SWF Storm 6-30-2006

[chirs3 0]

Spike Jenkins opening promo.

 

Yeah, right.

[chirs3 0]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation is proud to present...

The first ever SWF USO SHOW!

On June 30th, the SWF will be entertaining the brave men and women who risk their lives every day to protect us from the overshadowing threat of the Covenant Onslau-

Wait, what? I thought we were going back to Iraq!

Then what troops are we entertaining?


...


...


...

... you've gotta be kidding me.

*sigh*

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents...

SWF LOCKDOWN!
Live, Friday, June 30th, from the fourth Pelican Bay aboard the Cairo Orbital Defense Platform!
(6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings)
(Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3)



Look sharp, men!

And you too, Amy.

This week, the UNSC has commissioned us to entertain the troops of the United Earth Space Corps! We have been assigned to the Cairo Orbital Defense Platform, which is a fancy shmancy term for GIGANTIC FUCKING CANNON IN SPACE. These brave men and women have just come back from the front lines, battling for their lives on the Forerunner ringworld of Halo (Installation 04), and it's our job to help them make the best of their R&R!

Oh, and long-range sensors have just picked up a large Covenant attack force heading right for us. I imagine by the time we've finished our second or third match, their boarding craft will begin latching onto the Cairo, and the audience (made up mostly of Marines, ODST's, and Officers) will begin engaging the enemy. So, if you're on the second half of the card... well, just keep your head down.

Good luck!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

THE MAIN EVENT - TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
The New Doomtopians (Jimmy the Doom and Doomstroyer) vs. Tom Flesher and Charlie "Grappler" Matthews
-> A little while back, Flesher and Grappler took down the former #1 Contenders to the Tag Team Titles, and tonight, their shot gets cashed in against the probably/possibly/potentially/maybe unstoppable New Doomtopians!
Rules: Standard Tag Team Match.

-=-=-=-=-

House Rules - Escape Pod Match
Bruce Blank vs. Grendel
-> Next up on the Michael Stephens World Championship Defense Circuit is record-setting Bruce Blank! Unfortunately, Stephens has the night off. And an idle Blank is... well, I guess it's not all that bad. He just drinks a lot. But in any case, we need him sober for next week, so tonight he faces Grendel in House Rules!

At this point in the show, I imagine shit will be blowing up everywhere, sirens will be going off, and the mad dash for the escape pods will begin. One has been set aside for our match tonight.
Rules: No DQ, no Countouts. There are a number of keys around the ring. One is hanging above the ring, Ladder-match-style. A few are hidden inside tables set up around the ring, so breaking the tables is the only way to reach them. Maybe a few are taped to some steel chairs around the ring, or mixed in with a bag thumbtacks. Use your imagination. The object of the match is to find the correct key that unlocks the Escape Pod, then get inside. Winner gets a free ride to the next show. Loser will probably die in a terrible explosion, just like the rest of us left on the station.

-=-=-=-=-

Tag Team Match
Scott Rageheart and Kerry Staunton vs. Zyon and Insane Luchador
-> Scott Rageheart and Kerry Staunton, the newest Tag Team addition to the fed, takes a step above the likes of Myers and Griffon. Tonight they test their skizzills against perennial favorites Zyon and Insane Luchador!
Rules: Standard tag team match.

-=-=-=-=-

Question Mark Man... AGAIN!
??? vs. Stryke
-> So, our recent trials with QMM haven't gone so well. FEAR NOT~!, for another enters the fray! Tonight, Stryke is the latest the be awarded the dubious honor of facing THIS GUY. WHO IS NOT THE SAME AS THE LAST GUY. I PROMISE.
Rules: Standard singles match.

-=-=-=-=-

Opening Promo: LEEEEEEROOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYY JE-... I mean, Spike Jenkins.

-=-=-=-=-

[chirs3 0]

"Stryke?"

 

We pull back to a wider shot, because you know we have to see this... Mike Van Siclen, sitting on a couch in a locker room, talking on his cell phone with a rather... stoned look on his face.

 

"Yes, I could come down to your office to speak to you about it, but I think I might laugh in your face and neither of us want that. Stryke? I'm supposed to make a glorious and impressive return against Stryke? I'm not going to be able to outwrestle him, Joseph, I'll be too busy murdering him."

 

...

 

"Oh, right, you could have left me off the card. I believe that. I own you, remember?"

 

...

 

"Yes, there was a settlement. You saw the check. You saw how much money you would owe me if I didn't take your little deal. You saw how much you're paying me per year now. Are you really going to tell me I don't own you?"

 

...

 

"Let me put it this way, Joseph -- I can go out there, right now, lay down, and make enough money to buy that house in the Hamptons. You're lucky I have enough competitive spirit to put on a show."

 

...

 

"Look, I'm only calling you to thank you for the second opportunity."

 

...

 

"Yes, yes, fuck me, I know. Look, I'm going to make the most of it, Joseph, and I'm going to start tonight. Don't you worry."

 

...

 

"Yeah, I hate me too, I wish I'd never come back. I wish I'd gotten paid, too..."

 

 

 

"He hung up on me."

 

Van Siclen smirks. "Whatever. Stryke, I came back to right the wrongs of the fed, or something like that, and while you've done nothing wrong to me I've got to start out by setting an example. I hope you don't hate me too much after I kill you tonight. Now I cut your ridiculous promo, shut the camera off so I can go take a nap or something."

 

FADE.

[chirs3 0]

The camera opens up on a wide shot of the fourth Pelican Bay, the United Earth soldiers cheering raucously because there’s some topless woman in the ring holding up a sign that says ‘applause’ and these guys have been stationed away from women so the cheers are probably actually moans because they’re all simultaneously jerking off. Hey, I never played Halo, and my only knowledge of the military came through Jarhead.

 

“Welcome BACK to Storm!” cries out an unusually peppy Mak Francis, “I’m your boy Mak Francis, alongside the Suicide King, and King, I guess you could call this match the ‘calm before the storm’, eh?”

 

“Well, I suppose you could,” King muses. “Coming up right now we have Stryke, a very entertaining personality, taking on the… hm. I need an adjective.”

 

“Rusty?”

 

“Most likely… the potentially rusty Mike Van Siclen, and Mak, this may not end pretty for either man.”

 

“Very true, King. We have no knowledge of what Van Siclen did in his nearly two-year absence, but has name did not appear in any show reports that we have seen. It’s almost as though he’s re-debuting, and we really don’t know what to expect from him. On the other side, you have Stryke, a man who has established a name for himself as a perennial underachiever, but a man who can always come up big if needed.”

 

“But the real question, Mak, is does he need to come up big tonight? You said it yourself, a suit can hide a lot of things – we haven’t seen Van Siclen’s physique, we don’t know what he’s been doing. Reports are saying that he’s put on twenty pounds, that could be twenty pounds of muscle or twenty pounds of fat; we simply don’t know.”

 

“How I Could Just Kill A Man” by Cypress Hill hits the loudspeakers in Pelican Bay, and though the gents in the audience are none too happy about the topless woman leaving, they find themselves mildly cheered up by the sparks and smoke, and give up a decent sized pop as Stryke emerges through them! The Australian is businesslike as ever, striding confidently down to the ring and onto the apron, soaking in the mild applause before entering the ring and stretching out before the match.

 

“King, though we see this man much more often, you could make a case that we don’t really know what his skills are like, either.”

 

“Very true, Mak. Stryke has shown flashes of brilliance, but in between those flashes of brilliance has been a whole lot of dead space and underwhelming performances. It makes you wonder about those big wins he’s pulled out.”

 

“You could almost call him the Rudy Gay of the SWF, couldn’t you?”

 

“Probably. Who’s Rudy Gay?”

 

As Mak and King discuss the ’06 NBA Draft, the opening sirens of “Hyphy Juice” by The Team come over the speakers, and the fans look to the entrance, not knowing quite how to react as Mike Van Siclen emerges through the curtain, blonde hair loosely tied back and a no-nonsense look on his face.

 

“Van Siclen does not look pleased, Mak. I hate to sound cliché, but he may be out for blood tonight.”

 

“He might be, King, but he was never too good at drawing blood when he was in his prime, was he?”

