SWF Storm

Thoth · June 19, 2004

The air outside the Bradley Center in Wisconsin is rather cool, but there's a sharp nip to it that would make almost anyone shiver. Standing outside in this cool air, in the lit carpark, is none other than the venerable Ben Hardy and his cameraman Gus. He's waiting impatiently, rubbing his arms, and from the arena faint boos can be heard as a familiar car pulls into the arena. The door swings open and a pair of black boots hit the ground.

Despite being champion, the Hell Machine still drives an ancient looking bronze Torana, too. As he straightens to his full height, he has the ICTV title over his shoulder, the World title around his waist, and his kit bag over his other shoulder.

"Janus! Janus! If we could get a word with..."

Without a word, the big man brushes past Hardy and continues his walk towards the building. Undeterred, the little interviewer bounds after him, at least until the giant suddenly turns to look down at him.

"What, Hardy?"

"We...I....uh....we just wanted to hear....your thoughts.... on your...win." Hardy stammers.

"I don't have time for this now. But if you want to know my thoughts on winning the title..."

He stares into the camera, as if staring at every SWF superstar in the locker room, his red eyes burning with the anger everyone knows the Hell Machine has deep down.

"All I have to say is.... I won...bitches."

He spins on his heel, not even looking at Hardy. And stalks into the Bradley Center, his trenchcoat flapping behind him. The poor interviewer rubs his arms and looks at Gus, who looks back at him, and then at the camera.

"Well...back to ringside, I guess..."

Fade out.

Thoth · June 19, 2004

COMMERCIAL BREAK!

The screen shows an advanced-television sat on a simple TV stand in a white room. Suddenly the picture starts to distort and changes size, and an Australian voice is heard in voice-over...

“Do not adjust your television set...”

“I am controlling the horizontal...”

“I am controlling the vertical...”

Then the picture goes back to normal, but standing beside the TV is a dark-eyed figure.

“My name is Andrew Blackwell... but you may know me as Sacred.”

He holds up a remote control.

“And I’m here to tell you about the SmartVision 2000, the only TV that will adjust its display settings automatically, including regular, widescreen and zoom options. The SmartVision 2000 regulates itself to perfectly suit the output from your source, whether that be regular TV, VHS, DVD or even a games console.”

Sacred gestures towards the TV.

“Don’t Experiment - Control The Transmission!”

COMMERCIAL BREAK!

“Well Citizens, we’re back on Lockdown!” Cyclone Comet calls as the show returns from the break. “After an amazing Pay-Per-View the superstars of the SWF are having a well-deserved rest from their amazing exertions at 13th Hour, and with a few exceptions the main exercise they will be having tonight is with their mouths!”

Riley just stares at Comet.

“Robert, get that image of Tom Flesher out of your head right now!” Comet snaps, then softens his tone for the camera again. “Coming up next, we have-”

But the masked superhero is cut off by the crunching, distorted guitars of Lostprophets’ ‘We Still Kill The Old Way’ as the words ‘Prepare To Be Proved Wrong’ flash up, white on a blacked-out Smarktron. The shot changes to a close-up of Toxxic’s face smiling his trademark lopsided grin before it cuts to him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the-

‘GO!’

*BOOOM!!*

-blast of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! The Smarktron changes to show notable clips from the Straight-Edge Sensation’s matches, but this time a new image is prevalent - Toxxic dropping Nathaniel Kibagami on his head with the Dangerlust.

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

The Wisconsin crowd are RABID as Toxxic appears through the drifting smoke of the pyro, and abuse rains down from all sides while the straight-edger makes his way to the ring to the point where Jet sticks close behind her boyfriend, looking fearful of missiles. Toxxic seems unfazed by it all, but a faint smile plays around the right-hand side of his mouth as he rolls under the bottom rope into the ring.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Funyon booms. “Please welcome the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’... TOXXX-IIIC!!”

But there is little hope of that, and the Milwaukee faithful continue to heckle the Brit as he takes the microphone from Funyon and stands in the middle of the ring. Toxxic looks around, waiting for the noise to die down, but it shows no sign of doing so and the straight-edger’s expression slips from amused to impatient, then to annoyed...

“OK, enough already!” the Brit finally snaps at the crowd, who responds by booing further - but Toxxic isn’t going to let a bunch of SWF fans stop him from talking.

“Fine; you don’t like me. Please rest assured that I don’t like you either,” Toxxic continues to a chorus of boos. “I’m not here to talk about whether you like me or not; the simple fact that I’m standing here should give you a clue about something.” The Brit looks around and sees comprehension dawn on a few faces. “Yeah, see, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“I BEAT NATHANIEL KIBAGAMI!”

The words are shouted to the sky as the straight-edger throws his head back and lets rip before his voice trails off into laughter - not cruel, sadistic laughter, but merely an expression of a weight being lifted from the soul.

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

“No, you see, I don’t care if you think I suck or not,” Toxxic informs the crowd. “I did what none of you could have even hoped to ever do, and that is step into the ring with one of the greatest wrestlers, one of the most notorious figures to ever enter the SWF... and I won. Now I’ve beaten Kibagami before, but on Sunday not only did I win, but I won in a Last Man Standing match - the same type of match that Kibagami ended Edwin MacPhisto’s career in.”

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

“Comet, the man has a point,” Riley asserts over the crowd noise. “He beat the Silent One at his own game, and still these people show him no respect!”

“Robert, I respect this man as a wrestler,” Comet answers with dignity. “As a human being, I am revolted.”

“I’m not going to go into detail about my match,” Toxxic continues, “because to be quite honest I don’t remember the last bit of it. But I know what I saw on the tape, and that was me putting Nathaniel Kibagami down with the Dangerlust. Now, I don’t know what shape Kibagami is in, and I don’t care. I’m not here to talk about him either.”

Toxxic gestures to Jet who is lurking at ringside, and the dreadlocked beauty pulls a can of Frost brand Cola from one of her pockets and throws it into the ring. Toxxic catches it with practised ease and pulls the ringpull.

*CRAK!

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

“TOXX-IC SU-”

“I’m here to talk about the future,” Toxxic says, talking straight over the crowd after taking a swig. “My future. The whole thing between Nathaniel and I started when he beat me in a Number One Contender’s match. We all know that he went on to win the title - and then lose it again. In the meantime, I got sidetracked on him. Now that is over with. Finished.”

Toxxic takes another swig and looks around at the Milwaukee crowd, who jeer and gesture at the Straight-Edge Sensation, but don’t bother starting to chant again - they know he’ll just ignore them.

“I am hereby declaring my intent,” Toxxic states, taking another gulp of Cola. “I am going to rise to the top in this federation, and I am going to take the World Title. I don’t care who is sitting up there when I get there - Janus? I owe him for two losses, and trust me he won’t get a third. Flesher? There’s a tag-team loss kicking around from way-back-when that I still remember - plus the fact the guy’s a complete twat.” The Wisconsin crowd find themselves unexpectedly cheering the Brit’s remark, but their attitudes quickly change when he moves on to his next subject.

“Dace Night?”

“HOR-ROR-CORE!”

“He’s hard... he’s tough... and he’s the guy that I have beaten three times” Toxxic finishes. “Count them - single competition, tag team and six-man tag. Now, from what I hear my fellow Nottingham man Chris Card has taken a shine to Landon Maddix, and is trying to get him into the World Title scene - Card, your dancing one-trick wonder Said couldn’t beat me, and Maddix won’t either. And Landon - no hard feelings, but I suggest you get Megan ready to take care of you for a while if you get in my way.” The Brit is getting into his stride now and starts gesturing with the can, sloshing sugary liquid on the mat.

“Danny Williams?”

“DAN-E!”

“The guy’s a bloody roid-monkey!” Toxxic yells, “and assuming he doesn’t lose all his hair, tear a few muscles and become infertile in the meantime I will gladly beat his juiced-up backside anytime he cares to take me on! Nathaniel Kibagami, if you can hear me from wherever you are and you’re still in a condition to wrestle, I suggest you think twice about coming at me again! John Duran! I’ve never had the pleasure of your company in this ring, but should you be wanting to approach the World Title again I will take your Notorious Tactics and shove them up your backside until all the alcohol you binged on comes flooding out of your mouth!”

“Citizen Toxxic is really taking no prisoners in this tirade, Robert!” Comet comments, sounding slightly shaken by the straight-edger’s vehemence.

“I am not scared of anyone!” Toxxic bellows, taking one last swig of Cola before hurling the can out into the crowd. “I will take on anyone and everyone I have to in order to rise to the top, and I will win!. I don’t care how big they are, how small they are - I will wrestle the entire bloody federation if I have to but I will get to the top, and no-one is going-”

Suddenly the lights dim and a multitude of light blue lights start flashing on the entrance ramp while ‘Not Today’ by Hotwire starts up. Toxxic stops short in the middle of his sentence and glares daggers at the stage...

...and following closely behind his music comes ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins, wearing his warm-up top and a Petey the Irish Penguin T-shirt!

“Spike has heard enough!” Comet declares with approval as the building ERUPTS for someone to save them from Toxxic. “For some reason Spike Jenkins has decided that he cannot tolerate any more of this man’s boasting, and I do believe he’s here to shut him up in spite of the beating that Spike took in that cage at 13th Hour!”

“This is brilliant, Comet!” Riley squeals in delight. “Wait until the straight-edger is all riled up, then send out the little stoner! I love it!”

*BOOOM!!*

White pyros go off on either side of Spike as the man from California starts to bounce, warming himself up for all the world as if he’s about to have a match before making his way down to the ring. He steps through the ropes and spins in a circle as the fans come to their feet, before making his way over to where Funyon stands at ringside and grabbing a microphone of his own from the ring announcer. Spike steps back and pushes his hood back, staring across the ring at the incredulous Toxxic.

“SPIKE!”

Hollywood acknowledges the cheers vaguely, but keep his attention on Toxxic as he raises the microphone to his lips.

“Y’know man, I didn’t mean to listen in... but you’ve got a hell of a big mouth.”

“RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH!!”

“SPIKE-SPIKE-SPIKE-SPIKE!”

Toxxic tilts his head to one side, a look of curiosity coming over his face. Spike grins, although not with quite the carefree air that one has come to associate with him.

“I mean there I am, minding my own business backstage, when suddenly I hear this gruesome racket - and it turns out to be you, out here, talking crap.” Spike pauses for a minute, then continues. “It’s all very well you threatening those people, but dude - none of them are out here, are they? I mean, I don’t even know where half of them are, some of them might not even be in the damn building, man.” Jenkins raises the mic to continue once more, but Toxxic cuts him off.

“If any of them want to find me, they know where I am,” Toxxic tells Hollywood shortly. “Now did you and what’s left of your conscious mind have a point to make? Or are you just going to stand around and waste perfectly good oxygen?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a point,” Spike retorts, sounding annoyed. “Man, when I was last around these parts you’d wrestled like, two matches? And then I came back at Battleground and you’re giving it all that in the Tag Match From Hell, winning the ICTV for the what, second time? You leapt right past me dude, like I wasn’t even here.” Spike pauses for a moment. “OK, so I wasn’t here, but that’s not what my point is. My point is; that wouldn’t matter if you weren’t such an asshole.”

“SPIKE-SPIKE-SPIKE-SPIKE!”

“And since you’re out here saying you’ll face anyone to get to the top, I’m saying why not face me?” Spike goes on. “Those guys you mentioned aren’t around; I am, and I think you’re an asshole. You seem to think you’ve gone past me; I say - let’s find out!”

Hollywood gets into Toxxic’s face, squaring up to the straight-edger... but Toxxic’s mouth quirks upwards in his lopsided grin, and he takes a step backwards.

“Spike,” the Brit replies, “I’ll give you a warning here. First off,” he holds up a finger “you can’t provoke me because I know it’s the drugs talking, not you.” A thought seems to occur to Toxxic. “...but then again, the drugs are probably smarter than you anyway.” He holds up a second finger. “Secondly, you’re still recovering from your cage match against Johnny Dangerous where you failed to win the Cruiserweight Title, so you’re not exactly on top form. Thirdly, I’m still recovering from the concussion I took through winning my Last Man Standing match with Kibagami...” the straight-edger’s grin grows more pronounced “...so if you push this, I’m going to put you down quick to avoid exerting myself.”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“Such arrogance!” Comet gasps. “Such nerve!”

“Such sportsmanship!” Riley replies. “He’s giving Spike a fair warning, and it’s more than the little drug-user deserves!”

Spike doesn’t seem to feel the same way however, and he steps back up to Toxxic without hesitation.

“C’mon dude, what’s the matter?” he asks. “Are you saying that you’re scared of getting hurt?”

“There is no possible way that I’d be scared of you,” Toxxic replies, his expression growing bleak. “If you really want to push it, go ahead and say that again.”

“I said,” Spike repeats, taking a deep breath, “are you sca-”

“HOLD IT!”

The voice comes over the PA system, and the owner of it is standing on the entrance stage. Alexander Zenon does not look all that happy - but then again, when does he?

“Spike, Toxxic, you cut that out right now!” he orders. “Toxxic; you will get a chance at a title shot as and when I see fit, and that date won’t get any closer by you mouthing off! And Spike, Toxxic is telling the truth - you’re both beat up, and you will not be wrestling on this show!”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“The fans in attendance not liking the decision of Commissioner Zenon!” Comet notes as Milwaukee voices its displeasure. “I think they wanted to see Toxxic taken down a peg or two!”

“They’re going to have to wait for someone other than Spike to get out here then!” Riley responds.

“But that doesn’t mean,” Zenon continues, “that you won’t face each other at all. You will - one-on-one, on Lockdown!”

“Lockdown?” Comet asks incredulously.

“Ha!” Riley laughs. “Not so cocky now, are we Comet? Not quite so sure that Spike can take Toxxic now we actually have a concrete date!”

“Robert, I have every confidence in Citizen Jenkins,” Comet replies as the two men in the ring continue to stare each other down. “This could be Spike’s big break, the occasion where he really makes his mark on the SWF! Just think of the impact it could have if he got a win over Toxxic, one of the most dominant wrestlers around today!”

“I’m trying to think that way, but I can’t get my head that far up my ass,” Riley responds. “Although-”

“Robert Riley, if you mention Tom Flesher in any way, shape or form I will give you such a smack!!”

“...let’s go to commercials then.”

COMMERCIAL BREAK!

“Hi, my name’s Crow, the SWF’s Antichr- sorry, sorry, the SWF’s Gothic Avian (shutupyouifyouknowwhat’sgoodforyoumate)... and I’m here to tell you about BrightRite lightubes! These dandy little buggers are just great for smashing over the heads of any annoying little masochistic bastards who might by trying to charm your bird, and- WHAT THE FARK DO YOU MEAN I’M NOT MEANT TO SMASH THEM!? AND NO, I WON’T STOP FARKING SWEARING YOU PIECE OF-”

Thoth · June 19, 2004

The arena is growing louder as they wait in anticipation for the next event that's gonna happen at tonights show. Various signs are seen through the crowd exclaiming "Janus is Champ" and "Janus Fears Flesher". As the audience becomes impatient suddenly the lyrics of Hank Williams Jr are heard over the PA system.

"The preacher man says it's the end of time

And the Mississippi River, she's a-goin' dry...

The interest is up and the stock market's down

And you only get mugged if you go downtown...

I live back in the woods, you see,

My woman and the kids and the dogs and me...

I got a shotgun, a rifle, and a four-wheel drive

And a country boy can survive

Country folks can survive..."

