francis pushes himself up off the mat breaking Fugue’s bridge, noticeable not a good as normal after his plancha to the outside and enabling himself to slide right into a dragon sleeper!! Fugue tries to fight back and break the hold, but stands quickly grapevining their legs together… The master musicians’ arms flail for an escape but there is non forthcoming as Mak drops him to the mat neck first!!!

“I don’t believe it…” mumbles a stunned Riley.

“Well believe it boyo!” responds Mark, a smile etched across his face now. “Mak Francis has just countered the Major Chord and escaped into the Tribute!” Francis slides over top and covers as Hardcastle falls to make the count…

ONE!


TWO!







T
H
R-

NOOOOO! Mike Craven comes out of nowhere to break the pin with a Flipping Neckbreaker!

“Thank God!” shouts Riley. “I love you Craven!!”

“In a completely plutonic way of course, right Bobby?” adds Mark covering for his partner.

“I said what I said.”

Fugue is completely out of it on the mat as Mike drags a kicking and screaming Francis away from him! The Franchise gets pulled up to his feet by Craven, who grabs him in a back waist lock, but any plans of German suplexing Mak get squashed as Francis scores a few back elbows to the face! Mak scores a standing switch and steps of to the side a little before hoisting Craven overhead and parallel to the mat for a Backdrop Driver – but his right arm is too weak and HE CAN’T HOLD ON! Mike floats over the top and on the way down snitches in a back chancery, spinning like a top and getting his Sword’s Dance!! Craven makes the cover hooking the leg…

ONE!


TWO!




T
H
R
E
E-

NO! Craven gets two and three fourths with his roll the dice out of nowhere!

Mike Craven looks over to Hardcastle with death in his eyes and yells at him to count again!! This time Craven hooks both legs out of frustration!!

ONE!


TWO!




T
H
R
E-

NO! Mak gets a shoulder up again!

Craven just stares a hole at Hardcastle before finally exploding! He gets up and grabs Sexton by the shirt threatening to punch him as the crowd boos like there’s no tomorrow! On the other side of the ring Fugue has FINALLY shaken off the effects of paying “Tribute” to the Franchise and stumbles over to Mike gingerly with what might be a slight limp on his right leg. A loud “Franchise!” chant is beginning in the crowd, as Mak has rolled onto his belly and is now using the ropes to help him get to his feet! Fugue taps Craven on the shoulder and points to Francis slowly but surely getting up – but Craven doesn’t care and sucker punches Fugue in the mouth!

“It looks like the end of that alliance!” says Mark Stevens, as Craven continues to strike Fugue with right hands! On the other side of the ring Francis falls back down to the mat, as the crowd wills him to get up! Fugue continues to take a beating from Craven, who has now backed him into the ropes with right hands! The M7 member keeps right on smiling though even as his nose starts to trickle blood! Meanwhile the “FRANCHISE!” chants has reached a fever pitch, as Mak pulls himself up with an assist from the ropes and stumbles towards the middle of the ring holding his neck! Fugue slumps into the ropes and Mike Craven grits his teeth, continuing attacking away without mercy, finally Irish whipping Fugue! Francis hits the mat quick as Fugue darts over top of him rebounding off the far ropes!! On his return, Francis leapfrogs and Craven now behind Mak, hits the mat!! Fugue hits the ropes one last time as Craven attempts a Sake Bomb sneak attack on Mak…

“Craven going for his Reverse Sky High Powerbomb!” says Stevens in shock. “If he hits this it’s OVER!!”

“DOOOOOO IT CRAVEN!”

Mike holds Francis about the waist and as he hopes to set his face plant maneuver - BUT a running dropkick to Craven’s knee from the M7 musician, FUGUE, ends that hope!! Craven crumples to the ground as Mak falls forward and turns around bouncing off the ropes for added momentum…

Raising his leg for the high kick…

And Francis levels Craven with a Yakuza kick sending him down to the canvas like a ton of bricks!! The crowd explodes in cheers as Mak falls to the ground and tries to catch his breath. And suddenly he comes face to face with Fugue…

They stare at each other for what seems like minutes, but in reality is only seconds…

Then Mak mutters three letters too low for the audience to hear, but easy enough for them to see…

S…

W…

O…

And then they nod!

Mak pushes himself up to his feet and pulls Mike Craven with him as the three men go near the turnbuckle. Mak drops Craven in a heap and reaches backwards, scaling each buckle as Fugue slight limp and all picks Mike up into a standing head scissors! The crowd roars in approval as Fugue hoists Craven up and Mak leaps off the buckle stuffing his head into the canvas with a sickening splat!! A splat from a Stuff piledriver!!! Fugue falls into the cover as Hardcastle counts…

ONE!



TWO!







T
H
R
E
E!

YES!

The first person eliminated by PINFALL at fifteen minutes and thirty seconds, MICHAEL CRAAA-VEEEEENNN!”