 

“Very true, very true.”

 

Van Siclen hops onto the apron, stepping into the ring and laying eyes on his opponent. He goes to his corner, doing some light stretches as Stryke steps out of his corner, ready for the bell.

 

* DING! *

 

And there it is, and we’re underway, and Stryke is not interested in wasting any time. He approaches Van Siclen with a bit of urgency in his step, and wastes no time in aiming a forearm straight at Van Siclen’s forehead.

 

* CRACK! *

 

“Well, that sounded good,” Mak says with a grin.

 

Van Siclen stumbles back into the turnbuckle, obviously not ready for the forearm shot, and Stryke senses the blood in the water, pouncing forward with a quick shot to the chin. Van Siclen throws up his arms in defence, but Stryke moves in for the kill, throwing rights, lefts, and elbows at Mike’s face. Van Siclen slides down the buckle, curling up into the fetal position as a relentless Stryke continues to level shots at Van Siclen until he is stopped by referee Nick Soapdish, who steps between the two men and pushes Stryke back! Stryke turns away from Van Siclen, throwing his arm up in a release of energy as the crowd lets out a roar of approval!

 

“Stryke showing an unusual ferocity tonight,” Mak says, “and King, Van Siclen doesn’t look so good right now.”

 

“Van Siclen doesn’t look good at all, Mak,” King says. “Stryke caught him unprepared, and Van Siclen, instead of recovering quickly, opened the door, and that was all Stryke needed.”

 

Van Siclen is up in the corner, a scowl on his face. He wipes his mouth, apparently tasting blood, and as Nick Soapdish walks away Van Siclen charges at Stryke, looking for… well, I guess it doesn’t really matter what he was looking for because Stryke reverses it, getting LOW and sending Van Siclen face-first into the second turnbuckle with a drop toe hold! The crowd eats this up, and Van Siclen hits the mat, again clutching his face in pain as Stryke gets to his feet, looking down at a rather pathetic-looking Van Siclen with a sneer on his face.

 

“Van Siclen just looks… bad, King. There’s no other way to put it.”

 

Stryke grabs Van Siclen by the hair, pulling the Illinois native to his feet and grabbing him by the arm. He whips Van Siclen into the ropes, and bends over as Van Siclen comes back, looking for the elementary back body drop. Van Siclen, however, has not been away from the game for that long, and he stops short of Stryke and kicks him in the jaw! Stryke stands straight up, now grabbing his own jaw in pain, and Van Siclen sprints back to the ropes, seeing his opening. He bounces off them and comes flying back at Stryke, looking for a lariat…

 

* CRACK! *

 

… well, it’s safe to say the lariat missed, as Stryke leaps into the air and puts a vicious flying forearm into the face of Van Siclen! Mike crumples, grabbing his face in pain, and Stryke this time wastes no time in looking for the pin.

 

“ONE!”

 

 

“TW – no!” Van Siclen gets the shoulder up with little hesitation, but as Stryke gets to his feet Van Siclen doesn’t follow suit, preferring to clutch his face in pain on the mat.

 

“I think Van Siclen suffers from glass-jaw syndrome, King,” Mak says. “He’s taken a couple quality shots to the face from Stryke, and it’s obviously affecting him.”

 

“Affecting him, yes, but not to the point where he’s going to be pinned,” King points out. “If Stryke thinks he’s going to win this match by bludgeoning Van Siclen’s face, he’s certainly got another thing coming.”

 

Stryke grabs Van Siclen by the hair, lifting the gasping blonde to his feet and tying him up, grabbing Van Siclen in a headlock. Stryke quickly looks to drop Van Siclen with a DDT, but Van Siclen shows some life and shoves Stryke off of him. Stryke looks puzzled by this, and charges at Van Siclen, who sidesteps! Stryke hits the ropes hard, coming back at Van Siclen…

 

* CRACK! *

 

ONLY TO GET FLOORED WITH THE EVERY DAY I’M HUSTLIN’ I WHIP YOU WHIP YOU REAL HARD AND KNOCK YOU TO THE GROUND WITH THE LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THAT I STOLE FROM VA’AIGA!

 

“Well, that certainly looked like it hurt.”

 

Stryke limply falls to the mat, and Van Siclen shakes out his right arm a little bit before dropping down for the pin…

 

“ONE!”

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

“THR – no!” Stryke gets the shoulder up, and Van Siclen lets out a huge sigh before pulling Stryke back up to his feet.

 

“If there was such a thing as ‘textbook Mike Van Siclen’, that was it,” says Francis. “He can take a pounding, and he has enough in his arsenal to halt your momentum like THAT.”

 

“Yes, just a little like THAT, I’d say,” King says. “You don’t want to sell Stryke short, because he’s certainly controlled the tempo to this point, but you have to wonder if that maneuver was all it took for Van Siclen to shake the rust off.”

 

Van Siclen gets to his feet, brushing the hair out of his face and grabbing Stryke, lifting the Aussie to his feet as well. Mike grabs Stryke by the arm, whipping the kid into the corner and charging in after with a nice Avalanche! Stryke stumbles out of the corner, and Van Siclen goes in for a hard forearm – but Stryke reverses, ducking the forearm and using the sudden shift in weight to throw Van Siclen into the corner!

 

“This has been a knock on Van Siclen his whole career, and it comes out more in a match like this, but he can’t really keep his tempo going,” King says. “He can hit a big move, but he can’t parlay that into anything, and against a scrappy wrestler like Stryke he’s going to get exposed.”

 

Stryke is about mid-ring, and he turns to Van Siclen, sprinting with his shoulder down and looking to drive said shoulder into Van Siclen’s stomach…

 

… but Van Siclen comes forward with a BIG knee to Stryke’s midsection! Stryke remains doubled over, but his momentum is halted, and Van Siclen grins, grabbing Stryke around the waist in a standing headscissors! He lifts Stryke up into a vertical position, Stryke’s legs flailing in the air but nothing he can do as Van Siclen is twenty pounds heavier and it is twenty pounds of muscle, people. Van Siclen takes a step forward, jumping into the air and landing on his knees, driving Stryke’s completely unprotected head into the canvas…

“RIOT ACT!” King and Mak explode simultaneously.

 

“Todd Cortez brought out the Riot Act Plus, but man,” Mak says, “there is NOTHING like the original, and if that lariat didn’t end the match, this most certainly will.”

 

Van Siclen holds onto Stryke’s midsection, sliding him forward so that his shoulders are on the mat, completing the bridge…

 

“ONE!”

 

“TWO!”

 

 

“THREE!”

 

* DING! *

 

“And while it may not be the best strategy, it worked tonight,” Mak says, as “Hyphy Juice” hits the loudspeakers and Nick Soapdish raises Van Siclen’s arm in victory. “It certainly wasn’t a match of the year candidate, and we still don’t know a whole lot about this new Mike Van Siclen, but he comes away with a victory tonight over Stryke.”

 

“All we know, at this point,” says King, “is that while Stryke is still a scrappy bastard, the Riot Act is still potent. We don’t know if Mike knows how to wrestle a match, and he’s bound to get exposed sooner or later, but for tonight at least, the big guns were good enough.”

 

“We’ll be right back,” Mak cries, “with the Canadian Murder Machine taking on Zyon and the Insane Luchadore… next!”

Edited July 1, 2006 by chirs3

[chirs3 0]

More than a few of the soldiers in attendance tonight nervously glance out the huge window, rumor has it that a Covenant attack force is headed in this direction but no one here knows if that’s true or not but it’s obviously got them a little distracted – strike that, very distracted, they hardly even react when “Don’t ask me no questions” kicks in.

 

”Well every time that I come home nobody wants to let me be

It seems that all the friends I got just got to come interrogate me

Well, I appreciate your feelings and I don't want to pass you by

But I don't ask you about your business, don't ask me about mine”

 

The doors slide open and Bruce walks out, microphone in hand apparently ready to inflict damage to everyone’s ears. The big man is a bit surprised at the lack of reaction from the crowd and can’t help but look in the same direction as the crowd as he makes his way to the ring.