Some of the crowd is singing along while most people just look bewildered as to never hearing this entrance music played before. The curtains are thrown over to the side as out walks what appears to be a stranger. The stranger is 6 foot 2 and is a little bit above average in size. He is wearing a Pi Kappa Phi fraternity shirt that hangs over a pair of faded blue jeans and black boots. Short curly hair and a long slender face make the man seem somewhat familar-- yet no one recognizes him. He struts midway down the entrance ramp and has a microphone in his hand...

"Howdy to all the cheese heads out in wisconsin..:waits a minute for a few short cheers: in case all y'all are wondering just how the hell I am.. letme introduce myself as Martin "Big Country" Hunt. You see I hail from the mountains of the Carolinas and have some how gotten myself into a contract deal here at the SWF, or whatever it's name is. You know what not even into my first match and I can already tell I am gonna have a problem here. My backstage locker room was trashy and didn't fit up to any kind of normal-man's standards.. :begins walking down further towards the awaiting ring: I am stuck here in no-man's land Wisconsin where not a damn thing happens. :boos are emerging: I can't even find a descent bar around this inbred Bradley Center located in where-I-pee, milwaukee. :boos start becoming outrageous and one crazed fan throws a bag of stale popcorn at Martin: You see I can't even get decent popcorn from you damn cheese wiz of creatins out there, did I pay my fraternity dues for this?"

Martin slams the microphone down and struts his way to the ring smirking at the sold out crowd and giving his "one-finger" salute to a few deserving gentlemen. Hank Williams Jr's lyrics and guitar playing fade out as Martin lifts up the ropes and ducks under to fit in the ring. He reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a little pint bottle of 100 proof Southern Comfort black label and takes a swig. The bottle seems to have already taken a beaten as Martin knocks back a little more then places the bottle in the bottom of the turnbuckle to avoid spillage of his fancy beverage.

Without warning, all the lights of the arena cut out, leaving Martin and the audience shocked and curious. White pyro flashes and streaks from the ceiling to the stage and resembles bolts of lightning while thunder is heard. It is almost as if the whole entire arena is caught in the middle of a thunder storm. One last loud clap of thunder hushes even the smallest of noises in the crowd as loud rock music blare out the lyrics of Trapt's Headstrong.

"Back off I’ll take you on

Headstrong to take on anyone

I know that you are wrong

Headstrong we’re Headstrong

Back off I’ll take you on

Headstrong to take on anyone

I know that you are wrong and this is not where you belong

I can’t give everything away

I won’t give everything away"

The arena lightens up a little and flames burst up and border the stage as if the lightning strikes had somehow caught the ring on fire. Two gentlemen emerge from the curtains and walk slowly and steadily down the ramp towards the ring. A dark blue spotlight follows the duo to the ring as helps give some leadway to their identity. Both gentlemen are African-American and have almost the same complexion. One is dressed in a business suit, tie, and some new sport glasses while the other one is obviously alot larger than his manager looking friend. The bigger of the two is wearing dark blue wrestling tights which carry a lightning design down the left pant leg and is wearing black wrestling boots and no shirt.

He is clearly a very strong guy just from his appearance and physique. The smaller guy however has a microphone of his own...

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Milwaukee Bradley Stadium, Letme first introduce my main man, the most impressive athelete I have ever seen, the man who makes kids scared of thunderstorms.... Sean "The Perfect Storm" Davis. And letme tell you he is alot tougher and stronger than any of you damn Wisconsin people have ever seen :this draws more boos from the crowd: Now you are probably wondering about who I am.. well I am a well-educated lawyer who has won many of my cases. I can put all of you in jail right now for slander if I wanted, hell this other guy in the ring, I just might get him a court case for public drunkeness.. :Martin is seen mouthing Fuck You to the two gentlemen approaching the ring: Hey watch your mouth punk! Sean Davis will deal with you soon enough and after this match you won't even have to worry about your precious "fraternity dues..." hahahahaha...

With this last comment Sean walks into the ring and goes over the top rope with one leg after the other, showing how big he is in size. He is obviously a good 4 inches and 50 lbs bigger than his opponent, yet Martin is not showing any sign of concern. The ring announcer begins..

In this next match up scheduled for one pinfall, we have in this corner weighing in at 220 lbs, towering at 6 foot 2 inches, hailing all the way from Boone, North Carolina...... Maaaaaarrttttttin Huuuuuuuunt. And his opponent weighing in at 270 lbs, with a height of 6 feet 5 inches... hailing from Florida, known as the Perfect Storm, Seeeeeaaaaannnnn Daaaaaaaavviiiss. :Marcus stands down by the ring and prepares to watch the match from the outside: Let's get this fight underway.. ::DING DING::

Comet: I can't wait to see the talent behind these two newcomers of the SWF.

Riley: Seems the only talent that country guy has is the ability to hold his liquor..

Martin and Sean both circle each other attempting to size the other up and they both lunge at each other to gain the upper hand in a grapple. Sean easily uses his strength to his advantage and throws Martin back onto the ground. Sean gets a quick kick to Martin's knee before Martin can get back to his feet..

Comet: Man oh man does Martin Hunt have his work cut out for him. Sean seems to just have to much muscle to handle..

Riley: Yea what a way to be welcomed into the SWF-- by facing a man that seems to have come from some type of bodybuilding show.. I wonder how much "The Perfect Storm" can bench?

Sean goes for another grapple, but Martin slips away and races behind Sean. With a quick dropkick to the knees Sean comes tumbling down to the mat. Martin goes for a quick ankle lock but is kicked into the corner by the strong leg of Sean. Sean grabs Martin's head and bashes it into the turnbuckle for a count of five before Martin gives a not-so obvious low blow to the lower regions of Davis.

Riley: Now that is not good sportsman-ship, I mean really did he have to do that!

Comet: Haha, the good ol' family jewels..the beans and frank...

Riley: Oh and here comes Martin with some offense..

Martin takes advantage of the dazed Davis and delivers and quick bull-dog. Martin show-boats to the crowd and mocks Sean's hurt privates. Sean sits up and then grabs the legs of Martin out from under him. Davis picks Hunt up by the head and then gives him a huge full-nelson slam that shakes the ring. Sean then becomes to stomp on Martin..

Riley: Man, Martin just took a powerful form of abuse there, I don't see how he is gonna be able to get up from that one..

Comet: I felt the ring shake from that power..

Riley: Davis is a powerhouse and it looks like a long night for Big Country..

Sean grabs the out of breath Martin and begins setting him up for a big military press drop. He lifts Martin easily into the air and tosses him down onto the top ropes, making sure Martin's neck gets the good view of the top rope-- nearly choking him in the process. Martin grabs his throat in pain as the referee goes over to check on him. Sean looks down with a glance of pure power and grabs Martin up once again and tosses him into the ropes, as Martin springs off the ropes back towards Sean, he ducks and avoids a huge boot that soars in the air. As Martin comes off the ropes and catches Sean turned around, he delivers a forearm to the back of Sean's head, which hardly fazes the big guy. Martin then gives another forearm and as Sean turns around Martin delivers a big haymaker that shakes Sean up a little bit. Martin sees how Davis is shaken up and gives him a quick scoop slam.

Riley: If Martin expects to win this one he is going to have to use his quickness to his advantage..

Comet: Yea, definitely.. oh man what is Marcus doing..

Marcus climbs up on the apron to distract Martin. He taunts him and laughs as Sean recovers from the quick scoop slam. Sean sits up and walks over behind Martin to grab his head and delivers a quick neck breaker. Marcus applauds and then steps off the apron to let the two finish fighting. Sean picks up Martin once more and delivers a vicious powerbomb that makes people in the front row just flench a little bit at the way Martin's eyes rolled to the back of his head. Sean rolls over and attempts a pin..

ONE

TWO

No, Martin barely kicks out as Sean picks him up and slings him into the turnbuckles. Sean runs into him and delivers and nasty looking clothesline that causes Martin to slide down to the mat in the corner. Marcus runs over and begins baggering Martin about how much Sean is going to kill him and Marcus doesn't hesitate to throw a few quick shots in as well. The ref sends Marcus back over to his side as Sean picks up Martin and delivers a brainbuster DDT...

Riley: Man that Marcus is a cyanical son-of-a-bitch! I can't believe he got some cheap shots in on Martin..

Comet: Ha, I bet thats the first shot Martin has taken that hasn't involved alcohol..

Riley: Well looks like Martin might be out of it after that DDT..

Sean goes for the cover..

ONE

TWO

T

Martin meagerly gets a shoulder up as Sean becomes a little frustrated and a violent expression is seen on his face. Sean picks up Martin and executes a perfect fireman's carry gutbuster drop that makes Martin look like a ragdoll. Martin appears dazed as the ref goes to check on him. Sean pushes the ref aside and grabs Martin up once again and slings him into the ropes and delivers an atomic drop as Martin falls on his face. Sean gives a grimace look to the crowd and delivers one of his patent moves the "Super cell" as he slams Hunt down to the mat and engages in multiple blows to the face that are thrown in a very violent passion. One of the blows busts Martin's lip up and causes blood to run down the side of his face. The referee quickly intervenes and breaks Sean off of Martin.

Riley: Is that really necessary? I mean come on no need to violently attack another man like that..

Comet: Hey this is great! We are actually seeing how Martin looks after he is thrown out of the bar.. what a rare sight.

Riley: I can't believe you are sitting there encouraging this..Sean is fighting as if he wants to kill the guy..

Martin slowly climbs to his feet and meets a choke hold by Sean. Sean pushes Martin over to the ropes with his hand still around Martin's neck and he slowly raises Martin in the air with one-hand and lifts him over the top rope. Davis chokeslams Martin over the top rope and out of the ring onto the arena floor right in front of Riley and Comet. A loud thud is heard as Martin's body lies motionless.

Riley: Oh my god! The power and destruction that lies within Sean Davis could upset alot of the competitor's within this organization.

Comet: Man this is better than the court side tickets I had where Ben Wallace just destroyed the Lakers in Detroit.

Sean slowly climbs out of the ring as Martin attempts to regain his feet. The ref begins counting to ten slowly.. ONE. Sean grabs Martin and slings him into the steps as the steel steps scatter in multiple directions and Martin holds his shoulder on the ground. Sean slowly advances as the ref counts to FOUR. Sean picks up Martin and gives him an european upper cut as Martin falls down back to the floor..FIVE.....SIX. Sean rolls back into the ring to avoid count-out as Marcus runs over once more to obtain cheap shots on Martin. Martin however sees him coming and as Marcus runs towards Martin, Martin ducks a shoulder and lifts up hurling Marcus over him in a "flip-style" and causing Marcus to land hard on his back. Marcus gets up holding his back in pain while Martin regains balance. SEVEN...EIGHT...NINE... Martin rolls into the ring just in time as Sean greets him with multiple kicks. Sean picks up Martin once more and goes for a shoulder-block but is caught off guard by Martin's quick leg-sweep that brings Sean to his knees. Martin jumps and lands a solid sounding elbow drop to Sean's midsection and then quickly delivers a few fast paced fists of his own to Davis's face. The ref breaks up the two once more as Martin continues to bleed from his lip. Martin gets Sean back to his feet and kicks him right in the abdominals causing Sean to bend over. This leads to a huge DDT delivered by Martin and takes the breath out of Sean's lungs for a minute..Martin goes for the cover..

ONE

TWO

Marcus grabs Sean's leg and puts it on the bottom rope breaking up the count. Martin turns and spits in the face of Marcus and cockily shows off his biceps. As Martin turns around he is met with another one of Sean's chokeslams and then gets pounded by a huge elbow to his chest. Davis picks Martin up and slings him into the ropes, Davis grabs Martin and uses the momentum to give a huge running power slam to Martin. Davis attempts a cover..

ONE

TWO

THR

No, once more Martin kicks out as Marcus climbs to the apron and shows 3 fingers demanding that it was a 3 count..

Riley: Man the resilent nature of Martin is the only thing keeping him in this match..

Comet: Well I don't know how much more of a pounding he can take, I haven't seen a beating worse than this since Tuesday Night's NBA final game where Detroit just demolished the Lakers.

Riley: I didn't know you were a fan of Detriot?

Comet: Hey I am a fan of anyone besides the Lakers, and I mean come on who is gonna cheer for a team that has Karl Malone attempting to buy his way onto a championship team for a ring..it would be like Sean Davis teaming up with Janus to win the SWF Tag Team Titles... just to obtain gold it's ludacris..

Riley: Karl Malone is a great athelete and deserves a ring for his dedication and great work ethic.

Comet: I bet you probably think Kobe is innocent of rape too..

Riley: He was proven innocent..

Comet: Yeah and O.J. didn't murder Nicole.. HA

Riley: Speaking of murder, it looks like Sean Davis is fed up with Martin and is looking to attempt some sort of finishing manuever...

Davis grabs Martin once again and gets in a quick grapple..Martin uses every ounce of stregth he has left and kicks Davis in the midsection and then delivers a stunning scissor kick to Davis's head. Martin laughs and mocks Davis's slow giant-like movements causing Marcus to return to the apron again and mouth off to Martin. Martin gives a good slap to the face of Marcus as Sean runs toward the back of Martin. Martin senses the big man's movements and moves aside as Sean runs into Marcus causing Marcus to bounce onto the floor with his back. Martin laughs and drop kicks Davis in the back of the head forcing him over the top ropes and out onto the floor with his manager. As the ref goes over to start the count for Davis, Martin ventures over into his corner and grabs up his pint of liquor. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR.. Martin takes a swig, then takes a big gulp but doesn't swallow the liquor, instead he houses it within his mouth. As the ref counts to Six, Sean rolls back into the ring and Marcus starts complaining to the ref about Martin's slap and how he is going to press charges. As the ref's back is turned, Sean gets up from the mat--only to have Martin spit out 100 proof Southern Comfort in his eyes causing the big man to go momentarily blind..

Riley: Oh now that is just not right..

Comet: HA! Martin should call that move Alcohol Abuse.. hahaha

Martin wipes the blood from his mouth as the ref turns around to watch the match. Marcus is heard moaning and bitching about the way Martin blinded Sean, but no one is paying any attention to the annoying pest. Martin delivers 2 quick haymakers as Sean is thrasing around violently trying to gain sight of his opponent. As Davis wipes his eyes, Martin quickly grabs Davis head back and lifts him up slightly off the ground delivering what looks like Raven's Evenflow manuever. Martin rolls over and quickly pulls a leg back for a count...

ONE

TWO

THREE!!

Riley: He shouldn't win that way..

Comet: Martin Hunt just gave Davis some "Sweet Southern Comfort"

And your winner of this match-up... Maaaaaarrrrtiiiiiiiinnn Huuuuuuuuunt!! As the ref raises Martin's hand in victory the crowd boos noisely and Marcus climbs into the ring to dispute Hunt's narrow victory. Suddenly, Davis raises up from the ground and grabs Martin by the throat, Martin kicks Sean in the midsection and eye gauges him. Davis holds his eyes as Martin slides under the bottom ropes and runs off to the back..Sean slowly regains sight and takes off walking after Martin with Marcus close on his heels...

Comet: Man I am starting to like that Martin Hunt fellow..

Riley: You always like the worst characters, I mean how can you support the way he got that pinfall its just not right. That match was clearly Davis'. In any case, both of those guys are on their way to gaining experience in the SWF..so who knows what the future holds for these two young superstars..

Comet: I think Martin's future is held by alot of drinking and partying...

Riley: I can't wait to see what else could happen tonight..

Thoth · June 19, 2004

Funyon: Ladies and gentleman… on his way to the ring, weighing in at 245 pounds, from Milwaukee, Wisconsin (HUGE HOMETOWN POP)… The Full Effect… DAVID BLAZENWING!!!