Fugue and Francis slowly stands each man weary from the first part of the match as Mark Stevens talks. “Mak Francis and Fugue have eliminated Mike Craven with a DEVASTATING stuff piledriver here in Memphis and as you all saw at home, Francis mouthed the letters, sWo, referring to their former stable in the JL!”

“Well it’s in the past now Fugue,” says Riley, “so make him tap out already and get the US title!”

“I think these two are all about respect for their former stable and this will be a good clean fight for the US belt!”

Fugue dances gingerly while turning the circle and Francis fakes a shoot at his leg, before the two men pick up the pace, coming together in a collar and elbow tie up! Mak and Fugue jockey for position, and Francis drops that for a single leg takedown. He pushes Fugue, but the lighter man does not fall, instead snitching in a front face lock and pounding away at the back of his opponents’ neck! Francis drops the leg and Fugue quickly takes the face lock into a side headlock, grinding away with a purpose! Fugue moves into a hammerlock trying to take Mak to his knees, possibly for another cattle mutilation, but Mak scores a back elbow to his already slightly bloody nose and gets a standing switch into his own hammerlock! Francis slides into a side headlock of his own – but Fugue slides to the mat, getting perpendicular to the self proclaimed Franchise, just before hoisting him up onto his shoulders his a fireman’s carry! Fugue stands tall – but has a little trouble under the weight of Francis and Mak takes the opportunity to turn his attempt at a rolling Fireman’s carry into crucifix pin! Fugue looks slightly in shock on the mat as Hardcastle slides to make the count…

ONE!



TWO!





T
H
R
E-

NO! SOMEHOW, SOMEWAY, Fugue slides out!!!

“I don’t know how he got out of that pin, but Fugue did it!” shouts Riley. “He’s going to win, I know it!”

“Remarkable escape by Fugue…” mumbles Mark. “Just remarkable! This kid has something about him that says he won’t give up!”

Francis slaps his hand on the mat and hoists the stunned Fugue up! He places him near the ropes and after a gentle push, waylays him with a nasty kidney punch which flows right into a Side Russian leg sweep! Mak bangs the mat and wraps his arm around Fugue for the Gut-wrench suplex that sets up his Brotherly Love Frog Splash – but he can’t lift the lighter man with the pain in his arm! He tries again… and fails so Mak just goes outside and climbs the turnbuckle anyway… leaping off…


Pumping his arms and legs…


AND COMPLETING THE BROTHERLY LOVE FROG SPLASH…



Onto Fugue’s legs as he had them raised!!!!!

“What another great counter from Fugue!”

Fugue limps up to his feet as his leg is in some serious pain but he grabs Mak, pulling him off his belly and linking his arms in a double chicken wing! Hardcastle moves closer to get in better position and the Franchise kicks his feet trying to lock onto a rope, as it’s his only hope, in the process knocking down Sexton Hardcastle!! Fugue finally gathers his strength and pulls Mak over HITTING Tiger Suplex…

Which he rolls right into the Coda…


THEN HARMONY!!!!

“HARMONY!” shouts Riley. “Maybe this will finally be over as this is the move Mak Francis lost to Fugue with in the JL! I couldn’t write it better… unless there was a goddamn ref! Come on Fugue… you gotta hold on until Hardcastle wakes up!”

“But look at Fugue’s right leg!” responds Stevens. “Can he hold the bridge long enough to get Francis to tap with Hardcastle down!”

Suddenly a forgotten figure in this match begins to stir rolling outside of the ring and towards the ring attendants… as Mike Craven grabs Fugue’s jacket and find the bolt cutters! Francis struggles towards the ropes, but Fugue uses the last bit he has left to keep them in the center of the ring…

And slowly but surely Mak Francis get closer and closer to passing out…

“It’s just like the JL match! Francis won’t be able to tao because he’s out cold!” yells Riley in glee.

When Suddenly, Mike with the bolt cutters in hand rolls back into the ring and stands over Fugue before blasting him in the RIGHT KNEE! Craven laughs, as he whacks the knee one last time for good measure to a heap of boos and then rolls out of the ring, walking up the ramp! Hardcastle starts to shake the cobwebs out, as Francis with a glazed over expression on his face, near unconsciousness, has the wherewithal to stand up…

Twist his left leg in the shape of a four…


And fall to the mat!!

Fugue squirms in the figure four, but as the seconds he’s been in the hold turn to a minute… and that minute turns to two… Fugue slowly passes and out to the pain! Hardcastle crawls over and raises his hand once… twice… three times… and this match is over!

“The winner of this match by SUBMISSION at twenty minutes and five seconds “The Franchise” MAAAK FRAAAANCISsssssss!”

“Fugue got screwed by Craven!!”

“What a match folks, but I’m just shocked at what we saw.” says Stevens. “Well up next the Main Event Frost versus CIA for the ICTV Title!”
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+Quote Post
Guest_TheBostonStrangler_*
post Feb 18 2003, 09:21 PM
Post #7





Guests






The camera flickers back on to show the beauty of a cold, black Memphis night. The Pyramid shines like a beacon in the foreground glowing with the warmth of a sold out crowd and the steaming action of SWF Lockdown.