 

”Well its true I love the money and I love my brand new car

I like drinkin' the best of whiskey and playing in a honky tonk bar

But when I come off the road, well I just got to have my time

'Cause I got to find a break in this action, else I'm gonna lose my mind”

 

Bruce straightens his “Redneck Superman” t-shirt, adjusts his crow jewels and then steps into the ring as some of the audience members start to look at the ring instead of scouting for any potential Covenant attack force

 

”So, don't ask me no questions

And I won't tell you no lies

So, don't ask me about my business

And I won't tell you goodbye”

 

“I know, I know you didn’t come here for a talk show, you came here to see some action! To see some people bust each other’s skulls!” Bruce starts out

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!

 

“They’re drunken soldiers Bruce, it’s not that hard to figure out” Mak comments.

 

“And I’m usually with you! But there is something that has to be said tonight.” Bruce says trying to explain why he’s out here talking instead of kicking ass “I started in this business in 1989, I was 16 years old when I walked onto the Von Erich farm and pestered them into training me – I’ve been in this sport for almost SEVENTEEN YEARS!”

 

Bruce begins to pace back and forth in the ring, a sign of what he’s got to say is very important to him.

 

“I’ve given everything for this sport, three marriages, the hearing on my left ear, my good looks – and I have no problems with that. It’s in my blood, it’s my passion – it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do! You know what I see when I look in the mirror?” Bruce asks

 

“Oh he’s setting himself up there” Mak quips feeling the need to be part of this.

 

“I see a man who’s passionate about what he does, a man who’s dedicated – obsessed even! A man who’ll do anything to anyone for what he believes in, a man who’s not afraid of putting his body on the line if that’s what it takes!!”

 

Bruce stops and stares at the camera before continuing

 

“It’s a look I’ve only ever seen in one man other than myself” Bruce raises a finger in the air to underline the number “1” to everyone “A man that on every other level is the complete opposite of what I am – a man that I have every reason in the world to despise and had only one reason to respect”

 

“Bruce? Respect? Come on pal who are you and where is the real Bruce Blank?” King asks.

 

“We are complete opposites – he’s one of those damn flippity-floppity kids who pretends that doing a 360 spin has anything to do with wrestling”

 

“So in other words – he could be more or less anyone in the Cruiserweight division?” Mak says

 

“You know Bruce’s distain for anyone under 230, it’s been well documented” King points out.

 

“That’s just the beginning of it, see I like a good 2 dollar cigar as much as the next guy, I have a beer, hell more than one – This guy. . . this guy seems to have a problem with beers, with cigarettes and whatnot. Safe to say we’ll never see eye to eye on that – Straight Edger” Bruce says with a sneer of distain.

 

“Yeah no mystery who he’s talking about now” Mak scoffs.

 

“And if that wasn’t bad enough this idiot has a stick up his ass about. . . shall we say “creative use of the rules”

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Bruce has managed to draw the attention of most of the crowd there.

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“But despite all that, despite being so different I could still respect the man – I saw beyond the Straight Edge crap, I saw beyond the black finger nails and everything and I saw the passion in him, the fire in his eyes – the burning desire and that I could respect – I could respect Toxxic!”

 

“You know I’m not sure if he’s asking for a title shot or trying to ask him out on a date” King quips.

 

“Well I don’t see any flowers so I think it’s pretty obvious” Mak replies in the same vein.

 

Of course Bruce can’t hear the commentators taking shots at him so he just keeps going with his train of thought.

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

“Toxxic I could respect. . . Michael Stephens? Nah” Bruce says while shaking his head from side to side.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

“The fire has been extinguished, the desire has been satisfied, he’s become complacent! What happened Stephens? What happened to that monster that lived inside you? Did you lose him somewhere on your little trip of enlightenment or whatever hippie bullshit that was?” Bruce asks

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

“You’re so fond of saying “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough” – Well I don’t think. . . “ Bruce says and pauses

 

“Ain’t that the truth” Mak quickly interjects

 

“I don’t THINK Stephens – I AM HARD ENOUGH!” Bruce yells drawing another round of boos from the crowd

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Toxxic was hard enough – but Stephens” Bruce pauses and shakes his head “Not a chance – sure you’ve beaten people since you’ve come back. But being “hard” doesn’t just mean you put their shoulders to the mat 1-2-3 and then spend the rest of the time padding yourself on the back!” Bruce pauses for a moment at looks at the commentators to stop them from jumping all over his mic time.

 

“I’ll show you why I held the most brutal title ever invented for 213 days, I’ll show you how I was successful in more consecutive title defenses than anyone else! Maybe you can show me if you’ve still got the desire in you, if that fire still burns somewhere deep inside you!”

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

Bruce gets up close to the camera as if he was talking directly to the World Champion himself

 

“Maybe you can show me if YOU are hard enough” Bruce says before turning his back to the camera, leaving the ring.

 

“You heard the man! Toxxic said if you want a shot come and get it, well Bruce is coming and he’s getting!” King says.

 

“How dare he question of Michael Stephens is hard enough! This country bumpkin isn’t even in the same league as the world champion – he’s not done anything to earn a shot”

 

“Oh you mean like Toxxic who walked in off the street after being gone for like 10 months and getting a title shot? No you’re right he’s not done that – he’s been in the ring proving himself week in and week out” King fires back, sick of his co-commentator’s admiration of “St. Michael”

 

“TOXXXXXXXX-IC…”

 

*Fade to commercial*

Edited July 1, 2006 by chirs3

[chirs3 0]

Staunton/Rageheart vs. InsYon will not be seen tonight.

[chirs3 0]

We return from another commercial break and to say that the situation is unusual is a bit of an understatement. The area around the ring is completely empty with every single Marine, ODST, Helljumpers and whatever else personnel currently stationed on Cairo Orbital Defense Platform in a pitched battle at the far end of the Pelican Bay as they try to hold off the invading horde of Covenant soldiers, they’ve even enlisted most of the SWF ringside crew leaving only Funyon in the ring and the two commentators

 

“Ladies and gentlemen the following House Rules Match is -” Funyon starts only to be cut off by a

 

*ZOOOOORP!*

 

“That’s it, you guys are on your own” Funyon says as he throws the microphone down, leaves the ring and then runs towards the “backstage area” hoping to get out of the line of fire

 

“What a wimp eh King? You don’t see any of us running just because of some alien weapons fire – no sireee bob” Mak says and then turns to look at the Suicide King. . . or rather his empty chair

 

“King?” Asks Mak

 

“Over here Mak” King says over the headset and then waves to Mak from a secure blast shelter in the corner of the bay. “I’d have asked you to join me but it’s not handicap friendly, sorry” he adds with a big grin that doesn’t really make him seem sorry.

 

“Bring me to Life” by Evanesence begins to play over the PA system heralding either the entrance of the mystery known as Grendel or signalling that the SWF has gotten Ben Affleck to reprise his role at Daredevil for one night only.

 

The appearance of a man all in black with a large staff dashes the hopes of the two people at home really hoping for a Daredevil appearance as it’s obviously Grendel, the mysterious man on a mission who walks down the ramp past rows and rows of chairs

 

“You know the SWF fans just love this show so much that a lot of them sneaked in here dressed up as chairs” King says from the safety of the blast shelter trying to distract from the fact that everyone but Mak, King and Grendel are busy fighting off the invading Covenant forces.

 

If Grendel is surprised by the empty ringside rows he doesn’t show it, instead he just places his staff up against the turnbuckles and then looks around at the weapons scattered around ringside, some with keys, some without to make the odds that much worse.

 

”Well every time that I come home nobody wants to let me be

It seems that all the friends I got just got to come interr –*ZOOOOORP!*

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!

 

Having his beloved Skynyrd cut off doesn’t do much for Bruce’s mood as he steps out onto the deck – three seconds in and he’s already pissed off, but it’s about to get much worse

 

*ZOOORP!* *ZOOOOORP!* *ZOOOOOORP!*

 

Three stray green plasma bolts strike the deck to Bruce’s right only inches from his boots. When he sees more weapons fire coming his way he starts running towards the ring, zigging and zagging back and forth to avoid any accidental fire from the fighting forces.