“Last Resort” by Papa Roach hits the SmarkTron. David Blazenwing walks out, no pyro or special stagelights, and appears to be limping significantly. He walks up the ring steps slowly and climbs inside the ring, before joining Funyon in the center of the ring.

Funyon: David Blazenwing, you have yet to attain a single victory in the SWF, and now it appears as though you won’t get that opportunity. Between the beatings you’ve received here, PCW, and the assault you received in the NAFW tournament over the weekend, your knee is now severely injured and requires immediate surgery. As you are facing a knee operation, I wonder if you would share, with the millions of your fans all over the world, what's going through your head.

David Blazenwing: Well, Funyon, it seems like we've done this before, and this time, unfortunately for me, it's much more serious than last time. I've never had a doctor look at me in the face and say that I may never be able to wrestle again, especially considering the beatings I’ve taken in the past, but of course, those have all finally taken their toll as well. Of course, as far as the whole “not being able to wrestle again” bit goes, it's not something that I believe… but the fact is, it's something that I have to deal with. Time has taken its toll on my body.

Funyon: I know you're just as disappointed, more so than anyone else, that you are ending your run in the SWF with such a horrible record. Since 2002, no one has taken on more matches, more opponents, joined more federations and has ever had to endure the kind of workload that you have so readily taken upon yourself.

David Blazenwing: Well, Funyon, that’s one thing about me, is I can't do anything halfway. I came here, and heard the fans chanting for Janus, chanting for Spike, chanting for whoever the man of the hour seemed to be, and in the end, I really do what I do day in and day out for them. In spite of what people may think about me, all I've ever wanted for all these people is for them to have a good time and to enjoy themselves. I've always tried to be the one to provide it whether it was on the good side or the bad side. But, what was always important to me was the performance… so that these people, each time they reached in their pocket, they paid to get an SWF ticket or a PCW ticket or a BWF ticket… they didn't regret it because they knew that if they saw my name on the card they could yell, they could come and they could cheer and they could boo and they could do whatever they wanted as long as they had a good time. Over the last couple of months, there's been a lot of talk of people having bad attitudes and a lot of the rumors involve my entry into the SWF. All I know today, is that one thing that's not going to revolve around this company, for a long time, is going to be David Blazenwing. Honestly, Funyon, I don't know where I'm at right now. I have to have everything checked. I may be beyond reconstructive surgery. I may, or may not, be able to fix it. But, if I can't come back and perform at the level I performed at, before... I just can't perform. I can't come out here and just go half-assed like some other people feel they can get away with. I have to come out here and I have to romp and stomp and I have to get tossed around. I have to toss people around and I have to have fun. I took on my hectic schedule over the last two years because I didn't feel like I could stay away from the business I love so much. I wanted to do everything. I wanted to become a Champion in SWF and prove I could do it to everyone who ever doubted me. I wanted to ride in jets and ride in limousines and I wanted to be on TV shows and I wanted to do autograph sessions and I got to do every bit of that. If nothing else, I have all of that to take with me. I know right now, we're in the middle of a time where toughness is real big here in the Smarks Wrestling Federation… and unfortunately, all I've got right now for you is a lot of sorrow, tears and emotion. I don't have any toughness for anybody, so I guess… this is my stop. This is where I get off. I know that over the last several months, I've lost a lot of things and one of them has been my smile. I know it doesn't mean a whole lot to everybody else, but it means a lot to me. So, I have to go back and take care of myself, and I have to go back and I have to find my smile because somewhere along the line, I lost it and I don't care, really, I don't care if it's unpopular, and I don't care if people want to make fun of me because I'm an emotional guy. But, um, this is all I've ever wanted to do and over the last two years, I got to do it… and whether you like me or not, I just want to tell you that these last two years were the most wonderful years of my life, and if I never get to do it again, it'll be okay, because I got to live two full years as being the one of the most prominent names in this business. I have all the fans to thank for that, and I have everybody here in the SWF to thank as well. It means a lot to me and… and… that’s all there is to that. Will I be back? Who knows? We’ll have to see after this injury heals. Until then though… I’m out. Take care, brah.

Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen… DAVID BLAZENWING!

“Last Resort” hits the SmarkTron as David Blazenwing gingerly climbs out of the ring and hobbles up the ramp.

Bobby Riley: Thank God! We’ll never have to see HIM again!

Cyclone Comet: Never say never, Citizen Riley. No one ever thought we’d see David Blazenwing in the SWF to begin with, yet here he was. I’m sure we’ll see him again someday.

Bobby Riley: Damn. So close…

Cyclone Comet: Ladies and gentleman at home, don’t go anywhere! We’ll have more SWF Storm for you right after this commercial break!

Thoth · June 19, 2004

Backstage, away from the hussle and bussle of activity, is the duo of Wayward Sons… Alan Clark sitting behind a long desk with Edward James standing just over his shoulder, the big man’s stare unwavering. Alan still seems beaten up from the 13th Hour, as he rubs his neck before he speaks toward the camera.

“Nobody thought it could be done. Everyone looked down on me and thought that I was just a fluke when it came to Mr. Landon Maddix. But they were wrong. I went into that match with my head held high, and though I left the match in near unconsciousness, I still stand here today with the Triple Crown.”

The camera pans down to show the three championship belts laid across the table, shining brightly though the light in the room is dim.

“But now it seems Landon has other things on his mind. The World Heavyweight Championship. I hate to break this to you, Landon…but if you can’t beat me, you won’t stand much of a chance when the Hell Machine tears your head off. He nearly broke my neck, and he might not stop at ‘nearly’ if you ever get close to him. I might not be a friend, but you can heed the advice from someone who has been there. Now then, it seems that since I am the Triple Crown Champion, people will start gunning for me, won’t they? Well listen, boys, I’m not about to let this fall through my hands unless they are cold and dead…but I have other matters to attend to. You know, it seems that there are two more belts that myself and Eddy have had our eyes on ever since our first night of partnership.”

The words cause a smile from James, but Alan simply continues.

“I’m not here to make a challenge, or ask for a rematch. Far from it. The Wayward Sons earn their chances, and we just wish to let it be known that we will get our chance sooner or later and we do not care who we have to face, when we have to face them, or how we have to win…it will get done. Whether we face Hollywood Boulevard or any other team here in the SWF…we will fight our way to those tag team championships, and there is absolutely NOTHING you can do to stop it.”

Alan smiles and leans back in his chair as Edward steps around the table and moves toward the camera, his eyes looking straight through the lens…

“Five words, people…”

Wayward…Son…Pride.

Believe It.

Thoth · June 19, 2004

“It is difficult.”

“It’s your job.”

“Not anymore. We have gone through this. I turned in my gun. I turned it all in. I even signed a piece of paper.”

“But you’re still connected.” The man sits in a swivel chair, with the back turned away. His client sits opposite the desk, mask on his head and suit on his back.

“Boss, sir, I have told you, I am clean. I have started my new life. I have been WINNING!”

“Wrestling,” the boss laughs, “a new life? How funny you should mention that. Because your final job is none other than-“

“No final jobs, sir. Finished! I have high aspirations…I would like to dethrone Michael Van Siclen from his reign as Hardcore Gamers’ Champion, or possibly win Alan Clark’s Triple Crown Championship and rename it the Eastern European Middleweight Championship…boss, I have so much to live for now. Do not take that away from me.”

“See, my Mask, we can do both, concurrently. You have a wrestling event on the twenty third of the month, correct?”

“I do, sir.”

“Well, that is perfect. You had the night off tonight, I know. But the man we need you to take out is the one man you have a connection with in the company.”

Masked Man’s eyes grow so wide, they stretch the fabric of the mask.

“No, boss, not him. Anyone but him. He was…nay, he IS my mentor, my trainer, he is…like a father to me.”

“That’s sweet, Mask. But we need him dead. We had a bit of a misunderstanding in a Detroit bar last week, and-“

“Misunderstanding! That is exactly what this is! You do not even know him!”

“I will make this simple for you, Mask, because I like you. Either you kill William Hearford the third, or…” The Boss trails off, and the cocking of a gun can be heard. Mask can only nod. His voice is weak.

“Consider it done.”

To be continued!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alex Zenon’s enjoys a moment of calm in his office. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long.

*Knock, knock*

“Nice to see someone respect the-“ but before Zenon can finish, the door bursts open and The Masked Man walks into the office, looking visibly shaken. He sits down on the sofa (yes, there is a sofa).

“Mask, what’s up? You look like you were just asked to kill your best friend.”

Silence.

“Right,” Zenon continues, pacing, “you came in here for something. What is it?”

“Well, Mister Zenon, on the twenty third of this month, I am going to be an emotional wreck.”

Zenon eyes Mask suspiciously.

“Just a premonition,” Mask continues, “and I am going to need to blow off steam. Please, Mister Zenon, give me a match on the twenty third.”

“I was kind of planning on it, you know, seeing as you’re on the roster and all…”

“A contendership match. I do not care what title it is for, but I want a contendership match. I believe I have earned it after my effort in the Five Wounds Gauntlet. My testicles are a shade of blue…”

Zenon coughs, and looks visibly disgusted as Mask continues.

“…and my body is broken. I am ready to take the next step, Mister Zenon, and I am ready to become a CHAMPION.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Bless you, Zenon.”

Masked Man stands up, bows, and walks out the door without another word. As he gets up, something falls out of his pocket. He’s already out of the room before Zenon notices. He walks over to the chair and picks it up. It’s a picture.

Of William Hearford.

“…that’s weird.” Zenon says, tosses the snapshot in the trash, and goes back to work.

Thoth · June 19, 2004

The Bradley Center in Milwaukee, Wisconsin is alive and well. Fans rocking to Storm’s mighty theme song as the show returns from commercial break, and the cameras make an obligatory sweep of the crowd--A row of fans dressed in poorly crafted Mobile Suit Gundam suits in homage of the man who traded his stripes back in for a pair of tights, while farther away a few signs like one crafted in presidential campaigning bumper sticker fashion that reads: “Flesher 2020”. Other fans display theirs – “DACE was F*CENSORED*ING screwed Sunday NIGHT”, and “Marry me Jet!” Storm’s theme fades and a voice picks up on the speakers, whispering a name in a deep, sultry voice…

“JOHNNY DANGEROUS~!”

“After the Flesh” suddenly follows suit, thundering out across the arena to a sensational pop from the crowd, while on the stage, a thick-white smoke begins billowing out, completely immersing the stage!

“Welcome back to SWF Storm, Citizens!” exclaims our exuberant masked announcer. “You are viewing LIVE our all promotional edition of Storm, and leading you through all of this will be the man sitting next to me, Bobby Riley, along with me… CYCLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE COMET~!”

On the Smarktron, clips of the Barracuda in action flash by – Johnny hitting a Shooting Johnny Press on Todd Cortez, Ace Lezaire trapped in his over-the-shoulder Boston Crab and tapping like a lunatic, a spinning heel kick to Mike Van Siclen’s dreadful skull, Spike Jenkins taking a sunset flip powerbomb of the side of a cage! All the while, dozens of strobes light up the set, partially illuminating the Barracuda as he steps through the curtains and strolls into the middle of the smoke… and finally emerges through the cloud at the top of the ramp.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” bellows Funyon, “please welcome to the ring at this time… the SWF WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIOOOOOON… JOHNNY ‘THE BARRACUDAAAAA’… DAAANGEROUUS!!”

Johnny stands at the top of the ramp for a moment, surveying the crowd through his sleek high-tech shades and with a faint smile he grabs the opening of his trench coat… and flings it open, revealing the Cruiserweight Title belt strapped around his waist!

“What an entrance,” cheers Comet. “The Cruiserweight Champion has arrived after a successful title defense against ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins at 13th Hour!”

“Let me remind everyone though,” notes Bobby. “At 13th Hour Comet was not cheering Johnny Dangerous, no he was cheering the so called ‘underdog’ Spike Jenkins.”

“What in the name of Zeus does that have to do with tonight, Robert? I picked a man who had all the chance in the world at winning, but 13th Hour just wasn’t his night. However, I’d like to point out that it was brutally close, and I think Spike Jenkins came far closer than any other man has yet to defeating Operative Dangerous for the Cruiserweight Championship!”

“Yes and that match is done and over with,” says Bobby, quite smugly. “We can all go back to despising Johnny Dangerous and all his crowd whoring mannerisms; he certainly doesn’t have anything to say that we’d be even remotely interested in hearing…that’s for sure!”

“Speak for yourself – we haven’t heard a single peep out of Operative Dangerous since that fateful day when his partner, the Wildchild, fell to a heinous attack at the hands of Mike Van Siclen! I for one am greatly interested in hearing what the Barracuda has to say.”

Johnny finally reaches the ring and he climbs up the steel steps to the apron, stepping out onto it before carefully gliding to the middle. He slowly turns toward the crowd, putting his back to the ring as his hand moves up to his face, taking hold of his shades while the other hand moves to unfasten the Cruiserweight Title…

…and Johnny flings the shades from his face…and into the crowd then rips the title from his waist, and thrusts his arm into the air, dangling the title from his hand to a roar of cheers!

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

“He’s got the pose down,” mutters Bobby, “all Johnny’s lacking is a little water spitting for added effect.”

Slinging the title over his shoulder, Johnny enters the ring through the middle rope and motions to a ringside assistant for a microphone. One is handed to him, and as the Secret Agent’s music fades out he strolls to the center of the squared circle. He begins to raise the microphone to his lips, looking out at the sea of fans in attendance…then a chant breaks out, forcing the Barracuda to hold off on his speech.

“JOOOHN-NY!”

“JOOOHN-NY!”

“I must say,” he begins, pausing for a beat as he allows the crowd to settle in their seats, “it’s been a long while since I felt like I had something worthwhile to say to all the fans of the SWF… so this may take a minute.”

“Oh great,” groans Bobby, “we are going to be here for a while and I forgot my I-Pod in the locker room.”

“Will you hush,” hisses Comet. “Can’t you see the Barracuda has something important to say?!”

“I came to my realization after Sunday night,” Johnny continues, slowly pacing the ring, “after 13th Hour, after the brutality ended… it was then I finally realized I needed to end my weeks of silence. However, before I get too far along, Spike… if you’re listening in the back like I know you are… realize this.” Johnny turns towards the camera, glaring straight into the lenses. “When I first learned that I would be facing you for the Cruiserweight Championship at 13th Hour I didn’t really think much of it. I knew you made a promise to give me a match that I’d never forget, but let me be honest and say… I really didn’t believe you. I really didn’t think you would bring everything that you could. Then came Sunday night, and though I was able to beat you and retain the Cruiserweight Championship… you proved me wrong!”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

“That’s right, go ahead and cheer for him,” placing the microphone under his arm, Johnny proudly claps for his former opponent. “Spike deserves it. You sir, have my utmost respect. Any man who challenges me for the Cruiserweight Championship and takes me on that kind of a hellacious ride—pushing me past my limits, even when I felt I couldn’t possibly go any further and fighting with ever ounce of energy you had.” Johnny grabs the Cruiserweight Championship off his shoulder, slowly raising it up over his head, “and for nothing more than this!”

“Bravo!” cheers Comet. “But why can’t we see such honorable competitors doing this in our World Title scene. We’d have such a pleasant federation.”

“Oh, Jesus,” groans Riley. “That’d sure put a lot of asses in seats, Comet. Sore winners just don’t sell, that’s why we’ve been hiding Johnny Dangerous behind the opening curtains for two years now.”