“How much you think a building like that cost to build? Is it a $100,000 Pyramid? Maybe an on the cheap $25,000 Pyramid? I bet Dick Clark would know.” Comes the bemused voice over of the SWF’s current color commentator to interrupt the tranquil scene.

“You’ve been waiting all night to use that haven’t you?” Mark Stevens questions as the show seamlessly transitions to a shot of the ringside commentator’s table.

“Pretty much.” Bobby says with a slight shrug as he drums his fingers on the table.

“If your just tuning in,” Mark addresses the camera straight on “I assure you that the rest of the show has been a lot better than that, especially the triple threat elimination match that just went down for the U.S. Title.”

“And we’ve got one title defense left to go yet,” Riley chimes in. “ICTV Champion Frost faces CIA. I’d like to tell you all that this will be a tightly contested battle that should go right down to the wire, but I can’t. CIA should be crammed into the hurt locker by the time your microwave popcorn finishes popping.”

Mark scoffs. “I think we can give the Canadian Intelligence Agent a little more credit than that. Although, Frost seems very focused for this bout as he had…shall we say…harsh words for CIA earlier in the week.”

“I’d say willing to spend the rest of your life in prison for murder instead of giving up the title is pretty harsh. Good thing we’re not in Texas or they’d already be juicing up the electric chair for him.” Riley shoots out his fingers like a wizard and screams “BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!” through clenched teeth.

“CIA spoke on that earlier, but we have Ben Hardy in the back right now for some last second pre-match comments from both men if he can catch them.” Mark whips his right hand around and points toward the rear in throwing it to the interviewer. The scene cuts to Hardy with microphone in hand next to a heavy oaken door with a nameplate reading “Midnight Carnival.” The fans pop madly for the marker alone.

“Thanks, Mark. I am indeed in front of the Midnight Carnival locker room, where CIA should be emerging momentarily to head to the ring in order to face Frost for the ICTV Title.”

As if on cue, the door opens and the fans scream even more wildly for one of the most beloved faces in the SWF today. CIA sees Hardy and immediately beams a warm smile from under his mask. His trademark “Made in Canada” T-shirt can be seen under his equally trademark leather jacket.

“I wanted to check in with both you and Frost one last time before this monumental match,” Hardy starts in “do you have any retort for the man you will be going toe to toe with in a matter of moments.”

CIA pauses and puts a hand to the stubble on his chin. “Since I don’t have the brains got gave a tick on a yak’s ass, I doubt if I can string two coherent sentences together.” The crowd can be heard booing out in the arena. “Frost talks tough, but I don’t need to. I said my peace earlier tonight. I beat him twice,” he holds up a pair of fingers “and I think that speaks for itself, actually. There’s a select few in the SWF who hold two wins over the man, let alone one.” CIA rips the mic out of Hardy’s hand, tips his head back and swings the mic to hang upside down near his parted lips. “So, just kick back, have a brew. I’ll join you shortly for a LaBatt Blue. For in Memphis at last, CIA will win the ICTV Title and kick Frost’s a…”

A muscular freight train blurs into the scene and blindsides CIA with a shoulder to the ribs.

Riley: “IT’S FROST!”

Hardy stumbles backwards into the dressing room door caught just as off guard as CIA. The cameraman whips his lens around to see Frost club forearm after forearm into the Canuck’s back as they brawl down the hallway.

Stevens: “It looks like these two men are going to pick up right where they left off at the end of last week’s show after the World Tag Team Title match.”

The shot cuts back to the arena proper with the fans murmuring confused and upset. The houselights acquire a red tinge as the SmarkTron comes to life with the image of a Canadian flag blowing majestically in the wind. A muted cheer rifles sections of the crowd, unsure of what form CIA’s entrance will take.

The opening strings of “O’ Canada” plays and then shifts to the guitar licks of “Secret Agent Man.” A heavy stillness hangs in the air for a second before…

BOOM!

Red sparks of fireworks explode along the back of the entrance stage. However, instead of CIA waltzing out with a smile on his face, he comes hurtling through the backstage curtain head first with an agonizing grimace on his lips.

Riley: “We have got to get the guy who controls the intro rigmarole a monitor so he can see what’s going on.”

CIA strikes the metal ring ramp with a clang and barrel rolls head over heels a few feet further down. Frost stalks out from behind the curtain, his eyes focused on CIA, his ears blocking out the vehement loathing the crowd roars down at him.

Stevens: “This is no time for your smarmy remarks, Bobby. Frost is taking no chances in this encounter. He’s never a man to mess with, but he is extra dangerous tonight.”

Riley: “CIA’s been on his hit list for a very long time. He was too laid back and overconfident in his previous singles matches with the man, but he won’t make that mistake tonight.”