 

“WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Look at him go” King says and laughs

 

“Yeah easy for you to be so damn cocky King” Mak mumbles while cursing out his co-commentator for leaving him out in the open.

 

Once he’s at ringside he slows down a bit, the ring will hopefully give him some cover from the weapon’s fire – BUT NOT FROM GRENDEL COMING OFF THE TOP ROPE WITH A PANE OF GLASS!!

 

*KRESH!!*

 

The glass shatters over Bruce’s head, freeing the key that had been inserted into the glass while at the same time also knocking Bruce to the floor and giving him several small cuts. Grendel uses his boot to brush some of the glass shards out of the way before he picks up the key. He looks at it for a moment, then he takes off running for the escape pod trying to take advantage of the fact that Bruce hasn’t quite regained his senses after the surprise attack.

 

“TAKE ME WITH YOU GRENDEL!!” Mak bellows as the masked man runs over to the escape pod with the key that may be his salvation in hand.

 

Grendel inserts the key, then does a quick fist pump as the key fits! Unfortunately the fist pump turns into punching the keypanel as he can’t turn the key and open the escape pod door.

 

“So close, yet so far, Grendel will have to try again, this could take a while there are about 20 keys located around the ring but only ONE of them opens the escape pod” King says informing the audience at home of Grendel and Bruce’s odds tonight.

 

“It could be the one Bruce is going for!” Mak says as his focus shifts from Grendel’s position and back to the ring where Bruce Blank is in the process of setting up the ladder so that he can get the key hanging from the ceiling.

 

Bruce is still showing the effects of the pane of glass as blood is ticking down over his face in several places but he’s so obsessed with getting the key so he can leave the station that he ignores the blood and starts the climb for the key. The man known as “the Spirit of Aggression” spots Bruce on the bottom run of the stairs and then starts to run towards the ring, hoping that he’s fast enough to get there before Bruce can get the key. Bruce is over half way up by the time Grendel makes it to ringside and is reaching for the key only moments later.

 

“Is this the key? Did they hide the key in the most obvious place?” Mak wonders as Bruce’s hand reaches out for the key.

 

But the question will have to remain unanswered for now as Grendel quickly climbs the ropes, springboards off and drop kicks Bruce in the back sending the big man crashing into the ladder

 

*CRASH!!*

 

The ladder topples with Bruce clinging onto the top of it, tipping over on the ropes, teetering perilously close to flipping all the way over the ropes to the floor. Grendel casually strolls over and lifts the base of the ladder flipping both Bruce and the ladder over the top rope resulting in Bruce landing hard on the floor with the 15 foot tall ladder coming down on top of him only seconds later.

 

“Man that HAD to hurt” Mak says and winces, maybe reminiscing about the time he could actually feel something below the waist.

 

“Yeah but it’s not very smart now is it? He can’t get that key without the ladder” says King.

 

“But to be fair, there are other keys out there – and if he can slow Bruce down it makes it easier for him.” Is Mak’s reply.

 

Grendel climbs the ropes as Bruce lies on the mat on the outside with the ladder still across the chest, in the perfect position for Grendel to leap off the top rope and do even more damage. Which is exactly what Grendel has in mind it seems as he turns towards Bruce and gets ready to leap when

 

*ZARP!*

 

A plasma projectile flies through the air and grazes Grendel’s leg causing the Assassin to lose his footing and drop down to a seated position on the top turnbuckle while he holds his singed leg in pain.

 

“Hey would you guys be careful? You could shoot someone’s leg off” King scolds

 

“Shut up King! You’re safe in there, but I’m in the line of fire so for the love of god don’t piss them off any more” Mak says while desperately looking for something to hide behind.

 

Bruce ignores the stray weapons fire and the war going on in the far corner of the bay as he gets back to his feet, slides the ladder into the ring and then crawls into the ring himself while keeping an eye on Grendel who seems to be more pre-occupied with his leg. Bruce grabs the ladder by the top rung, then he uses all his power to lift and spin the entire ladder around the ring, lifting it up over the height of the top rope as he does a 270 degree spin with it before releasing it so that it strikes Grendel straight in the chest.

 

“HE KNOCKED HIM CLEAR OFF THE TOP ROPE!” King says with excitement as both Grendel and the ladder go flying out of the ring to the floor.

 

Bruce takes a moment to brag by raising his hands in the air and flexing his muscles but since everyone in the arena are engaged in combat he doesn’t get a reaction from it. The big man exits the ring and then pulls up the curtain around the ring and peers under it, most likely looking for some sort of weapon to use on his opponent. But he doesn’t pull out a weapon but instead he pulls out a cooler that contains the beverages King and Mak have been drinking through the night. When Bruce opens the cooler he can’t help but smile as he finds a nice cold can of beer in there, a moment later the frosty can is opened at on Bruce’s lips

 

*ZURP!*

 

“SON OF A BITCH!” Bruce yells out as a Covenant plasma blast knocks the can out of his hand.

 

Bruce turns and spots the shooter, a lone Covenant Brute that’s broken through the human defence lines and is trying to take out the two wrestlers at ringside. Unfortunately for him he made the mistake of hitting Bruce’s beer instead of Bruce, a mistake the King of Pain is ready to make him pay for as he hops over the guardrail, grabs a chair from the row and then runs at the Brute with the chair held high

 

*ZOOOOORP!*

 

The plasma blast burns a hole through the seat of the chair but there is still plenty of metal left as the Brute soon realizes when Bruce brings it down over his alien head with a sickening “thwack”. With Bruce busy fighting the alien the still limping Grendel looks around ringside for a key, trying to take advantage of the situation. With the Brute down Bruce grabs the guys plasma gun and starts to hit the Covenant soldier with it while yelling at him

 

“NEVER!”

 

*THWACK!*

 

“PHASER!”

 

*THWACK!*

 

“A MAN’S”

 

*THWACK!*

 

“BEER!”

 

*THWACK!*

 

“ASSHOLE”

 

. . . *THWACK!*

 

As Bruce breaks the plasma gun over the Brute’s head Grendel has found a key, ironically it was buried under the ice in the cooler that Bruce pulled out moments ago. After breaking the plasma gun over the Brute’s head Bruce picks up the large bodied alien, flips him up into a power bomb position and then runs towards ringside where he throws the Covenant soldier over the guardrail THROUGH the Announcers table

 

“HOLY CRAP!” Mak yells out as he has to hit his reverse button or get crushed by flying aliens.

 

“GO BRUCE GO!! SCORE ONE FOR HUMANS!!” King yells out, encouraging all human on alien violence.

 

Bruce steps over the guard rail, then he spots two keys that were taped to the under side of the announce table. Once he’s picked them up he finally turns his attention towards the escape pod, where to his surprise and horror Grendel is already ready to insert a key. The big man takes off running as fast as he can (so not super fast) trying to best to cover the 25 – 30 yard distance between the two before Grendel has a chance to try the key

 

“RUN BRUCE RUN!!” King yells.

 

But Bruce is no Forrest Gump and he ends up being too late as Grendel inserts the key in the lock, but is quickly disappointed when he can’t turn it. Disappointment turns into headache as Bruce hits a monster clothesline on the masked Assassin, a clothesline with a 25 yard running start no less

 

“Man he almost took Grendel out of his boots with that one!”

 

Bruce quickly pulls out the two keys he just found and then tries one of them, sadly it doesn’t even fit. The second key does fit in the lock, but it won’t turn no matter how much Bruce tries to force it, curse at it or hit it. After his third or fourth failed attempt at turning the key Bruce gives up, turns around. . . and stares right at a white armoured Elite white his weapon trained on both Bruce and Grendel.

 

“Oh. . . shit!”

 

Both Bruce and Grendel take off running, zigging and zagging back and forth as the Elite soldier fires round after round of plasma at the two wrestlers chasing them down the ramp towards the ring as he makes weird whooping sounds (probably sounds of victory but who can tell with these guys?) the two wrestlers suddenly forget all about fighting each other and instead huddle up on one side of the ring, out of sight of the Commander. Grendel says something to Bruce, then gestures to one side until Bruce nods in agreement. Bruce rolls to his right, then stands up and yells

 

“YOUR MOTHER SMELLS OF KLINGON DICK!”