“The thing that stood out most to me, Spike, was your utter refusal to ever give up,” continues Johnny, shifting the belt back in place over his shoulder. “You reminded me of someone that I held very dear to me. Someone that always gave everything he had, no matter how big of an obstacle and no matter how many people told him he had no chance! Someone that had been like a brother too me, and I never even gave him the proper regards as he sailed off into the sunset. So tonight,” he says, looking out to the fans. “I’d like to do what I should have done a long time ago… I’d like to tell you a little story. I’d like to tell you a story… about the Bahama Bomber, the Wildchild!”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!”

The cheer that thunders out is quit simply… deafening.

“WILD-CHILD!”

“It was nearly two years ago when I first met Wildchild, and right from the beginning I knew this kid had a desire like I never saw before,” he says, letting the fans settle themselves once more, “and if you remember correctly, I wasn’t even a wrestler then. However, you all know my past and the great tragedy it produced and going over that would be like trying to close the barn doors when the horse already escaped.”

“Oh, ho-ho,” scoffs Bobby. “How quick we are to just glance over that entire series of events like it meant nothing. How about he reminds the fans of what he did to Wildchild?”

“Robert,” barks Comet. “If you really want to know about that it IS available on DVD – The Wild and Dangerous downward spiral for $24.99 at select retailers. You fans better jump on this one, for I hear through the grapevine that it is soon scheduled to go into the elusive SWF vault!”

“Anyway,” Johnny continues. “To make a long story short, as I know we are on a tight time schedule for this evening, I watched this kid grow from literally nobody to one of—if not the greatest Cruiserweight I had ever seen. Every night that he came out here, it wasn’t because he wanted to chalk up another win, it was firstly because he wanted to entertain you—the fans. But deep down inside there was a second desire, and that was to bring back the greatness that he knew there could be with the cruiserweight division. Not once did he ever listen to those who said the cruiserweight division would ever return and that it died with the Light Heavyweight Title forever secured around EL Luchador Magnifico’s waist-”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!”

Another cheer explodes from the bleachers upon mention of the former World Heavyweight Champion and final leader of the Midnight Carnival’s name. A chant quickly follows pursuit:

“E-L-M!”

“E-L-M!”

“Too bad the only way he can get any pops is by mentioning other folks’ names,” snipes Bobby.

“Well, you can rest in the fact that he certainly won’t get any by mentioning yours.”

Johnny begins to speak again, settling the crowd. “Undeterred by those who said it would be impossible, this man dedicated his entire life to reviving the cruiserweight division in this federation, and after two years of fighting… when he opened that briefcase after defeating Tom Flesher in a brutal ladder match at Clusterfuck… I had never seen a man more happy in my life. Finally, Wildchild had succeeded!” Johnny stops for a moment, gazing at the canvas.

“It seems all the remembrance of the Wildchild is starting to cause grief with the Barracuda,” Comet suggests. “Can’t say I blame him though—hand me your handkerchief, Robert.”

“Over my dead body, Comet! I’m saving this baby for that one fateful day with Tom Flesher,” replies Bobby, patting his jacket pocket.

Johnny kicks at the canvas before looking back up. “Everything he had done, everything he had fought so hard for had finally been realized…” he takes the Cruiserweight title off his shoulder, raising it out to the fans once more. “Realized when this came into realization—the SWF Cruiserweight Championship of the World!”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

“When Wildchild had finally succeeded at getting this title brought out, he put everything he had into defending it tooth and nail! Wildchild was the pure embodiment of the division—when you say cruiserweight his name is the first name that pops into my mind, and when it is all said and done… the Bahama Bomber as some liked to call him, will always, and by God I mean ALWAYS, be a Cruiserweight Champion in my book!”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

“And while some of you in the back, like Spike Jenkins, felt like you wanted this belt, he LIVED for this belt!

“By Zeus he did,” concurs Comet. “Johnny should have given this speech a long time ago; maybe the Wildchild would have returned to us instead of heading back to the Bahamas.”

“To live for this Championship is what this legacy is all about,” Johnny continues, proudly pacing the canvas. “This is what I strive to do every night that I put the Cruiserweight Championship on the line—to fight with everything you have and to proudly represent the SWF … and yes,” he turns his attention towards the announcers table, “by being the best damn cruiserweight in the world!”

“Oh, he must have been listening to me during Battleground,” says Bobby sheepishly. “I still stand my ground on that one though.”

“Wildchild, my friend, my partner, he put his life into making this title… and career wise, he DIED for this title! So for all of you listening in the back, if you want to challenge me for this title, you’d better damn well be prepared—this title comes with a lot of baggage! When you win this title it also comes with a legacy, and a legacy to uphold; Wildchild put his career on the line just to make this possible for the rest of us—showing a little respect couldn’t possibly be too much to ask! If you respect yourself and your division, any man who inherits this gold should do everything they can to make sure the Cruiserweight Championship will always flourish!”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!”

“DUB-CEE!”

“DUB-CEE!”

“These fans showing their own respect for the Bahama Bomber here,” notes Comet. “If the Wildchild is watching I am sure he is smiling proudly.”

“What for?” ask Bobby, quite dumbfounded. “Because he can still get chants when he’s half a world away?”

“No, you tool; his partner, Johnny Dangerous is giving him one heck of a shout out that drives home a very valid point. Where would the cruiserweight’s in this federation be without the road the Bahama Bomber paved for them?!”

“Probably the same place as Tom Flesher if they were any good,” Bobby smugly replies.

“There is one last thing though,” Johnny says, the hesitation in his voice a little more than obvious. “I remember once in my many travels with the Wildchild—he told me that though he had never admitted it to any of you fans that he deep down he really would have liked a shot at the SWF Intercontinental-Television Championship, but thought that if he removed his focus from the Cruiserweight Championship that the division would dwindle and soon die off once more. Sadly enough, and thanks in majority to a certain jealous someone injuring the Wildchild, he never got to fulfill that desire.”

“It’s a good thing too,” says Bobby. “Wildchild would have been squashed like a bug wrestling those super heavyweights.”

“I think he proved otherwise in his run as Hardcore Gamers Champion,” replies Comet, shaking his head. “Need I also remind you that Toxxic is a cruiserweight and technically, so is the number one contender to the World Heavyweight Championship.”

“Bah,” growls Riley, cocking his hand back. “Why don’t you shut up with all your facts.”

“However, after everything Wildchild did just for this title-the Cruiserweight Championship—just to exist, I figured that since I can wrestle, that it would be selfish of me not to honor him.” Johnny pauses once more, unwittingly trembling ever so slightly. “Is to try and do the one thing my partner would have wanted, and that is to challenge for the Intercontinental-Television title.”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

“Last Smarkdown I tried once,” he continues, “and after that match I can honestly say I was glad it was over. I don’t think I have ever been beaten so badly before, but there is a need for me to honor my friend… and so I am willing to step into the ring with the Hell Machine once more, God willing… and Wildchild this is for you-”

“Surely he isn’t, surely he realizes the consequences of what he is saying!”

Looking straight into the camera once more, Johnny swallows then says, “I am officially making an open challenge to the Hell Machine, Janus, for the SWF Intercontinental-Television Championship!”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

“He’s OFFICIALLY gone completely insane!” cries Bobby. “Johnny can’t beat Janus; it’s been proven once already! Hell, nobody can beat the Hell Machine, that’s why he is the World Heavyweight Champion!”

“Indeed, the Barracuda is walking straight into a gas chamber there,” adds Comet. “However, if he feels that’s the best way for him to honor the Wildchild after the Bahama Bomber put his life into the Cruiserweight Championship…than I firmly stand behind the Barracuda’s cause, like it or not!”

“And if this match happens once more,” he spins away from the camera, turning back towards the crowd, “and I can still stand when it’s all said and done…then I truly hope that I will have honored the Wildchild…AND…HIS…LEGACY!”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

“After the Flesh” rages through the arena once more as Johnny hands the microphone back to Funyon. He raises the Cruiserweight Championship to all the fans once more, standing with a smile as hundreds of flashbulbs explode… but deep down inside, there are no smiles. For Johnny Dangerous, the Barracuda, knows he has made the biggest challenge of his life. Such thoughts don’t sit easy, but he pumps his fist to the crowd…

As we:

FADE OUT.

Thoth · June 19, 2004

"What are we going to do today man?" The voice of Austin Sly fills is broadcasted through the Smarktron into the Bradley Center. "What are our big plans for today?"

Austin appears rejuvenated from his short vacation and is sporting a scruffy little beard. The look on his face is one of anxiousness and wonder as if he's has reverted back to a childhood Christmas waiting to open his first present. He stands on the far side of a table. In front of him sits a black bag which sits oddly and bulges at the seams.

"Well, my friend, today we get you prepared to return to the ring." The voice of NTD rings out from somewhere off camera.

"Isn't that what we've been doing for the past week. Rest, rejuvenation, and preparation for my return to the ring? What's so different about today?" Austin replies with a confused tone to his voice.

"Today we decide which sexy title you're going to pursue upon your return." NTD walks onto screen. It's the first time he's appeared in the SWF since his days as an announcer. Amazingly it doesn't appear as if he's aged a day since his last appearance. His hair is longer and lighter, but his eyes still shine with the same passion that made him one of the federations most popular and recognizable stars during his prime. His passion for a hatred of pants. Pants that he refuses to wear (even at this time as he stands ever so near to Austin). "That's what you do want, isn't it? A title and the recognition that comes with it?"

"Right, that is what I want. Recognition that I deserve."

"And that's the recognition that you shall receive... after you make your mark. It's amazing the feeling you get when you walk around knowing you're the best at what you do and that an entire federation of your peers recognize it." NTD lifts his leg onto a chair next to Austin, making him further uncomfortable with his friends level of nakedtivity. "Why I can remember my first title in the SWF. Of course back then it was still the IGNWF. I can remember the very match. It was an absolutely sexy night and I was facing"

"Hey." Austin attempts to interrupt to no avail.

"one of the absolute most ferocious competitors in"

"Hey."

"the ring that night. We were set to fight it out"

"Hey!"

"tooth and... what is it Austin?" NTD puts his story on hold briefly.

"Weren't you handed your first title?"

"Oh... yes, I was. But that's beside the point." NTD shifts away from Austin awkwardly. "The point of the story is everyone loved me afterwards. And everyone will love you too!"

"I don't want people to love me, I want them to respect me."

"Love, respect, it's all the same thing right?" He reaches over and slaps Austin on the shoulder. "Besides, I know you. I know you want a little loving too, am I right huh?"

A smile creeps it's way across Austin's face before he begins to chuckle at his partner's own way with words. "Yeah, you know I like that too, but look at me. Do I really need a shiny plate around my waist to draw in the girls? I'm a stud. The ladies can't keep their hands off of me as it is."

The two share a good chuckle together. The laughter slowly dies down with NTD laughing just a little longer than Austin allowing him to sneak some words in quickly.

"Ha ha ha... oh I'm so pathetic." Austin states, sadly.

"What was that?" NTD asks.

"Nothing!" Austin shouts out before returning to his usual subdued voice. "So what’s the deal with the bag man? Is this part of the preparation for my return?"

"I'm glad you asked, Austin. Inside this bag are a total of thirty-six balls each of which have a unique character on them consisting of fourteen numbers and twenty-two letters. At random, I will draw three balls from the bag. After we have our numbers and letters drawn, we will take the balls over to our handy-dandy chart over on the wall and line the three up to that they match up with the possible numbers and letter combinations already on the chart. After that's finished, we just have to draw a line right across the chart to the opposite column to match up to the name of one of the current champions in the SWF. The name of that champion will be who you'll challenge for their title upon your return to the federation at the next show. Any question?"

"..." Austin sits in stunned silence.

"... I'm just messing with you. There's only six balls in here and they all have a different name on them. It's that simple. Ah I got you good... the look on your face, priceless." NTD has a short chuckle at his protege's expense.

"But what about the chart?"

"All part of the gag my friend. I made it up last night while you were asleep. It actually has one hundred and eight different combinations on it."

"You went to all that trouble just for a short gag?" Austin pauses to watch NTD nod in approval. "You're one sick son of a bitch, you know that?"

"Oh I know... but seriously. Whoever's name I draw out of the bag, you have to be willing to challenge for their title. Are you confident enough in your own skills as a wrestler to make that kind of commitment? If I were to draw Janus' name out of the bag, would you put your life and limb on the line against him?"

"Yes. I trust in my own skill. This week is exactly what I needed to get back into the stride of things and I'm ready to face any challenge head on." Austin replies with confidence.

"Okay... here we go then. Reach down into the bottom here and mix them all up. Try and get a good one. And here we go. Are you ready? Champion's name coming at ya'."

"Get on with it!" Austin shouts impatiently.

"Johnny Dangerous."

"Johnny Dangerous?"

"Johnny Dangerous!" NTD yells back at Austin. "Come on man, this is your fate! Get a little pumped! Make some noise! Get angry! Hit the table!"

Austin smashes his fists into the table, knocking the untied bag over onto the table causing the balls to spill out. He then turns to NTD who promptly shoves him backwards with two open palms. Austin returns the favor by shoving NTD back.

"Come on man, lets get in a workout before you have to head out of here tonight." NTD says, getting back to business quickly.

The two walk out of the camera frame to the left. In the background is an audible thud as the two leave the room. The camera then rotates down to the spilled balls on the table and zooms in enough where all six are still on screen. Written on each in clear, legible handwriting is the name "Johnny Dangerous".

Thoth · June 19, 2004

The camera now cuts to the back, where we see a young, and lovely looking tall red-haired woman in a business suit standing in front of a locker room door. "Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Kelly Connelly...future manager extraordinaire. You people are in for a treat tonight, as you're going to be introduced to the next generation of wrestler. A man who will take this company by storm, and will become the next mega-star in NO time. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you..."THE ICON" MAX KING!"

The door behind Kelly now opens, showing a handsome man with black hair in very expensive looking clothing and a smug look on his face. Kelly smiles to Max, and then gives him a kiss on the cheek now. Max looks out to the cameraman now, tipping his sunglasses down just a bit to look before talking. "No, do not adjust your sets people, we ARE this good looking. What you are seeing here is perfection in motion. And now, that perfection has made it's way here, to the SWF, and it's about time this place got some REAL talent around here."

"You see, I've been looking around at the so-called talent here, and with very few exceptions, there is no one really here that can actually be called a TRUE talent. For the most part, the only people you have here are wrestling school dropouts who couldn't work a decent match if their lives depended on it. But that's where I'M different."

Kelly moves her hands into a "revealing" pose, ala one of those Price is Right girls, as Max holds his hands out to his side. "I have all the tools needed to give the SWF something to notice. I am one of the elite few people that has looks, skills, and class. But, I also have generosity. You see, Vince McMahon has called me up for a good 3 years now, each time he begs me to come to his 2-bit federation and give it a severe kick in the ass. However, I saw this league floundering, struggling to stay afloat...struggling to keep the people entertained...and I decided to be nice enough to offer my amazing talents to help boost it."

Kelly giggles. "Isn't he the greatest? SWF wrestlers, you better be ready. Because when The Icon starts wrestling here, he's going to out class, out move, and out style ALL of you. That's not just a prediction...that's a fact."

Max nods. "Come on Kelly, let's go there. I think that we've given these people enough of a preview for now."

With that, Kelly and Max walk back into the locker room, holding each other close as the door locks behind them.

Thoth · June 19, 2004

(The fans in the Bradley Center are going nuts as the camera pans down through the fans frantic to get their airtime. But the camera wastes no time at all as it wheezes by the throngs of fans- just to zoom in right at Comet’s mostly masked face).