CIA looks up to spy the ring and starts crawling toward it on his hands and knees. He only creeps a few inches before a meaty, sweaty hand wraps around the blonde locks sticking out from the top of his mask.

Stevens: “Frost is dragging the Canadian to the ring. Referee Eddy Long meets the two on the ramp and is yelling at Frost to get inside the ring.”

Riley: “Why should he? Frost can do whatever he wants to CIA before he enters the ring and that bell rings. No risk of dq, no possibility of count out. He needs to keep this on the floor as long as he can.”

Frost hits the bottom of the ramp and whips CIA toward the ring. He turns as he skids across the black floor mats and bumps the edge of the ring back first. He cringes and drops to one knee. Long attempts to get in front of Frost, but he’s no match for the charging 300-pound monster. Frost jerks CIA up by a hand under his chin and pushes forward with a shoulder to the chest. CIA’s back hits the apron again and he winces.

Stevens: “The tag match from Storm might have ended with a chaotic brawl, but this match begins with one.”

Riley: “And might end in about thirty seconds with one too.”

Frost leans down and puts a hand between CIA’s legs while he places the other on his shoulder to steady him. He hoists him up and spins him around to face down at the floor. Frost churns is legs and marches up the ringside area. Eddy Long jumps in front of Frost waving his hands, but is forced to dive out of the way. Frost reaches his destination of the steel ring steps at the upper right corner and drives CIA shoulder first into unforgiving metal!

Stevens: “OW! Shoulderbreaker to the steps.”

Riley: “Break being the operative word there.”

CIA bounces of with all limbs flailing and crumples to the floor. He gets no time to rest as Frost rips him up by the wrist and slings him haphazardly into the ring post! He strikes the pole with a wet thump on that fast bruising shoulder. Frost steps behind CIA to keep him pinned in place and grinds his shoulder into the post!

Stevens: “CIA still has his jacket on, but that is little padding for the beating that shoulder is taking.”

Long jumps up to the apron and opens the ropes. The camera just picks him up threatening to throw the match out. Frost looks up at the referee with a sneer and shovels his hated rival into the squared circle. Frost skips to the apron and steps through the strands with Long following. CIA crawls across the mat on all fours and fights to his feet. He’s jerked ramrod straight by Frost clamping a half nelson around that bad shoulder and snaking his right arm across his neck and locking in place.

DING DING DING

Stevens: “The match is finally underway and Frost wastes no time in locking in the Cobra Clutch. A smart maneuver that not only works like a sleeper for a submission victory, but also puts strain and torque on the shoulder Frost was brutally working on the outside.”

The Intelligent Agent’s free right arm madly gropes at thin air, the ropes too far away to make for the break. With only the pain coursing through his body keeping his conscious from slipping out, CIA makes with a desperation move. He steps his right leg between Frost’s body and rears back with all the force he can muster.

Stevens: “LOW BLOW!”

Riley: “C’mon on Long! NOW that can be a disqualification.”

Frost releases his hold and doubles over from the crotch shot. CIA runs to the ropes, springs off, takes to the air and scissors his legs, bringing his right thigh down on the back of Frost’s neck! The big man falls and the audience couldn’t be any happier.

Stevens: “Scissors kick by CIA and he’s taking this match over.”

Riley: “Whoa, whoa, one last ditch move before the inevitable is more like it.”

The Canadian secret agent feeds off the crowd noise and goes to raise his arms over his head to acknowledge the cheers. However, he can only get his left arm up halfway before one can see his face twist in pain behind his mask and he lowers the appendage. CIA slips out of his jacket, being very ginger with his bad left shoulder.

Stevens: “Frost is struggling up and he is seeing red.”

Apropos words by Mark Stevens. Frost glides up from the mat and charges at CIA across the ring. The wily Canuck holds his jacket out to the side like a matador’s cape. He gives it a flip as Frost nears and twirls away, leaving the big man to go headlong in the ropes! Frost bounces between the ropes like a superball and drops to the floor off balanced, yet on his feet.

Stevens: “What, Bobby, no ‘ole,’ no ‘it looks like CIA took the bull by the horns there.’”

Riley: “Why don’t you go to hell, sit on a hot coal and wait for me until it snows.”

CIA tosses his jacket to a ring attendant over the ropes and runs a half circle to build some momentum. He drops to the canvas and skims out of the ring with a baseball slide that catches Frost right in the chest. He trips backwards to slump against the commentator’s table. Long sighs as he stretches out over the ropes and starts a ring out count.

(ONE) CIA makes sure to stand with his right side pointing toward Frost and fires a crisp chop to his bare chest. It resounds with a crack and the audience fires out a shrill “WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” (TWO) Frost windmills his arms from the blow and bumps the commentator’s table.

Riley: “Uh, I gotta go…” (THREE)

Stevens: “Don’t tell me you have tickets for ‘Hairspray’ again?”

(FOUR) CIA fires another chop and reels back for a third.

Riley: (FIVE) “Would you believe B.B. King?”