 

“Uh Bruce? Bad idea” King advices him, a bit late but still.

 

When the White armoured elite turn to shoot at Bruce a black shadow leaps out from the other side of the ring and strikes the alien right between the eyes with his staff, knocking the Elite Special Operations Commander out cold

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

 

The Marines cheer as Grendel just took out one of the key officers in the battle, hopefully they can turn the tide now and fight off the Covenant forces. Unfortunately the loss of one of their commanding officers seems to whip the Covenant forces into a frenzy and their attack intensifies, driving the Marines backwards back against the ring as the alien hordes begin to swarm onto the deck.

 

“Screw this!” referee Ordonez says after seeing the alien attack force and runs off to hide along with Funyon and probably every other SWF wrestler and official.

 

“How will we know who wins now?” Mak complains as Ced Ordonez dodges a stray bullet and then dives to safety “backstage”

 

“Well here is a hint, the guy that leaves in the escape pod is the winner” King points out in the hopes of shutting his co-commentator off.

 

As the Marines are being pushed back they retreat to the ring trying their best to keep the Covenant hordes back. The two men who came to the ring for a match suddenly find themselves embroiled in a war and it looks like they’ve both been drafted as a Sergeant tosses Bruce a BR55 and tosses a shotgun to Grendel, the two wrestlers look at the weapons, then at each other not sure what to think or do. Moments later the decision is taken out of their hands as the choice is defend themselves or be run over

 

And neither Bruce nor Grendel take too kindly to be run over so “fight back” it is.

 

“I’d like to point out that the SWF is in no way responsible for any crimes of war committed by one of it’s wrestlers, nor do they implicitly approve of the actions of Bruce Blank and Grendel” King says, obviously after being told to do so over his headset

 

“OH YEAH? Well it’s not your ass they’re saving so I’m saying GO ON BOYS!! FUCK THEM UP!!” Mak yells out as he tries to manoeuvre his wheelchair away from the fighting

 

“Oh calm down Mak, I for one welcome our alien overlords” King says while holding up a home made sign that says “Yay Aliens” in an attempt to save his own hide.

 

Grendel and Bruce both throw themselves into the battle, guns blazing as they try to help the marines stop the Covenant onslaught. A Covenant soldier throws a cling grenade in the middle of the group, Bruce unwisely tries to kick it and it ends up stuck to his foot instead of the deck causing Bruce to hop around on one leg while shrieking for someone to get it off

 

“Hold still” Grendel instructs him, then he uses his shotgun as a baseball bat and strikes the grenade

 

*DING!!*

 

The grenade (and half of Bruce’s boot) flies off like Grendel hit a home run, landing in a cluster of Covenant troops before exploding

 

*BOOOOOOM!!*

 

“Erm. . . thanks” Bruce kinda mumbles before ducking under a plasma blast and returning fire.

 

“You know all we wanted was a nice quiet wrestling event” Mak whines as he hides behind the remains of the announcers’ table. “I don’t get paid enough to be in a damn war zone.”

 

“Oh take it like a man Mak!” King says from his secure location.

 

*BOOOOM!!*

 

A grenade goes off close to Mak, blowing the announcers’ table to bits, knocking the wheelchair over and hurling Mak across the floor.

 

“MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKK!” King yells out, revealing that he actually cares a little about his co-commentator “Are you alright there pal?”

 

. . .

 

“Mak?”

 

*Cough* “Right here King. . . but King” Mak says weakly

 

“Yeah Mak?”

 

“I . . . I can’t feel my legs” Mak says.

 

“You idiot you couldn’t feel them before the explosion either!” King says pissed off that Mak actually made him care for a split second.

 

“Oh yeah. . . “ Mak just says as he lays there hiding behind his wheelchair.

 

Bruce empties a clip into the group of aliens trying to make a break for it and then slumps down behind the wheelchair next to Mak for a little bit of cover. When he turns to fire his gun he gets distracted by something else, something on the wheelchair

 

“You bastard! You were sitting on this the whole time?” Bruce asks as he pulls a key out from the side crack in Mak’s cushion.

 

“I swear I had no idea it was in there Bruce” Mak says sounding a little concerned about what Bruce might do to him.

 

But Bruce doesn’t pursue the issue any further, instead he puts the key in his pocket and charges at the Aliens with his reloaded gun blazing. Moments later Mak sees a Brute soldier come leaping right at him with some sort of sword raised over his head.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!”

 

*BLAM!!*

 

Only moments before the Brute lands it’s propelled backwards by a shotgun blast by Grendel who took the trouble of saving the SWF play-by-play man from being stomped on by an alien. When Mak looks up he sees Grendel wearing the standard issue green metal chest and arm plates that the marines usually wear, he must have picked it up during the battle.

 

Mak is just about to thank his saviour when Grendel gets tackled from behind by Bruce knocking him to the ground. Bruce pins his opponent to the ground, then he grabs a combat helmet off a fallen Marine, straps it on and tries to headbutt Grendel with it.

 

*CLONK!!*

 

Fortunately for the Assassin he’s able to get up one of his metal shielded arms to stop the potentially lethal blow and then strikes Bruce across the shoulder with the same arm knocking the big man. When Grendel pushes Bruce off he notices that the United Earth Space Corps are pushing the Covenant forces back once more, almost all the way out of the bay as they take advantage of the shift in momentum.

 

“Oh thank you Jesus, Joseph and Mary” Mak mutters as he realizes he’s still alive and that the enemy is on the retreat.

 

“Can we get back to the match now? If you all are done playing soldiers” King says impatiently, he’s not a war correspondent, he’s a wrestling commentator damn it!

 

Grendel quickly assesses the situation, then he heads to the ring seeing a golden opportunity to get the key that’s been hanging from the ceiling all this time. He grabs the ladder and slides it into the ring, ignoring the scorch hold in the canvas or the fact that the ropes all look a bit more slack after it’s been the center of a small scale war.

 

“This is so surreal” Mak says as he watches Grendel drag the ladder to the center of the ring while the fighting still goes on in the background.

 

“It’s House Rules Mak, it’s supposed to be surreal” King explains as Bruce gets to his feet and notices what Grendel is up to in the ring.

 

Bruce has barely climbed up on the apron before he’s knocked down by a drop kick by Grendel right to the chest. The big man flies backwards and crashes into the guardrail smacking his head against it so hard that if he hadn’t been wearing the combat helmet he surely would have been seriously injured. The Assassin doesn’t waste any time as he puts the ladder up and then climbs up to retrieve the key

 

“HE’S GOT THE KEY!” Mak says excitedly as Grendel finds one of the few remaining keys.

 

With the key and possibly salvation in hand Grendel rolls out of the ring, only to be in the direct line of fire as Bruce swings a chair at Grendel aiming at the Assassin’s hands that are on the apron

 

*WHACK!!*

 

“Too slow for the former Cruiserweight champion!” King says as Grendel manages to move his hands out of the way before the edge of the chair hits the canvas where his hands were only moments ago.

 

Bruce didn’t hit Grendel’s hands, but he did manage to hit something else, something that Grendel dropped when moving his hands, something metallic, something that can. . .

 

“OH NO HE BENT THE DAMN KEY!” Mak screams as the camera zooms in on the now bent gold colored key on the canvas. “That could be the one that unlocks the escape pod! Bruce could just have ruined the one good key!!”

 

“Jesh Mak relax will ya? The SWF provided the rest of us with escape po. . . oh wait I’m the only one who got a personal escape pod, never mind” King says with a grin, but before Mak has time to react he sees something else that draws his attention.

 

“What the hell is HE doing here?” Mak questions loudly as Wayne Blank sneaks his way into the bay, pressing himself up against the wall to avoid being spotted by Grendel and to avoid the weapons fire.

 

“Oh Mak calm down, maybe he’s joined the United Earth Space Corps – maybe he wants to be “all that he can be”?” King says dismissing the notion that Wayne could be up to no good.

 

Grendel isn’t even looking in the direction of the escape pod instead he’s using a chair to try and straighten out the key that got bent only moments ago, desperately trying to make it usable again. Meanwhile Bruce is busy throwing chairs and tables around at ringside, knocking over the time keepers chair and checking under it to see if he can find a key. With both wrestlers’ attention focused elsewhere Wayne pulls out a couple of long, slim instruments and inserts them into the escape pod lock and starts to fiddle with them.