Comet pinches a part of his uniform. “See this short, balding, and stocky guy in these huge glasses came to me and said, ‘you know, cotton breathes easily, can you imagine being more comfortable so you could battle evil villains while they sweat in their spandex?’ So I thought it’d be a good idea if it was mostly cotton but some wool for heat in the winter- but it shrunk after I wished it,” Comet whines as the camera backs away a little bit revealing Cyclone Comet in his usual uniform- that seems two sizes too small. “Luckily I should get a new one before the actual show starts…”

Riley snickers.

Comet, being rather edgy, snaps back. “Oh hush Riley don’t make me tell about the time you came to the Christmas party and was wearing the same outfit as Ann Onita!”

Riley opens his mouth then shuts up. He pauses before saying, “I warned her I was going to wear that…”

“Anyway fans we have a very special surprise for you! We are going to see an amazing, truly amazing, match up!” Comet promises. The arena buzzes with excitement. “Yes we have a new recruit that seems very promising! But first he must go through a grueling Gauntlet!”

Riley stares at Comet in surprise then reads his papers. “Oh yeah… but really he’s doing this to kill time and become a roadie…?”

Comet hushes Riley.

“Anyway we have collected over sixty of some our most memorable talent! Some of these classics include wrestlers back before the Minor League or Junior League was even heard of!” Comet says and the fans cheer loudly.

Riley pauses and looks up at Comet then reads his paper again. “Uh, Comet, is this right?”

Comet leans over and glances at it. “Oh yes! This gauntlet is VERY special, not just because of the unique talent but due to the rules! Wrestlers will enter at a totally random time interval and can range from one to eight wrestlers per entrance! There is no disqualification however once you’re eliminated you MUST head to the back. Eliminations come from any of the following- pin, submission, first blood, knock out, being sent to the outside of the ring, and not getting down to the ring within ten seconds!”

Riley sighs. “We keep our standards low.” Raising one hand high and then moving his other below the table. “Oh so insanely low...”

“Very low indeed, how else would Blazenwing come back otherwise?” Comet agrees.

“Ladies and gentlemen- this is a 66 man gauntlet! There is no disqualifications but eliminated wrestlers must go to the back or being escorted to the back- eliminations come from pin, submission, knock out, being sent to the outside with both feet, and not getting to the ring within ten seconds!” Funyon’s voice booms.

Silence falls over the arena and blankets the fans as they wait for the entrance-

“Bbbbuuuuuurrrrrrrr, it is bloody cold in here!” A voice with a thick brogue says.

The fans all cock their heads to the side in confusion.

Suddenly bagpipes begin to blare and “Barroom Hero” by Dropkick Murphys starts up!

The fans can’t believe it as they cheer their little hearts out as confetti shaped like penguins descends upon them! At the entrance ramp green, white, and orange pyro explodes everywhere.

“Hey! I know who this is!” Riley cries out.

The SmarkTron hums to life and two penguins are shown waddling until one of them slaps the other into the water!

“UNLEASH THE FURY!” A loud, rowdy Irishman cries out.

“Face down in the gutter won’t admit defeat- those clothes are soiled and black… he’s a big, strong man with a child’s mind… don’t you take his booze away, hey!”

Now with no clue how to react the fans just watch the entrance ramp.

“It’s Tim Dillon!” Riley shrieks.

“No Robert, it’s not. The SWF didn’t want to spend money on new entrances,” Comet explains with a shrug.

Suddenly the new hopeful employee leaps out- His face is rather pale with a bit of a blush to it, few scattered freckles around his nose, long blonde hair that’s shaggy near his eyes and those eyes definitely are unforgettable! The fans stare in shock as they realize that the familiar Irishman is wearing a huge, overstuffed penguin costume that completely engulfs his body expect for his face and near his knees!

“That’s Tim Dillon!” Riley screams.

“Robert, it is not!” Comet snaps.

“He even has the khaki cargoes with shamrock patches sowed on Comet!” Riley protests.

Nobody knows how to react as the man runs, well waddles, down the entrance ramp. He stops midway and throws his rather short fins into the air! But this causes his hands to break through the costume and he mutters a Gaelic obscenity.

“He just spoke Gaelic, how can it NOT be Dillon?” Riley demands.

Comet gets frustrated with his partner. “Robert! Stop it!”

The wrestler dressed as a penguin stops at ringside and begins to Irish jig before rolling into the ring! Funyon is standing in center of the ring just totally bewildered and at a lost for words.

“…Introducing from Limerick,” He pauses and shuts his eyes. “From the South Pole- weighing in at a disclosed weight… PPPPPEEEETTTTTEEEYYYYY THE PPPPEE”

But the Penguin shuffles over and whispers something into Funyon’s ear.

“Oh sorry- he is PPPEEETTTEEEYYYYYY THE IRISH PPPPPPPEEENNNNNNNGGGUUUIIIINNNNNNN!” Funyon’s voice booms.

”See Robert, it’s obviously Petey the Irish Penguin!” Comet says.

Pete, or Petey, stands tall in middle of the ring, ready for a fight!

Suddenly an obnoxious buzzer goes off and two men come sprinting down the aisle! The fans can’t help but to laugh as a third one comes jogging down already winded.

“Why it’s Brahma Bull and MBASK!” Comet says as the two nearly slide into the ring.

The third, obese and blushing red with exhaustion man gets to his stomach and rolls down the aisle! The laughter keeps going as the third man is identified.

“That’s HamSauce!” Riley blurts out.

The Brahma Bull hits the ring first and charges at Petey! But the Irish Penguin puts his dukes up in the classic “Fighting Irish” pose before launching a right hook! The Bull reels back and Petey turns his attention just to him! But behind him MBASK scoops the Penguin up around the waist! He tries to go for the lift and the drop but the talented Petey uses the momentum and kicks up his feet from the mat, flipping over through MBASK’s clutches and standing behind him on his feet! The opponent turns around to see a dazzling white grin on the Irish penguin’s face-

CRACK!

MBASK reels back from a quick elbow strike with such velocity that somewhere Danny Williams approves! He continues to be flailing backwards before he suddenly hits against the ropes. He gets charged at by the Penguin then dumped over with a clothesline!

DING! DING! DING!

“First eliminated- MBASK!” Funyon proclaims.

Meanwhile on the outside HamSauce is disoriented on the apron from rolling, prepared to get into the ring.

From behind the Brahma Bull tries to jump Petey!

“Watch out Petey!” Comet cries.

But the wily penguin from the South Pole can feel what the Bull is cookin’ and he throws back his rather constricted wings (arms) and clutches a hold of the Bull and snapmares him over all the way past the top ropes!

DING! DING! DING!

“Eliminated second- The Brahma Bull!” Funyon declares it official.

“He seems very promising, doesn’t he Robert?” Comet asks while being impressed.

“That’s because he is Tim… whiskey drinkin’, Irish jiggin’, Gaelic ramblin’ DILLON!” Riley cries as if this is getting under his skin way too much.

Comet rolls his eyes. “Robert, you are so paranoid. There’s no way you could even remotely connect Petey the Irish Penguin and Tim Dillon!”

HamSauce enters the ring only to be bombarded with Petey swift punches!

“You think Citizen Petey learned boxing? He seems to know really how to throw down,” Comet says.

The fans can’t help but to love this guy-

“PETEY” The chant begins and is drawn out while it gets louder.

Caught up in the moment Petey folds his wings (arms) over each other and begins to Irish jig! The fans explode into laughter and cheers as the overstuffed Penguin knocks HamSauce with a dropkick! The monster known to devour entire KFC stores is flipped over the top rope and lands smack down on his gut on the cement! The arena literally trembles and fans are thrown out of seats, drinks are knocked over, the poor, innocent popcorn vendor sent to the floor.

“My God I think that was just about a 10 on the Richter scale!” Riley yells. He pauses as he barely saves his purple coffee mug from spilling. “Does it even go that high?”

The aftershock dies down and Comet has to straighten his costume again. “Zeus curses this new uniform… oh and maybe Citizen HamSauce’s gut broke the fall for him.”

Petey cautiously peers over the top rope to see if HamSauce even stirs, slowly but surely he gets up. Shaken the man waddles up the entrance ramp, much like Petey waddled in, ashamed of himself.

“Eliminated third and nearly collapsing the arena- HamSauce!”

“AT-KINS DI-ET” The fans chant and rapidly clap to.

Suddenly the obnoxious buzzer goes off again and suddenly “Come As You Are” by Nirvana kicks up in middle of the song!

“Pre-show glitch, sorry folks,” Comet admits.

“I swear that I don’t have a gun… no I don’t have a gun….”

The fans all look to the entrance and hear dry heaving sobs.

“Is somebody crying? Somebody in need, need to be rescued!” Comet leaps up from his chair and his uniform splits from his collarbone near the small of his back as he slowly sits back down in embarrassment.

“No I don’t have a gun... no I don’t have a gun…” The guitar solo starts but suddenly is interrupted by a shotgun blast!

“Holy shit! Oh shit, I just said ‘shit.’ Oh wait- it’s before tapings just a trial run. Fuck! Balls! Shit! Damn! Poopyhead!” Riley giggles as Comet gives a swift slap of justice to the back of Riley’s head!

There’s an awkward silence as everybody sits there silently until an SWF employee jogs up and whispers to Comet.

“…Well apparently Grunge has been, uh, eliminated due to the ten second rule…” Comet coughs.

“…That was deliciously ironic,” Riley admits.

“Eliminated fourth- Grunge!”

The loud obnoxious buzzer rings again and the opening riff of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” hits!

“It’s Iceman!” Riley cries.

Iceman comes sprinting down the ramp at top speed with a battle cry and a barbed wire wrapped kendo stick held high into the air! The jeers come pouring in as Iceman slides into the ring and rolls up! He charges right at Petey the Penguin who cautiously backs away without backing down from the fight! Iceman swings wildly and he misses, nearly clocking Kivell in the head! Again the stubborn jobber swings and rips right through the penguin’s chest! A huge slash as Iceman laughs like a maniac and Petey slowly looks down at the gash that now streams out with fluff. In disbelief he slowly touches the wound and pulls out a little chunk of fluff in the palm of his hand.

“Oh that’s so disgusting…” Comet nearly barfs.

“It’s Tim Dillon! Human! Dressed as a penguin! He bleeds! He does not fluff!” Riley shouts.

Petey the (Irish) Penguin stares at the piece of carnage in his hands, and then balls his hand into a fist. Looking up at Iceman with such a fierce look he nearly sends Iceman whimpering away with soiled pants. His face scrunches into pure fury.

Comet whispers slowly with excitement, “Yes… do it Petey!”

“SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSQQQQQQQQQUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWKKKKKKKKKK!”

Petey charges at full speed letting punches so hard and fast fly that Iceman can’t even groan in pain! A right hook collides with his mouth which causes blood and teeth to fly, a jab shatters his nose, and he drops the kendo stick and stumbles to the nearest turnbuckle. He tries to seek sanctuary and slumps over as Petey grabs the barbed wire kendo stick. Slowly he drags back the weapon, aiming right at the bending over Iceman, back turned… before-

SWOOSH

Everywhere fans just can’t believe what they see and they wonder if there was more blood here or in Damnation In a Box.

“…Did I just see a man get impaled with a barbed wire kendo stick shoved right up his anus…?” Riley questions.

Comet would make the obvious joke here but it’s insanely hard to not be fixated on the sight as poor SWF employees quickly gather the mess and spray down the mat, rubbing the blood off.

“…Holy shit…?” The fans chant in doubt.

Even Petey is in disbelief but a good two-step Irish jig smoothes everything over!

DING! DING! DING!

“Eliminated fifth- ICEMAN!”

“Well at least we never have to see his crazy bumps again…” Comet shrugs.

“Ah not until we get rid of Insane Luchador, Spike, Dace, Aecas, Janus, and Jay before we are void of that…” Riley retorts.

The obnoxious buzzer goes off again and this time the entrances are loaded!

“Whoa, we just hit eight guys entering at once!” Comet proclaims.

Quiet Death, Brian Bowers, Johnny Rotten, Bonecrusher, Fosta, Sean Casey, Juggalo Joe, and Hammer all come running towards the ring! Johnny Rotten slides in first and charges at the (Irish Penguin), tackling him down! The other seven hit the ring and pile on top of Petey! Kivell can’t see through the shuffle and therefore cannot make a safe count.

“Dog pile on Tim, or Petey!” Riley yells.

“PETEY” The chant kicks up again and the fans can’t help but to cheer as Petey the Penguin rolls out from underneath the wrestlers.

He casually stands up and watches them all continue to pile on the canvas. Quietly he hangs his arms underneath the apron and pulls out a large, metal snow shovel! He strikes as he leaps over the pile and scoops Joe and Hammer up! Quickly he dumps them out and then lifts up Bowers and Quiet Death. The fans are in hysterics as Petey the Penguin shovels his opponents out of the ring casually! A scoop, some heavy lifting, and a dump is all it takes to eliminate the two!

“Well Petey the Penguin has great shovel technique… must be due to all the snow he shovels down in the South Pole,” Comet says.

Next are Sean Casey, Fosta, and Bonecrusher! Again all are dumped over the top rope and Petey drops the shovel out with him. He walks towards Johnny Rotten who is, oddly enough, dry humping the canvas.

“…What the hell?” Riley simply asks.

Rotten looks up in disbelief at the lack of male orgy. He stares up at Petey the Penguin who is staring at him with a look of confusion with a hint of disgust. Rotten scrambles to his feet and the two competitors collide in a grapple! Rotten begins to whip Petey the Penguin towards the ropes with the eliminated wrestlers who are being pried away from getting revenge on Petey the (Irish) Penguin by SWF workers. But in the ring the momentum is shifted and Rotten finds himself speeding at the ropes! Meanwhile on the outside Death has grabbed the shovel and swings blindly at the ring as security tugs him away! The metal shovel smacks Rotten right on the crown of his head and sends him crippled to the mat. Petey chuckles in disbelief of his luck as he slowly walks up to Johnny, towering over him. Slowly yet somehow politely he uses his foot to roll Rotten out of the ring!

DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING!

…DING!

DING! "Fuck it."

“What the hell?” Riley asks at the odd bell ringing.

“I’m pretty certain the bell ringer’s arm is tired,” Comet says.

Funyon sighs. “The next eliminations- those eight guys!”

Petey walks to center of the ring and just shakes his head as the buzzer goes off again.

“Where’s the star power in this, I mean really!” Riley complains.

Suddenly Spark and Hellfire come running down the aisle.

“This could be a legitimate challenge for Citizen Petey!” Comet insists.

Not feeling generous at all Petey charges and the second Hellfire finds himself on the apron he finds himself flying back! Meanwhile Spark leaps up and trips on the apron, falling back first onto the cement!

“Or not,” Comet mutters.

DING! DING! DING!

“Eliminated fourteenth- Hellfire and fifteenth- Spark!”

Again the buzzer blares and everybody’s attention turns to the entrance.

Suddenly a Dashboard Confessional song hits and Petey the Penguin can’t help but to crumble to one knee as if in extreme pain!

“So terrible music with whiny lyrics is like Tim’s kryptonite!” Riley proclaims with an evil laugh.

Matt Myers steps out to soak up the cheers from the fans… but there are none. His hair is dyed purple and spiked in every direction, eyeliner, and a sad look on his face. The enthusiastic Myers feels his heart plummet and he slowly walks down the ramp. Petey stands up again and stares while Matt Myers sniffles and whimpers.

“My God, is he crying? Because that’ll make that make up run really easily,” Riley says.