After the third chop connects, CIA wheels around with a knee to the gut that nearly sends Frost flying over the table. (SIX) CIA palms the back of Frost’s head with his right hand and guides him back to the ring. He tosses him under the bottom cord and steps to the apron. Long barks at him to stay inside the ring from now on and the Canadian enters from between the ropes.

Stevens: “CIA breaks the count. Frost is already climbing up, but CIA looks to cut him off with his superior speed.”

The Icelandic Iceman trips to his feet with head limply hanging down. CIA dashes across the canvas with his right forearm pulled back. He leaves his feet a scant few inches from the big man and whacks him in the upper back with his good appendage. Both men hit the mat and CIA quickly pushes Frost to his back and fights to hook the leg on a cover.

ONE




TWO

Stevens: “Kick out! It’s too early and CIA has yet to hit a really big move to put the Magnificent 7’s monster in chief down for the count.”

CIA rises with both hands on the side of Frost’s head. He tucks the man into a front facelock and looks to snap back on a DDT. However, Frost snags the near leg and upends the Carnie with a single leg takedown. Frost kicks his right leg back and cocks his right elbow. He falls across CIA’s body and buries the knobby point of his elbow into his opponent’s shoulder.

Riley: “There you go. There’s the game plan. Just keep hammering on that shoulder. Frost knows he can absorb whatever CIA might dish out, so no breaking from the set strategy.”

Frost rolls to his feet and growls at CIA while waving his hands for him to stand up. The crowd hisses and then starts chanting “C-I-A, C-I-A” to rally their man. The Canadian sets up and stands with a hand on his shoulder. Frost takes a step forward and fires out a right jab to the shoulder. CIA’s hand muffles a bit of the blow, but not much. He howls in pain and takes a step back. Frost presses forward with his hands up in front of his face and hopping on the balls of his feet like a prizefighter. He catches the masked man with another right jab to the shoulder and follows with a left hook to the ribcage. This knocks CIA into the upper right corner and Frost proceeds to keep him there with a series of European uppercuts.

Stevens: “Frost works the punches. We don’t have to remind the fans that he was a promising amateur boxer before turning his attentions to wrestling.”

Riley: “Which means he knows how to smell when a guy is hurt and when it’s time to go for the kill. He also knows how to spit a thick loogie into a bucket, but we won’t get into that.”

Frost takes CIA by the left wrist and Irish whips him out of the corner. CIA reverses, but the strain on that shoulder won’t allow him to keep control and Frost re-reverses. CIA slams the lower left turnbuckle chest first and ricochets back. Frost collars him from behind and drops him rearward to the canvas, making sure to angle him so that the left shoulder takes the brunt of impact.

Stevens: “Inverted DDT! The pin!”

ONE




TWO

CIA kicks his legs and lifts his right shoulder for the break. Long takes his feet, showing two fingers and Frost snarls at him as he makes his knees.

Riley: “Notice how he took a move that usually doesn’t work the shoulder and torques it so it does. That’s the mark of a champion, bending the whole scenario of a match to your will.”

Frost yanks CIA up by the left shoulder. He puts a hand between his legs and spins him to lie across his shoulder. Frost twists two full rotations to keep CIA dizzy and reaches the center of the ring. He faces the upper left corner and dashes toward it. He pulls up as he nears it and puts his hands into CIA’s chest and tosses him off into the air. CIA flutters like a dying butterfly and then crashes down to smash that beleaguered left shoulder into the top turnbuckle!

Stevens: “Snake eyes by Frost! Once again, he tweaks the move to fit his needs in working the bad body part.”

CIA lies curled into the fetal position on the canvas. Frost drops to his knees and pushes the man over to his back. Frost lateral presses for the cover, but Long refuses to count. He shakes his head and points at the ropes, telling Frost he’s too far into the strands. The Velvet Hammer snorts disgustedly and lugs CIA out to the center of the ring by the ankle. He drops down for the pin anew and this time hooks the near leg.

ONE




TWO

Stevens: “Another kick out. Having to move CIA out of the ropes gave him enough of a breather to make the easy break. A miscalculation like that could cost Frost in the long run.”

Riley: “Haven’t you gone to hell yet?”

Frost stands with his arms around CIA’s midsection. He lifts him to hang over his right shoulder.

Stevens: “Frost sets up the gutwrench suplex…CIA is wiggling in his grips…he might be able…YES! HE FIGHTS LOOSE!”

The Intelligence Agent fidgets enough to undo Frost’s locked fingers around his stomach and then flings his legs up to flip over Frost’s back. The big man turns around stunned and is met by a spinning heel kick to the chest! The crowd roars and Bobby Riley groans.

Stevens: “CIA uses his feet to waylay the big man. We all know how he has a lot of kicks and leg based attacks in his arsenal and he’ll have to rely on those heavily now.”

Riley: “He’s just drawing out a foregone conclusion. In order to sneak out the win he is going to have to shed his grandstanding, crowd pleasing shenanigans to hit Frost fast and hard and we both know he can’t do that.”