 

“HE’S TRYING TO PICK THE LOCK!!” Mak yells so loudly that both Grendel and Bruce hears him and turns around to look at Wayne.

 

The attention seems to freak Wayne Blank out and he begins to work faster, only to somehow make a mistake and trigger a security device.

 

"WARNING! WARNING! TAMPERING DETECTED, INITIATING COUNTER MEASURES"

 

“Uh-Oh” Wayne says just a moment before he’s hit with a stun beam leaving him completely immobile.

 

“Maybe that’ll teach him not to cheat!” Mak says with approval.

 

“Doubt it” King dryly says.

 

¤BOOM!!¤ - ¤BOOM!!¤ - ¤BOOM!!¤ - ¤BOOOOOOM!!¤

 

“OH MY GOD WE’RE GONNA DIE!!” Mak cries out as a series of explosions is heard from one of the adjacent sections of the defence platform.

 

After a few seconds of lights flickering everything suddenly starts to lift off the ground, slowly rising into the air as if there was no gravity, which is apparently exactly what’s going on – what else could explain the fact that everything in the arena begins to float through thin air even the ring. The most sickening display is the image of several little bubbles of blood slowly floating by one of the cameras

 

“I’m gonna be sick” Is all Mak can say as he floats out of his wheelchair and then bounces off the wall.

 

A chair floats by the King of Pain and Bruce isn’t slow to grab it and then use it to take a swing at Grendel, but in zero gravity it’s not as easy as it looks as Bruce soon discovers when the swinging motion starts to spin Bruce around and around until the big man crashes into the wall with a hollow thud.

 

“You know Grendel doesn’t look that freaked out” King notices as the masked man seems to be doing okay in zero gravity

 

“Maybe he had training in Zero G combat?” Mak says while trying to avoid the announcers table that’s floating by him.

 

Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t – either way Grendel adeptly positions his body in such a way that he can kick off against the wall and come flying straight at Bruce, striking the big man in the chest with his armour plated forearms causing both of them to go hurling into the ceiling with Bruce taking most of the brunt of the impact.

 

*HURRRRRRRRRRRH!!*

 

The masked man hooks a leg around a pipe to keep himself steady and then grabs Bruce by the jeans and whips him towards the nearby wall sending the big man flying but also tearing Bruce’s jeans at the pocket. The tear in the pocket releases a small gold-metallic object that floats through the air like it was a tourist visiting the space station

 

“THE KEY!!” King blurts out remembering that Bruce had found a key earlier in the match and then proceeded to forget all about it during the battle with the Covenant forces.

 

Bruce bounces off the wall and is then propelled back towards the key, shaking off the impact as he focuses on getting his hand on what may just be his salvation. He’s mere inches from it when suddenly Grendel shoots past him by kicking back against the ceiling, rocketing him past Bruce to grab the key moments before the King of Pain can grab it.

 

“Somebody help me!!” Mak cries out as he’s floating around upside down only tethered to the ground by his headset, one hand over his mouth trying not to barf.

 

“Ah you wimp” King says from the safety of the blast shelter – which has it’s own gravity generator to keep the Suicide King grounded.

 

Grendel stretches his arms and legs out, flying through the air like he was Superman while Bruce bounces more indiscriminately off a ceiling light panel and then manages to snag his shirt on something to stop his momentum. It doesn’t take long for the Assassin to fly over to the Escape Pod where he proceeds to put the key in the keyhole and turn it

 

*PFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTSSHHH!!*

 

The door depressurises and slowly begins to open

 

“GRENDEL FOUND THE KEY!! HE’S ON HIS WAY OUT OF HERE!” King yells out!

 

Someone, somewhere must have gotten the emergency generators back online as the artificial gravity kicks in with a thud – several thuds actually as the collective armies of the UESC and the Covenant hit the deck from wherever they were floating only moments earlier.

 

“SON OF A “ is all Mak manages to get out before he has to duck out of the way of his falling wheelchair.

 

Since everyone else dropping to the ground it stands to reason that Bruce is also dropping, dropping from his position over the escape pod and more or less straight down

 

*THUD!!*

 

Tackling Grendel from behind with enough force to knock both of them into the escape pod at the same time. The camera crew is a bit slow to react, which is understandable as they’ve all just fallen to the ground themselves and by the time they get up close enough to shoot inside the escape pod they see Grendel come staggering out from the escape pod, his mask torn at the jaw and blood dripping from his face onto the armor.

 

“Did he?” King ponders

 

Grendel takes 2 steps, then his eyes roll to the back of his head and the Spirit of Aggression falls forward flat on his face.

 

“BRUCE DID IT!!” King yells out when it becomes apparent that Grendel just got his ass kicked inside the escape pod..

 

A massive arm reaches out, grabs Wayne around the ankle and then pulls him to safety inside the escape pod only moments before the door closes

 

*PFFFFFFFFFFFF-THOI!!*

 

The escape pod detaches itself from the space station and slowly drifts out of the gravitational field.

 

“BRUCE ESCAPES!! BRUCE WINS” King bellows since Funyon is probably cowering somewhere in the back.

 

Grendel slowly begins to stir, dragging himself over to the escape pod door and then pulling himself up enough to see that the escape pod is gone

 

*ZOOOOORP!* *ZARP!* *RA-TA-TA-TA-TAH!!*

 

When Grendel realizes he’s been left behind on the station in the middle of a battle zone he sinks back and lets out a blood curdling, horrific Darth Vader like

 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

¤BOOOOOOM!!¤

 

“Oh fuck they’ve broken through again” King yells out as the Covenant army swarms into the bay “Commercial break!! COMMERCIAL BREAAAAAAAAAAK!!”

 

*And Fade*

[chirs3 0]

DING DING!

 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, as Storm fades back in, “the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall... it is for the SWF Tag Team Championships... and it is your MAIN EVENT!” Funyon pauses to allow the USO crowd to pop for the card designation before continuing. “And now...”

 

“AND NOW you’re going to shut your goddam mouth,” shouts the grating, acidic and always welcome voice of James Matheson, as he steps into the entranceway. “You know what the problem is with you, Funyon? You just don’t know when to let the professionals take over... and that’s what these two men are, they’re professionals. You’ve got a man who’s not only a former World Champion, but he’s working through a serious injury because he knows all of you came out to see him do his job... and you’ve got a man who’s held more titles in the SWF than any wrestler, active or inactive, who’s won more awards than anyone else, and who was a first-ballot Hall of Famer. Between the two of them, you’ve got the only team representing the U-S-of-A in this match! Together, they come in at 437 pounds... let’s hear it for the all-American team that’s going to bring the titles home for the boys in blue and send those evil people back to Doomtopia... they are Charlie ‘Grappler’ Matthews and ‘the Superior One’ Tom Flesher!”

 

The crowd responds, of course, by letting us hear exactly what they think of the pair. As John Phillip Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes Forever” blares over the sound system, the crowd begins to boo loudly, even as Grappler steps through the curtain wearing his comically large, patriotically-painted neck brace and Flesher follows up in his warm-up suit... carrying a large American flag.

 

“Oh, good lord,” Francis says, burying his head in his hands.

 

Flesher waves the flag in the air as he struts to the ring, following his injured confrere to the squared circle and stepping in. As he enters, he props the flag up in the corner and strips off his warm-up, with Grappler taking his place outside the ring. “Stars and Stripes” fades out, as Matheson takes his place outside the ring and sets his briefcase on the apron.

 

“It looks like Flesher’s going to start this one off,” Francis says.

 

“Of course he is,” snaps King. “Look at Grappler’s neck! The sheer intestinal fortitude he’s showing just by BEING here tonight...”

 

“... in space,” says Mak dryly.

 

“In space,” King responds vigorously, “is more than I’ve seen from the likes of you in years!”

 

Mak rolls his eyes.

 

“Of course,” King mutters, “you don’t even have much intestinal control, so it’s kind of unfair to hold you to that standard.”