Myers throw out the straight edge symbol but it only draws more jeers.

“This is like watching a non-successful, non-talented Toxxic!” Riley insults.

Matt holds in his tears and rolls into the ring standing up and staring at Petey.

His lower lip trembles as he slowly asks, “Petey, what is it worth?”

The (Irish) Penguin takes a step back before giving a quizzical look at Myers.

“I mean nobody likes me…” Myers says.

“Oh not two suicides in one match,” Riley sighs.

Petey nods in agreement with Matt who slowly leans up against the ropes.

“FIGHT YOU PANSY!” The crowd chants as Petey can’t help but to smirk.

“I’m just a washed up failure…” Myers lets a few tears flow. Petey gives a face of concern and steps towards Matt. He flinches as the (Irish) Penguin places one exposed hand on Myers’ shoulder.

The heavy Irish accent is clearly heard. “Matt.” He mutters some Gaelic. “Just one thing to say… hey! Head up, don’t ya’ go embarrassin’ your bloody image!”

Myers lifts his head and looks at Petey the (Irish) Penguin with teary eyes.

“Cheer up you fuckin’ emo child!” Petey shouts.

CCAAARRRRR-MOTHER-FUCKING-THIS-BEATS-EDWIN'S-WILSON'S-AND-TOM'S-PALM STRIKE-AAAAAAAACCCKKKK!

Is the immediate response as Myers is sent flipping to the outside!

DING! DING! DING!

“The sixteenth elimination… MATT MYERS!” Funyon yells while Myers sobs heavily.

Petey pauses and sighs before busting into an Irish jig until the next buzzer rings!

“Something is familiar about that Citizen Penguin… but I just can’t quite make the connection…” Comet says with suspicion.

“You can dance with you want to!”

Comet groans.

“KFC, KFC IS IN THE HOUSE!” Riley screams with sarcasm.

Fans everywhere groan as the eight KFC members come strutting down the ring!

DING! DING! DING!

“Next eight eliminations- KFC!”

The members halt dead in their tracks and look at each other in confusion. Two scrawny SWF workers begin to walk up the ramp to explain that KFC is gone because, quite simply, they have no chance. The KFC fumes with rage and Ted Flink sets a bad example of a leader by nailing one worker with his wooden cane! Kernel McJabbid then clotheslines the other done and this allows KFC to come swarming to the ring!

“They’re like herpes, they never go away! May stop and not show up for a few years but then, BOOM!” Riley exclaims.

Ted Flink pauses as he sees a rather enraged Petey the (Irish) Penguin in middle of the ring glaring at the ML stable. He sends Henry and the Big Nosed Nerd first both armed with tin ovaltine cans!

“Are they still advertising for that crap?” Riley asks.

“I hope not, we don’t encourage that in the SWF,” Comet says. He looks into Riley’s coffee mug. “Hey, isn’t that the new PEPSI MAX II?”

“Yes, Comet, it is! Oh but with half the calories.” Riley hypes.

“Oh yeah?” Comet acts interested.

“Same great taste!” Riley says as he takes a swig and smacks his lips.

Petey watches the two pathetic losers enter the ring and hold the tin cans high. The Big Nosed Nerd tosses one at Petey, who ducks under it as it zooms by.

At the announcer’s table an ovaltine can collides with Riley’s coffee mug! “God damn it!”

Meanwhile on the outside the remaining six KFC members scramble to get the steel folding chairs! Ted Flink has to resort towards Funyon’s chair next to the announcer’s table.

“God I lost my endorsement because of that nerd!” Riley fumes as he stands up and walks towards the old man Ted.

“Now Robert don’t you go interfering!” Comet insists as he leaps out of his chair again. Thus tearing half majority of his chest’s uniform.

But inside the ring Petey the (Irish) Penguin charges at The Big Nosed Nerd who stands there cowering in the corner! One dropkick nails The Big Nosed Nerd right in the face as blood splatters as if this was a Quentin Tarantino film! The rest of the KFC stable watches there big nosed friend flop over onto the cement and Kernel McJabbid snatches the limp body before hauling ass to get away. Steel chairs dropped and a Big Broken Nose Nerd being dragged before they make their escape to a laughing Petey the (Irish) Penguin.

Meanwhile Flink is staring at Riley who suddenly whips out with a vicious bitch slap! He snickers as Ted Flink hops the rail and runs away only to get harassed by fans.

Riley walks back mumbling as Comet tries to use paper clips to fix his uniform.

Riley glances at Comet’s chest and stomach. “Man you really let yourself go, you know that?”

Finally rid of the KFC stable the obnoxious buzzer is heard again!

”Robert, please,” Comet begs.

“No really Comet, you’re sagging more than Janet Jackson!” Riley squeals.

Suddenly a whole band begins to play a catchy ragtime tune and everybody is snickering while wondering who’s going to be emerging from the entrance ramp. Soon an old man begins to come down the aisle and there are only a few fans able to recognize the man.

“Why it is that vile Simon Flare!” Comet yells.

Petey the (Irish) Penguin just laughs and waves his wing (arm and hand) in the universal “Just bring it!” fashion. Flare responds with a cocky smirk and he begins to jog down to the ring!

“Old school versus new school, I love it!” Riley says.

But suddenly Simon Flare stops in his tracks and his eyes bulge wide before he suddenly grabs his chest and falls to one knee!

“Oh come on!” The heavy Irish accent chimes in. “What the squawk is going on with this match?”

“Medic, we got a man down with a heart attack!” Comet cries out.

“Hell does he need mouth-to-mouth?” Riley asks with interest.

Everybody watches apathetically as Flare swarmed by paramedics and loaded onto a stretcher. Soon it hits the ten second mark-

DING! DING! DING!

“Eliminated twenty-fifth from the match… SIMON FLARE!”

Petey the (Irish) Penguin can’t help himself as his arm wiggles into his body soon revealing a silver flask with a gold chain!

“That’s Dillon’s flask! That is the EXACT one, I swear!” Riley exclaims in fury.

“Robert don’t be silly, Tim Dillon’s flask had his family crest on it!” Comet chuckles.

Instead the flask has a taped up piece of paper with a huge “P” written in black sharpie.

“You know, only sharpie could make such a visible mark!” Comet says and he pulls one seemingly out of thin air. “I couldn’t fight terror and evil villains without my sharpie! I’d feel naked without it!”

“Only an Irishman can make up so much bullshit!” Riley quips back. He glances at Comet again. “Besides you ARE nearly naked.”

Comet shrugs. “Yeah it’s pretty cold in here…”

Riley glances down. “Yeah it’s a bit nippy in here but we BREAST not go there!” He begins to crack up and slap his knee. But something catches his attention.

Petey the (Irish) Penguin takes a swig out of the flask and makes a small face before trying to speedily put it away- causing his “penguin family crest” to fall off and slowly float to the canvas. He scrambles to pick out the paper.

“Comet, damn it, look at the flask now! That’s Dillon’s family crest!” Riley nearly goes ballistic.

But by the time Comet goes to look the buzzer goes off and Petey has reattached the “P” onto the flask.

Riley bangs his head against the desk.

“Robert as a co-worker and friend, I want you to calm down.” Comet demands.

“It’s so obvious Comet!” Riley whines with his head hung low in disbelief. “I am not on crazy pills! Petey the Irish Penguin is Tim Dillon!”

“Robert, do the nice men in the white suits have to come take you away again in your ‘special jacket’…?” Comet slowly asks.

Before Riley can respond the sound of a want-to-be Bob Marley fills the arena.

“Oh-ho, we don’t want no war, no more blood (oh yeah man)

Keep the peace and there won’t be carnage floods! (Go stand up and go for peace)

Just light up the peace flower!

Use the Mary Jane power!

Oh-ho man, stand up!

Tell the man he fucked up!

Oh-ho man we don’t want dead in our streets

No more troops to fight in the streets to might!

Oh-ho man this could be the end

Every man left to fend-

For their rights

Stop the fights! (The fights)”

“That song is very touching… but isn’t it ironic that he wants peace but he’s fighting…?” Riley points out.

“Yes but who is this fair Citizen?” Comet asks.

Suddenly a Jamaican man walks out with bongo drums calmly tapping on them while swaying his head to the song!

“Why that’s Jack Beatnik!” Comet exclaims.

Petey the Penguin allows the hippie to saunter his way down giving a few coughs due to a bit too hard hits on that new pipe. He stops mid-way and burps up a little cloud of smoke and just smiles contently as he places the bongos down carefully and rolls into the ring. The two foreigners make eye contact before they charge and the two attempts to grapple. But Jack dodges around it and smacks Petey with a vicious kick into his back! He hits the ground and rolls forwards while trying to regain his balance. Petey the (Irish) Penguin turns around to see Jack charging right at him! He frantically grabs the turnbuckle behind him and rips off the top pad- dropping to the ground and using his legs to drop toe hold Beatnik right into the exposed steel! The pacifist finds himself a victim of a rather cheap tactic and a victim by more bloodshed caused by that damn Man himself! Jack’s forehead is cut open and now the Beatnik slowly rolls out of the ring, snatching his bongos.

DING! DING! DING!

“Eliminated twenty-sixth… JACK BEATNIK!”

He mumbles about Petey before he pulls a joint out of his pocket.

“That’s not legal!” Comet cries out.

“Yes it is, bloodshed means elimination,” Riley says.

“No I mean the usage of that ‘mary jane’ or ‘hash’ or ‘janga!’” Comet proclaims.

“Whatever floats his boat,” Riley says as he shoots up his fist into the air. “Fight the man, Jack, fight the man!”

In the ring the (Irish) Penguin stands tall in disbelief just how easy this match really is. Again that obnoxious buzzer rings and out comes the one and only, thankfully, Payne! Fans shrug indifferently as Payne charges down the aisle and is ready to leap into the ring-

“Oh hey, some poor fair citizen lost his balloon!” Comet points out as a shiny, red balloon floats right by Payne’s face.

“Best match ever! Best match ever! Best match ever! Oh, hey, balloon! Hehe, come here Mr. Buuuuuhhh-llllloooooonnnnn!” Payne shrieks like a child as he chases after the astray balloon as it barely passes ringside Payne looks up with his arms desperately trying to grasp this shiny object until-

SMACK!

“Ouch! Payne just eliminated himself by running head first into the steel ring post!” Riley yells then pauses and realizes the hilarity of it all. “Buwahahahahahahahahahaha!”

“It’s not THAT funny Robert, I’m sure Payne forgot his medication…”

“Hahahahahahahahahaha! BUUUUHHHH-lllloooonnN!” Riley can’t stop cracking up.

“Robert, stop. It’s really not that funny,” Comet says.

Riley glances at his half-naked partner. “You’re right, but I’ve milked every nipple joke I could squeeze into the commentary!”

“This is like being fifteen years old all over again,” Comet mutters.

DING! DING! DING!

“Eliminated twenty-seventh… A.D.D. BOY, PAYNE!”

Petey stares down at Payne who is knocked out cold and being dragged by SWF employees up the entrance ramp as one of them returns the balloon to a little kid dressed up as Aecas!

“Aaawww, that’s so adorable!” Comet says in response to the gothic little kid.

Again the loud buzzer rings while Petey rolls his wings (arms) trying to get warmed up for a legitimate competitor shows up next…

“Thunder… aaaahhhh…. Thunder!”

…Or not.

“Well, uh, it’s Thor. Hurray,” Comet says disappointed.

There’s a bit of a commotion backstage as we hear whiny yells of, “No! I demand a title shot! Not some jobber spot!” Reluctantly Thor is pushed out into the spotlight. The Norse God has apparently really let himself go as he has a five o’clock shadow that even George Michaels would have to sell. Not to mention his usual muscular body now has rolls of fat and his long blonde hair looks as if he hasn’t showered in years.

“Oh God, is that your armpits Comet or has Thor not showered in a long, long time?” Riley asks while pinching his nose.

“Why Robert, it hurts that you accuse me of that! I’m wearing ‘Old Spice- High Endurance’ the pure sport blend! It lasts all night long when I need to last all night long, if you know what I mean!” Comet winks.

“…The one day I forget my puke bag there’s been a sodomizing with barbed wire kendo stick, Comet half-naked, Thor smelling like every old hippie and mallrat put together and now…” Riley begins.

“But Robert, the staying power of this deodorant is truly remarkable but what’s even better is how great it smells! Lasts all night long when I work out,” Comet says with another product plug.

“…If working out means watching old videos tapes of you versus Neilsen of the Jungle in that Hell In a Cell match, then yes, you work out all night,” Riley jeers.

“It was a good match!” Comet snaps back as he glances at his flabby, exposed chest.

Thor turns back around and tries to walk backstage but again the SWF employees shove him back out. He spits on the entrance ramp and yells, “I’m too good for this, damn it! That’s it! I’m out!”

“Who is he? Axl Rose? I mean, come on, he’s just as washed up and whiny!” Riley demands because Petey the (Irish) Penguin has even wormed his way into Riley’s heart.

But now instead of SWF employees coming out Spike Jenkins is now airborne! He nails Thor with a spear that sends him back into the guardrail! The two with their old grudge begin to duke it out! Spike Jenkins easily gets the advantage and smacks Thor’s head against the guardrail. He laughs as a confused man stands up and looks around, seeming rather pale.

“Doesn’t that man resemble Ronald Reagan…?” Riley asks.

Everybody around him notices as the man slowly shakes his head. “Where am I? Who am I? Why am I at a wrestling show?”

The distraction gives Spike the time to pull out an insanely large glass bong!

“What is wrong with their generation Robert? I mean really, they’re all hoodlums!” Comet cries out as he sees another illegal object.

“I’m more curious how he fit that big bong into his baggy pants… oh and hey, at least we know who hooked up Beatnik,” Riley says.

Jenkins smashes the bong after his ex-arch nemesis and then grabs him by his hair, dragging him offstage.

DING! DING! DING!

“The twenty-eighth elimination… THOR!”

“Thank God the ‘ten second to get to the ring’ part was thrown in last moment,” Riley says with relief.

Petey the (Irish) Penguin is now just casually Irish jigging in center of the ring figuring he didn’t travel this far to not break a sweat.

The obnoxious buzzer goes off again and three former SJL nobodies come charging down the ramp!

“…Who are they?” Riley asks.

“Okay one of them is Citizen J.T. Playa, I think…” Comet starts to identify.

Petey stops the jigging and cocks his head to the side as he also has no clue of whose he’s ready to face.

“Okay the other is Kojack and the last one is John Stark!” Riley finally realizes.

The three all slide into the room at the same time before charging at Petey! The (Irish) Penguin ducks under a clothesline attempt by John Stark! J.T. Playa with his pimp cane swings at his opponent, only to catch the back of Stark’s head! But Kojack is able to grab Petey the Penguin from behind and quickly lift him up for the backdrop! But Petey is able to flip over again and lands on his feet behind Kojack, bringing his leg straight into Kojack’s crotch from behind!

Everybody winces but Petey’s comment is priceless, “Oh right in the shamrocks!”

Kojack slowly drops to one knee with his eyes scrunched and mouth half opened. Petey the (Irish) Penguin then leaps out at J.T. Playa! He snatches a front facelock while Stark retreats to recover in the corner behind the rest of the competitors. Petey grabs a handful of those shiny pimp pants and lifts him into the air before easily edging his way over to the ropes! Petey gives a “heave-ho” before dumping J.T. Playa to the outside with a released vertical suplex!

DING! DING! DING!

“The twenty-ninth elimination… J.T. Playa!”

“We really did make this a bit too easy, didn’t we?” Riley asks Comet who slowly nods.