CIA scampers across the behemoth’s wide body to get his legs behind his head. He dead bolts his legs around Frost’s neck and locks them at the knee over the Adam’s apple.

Stevens: “Triangle choke, but I don’t think Frost is going to give him much time to really utilize it.”

Frost gets his legs up underneath him and rises before CIA can really squeeze the move for all he’s worth. CIA throws his weight forward and clamps his legs tighter, but the raw strength of the enraged Icelander will not be denied. The Canadian swings around using Frost’s head for a pivot to lie to the side of his body. He lunges to the canvas and flips Frost over with a head scissors takedown!

Stevens: “Sometimes when brute strength won’t do you have to rely on finesse and agility.”

Riley: “Poppycock, never underestimate brute strength.”

Stevens: “What have I told you about saying phrases with the word ‘cock’ in them?”

Frost is merely inconvenienced by the move and leaps up with the veins in his neck and forehead throbbing with rage. CIA crouches in a ball, half off the mat. As Frost lumbers near, the masked grappler explodes from his cocoon and catches the Hammer off guard with a superkick! Frost’s head snaps back and he stumbles on unsure feet. CIA spins in place and attacks with a roaring elbow to the jaw! Frost falls into the ropes and only the tautness of the strands keep him from collapsing to the canvas. The Canadian skates backwards across the mat with smooth shuffling steps.

Riley: “What did I say about not showboating? He has the audacity to do the moonwalk when the ICTV Title is on the line! Did everybody watch that Michael Jackson special last week? I’m as every bit as weird as that guy…er…no…maybe not.”

CIA cuts a sharp turn as the crowd absolutely explodes with laughing and clapping. He tilts his head back and brings up his right hand with an imaginary beer that he chugs with gusto. He ends his dance next to Frost slumped in the ropes, turns to face the man with his arm still up and blasts it down into the crown of his skull! Frost pops off the ropes and timbers face first to the canvas to the mad delight of the fans.

Stevens: “The showboating doesn’t cost him anything. The bionic elbow hits and now the cover!”

ONE




TWO




TH-

Frost kicks his leg out of CIA’s grasp and bench presses him off into the air.

Riley: “It didn’t get the pin now did it? So there. He took too much time setting that crap up.”

Stevens: “That’s who CIA is. He can’t deny his personality and the fans wouldn’t want him too. You also have to know that moves like that are done more for humiliation than anything else and you can certainly throw Frost off by embarrassing and frustrating him.”

The two men achieve their feet at the same time and CIA tries to surprise Frost with another roaring elbow. He ducks it and catches CIA around the waist on his backspin. Frost lifts the man’s feet off the mat for a German suplex, but the Carnie fires back an elbow to the temple. Frost drops him while shaking his head and CIA makes a standing switch into a rear waistlock of his own. With Frost’s equilibrium shaken, CIA has just enough power to get the near 300-pound thug off his feet and over his head before releasing his arms. Frost topples over the Canadian’s body and strikes the canvas on the nape of his neck!

Stevens: “CIA countered Frost’s German suplex into a release one of his own. The cover!”

ONE




TWO




THRE-

Riley: “Kick out! Damn, CIA showed a little too much brains and brawn there for my liking.”

Stevens: “Ah…so you’re finally giving CIA some credit?”

Riley: “Wha…how dare you suggest such a thing? I have an image to protect.”

CIA rolls off of Frost, moaning low with a hand on his shoulder.

Stevens: “Uh oh, doesn’t look good. That German suplex might have further wrenched that shoulder.”

Riley: “Frost kicked his ass so hard to start, he’s still kicking CIA’s ass when he’s out cold.”

CIA fights up with spittle flying out between his gritted teeth. Frost stirs and turns over to push himself up by his hands to his knees. The Canadian agent shakes his head and moves to intercept his rival. Frost reaches out and grabs the right leg for a takedown as he did earlier, but CIA rockets in a knee lift with the left. Frost is lifted off the canvas by the blow and CIA fastens the man’s head in a front facelock. He drops back to the canvas and DDT’s Frost in once crisp, continuous motion! The fans’ cheering gives the face energy as he blocks out the pain in his shoulder and rolls Frost over. However, that exertion gives him slight pauses before he weakly hooks the leg for the pin.

ONE!






TWO!






THRE-

Stevens: “LAST SECOND KICK OUT!”

Even through his mask, one can see the pleading in CIA’s eyes as he looks up at Eddy Long holding aloft two fingers and shaking his head.

Riley: “He’s hitting some big moves, but that shoulder is preventing him from stringing them all together.”

Frost lies still on the canvas as CIA stands. He shoots down a couple stomps to test the man, but aside from his body recoiling with the blows he makes no sign of getting up. CIA’s left arm hangs dead at his side as he uses the right to point at the upper right ring corner.

Riley: “He can’t be thinking of going for the Air Canada?”