 

Flesher stands in his corner and turns to the crowd. He grins, and the crowd buzzes with anticipation.

 

(“He’s going to do it, isn’t he, King?”

 

“Shh! You might miss something important.”)

 

Flesher climbs to the bottom rope and shouts....

 

UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

(“Does he realize that only works when the fans like you?”

 

“Shut up. The fans love Flesher and Grappler.”)

 

Dissatisfied, Flesher hops down to the mat, muttering what appears to be the word “Philistines,” as a visibly agitated Funyon takes back his spot in the center of the ring. “And their opponents...”

 

The lights turn a dull orange. This isn’t just any dull orange, though – it’s a special dull orange. It is the dull orange of winners, of people with slightly larger than average paychecks... it’s the champions’ dull orange. The fans know this. Flesher knows this. Matthews knows this. Matheson knows this, probably because his name sounds like ‘Matthews.’ Even the referee, Sexton Hardcastle, knows this, and he doesn’t know much of anything. The Tag Team Champions are on their way, and Incredibad’s “Just 2 Guyz” is their fanfare.

 

“Did you ever notice that it’s not just two guys?” muses Mak. “I mean, they’ve got Lois, too, and even if she was a guy, she’d make three.”

 

“Quiet, you,” hisses King. “I’m trying to figure out why this orange is different from all other oranges, and why I’m sitting next to a bitter dip who just needs some herb.”

 

The obligatory Jewish joke for the night taken care of, the camera turns to Jimmy the Doom and the Doomstroyer making their way to the ring, each man wearing the traditional Doomopolisian Toque of Honor. The three-foot-high hats glimmer as Lois unethically follows her charges to the ring. Each wears a Tag Team belt around his waist. Even Jimmy’s mustache seems brighter tonight, which is odd, considering that it is black.

 

“Making their way to the ring, accompanied by Lois the Unethical, at a total combined weight of 515 pounds... they represent Doomtopia, and are the SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS... Jimmy the Doom... the Doomtopian Destroyer... the NEW... DOOM... TOOOOOOOPIANS!!!!!!”

 

The crowd goes wild as the men enter the ring. The Doomstroyer scowls through his mask, and Lois takes a seat at the edge of the ring. She pulls out a copy of Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs and Steel and opens it to page one.

 

“She’s expecting this to be epic,” marvels Francis.

 

Each Doomtopian removes his hat and sets it reverently in the corner. Then, each hands his belt to Hardcastle. He holds them in the air, then hands them off Funyon.

 

“Jimmy’s going to start this one off for the Champions,” Francis says, as Jimmy indeed steps to the center of the ring. His eyes are ablaze. “He’s looking forward to making Flesher pay for force-feeding him that Cuban sandwich a week ago.”

 

King pauses. “Is that the sort of thing you pictured yourself saying when you auditioned to be a commentator, Mak?”

 

Francis shrugs. “It’s a living.”

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

“And indeed, Flesher and Jimmy are starting this one off,” says the Suicide King, as Flesher and Jimmy square off in the center. Tom smirkingly offers his hand, which the scowling Straight Bread Sensation slaps away, to an “Ooooooooh” from the crowd.

 

“Jimmy’s still pissed off at Flesh,” Francis says.

 

Jimmy lunges at Flesher, who backs away. He turns to the crowd and, stomping his foot with each letter, shouts...

 

UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Jesus,” says Francis, “you’d think he’d get a better reception at a USO show.”

 

“What can I say?” sighs King. “These people don’t know patriotism when they see it.”

 

The Doomtopian Hero turns to the crowd and shouts, “DOOMTOPIA!”

 

UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

 

“Philistines,” mutters King.

 

“Flesh already said that.”

 

“It bore repetition.”

 

Sneering, Flesher grabs Jimmy by the wrist and sends him to the ropes with an Irish whip. As he rebounds, the Superior One leaps off his feet and...

 

FEMUR~! FEMUR~!

 

slams Jimmy to the mat with a blast double leg takedown! Jimmy quickly bellies down, and Flesher reaches around to hook his left arm with a hammerlock. Though he embraces a straight-bread philosophy, the Doom no such opinion on the relative straightness of other foods and thusly bends his arm into a chickenwing before letting it go limp and pulling it free as he rolls to the side. He gets up to his knees. However, the Doomtopian’s height and reach advantages combine such that, on his knees, he’s the size of a normal man standing up. As a result, he reaches down and grabs Taamo by the head, then leaps to his feet and falls back with a DDT! Flesher bounces off the mat, and Jimmy covers him!

 

ONE!

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

“Jimmy the Doom surprises Tom with an evenflow DDT and gets the first count of the match!” Mak says.

 

“Pfft,” King retorts, with a spittle factor of at least 7.45. “The only thing that matters is who ends up with the victory, and I think you and I both know who that’s going to be.”

 

Flesher kicks out with authority, but Jimmy stays on him. He lifts Tom to his feet and throws a vicious knee to his jaw, sending the Superior One staggering to the sidelines. Jimmy sprints at Tom and throws another knee, but Flesher is expecting this one. He dodges it, allowing the Doomtopian to hit the ropes and entangle himself. Flesher stands back a few feet, waiting for Jimmy to disentangle his limbs.

 

He keeps waiting.

 

He keeps waiting.

 

“Wow, Jimmy’s got himself some long, tangly legs,” Mak notes.

 

“He’s like a spider,” King says, with a boyish air of wonderment in his voice.

 

Finally, Jimmy manages to free himself, only to walk directly into Flesher...

 

BLEPHAROSPASM~!

 

and take a thumb straight to the eye! Jimmy staggers backward, and Flesher takes a moment to...

 

“Not again” Mak sighs.

 

UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Does he realize that’s not going to work?”

 

“He’s just waiting for the damn philistines to catch on,” King snaps, clearly irritated with the fans.

 

As Jimmy starts to recover from the vicious thumb to the eye, Flesher shoots on him once again and snags one of his exceptionally lanky lower limbs with a low single leg takedown. He pulls Jimmy to the mat and climbs up his body, reaching out and grabbing him by the left arm. As Jimmy rolls to his stomach, Flesher extends the arm, then drops a knee down onto the shoulder! Jimmy recoils in pain, and Tom smirks at James Matheson, who cheers Flesher on.

 

“That’s right!” he screams. “Break that thing right off!”

 

Jimmy the Doom starts to get up to his feet, but Flesher grabs him by the arm and arm-drags him back to the mat. Jimmy rolls through, but Flesher barrels at him with a stiff shin-kick to the head! Jimmy, however, is prepared for such an eventuality, and ducks down to avoid the blow! Tom, off balance, staggers a few steps as Jimmy gets to his feet. Then, with nearly no warning other than a shout of “I SHALL BLOW YOUR FACE SIMULTANEOUS TO MY BOOT!”, Jimmy throws a big boot to Tom’s head...

 

METATARSAL~!

 

...stunning him and taking him to the mat!

 

“Jimmy the Doom is looking quite impressive tonight,” says Francis. “The straight bread match didn’t turn out too well for him, but you have to understand that everything ABOUT that match was contrary to Jimmy’s philosophy. Of course he wouldn’t win. It’d be like Flesher wrestling a match where the only way to win is to let the girl orgasm first.”

 

As Tom tries to stand up, Jimmy grabs him around the waist and hoists him into the air, twirling him head-over-heels. Just as the Superior One is starting to look a little airsick, Jimmy returns him to his upright and locked position before dropping to one knee and slamming Flesher with an inverted atomic drop!

 

PATELLA~!

 

“I take it back,” Mak says. “He’s totally going to win that one next week.”

 

Flesher steps off Jimmy’s knee, seething and grabbing his crotch. He looks over to Grappler, who grimaces with pain and rubs his tender neck... or at least the enormous brace surrounding it. Flesher turns to Jimmy, who he sees is starting to raise his knee for the devastating Yak kick! Before he can throw it, Flesher dives to the mat in desperation and dropkicks Jimmy’s sole supporting point out from under him! The crowd boos as Flesher rolls to his knees, but Jimmy starts his recovery as quickly as Tom does. Nonetheless, Flesher is able to get to his feet first and meets Jimmy with a stiff shin-kick to the left shoulder. As Jimmy winces in pain, Flesher reaches down to adjust his kickpad before following it up with more of the same.