Petey turns around with a smiling creeping across his face but he suddenly sees Stark charging right at him! Petey freaks out and drops down in perfect timing while John is within reach and he grabs both of his arms! Tugging him down to the canvas the (Irish) Penguin places Stark on his feet ready to spring- then sends him flying over the ring with a monkey flip! John Stark is sent soaring and that pesky law of gravity brings him down with his back smacking against the steel barricade so hard it gets moved out of place!

“Ouch!” Riley can’t help but to exclaim.

“PETEY” The chant kicks up again.

DING! DING! DING!

“The thirtieth elimination… JOHN STARK!”

Petey the (Irish) Penguin does a cute little jig in celebration before turning around and seeing Kojack just laying on the mat on his back, crying! He squawks in confusion but suddenly gets an idea, vaulting onto the top turnbuckle!

“Hey! Penguins can’t fly!” Comet yells.

“But Irishmen can!” Riley protests. “They can also get wasted and write awful poetry!”

But Petey proves Comet wrong as he leaps off with a Moonsault while twisting his body in an amazing visional! Fans everywhere erupt into cheers and lights bulbs flash off everywhere as Petey the (Irish) Penguin connects with a corkscrew Moonsault!

“He just hit the ‘penguins can too fly!’” Comet says while glancing at his sheet.

He lies there for the cover!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THREE!”

DING! DING! DING!

“The thirty-first elimination is Kojack!”

Again an SWF employee finds himself kneeling down and whispering into Comet’s ear.

“No, I heard waxing the chest would hurt,” He mutters then shakes back into reality. “Apparently folks I have to be the bearer of bad news… there was a shocking, freak forklift incident backstage. So the follow competitors have been eliminated- Reason, Suicide, Shadow, SOS, Basketball ASA, D-Red, Heat, and Goldeneye,” Comet says.

“…How about that?”

The bell ringer doesn’t even bother.

“The thirty-second through forty-first eliminations- Reason, Suicide, Shadow, SOS, Basketball ASA, D-Red, Heat, and Goldeneye!”

“Well I’m sure they’ll be missed… by somebody, somewhere,” Riley says.

“Robert! That was not very tasteful!” Comet scowls.

“Ah, come on. A little dark humor for you guys, I mean where would Marilyn Monroe be right now if she was alive?” Riley asks.

“…I don’t know, Robert, what?” Comet is afraid to ask.

“Clawing at the lid of her coffin,” Riley snickers.

Petey the (Irish) Penguin can’t believe his luck and actually takes a seat in middle of the ring while reaching inside to pull out a cigarette where it’s dyed green. He casually lights it and soon begins to puff away.

“Oh sure, set a bad example for the kids. Smoking is dangerous, wrong, and naughty! Just say no, Citizens!” Comet says.

“But if you must smoke I heard that Frost is coming out with a cigarette brand too!” Riley says. “Smooth and rich or mellow, it’s delightfully delicious! Take a drag or be like Ash and be stuffed into a bag!”

Again the annoying buzzer rings off and there’s silence as there’s not even a stir near the entrance ramp.

“Wait, apparently citizens we have a dilemma going on backstage! Apparently three of our workers are on a rampage and are knocking out the rest of the jobbers, err, employees!” Comet shrieks.

The SmarkTron comes to life and backstage a cameraman cowers behind a crate- watching Toxxic, Jay Dawg, and Danny Williams are seen tearing the poor, unlucky competitors to pieces! Toxxic smashes a punch bowl over Cutthroat’s head then nails Adonis with a punch… crushing his ‘precious’ nose.

“What does Toxxic have against them?” Riley asks.

“Apparently somebody spiked the punch and he flipped,” Comet says.

“Spiked it with what?”

“Whiskey,” Comet says.

In the ring Petey the (Irish) Penguin gives a smug grin with a “whoops” face.

Jay Dawg launches Lost Soul into the wooden crates in the corner after already being pummeled to oblivion. Meanwhile Toxxic and Danny continue their sprees as JD chokes Lucky with a urinal puck!

“It’s a massacre, it’s a massacre!” Comet cries.

“What’s Jay Dawg pissed about?” Riley asks.

“Somebody called him a ‘jobber,’” Comet replies.

Finally Danny is just knocking out the final jobbers with vicious elbows while wearing a red and yellow bandana.

“What are you going to do, brotha’?” He screams at Leo and Hybrid who both get knocked silly.

Soon the jobbers’ bodies are just scattered strewn as each wrestler storms out in an opposite direction.

“…I think they just got rid of the rest of them?” Comet says with uncertainty.

“Looks like a battle field out there but at least this match is over… and you can put on a freaking’ uniform,” Riley says glancing at Comet. “My god dude it’s really not that cold in here!”

Suddenly past all the beaten competitors one man stands tall.

“Why it’s Cardboard Comet!” Comet proclaims.

But Jay Dawg suddenly pokes his head around the corner, chomping the cardboard figure’s head off!

Comet shrieks out loud like a girl who just saw a mouse. “How insanely cruel and disgusting that was of Citizen Dawg!”

The bell doesn’t even bother chiming and Funyon gets on the microphone, “YOUR WINNER OF THIS GAUNTLET…” But an SWF employee cuts him off. “Ahem, all those backstage knocked out have been eliminated!”

“Well that must mean there’s one more person!” Comet reasons and suddenly he flips over the back of his sheet, staring at two sticky notes. He mumbles it out-loud. “Guys don’t mess up we’ve decided to put this in the actual TV taping slot and the newest addition to the match is…” Comet looks up from the paper.

“Who is it?” Riley demands.

“I… don’t… believe… it…” Comet says. “No wonder he wanted to televise this, it’s the one and only-”

I said Hallelujah - to the sixteen loyal fans-ah

For getting down on your motha’fuckin’ knees-

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

Every single fan is off their seats and staring at the entrance ramp!

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” Riley just cries in repeat.

The lights go out and the cheers just simply can’t get any louder!

“Edwin’s back, we’re on live, we’ve seen sodomizing with barbed wire kendo sticks, we’ve seen it all but now Edwin’s here!”

A spotlight hits on the entrance ramp and indeed there is the red flowing trench coat, wild hair, the two different colored eyes, the unforgettable face…

… That’s shrunk about twenty times Edwin’s size!

“Adorable Edwin, the Mini-MacPhisto is charging down to face off Citizen Penguin!” Comet squeals as every fan has no clue how to react.

The midget version of Edwin MacPhisto runs down the ramp and lets his trench coat free as he slides into the ring, hopping to his feet! He charges at Petey the (Irish) Penguin and quickly leaps onto his foot! Petey yelps as Adorable Edwin begins to smack the (Irish) Penguin around with punches! Suddenly there’s a one-two slap and a nut shot and the fans can’t help but to nearly die at the sight of a midget Cocktail O’ Shame!

“My God he’s quite feisty,” Riley says.

Adorable Edwin leaps into the air and clutches the top of Petey’s head with a dragon sleeperhold! Petey freaks out as Mini-MacPhisto is attempting to hit the classic dragon sleeper leg sweep but he’s too short! The (Irish) Pimping Penguin reaches his arms behind him and clutches onto the Mini-MacPhisto before tugging him off! He holds him high above his head as Adorable Edwin’s blood rushes to his head. Petey the (Irish) Penguin then switches the hold as Mini-MacPhisto finds himself laid out behind Petey’s neck while staring up at the ceiling!

“No way, don’t do it Petey!” Comet cries as he knows what’s coming.

Petey then does the hop to the side as he lets Mini-MacPhisto slide!

BAM~!

Hitting the BURNING HAMMER~!

“Tux’s Takedown!” Comet cries.

Petey checks to make sure his opponent isn’t crushed into oblivion and he hooks the leg.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THREE!” “No! He got the shoulder up!”

The fans begin cheering for watching the Mini-MacPhisto casually roll back to his feet and simply crack his neck to each side.

“…Maybe his head didn’t even hit the canvas?” Riley wonders.

Petey the (Irish) Penguin stands up and towers above Adorable Edwin before using a knee to knock him down! But quickly he does a kip-up and uses the momentum to swing his leg up and connect with another Galatea special! The damage has definitely been done as Petey can’t help but to wheeze and turn his back to Mini-MacPhisto in pain! Adorable Edwin makes the most of it as he clutches Petey’s arms outwards and drops to the mat letting Penguin rest on his back. Then with one swift movement he spikes Petey down with the spiked backslide!

Comet can’t help but to laugh. “How did that just happen?”

The pin’s already in place-

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

SPLAT!

In utter confusion the fans all see Petey laying on top of Adorable Edwin, who’s been crushed by all the weight! Flatten like road kill the Mini-MacPhisto has gives up!

DING! DING! DING!

“YOUR WINNER OF THIS GAUNTLET… PETEY THE IRISH PENGUIN~!”

This time “Ice Ice Baby” kicks up as the dazed Adorable Edwin and Petey shake hands! Then the (Irish) Penguin can’t help but to hoist the incredibly tough impersonator on his shoulders! The fans go nuts as the two parade around the ring in a victory lap, before Petey trips!

“Ouch! Well we have to cut to a commercial break, don’t miss it!” Comet says.

“Yeah go put on that new costume too,” Riley says.

~STARWIPE~

Thoth · June 19, 2004

As Storm returns after a commercial break, the Milwaukee crowd are busily booing their heads off...as during the course of the break, they have been graced with the always commanding presence of Chris Card and his girlfriend Natasha. Both of whom seem to be in a pretty good mood tonight, with the suited and booted Card holding the NOT QUITE AS MYSTERIOUS AS THE MASKED MAN'S BUT STILL MYSTERIOUS NONETHELESS~! black briefcase with a sense of great importance.

"Welcome back to Storm..." Cyclone Comet eventually greets us. "And, as you can see...Chris Card is in the ring ready to address this crowd. For what reason we're not sure, but I'm sure it may have something to do with La..."

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Chris Card suddenly booms, cutting off Cyclone and garnering the crowd's attention. "Tonight is a very, VERY special night for all of you people. It is a rare occurence for many people to be in the presence of greatness. Few people can say they saw Ali in the ring. Few people can say they saw Mark McQuire with a bat in hand. Few people can say they've seen Tiger Woods at the tee. Few people can say they saw Hulk Hogan at his peak...Bret Hart at his peak...Ric Flair at his peak. But even fewer can say they've seen actually seen a star be born. Even fewer can say 'I was there the night Ali stepped into a boxing ring for the first time' or 'I was there when Michael Jordan first put on the Bulls jersey'. Tonight ladies and gentlemen, you can thank your lucky stars...because YOU are about to be graced by a star which is rising faster than even my bank balance."

Card affords himself a laugh towards parts of the crowd and Natasha joins in...the fans obviously not privy to the obvious inside joke, deciding to boo rather than laugh.

"Yes...tonight, you people will be treated to a once in a lifetime experience. The birth...of a star. So stand up...grab your cameras and your phones...if you're watching at home, press the record button right now. And allow me...to introduce you to THE FUTURE! The future of the SWF. The future of this business. The future SWF World Heavyweight Champion! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...

LANDON!

LA CUCARACHA!

MAAAAAADDIIIIIX!!!"

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

"PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!"

...WAAAAAHHHHH...

*DUM DUM*

"Megalomaniac" by Incubus hits around the arena, only just audible over the boos that promptly fill the air from the fans, as Landon Maddix steps out from behind the curtain...decidely lighter after his loss at 13th Hour, both in the bodyweight he must have lost through exhaustion and the many pounds of gold he no longer has. What is most odd about him though is the expensive looking designer shirt and pants he's wearing, the new Rolex watch on his wrist...and a beaming smile on his face!?!

"Here comes the FORMER USJL Triple Crown Champion..." observes Comet.

"Don't start that Cyclone. This man went through the most grueling match in professional wrestling at 13th Hour, and he personally checked himself out of his hospital bed just to be here tonight."

"I don't recall hearing about that..."

"Oh, it's true...Chris Card told me so."

"And I suppose he only checked himself out so he could free up a bed for an old woman with hooping cough, or something 'heroic' like that."

"...no. He just wanted to be here tonight."

Continuing his walk down the ramp, Landon still looks smug despite the various chants of "Alan Clark", "You Tapped Out" and "Landon Sucks" that muddle together to form a mumble of discontent. Behind him is Megan Skye, wearing a pretty expensive looking bracelet to go with her usual clothes...most of this new money source obviously not finding it's way to her yet. Slowly Maddix reaches the steps and climbs gingerly up them, grimacing slightly as he bends down to enter the ring.

"What a gallant guy Landon Maddix is." sighs Riley. "To be here with such excruciating injuries is a sign of what a true embassador to this company he is."

"Let's not go over the top now."

Megan follows up the steps, as Maddix shakes hands with both Natasha and Card, with the boos intensifying as soon as the music halts moment later. Card holds out his microphone for Landon, who takes it with a nod of thanks and steps into the center of the ring.

"LANDON SUCKS! LANDON SUCKS! LANDON SUCKS!"

"Ahem..."

"LANDON SUCKS! LANDON SUCKS! LANDON SUCKS!"

"A - HEEEEEMMM!!!"

"LANDON SUCKS! LANDON SUCKS! LANDON SUCKS!"

Finally realising he's not going to get any respect or silence from the crowd, Maddix sighs and resigns himself to the background noise.

"When I was a little boy...I asked my mother...what will I be? Will I be...pretty? Will I be rich? And...perhaps to no surprise, she said to me 'Que Sera Sera.' Whatever will be, will be. She was a Doris Day fan I guess. But, at this moment in time, so too am I...because those lyrics have meaning to me. I'm only twenty years old...but right now, I know that I AM pretty. I AM rich..."

"SHUT THE *bleep* UP! SHUT THE *bleep* UP! SHUT THE *bleep* UP!"

Maddix stops and frowns at the interruption, while Card and co try to silence the crowd.

"You people are probably pretty happy right now that I'm no longer the USJL Triple Crown Champion..."

"YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"

"Well...'Que Sera Sera'. Alan Clark beat me at 13th Hour. Me and Alan went SIXTY minutes...the ultimate gut-check. We gave every ounce of energy that we had to win that match, and although he won the match, we BOTH survived. Yes, I would have liked to have the final say in our rivalry. I would have liked to still be holding my titles. But Alan...here's the deal. I gained a LOT of respect for you after what we went through. But when it's all said and done...you may have won the match and the unofficial series...but I won the war. See, at the end of the day, as far as the taxman is concerned, two of those belts you hold still belong to me. They were given to me by SJL officials. They're still MY property. The only reason I'm not in Commisioner Zenon's office right now, demanding a rematch for my Triple Crown...is...the man to my right."

Maddix points to Card to boos from the crowd, as Chris does his worst impression of someone with modesty.

"It goes like this Alan. You have the Triple Crown. And I am not going to go right back after those belts. In the future...who knows? 'Que Sera Sera'. But for now, you can have your moment in the sun my Wayward Son. Truth be told...I've outgrown those belts. Holding them was the greatest honor I've had in this company, and they are very important belts don't get me wrong. But as Chris Card has made perfectly clear to me, they're just not the belts that are right for me. You may have won the match. But I'M the guy who's going up in the world. Ain't that right Chris?"

With a smug grin, Landon passes the microphone to the smiling Card, who drops his shades to the bottom of his nose and looks out to the crowd.

"You are certainly right. You see...a few weeks ago, I told the world that I was looking for the future of this industry to mentor and give the benefit of my experience. I scoured the ranks of the SWF. From Cortez to Clark, Lezaire to Luchador, Dace to Dangerous...I scouted every single superstar in this company, from the barrel scraping enhancement talent to the number one contenders and former champions. To be honest, it was a tough decision deciding who would best benefit from and appreciate the advice of a legendary figure such as myself..."