Stevens: “He has to apply the Via Rail with a full nelson and that might not be possible with his left shoulder the way it is. This is the other option he has and he needs to end this match soon while he has Frost stunned.”

CIA reaches the turnbuckles with the throng popping for each step. He takes to the bottom rope and puts his hands on the top cord to pull himself up to the top turnbuckle. He winces again and curses himself for stupidly using the left arm to tow himself up the ropes when it wasn’t direly needed. CIA stands on high with this back to the ring and it is now that Frost opens his eyes and races to his feet!

Riley: “Frost was goldbricking! God, how I love that man…platonically, of course.”

The fans shout warning, but there is little CIA can do when he feels Frost’s head catch him between the legs. Frost steps to the bottom rope in order to lift CIA off the turnbuckle and fully on his back. The Intelligence Agent claws his fingers into Frost’s face and digs for his eyes. This only hastens Frost falling backwards off the rope to splat CIA to the turf!

Stevens: “Electric chair drop! I don’t think we have to mention how a good deal of impact was taken on CIA’s left shoulder.”

Riley: “No, but I love to hear you say it.”

Frost quickly bounds up and cuts loose a primal bellow while flexing his muscular arms to incite the fans revulsion. CIA flips over to all fours and crawls for the ropes. Frost skips up and poises his right knee to bash his opponent in the left shoulder. CIA crumples with a wail. Frost cups his arms around that shoulder to lift CIA up and makes sure to rub it a few times for added discomfort.

Riley: “I can’t believe he is so viciously dismantling a body part this way. It almost brings a tear to my eye, but I have to remember my image.”

Stevens: “Funny you do, because no one else does.”

Frost hooks in a half nelson on the damaged shoulder. He drags CIA a few lurching steps and then jerks him off his feet and down with a half nelson bulldog! He tilts the left shoulder down to jackhammer the mat and CIA screams bloody murder. This is music to Frost’s ears as he flips him over for the pin.

ONE!






TWO!






THRE-

Stevens: “FOOT ON THE ROPES! A hair’s breadth away from losing the biggest match in his career and CIA digs deep to instinctively find that nearby bottom rope!”

Riley: “He is making a very nasty habit of not laying down and dying like he should.”

Frost springs to his feet and gets right up in Eddy Long’s face. Or more accurately, he pulls himself to his full height so Long’s face is somewhere in the vicinity of his lower chest. The veteran official points down at CIA and barks at Frost to finish the match. He shakes his head and the camera microphone can just pick up the faint whisper of him saying, “how about I finish you!”

Stevens: “Frost is threatening Eddy Long. That is a sure sign of frustration.”

Riley: “And Eddy always used to do the right thing.”

The audience boos and hisses as Frost brings up a fist to brandish in Long’s face. He takes a pace, but we never find out what Frost might have done as he is abruptly upended from behind! Long plunges to the mat and counts!

ONE!






TWO!






THRE-

Stevens: “Frost just jiggles loose of the schoolboy rollup from behind. He has got to refocus himself.”

Riley: “God damn! This is one time I wish Sexton Hardcastle were in there. He wouldn’t have stood up to Frost at all. He probably would have fainted dead away.”

Frost rolls over to his feet and charges, angrier than ever. CIA is on his way up, but sees the rampaging bull moose and drops to the mat off to his side. He clamps his legs around Frost’s left ankle and tips him over with a drop toehold. He folds the leg up at the knee and makes his knees to work an ankle lock. He twists the ankle with both hands, but a shooting pain in his shoulder causes him to scream and drop the ankle. He slumps to his back and attempts to tie up Frost’s left leg with a leglock, but he’s already pushed himself away from CIA and uses the ropes for a ladder to climb up.

Stevens: “That shoulder has been his bane at every turn. It could possibly be dislocated.”

Riley: “Don’t tease me with such joy.”

Stevens: “However, the diligent ex-military man will not give up and not give in.”

CIA tries to catch Frost off guard with another superkick as the big man turns around. Although, this time Frost grabs the foot to stop the shot. He spins CIA around and he finishes his 360-degree spin to find Frost right on top of him! He envelops him with an arm across his chest and tucked under his left armpit. Frost lifts CIA with little strain straight off the canvas and socks him down with an uranage!

Stevens: “ICE SHELF!”

Riley: “ON THE SHOULDER!”

ONE!






TWO!






THRE-

The fans gasp with relief as CIA’s right shoulder bolts off the canvas!

Riley: “Son of a bitch!”

Stevens: “SHOULDER UP! CIA is still in this and Frost can’t believe it!”

Frost rises to his knees and his entire body tremors with rage. His eyes are closed and his jaws are clenched. Slowly his body settles and one can see the wave of fury wash out to sea again.

Riley: “There you go, don’t lose your cool, don’t fight with Long. Frost just needs to keep piling up the power moves. CIA can’t hold on forever. Can he?”

CIA tries to sit up in vain as Frost seizes him by his hair. He jams the Canadian’s head between his legs as he stands and locks his fingers between the crooks of CIA’s upturned elbows.