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

"...until that is, I sat back with the boys watching the Sixty Minute Ironman Match at 13th Hour. And while certain members of the locker-room were sitting around drinking, talking and gambling...I sat and watched a MASTER at work. Through that the course of that hour, this man made up my mind for me. No offence to Alan Clark...you wrestled one hell of a match too, but you're not World Championship material. This young man next to me is."

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

"Well, the fans don't agree." notices Comet.

"They should do." snaps Riley. "That's Chris Card doing the praising! That's better than praise from Ceaser himself!"

"In this young man...I see a younger version of me. A man who knows what it takes to win. Someone with superior ability. Good looks. Charisma. A fine lady on his arm. And most importantly of all credentials. No other SJL World Champion was JOBBED in the way he was, by having the company fold around him. If not for that, I have every confidence that he would have gone on to be the GREATEST SJL World Champion in history. That's why I've invested the money, time and effort into making the Landon Maddix you see before you...the FUTURE SWF World Heavyweight Champion. The FUTURE franchise player in this company. Simply put...the FUTURE of the SWF!"

The crowd murmur in disagreement, as the microphone is passed back to Landon who is on the verge of blushing from the shameless ego trip he's being treated to.

"Thank you Chris. And might I say, what an honor it is to be associated with someone such as yourself."

Comet vomits over the front row, as Card holds his hands up in thanks.

"And with you guiding me along, it's only a matter of time before I begin to go after the World Heavyweight Championship. I do know my limitations though. I'm not going to go rushing into a challenge for the title like I did with Charlie Matthews. Oh, no. This time, I'm going to be smart. I'm going to bide my time and work my way up the ranks, climbing the ladder until I earn the shot."

"Translation...he's scared of Janus." sneers Comet.

"SHHHHH!" Riley angrily hisses.

Looking around the crowd, Maddix's eyes lock on an 'Alan Clark- 60 Minute Man' sign...sneering at the fan holding it, before continuing.

"But...with Chris Card Enterprises managing my affairs...I can guarantee that that won't take long. So...'Que Sera Sera'. If Zenon wants me going after the Cruiserweight Title, 'Que Sera Sera', because I am the single best Cruiserweight in this company...and Lil' Johnny Dangerous doesn't stand a hope in hell of beating me without his Carribean meal-ticket carrying his sorry ass!"

"BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

"If Zenon wants to put me in matches with Danny Williams, 'Que Sera Sera', because let's face it...who HASN'T beaten the roided up Japanese wannabee in the past few months?"

"BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

"Hell, if Zenon decides it best to book me in matches with Toxxic...'Que Sera Sera', because as much as I admire the limey bugger, I will defeat whoever is put in my path. David Blazenwing. Spike Jenkins. Crow. Aecas. Tom Flesher. Dace Night. I just don't care. 'Cause this is my time! My era! My destiny! Look in this ring... Megan Skye. Natasha. Chris Card. And the FUTURE of this industry. Look at this SWF, and realise...

...The Odds...Are Against You!"

Boos fill the arena again, promptly joined by "Megalomaniac" blaring over the loud speakers as Landon casually flips the microphone over his head and reaches out to Card...the two men engaging in a firm handshake and a jolly good chuckle, as Megan and Natasha stand applauding.

"Look at that sight." gleams Riley. "Glorious!"

"It's sickening. They were one step off of 'Oooh, I love your hair' at one point!"

Card and Maddix turn to the crowd and raise each other's arm in the air to more jeers from the crowd...but they simply laugh it off, as the entourage leads the way out of the ring.

"Nothing wrong with mutual appreciation."

"I might have known you'd enjoy the manlove." sneers Comet, shutting Riley up abruptly. "Folks, we've got plenty more talking on the way so don't move from your seats. We'll be right back..."

Thoth · June 19, 2004

The screen flicks back to the image of the Storm crowd in Milwaukee, as the sound of the crowd is shattered as a warning alarm screams into life and flashing red lights glare around the arena.

“Uh oh, looks like are new World Champ is about to come out and say a few things. Better batten down the hatches Comet. And don’t try anything stupid, I don’t think you insurance covers this sort of monster.” Sneers Riley over the sound of the alarms.

“Robert, if no one else steps up then I’ll step up again. Someone has to fight this monsters, no matter what. I’m a Superhero and you just can’t sit back all the time. Sometimes you have to dust off the boots, good idea or not.” Comet replies slowly.

[sTATUS: RELEASED!]

Consumed with memories...

That preceded today...

Given a chance to bereave...

Life that's slipping AWAY!

Revive all my fears!

Revive wasted tears!

Revive void within!

Revive once again!

JANUS SUCKS! JANUS SUCKS! JANUS SUCKS! JANUS SUCKS! JANUS SUCKS! JANUS SUCKS! JANUS SUCKS! JANUS SUCKS!

Resurrection booms out through the arena as Janus stands at the top of the ramp, surrounded by smoke and pyro. With the ICTV Title over one arm and the World Title over the over, Janus glares out at the crowd as he slowly marches down the ramp, ignoring the fans.

“Ladies and gentlemen, failing from Sydney, Australia, at seven foot two and three hundred and sixty pounds, this is the SWF ICTV and SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION …. THE HELL MACHINE … THIS IS JJJAAAAANNNNUUUUSSSS!” Booms out Funyon before bailing out of the ring, looking like he wants to live.

Stepping up onto the apron and over the ropes, the Hell Machine stands with both titles over his trench coated shoulders, stooping down a moment to pick up Funyon’s mic. Looking through red eyes to the fans, Janus slowly shifts to the centre of the ring, before bringing up the mic and starting with a voice that rumbles like a land slide and soon quiets the crowd.

”Well, you don’t have much to say now do you. Less than me even. I crushed you hero like a bug. I take the title from him and now it’s mine.” Janus pauses for a moment and slides the ICTV title off his shoulder and into his huge hand. “Speaking of which, now I have the prise title, I don’t need this any more. I’m the World Champion and this is not worthy of me.” Janus throws the ICTV title down onto the mat before spitting on it.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

FUCK YOU JANUS! FUCK YOU JANUS! FUCK YOU JANUS! FUCK YOU JANUS! FUCK YOU JANUS!

“Janus just SPAT on the ICTV belt!” Comet yells, almost indignant with rage. “How can he do that to a title, any title at all even? This monster can’t be allowed to get away with things like that!

“Well, he just did Comet. I don’t see any of those chickens in the back coming out to mouth off to Janus now. The belt was his, he could do what he wanted with it. But now he’s worried about the World Title. Good luck to anyone, even Tom Flesher, that wants to take it away from him.” Riley answers, with a half smile, half serious tone.

“So to anyone that wants the World Title. They can come and try. I’ll squash them just like Danny Williams and leave them just as worthless as this belt!” Throwing down the mic, Janus stamps on the ICTV Title as he exits the ring, stepping back to the floor and striding up the ramp under a literally hail of boos, jeers and even thrown objects as security holds back the front row of fans.

WE WANT TERRENCE! WE WANT TERRENCE! WE WANT TERRENCE! WE WANT TERRENCE! WE WANT TERRENCE!

“Now, we have to wonder who will step up to the challenge of stopping Janus. Right now, even I’d rather have Tom Flesher as the Champ. And can even the Superior One stop the Hell Machine? Who else is going to set up to stop him?” Questions Comet.

“No one, that’s who!”

But as Janus reaches the top of the entrance ramp, a round of white pyro explodes from the ramp as Hero rips into life. Pausing form a moment, Janus watches the entrance way with an odd look on his face.

RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Dace Night comes flying out of the entranceway, followed several seconds later by a stream of SWF security guards. Leaping at Janus before the Hell Machine can react, Dace slams an elbow into his jaw and starts to wail on Janus, battering him with lefts and rights. Dropping the World Title to the ramp, Janus throws his head back in a yell and punches Dace full in the face with a Knuckle Bomb, sending him stumping backwards into the line of security guards.

“It’s Dace Night! It looks like he’s had enough of Janus’ actions and he’s come out to settle it right now!” Comet yells out.

“So someone called the White Night, he’s about to get his ass handed to him again! This is gonna be great. First Flesher and now Janus.” Riley shoots back happily.

Throwing himself clear of the security staff, even dropping one of them to the ramp with a stiff elbow, Dace launches himself straight back at Janus, taking another Knuckle Bomb just to answer back with a flurry of elbows.

DACE! DACE! DACE! DACE! DACE! DACE! DACE! DACE!

The team of security guards swamp around the brawling pair, dragging them apart like trying to separate finger cuffs. Even as dozens of guards try to hold them back, the two strain towards each other, exchanging words and trying to land another blow. It takes almost every man there to drag the Hell Machine away and even as they do so, he throws several of them away before turning towards the back.

“You’re not going to get away with this anymore Janus, I’m going to stop you. You’re going to have to fight everyone and I’m waiting for you Janus. You’re got a lot of shit to answer for asshole!” Dace screams out as the security team drag him off to the side of the stage. Much to the rage of the fans.

BBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“Did you see that, the so called White Night just assaulted the World Champion! How can things like this happen around here?” Riley cries indignantly.

“I think Dace has had enough of Janus’ actions and he’s looking to do something about them. Title shot or no title shot, a lot of bad blood is running again between these two.” Comet notes as the image fades out.

Thoth · June 19, 2004

Our scene fades in on Ben Hardy, standing in front of the SWF Storm backdrop and next to Mike Van Siclen and Todd Cortez, collectively known as Hollywood Boulevard. Cortez's tag championship is fastened firmly around his waist, while Van Siclen's tag belt is slung over his left shoulder, and his Hardcore championship is slung over the right. The gold glints, shining into the camera, and Van Siclen adjusts his belts a bit as Hardy begins to speak.

"Ben Hardy, here, alongside the World Tag Team Champions, Hollywood Boulevard. Guys, you're coming off of an incredible Casino Floor Brawl against the team of John Duran and Crow, in which you narrowly retained the tag championships. How does it feel to come into tonight having dispelled a lot of doubts about your second reign?"

Hardy holds the mic up in front of Cortez. "You wanna talk doubt, Ben?" asks Cortez. "The only doubt there was was in the minds of the haters. The wanna-be's. What they didn't realize is that Hollywood Boulevard was just a time bomb waiting to go off. Yeah, we got into the mix pretty quick once I got here, taking those belts and having to deal with Aecas and Janus and Wild & Dangerous. Then we got thrown a curveball and went our own ways for a few shows, and that's cool, I've got no beef with that. Now that we've got the belts for a second time, everyone's on our case again. This time they're saying that we're just the big fish in a small pond. They say that the tag division ain't what it used to be, and I'll admit, that's true. That's why it's open season on these belts. Anyone who wants us, anywhere, anytime. You think we were worried about the Casino Brawl? Hell no, Hardy. A fight like that is right up my alley. Mike held his own too, save for his whining over that suit of his, right partner?"

Van Siclen snatches the mic away, muttering that "Well, it was a nice suit." He clears his throat, and then... "Yeah, Ben, a lot of people said that this match was going to play into the hands of the hardcore stylings of Crow, and the experience of the wily veteran John Duran, and it boggles my mind because when it comes to hardcore stylings," Van Siclen nods to his Hardcore championship, "I'm the champ. And when it comes to wily vets, Ben, I've been here for four damn years. John Duran can keep saying that he's some seasoned veteran, but there is not a single soul in this federation that can outthink me."

Van Siclen casually tosses the mic to Hardy, who continues. "You spoke about your Hardcore championship there, Mike, and during your recent run you defended it twice. A lot of people don't realize that you went 6-2 in the last cycle, an impressive feat for someone who had been written off for so long."

Mike grabs the microphone again with a grin on his face. "Yeah, I had a pretty impressive run there, didn't I? But I... we... lost steam towards the end of the month, and because of that we had to stop the bleeding somehow, and the Casino Brawl was the perfect way to do that. As far as I'm concerned, we've got a clean slate right now, and I want to take both of these belts into Genesis V."

Van Siclen tosses Hardy the microphone once more. "Mike, you had mentioned wanting to become the first-ever quadruple champion. Have you lost sight of that dream in recent weeks?"

Van Siclen grabs the mic once more. "I don't think so, Ben. After the loss to Landon for the USJL belt -- one match that I really wanted to win, mind you -- I've been seriously trying to reevaluate my focus. Number one on my list, no matter what happens, is keeping hold of the World Tag Team championships. Everything else comes number two to that. If an opportunity to win the USJL, or the ICTV, or the Cruiser, or even -- God willing -- the World title, yeah, I'll take it, but right now my focus is on the two belts I already have. I want to establish myself with these before branching out even more."

Mike casually hands the microphone back to Hardy, who turns to the Urban Legend, Todd Cortez. "Now, Todd, you have had your share of shots at singles gold in recent weeks as well, with varying success. Do you think we could see both members of Hollywood Boulevard become double champions in the future?"

Hardy sticks the mic in front of Todd.

"Without question. There's no doubt in my mind I'd have that Cruiserweight belt, but the matchmakers figured they'd cater to the champ and have him take me on in a match that his partner had experience with. That gave him an edge, sure, but why didn't they put Johnny in a match catered to MY strong points, huh? It's one of those things that make you go hmmmm, Hardy. Maybe it's jealousy, maybe it's the rep that my man Mike has built for himself, but you know, Hollywood Boulevard will forge ahead as a team. Mike Van Siclen will rise above his detractors, and Todd Cortez will continue to be the rookie phenomenon that got the world talking. These boys can go out and say that their records are immaculate, that they can't be stopped. Dace Night, John Duran, Johnny Dangerous, whatever, whoever. Ain't nobody on the street gonna be impressed with a guy who was able to hit five moves from the top rope. They're gonna be impressed with the guys who have the balls to get all up in the face of their opponent, then smash it in with a right cross. I'm not going to settle for second best, I never have, and I never will. Neither will Mike here. Think of it as the California Gold Rush of 2004, and we're just two prospectors looking for our take."

Hardy takes the mic back. "Thanks, guys, and congratulations on the victory on Sunday. I'm sure we'll see you in the ring on Lockdown."

Cortez nods, leaving, and Van Siclen follows... but he steals the mic from Hardy, a smile on his face. "Thanks, Benjamin, and you'd best get used to complimenting me -- I'm going to be a double champion for a long time."

Van Siclen drops the mic, walking out, and Hardy is left helpless as we fade to black...

Thoth · June 19, 2004

We fade in to a startling close up of a fiery blue eye, gradually pulling out into all of Danny Williams’ torso is revealed. Despite suffering a devastating loss, there appears to be no absence of confidence in the three time Champion. Tanned and oiled up, the hulking former Champion is quite the psychical specimen. Evidently consciousness of the camera, Williams appears to be constantly flexing as he growls at the viewers...

“Last week, the Hell Machine nailed my shoulders to the canvas for the 1-2-3, taking the World Title that I worked so hard to win. At the 13th Hour, Janus was the better man and there’s no denying that. But though the dream is dead, I’m still alive! I’m not gonna run away and hide again, oh no. So I’m here to tell you now Janus, that I’m staying right here! I’m gonna train harder, I’m gonna get stronger, and than I’m gonna come after ya! And when that time comes, I’m gonna summon all the power of my fans, hoist your 360 pound ass onto my shoulders and drive you straight into the earth with the biggest Powerbomb the world has ever seeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!”

With a final snort, Williams holds one final pose for the camera, exposing every swollen muscle in his compact frame.

SWF Storm

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