Stevens: “The Early Winter should get the victory!”

Riley “Fitting with sixty feet of snow on the ground.”

Frost rotates CIA up against his chest. With the curtain swiftly falling on his ICTV Title chances, CIA harnesses what little he has left to squirm loose of Frost’s iron grip and clenches his feet behind the big man’s head!

Stevens: “CIA RANAS FROST OVER…NO!”

CIA throws all his weight toward the canvas, but Frost is rooted like a mighty oak to the spot. Frost repositions his hands on CIA’s lower back and hoists him up horizontal with the mat. He turns to the near ropes and bounces the agent on the top cord!

Riley: “Slingshot powerbomb…GOD NO!”

CIA rides the bounce up and holds himself in place with both hands on the back of Frost’s head. He releases his right and fires down a right hand to the kisser! CIA’s body shivers from the pain of holding himself by only that left arm. He topples off of Frost and manages to make his feet!

Stevens: “Frost isn’t dazed! He attacks with a Hell Freezes Over!”

CIA just spies the rushing outstretched arm and ducks under the bitter lariat. He twirls behind Frost as he pulls up short after the miss. The fighting face quickly locks on a full nelson and looks to step around to grapevine the near leg.

Stevens: “VIA RAIL!”

Frost throws the left side of his body rearward. Hardly any contact at all is made with the left shoulder, but it’s enough to make CIA lose his grip and allow Frost to make a standing switch. He counters into a half nelson on the left shoulder and winds his right arm across the throat!

Riley: “HAHA! COBRA CLUTCH!”

Frost violently wrenches the left shoulder and waggles CIA’s body back and forth like a rag doll. He fights to keep his feet on the mat and wiggles his body just enough to step his right leg between Frost’s body.

Stevens: “He broke this clutch with a low blow at the beginning of the match and he’s looking to do the same again.”

Frost knows the shot is coming this time and picks CIA straight off the canvas. He angles the left shoulder outward and falls forward while keeping the maneuver locked tight.

Riley: “NO! Frost learned from earlier what to expect. Cobra Clutch slam and I’d say it’s time to start putting the chairs up.”

Frost lies with all of his body mass across CIA’s left side and the Cobra Clutch sealed tightly. CIA’s free right arm fights and stretches, but he is sorrowfully in the center of the ring. He can hear Eddy Long asking him if he wants to submit in his right ear. He can hear Frost’s heart thundering against his ribcage in his left. Droning in the background is the vague sound of the fans imploring him to fight on and break loose. A secret agent’s brain is like a steel trap and all of his synapses fire to file through one scenario of escape after another. All are discounted, all are deemed impossible. The referee’s voice asking over and over “Do you submit? Do you submit?” becomes a dull chant filling his groggy mind. The only sharp sensation open to him is the left shoulder, who’s screaming nerve endings and howling tissue overrides the brain to end the torment.

Stevens: “CIA TAPS OUT!”

DING DING DING

Funyon: “Here is your winner by submission…and STILL Intercontinental Television Champion…FRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!”

Eddy Long stands and taps Frost on the shoulder to release his move. He grunts and refuses to let go.

Stevens: “In the end, Frost’s single minded game plan proved too much for CIA to overcome. C’mon on, the match is over let go.”

Riley: “The match is over, but not the message. He doesn’t want CIA or anyone else coming after either of his title belts.”

The bell sounds over and over, with Eddy Long admonishing Frost to let go. Suddenly, the crowd is riffed with the sounds of cheering and the camera cuts away to the entrance ramp.

Stevens: “IT’S MAK FRANCIS!”

Francis flies like lightening down the aisle with a steel chair in hand. Frost looks behind him due to the crowd noise and sees Francis sliding under the bottom rope. Frost releases the Cobra Clutch and rolls for the floor. Mak’s swinging steel chair just misses the Velvet’s Hammer’s skull.

Riley: “Mak Francis has no right to be out here. Frost already kicked his ass in the tag match last week.”

Mak drops to one knee to check on his tag partner while keeping on eye on Frost on the floor. Frost points a finger at Mak and spits out curses the camera doesn’t quite pick up.

Stevens: “Mak Francis has the right to come to his partner’s aide as anyone does. Although I doubt Tom Flesher would do the same for Frost.”

Riley: “Hey now, that’s an unneeded cheap shot!”

Stevens: “As was Frost keeping the Cobra Clutch on after the bell. We’re almost out of time tonight, but know that Mak Francis and CIA are not out of the tag title picture yet and Francis might fading into the ICTV title picture as well to face his former stable mate.”

The camera catches Frost backing up the ramp, still pointing and yelling at Mak Francis. Garbage flies by his head and the audience shows no signs of stopping their fierce jeering as the pictures fades out for the night.
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Guest_TheBostonStrangler_*
post Feb 18 2003, 09:22 PM
Post #8





Guests






Read it yourselves, especially the promo by Perfect Bo (which was the ONLY promo on this show. C'mon people)
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