 

“Tom Flesher seems to have his sights set on Jimmy the Doom’s left arm,” Mak says. “Smart move on his part, as that’ll cripple Jimmy as far as the Hand of Doom, the Jimmy Bomb and the Doom Factor. Leaves Doomsday pretty much alone, though, and the Doomstroyer is still fresh, as he has yet to be tagged into the match.”

 

“So does Grappler,” King says, “but you don’t see him whining about it.”

 

Flesher hooks Jimmy around the waist and reaches behind him to capture the left arm in a hammerlock. Then, with all the explosiveness inherent in a Flesher lift, the two-time World Champion flips his beanpole-shaped opponent over and slams him to the mat, arm first, with a hammerlock powerslam! Jimmy cringes as he lands hard on the limb, but Flesher grabs him by the head and drags him to the magnificent twosome’s corner.

 

“As always, Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews are coming in with a strategy,” says the Suicide King. “You can almost see Matheson using a marker to draw a line across the middle of the ring, with Flesher and Grappler making sure not to let Jimmy cross it.”

 

“Plus, it’s hard to cheat with the tag rope when the opponent’s in a neutral corner,” Mak says flatly.

 

Flesher kicks Jimmy to a seated position and reaches out, tagging in Charlie Matthews. A few dedicated fans begin their chant of “BORING! BORING!” even before the Grappler enters the ring, but most of the fans are polite enough to wait and see if there’s a powerslam or – god forbid! – a jackhammer awaiting the Straight Bread Sensation. The giant steps around Jimmy, grabbing his left arm before pausing to flex every muscle not directly attached to his neck. He takes a deep breath, and the fans follow suit, anxiously awaiting the excitement that comes from an injured victim and a fresh, strong giant!

 

Nope.

 

“Charlie Matthews applies that pumphandle armbar,” says Mak, almost having to shout to be heard over the chants. “He’s got the armbar locked up, and believe me when I tell you, having three hundred plus pounds sitting on your shoulder isn’t something I’d recommend.”

 

BOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOORING!

 

“Can you hear that?” shouts King. “These fans don’t know what they’re seeing! They’re calling a former World Champion boring! I don’t believe it!”

 

BOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOORING!

 

“Believe it, King,” Mak yells. “Charlie Matthews may have a hurt neck, but these fans want to see the old-style Grappler. This just isn’t going to cut it.”

 

As Graps leans on the pumphandle armbar, James Matheson opens up his Halliburton briefcase and pulls a handkerchief out of it. He hands it to Flesher, who dutifully reaches over the ropes and dabs Grappler’s forehead dry. Then, after a pat on the shoulder, Flesher steps back into the corner and returns to encouraging his partner.

 

Specifically, he encourages Grappler by trying to get the crowd on his side.

 

UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

(“Jesus Christ.”

 

“Who you won’t find in war-torn, godless Doomtopia, Makenzie. Please remember that. You and all the philistines out there.”)

 

However, the 2004 Clusterfuck winner realizes that, deep down, he really wants the fans’ support, and in order to garner it, he relinquishes the armbar, to the dismay of James Matheson. Yes, Charlie Matthews is mixing things up. He brings Jimmy to his feet and, grabbing him by the bad arm, whips him towards the ropes. As the Doom rebounds, Grappler reaches and latches onto the left arm, using Jimmy’s own momentum to drive him down — with appropriate shoulder wrench — via a single-arm DDT. Immediately upon impact, Matthews clamps down with a Fujiwara armbar!

 

“Moveset, baby!” King cheers, “Charlie Matthews is showing exactly how he earned the nickname ‘Grappler.’ He is a veritable cornucopia of holds and submissions and general ass-kickery.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Mak adds, dryly, “he is not a veritable cornucopia of charisma. At least someone like, say, Michael Stephens, could make this hold somewhat interesting.”

 

Something Charlie didn’t take into account, though, was his own positioning in the ring, as Jimmy is only inches from the ropes. Since Grappler is facing the opposite way, he doesn’t realize that the Doomtopian is able to reach…reach…scoot…and grab onto the bottom rope, forcing Matthews to break the hold! Grappler does so with amazing class, even allowing Jimmy to use the ropes to pull himself up to his feet! What a guy. This was, of course, one of the stupider things to do. Taking any advantage he can, the Doomtopian lashes out with an advanced kick to the solar plexus!

 

PLACENTA~!

 

The force knocks the wind out of the challenger, allowing Jimmy to follow this up shorter, quicker kicks to the thighs and lower abdomen of Matthews. With the bigger man suitably stunned, Jimmy backs into the ropes to pick up momentum, before glomping at Grappler with a flying body scissors takedown…

 

…but, well, he doesn’t go down. In this awkward hugging position, Matthews is able to turn the tide and scoop Jimmy onto his shoulder, take two steps forward and drop to a knee, driving the left shoulder right into his knee! Frustrated and, perhaps feigning or perhaps legitimately feeling some bad tingling in his neck, Charlie Matthews backs into his corner and tags in Tom. He timely replaces the American flag onto the ringpost (after waving it) before reentering the ring.

 

“This is such a sound strategy by the challengers,” King points out, “because Jimmy the Doom is clearly the more talented of the Doomtopians. By isolating him and focusing on that left arm, Tom and Grap are ensuring that, even if a hot tag is made, it might be closer to lukewarm.”

 

“The Doomstroyer is still a bearer of destructicity and a pantheon of punishment,” Mak replies, shaking his head at the word choice, “but you are surprisingly correct in regards to the isolation of Jimmy. In a way, I guess Jimmy is the meat of the—”

 

King gasps, “Don’t say it!”

 

“—meal.”

 

“Oh, I thought you were going to say sandwich.”

 

“Or sandwich.”

 

And even twenty feet away, inside of the ring, Jimmy the Doom quivers. Lois, on page 16 of her heavy reading, feels an intense twitching in her right eye. The Doomstroyer stands idly. Suddenly, like Lazarus with a bad arm, Jimmy the Doom leaps to his feet, alive and kicking! Seriously, we mean literally kicking, as he shoots some kicks into the air as Flesher enters the ring, eyebrow quizzically cocked. The Doom turns to face his opponent, and with newfound vitality, beckons

 

“You! Wherefore can approach immediately!”

 

The crowd roars at this battle cry, but what Jimmy exhibited in guts he apparently lacked in brains, as Flesher is quite easily able to take a hold of Jimmy’s left arm, twisting it behind his back in a hammerlock. Jimmy lets out some groans similar to those found in the N64 wrestling games when the wrestler is in “Danger” and they are put in a submission. Flesher, however, isn’t looking for a tapout. Instead, he ducks under Jimmy’s right arm and hoists him into the air before dropping Jimmy’s and his own weight down onto the arm with a hammerlock-assisted backdrop suplex!

 

HUMERUS~!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Taamo casually executes a lateral press on his fallen opponent.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TW-KICKOUT!

 

 

“See, Mak, what’d I tell you!” King groans, “the mere mention of the s-word brought forth a completely new level of vitriol and fighting spirit in Jimmy the Doom!”

 

“Well, I’m glad I could help. Now maybe Jimmy can finally make a tag to the Doomstroyer, and the roof will be torn from this space station!”

 

“I don’t think that would be a good thing, Mak.”

 

Tom Flesher knows exactly what is to be required to completely slow the momentum of Jimmy the Doom. Something big, burly. Slow-moving. Capable of executing the perfect resthold.

 

*CLAP!*

 

“And Matthews is tagged in!” King exclaims, saving the writer a few words of tag-making description.

 

Grappler enters with slightly more haste than usual, though, ensuring that Jimmy the Doom cannot take advantage of the aforementioned tag-making to tag-make himself. Still, Jimmy crawls towards his own corner, the crowd cheering louder by the second.

 

*SQUISH*

 

that is, until Matthews pounces on top of Jimmy, stopping him.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

At the behest of Flesher, Matthews brings Jimmy to his feet and traps both of the champion’s arms between the two heaving, sweating bodies and then wraps his own arms around the midsection, executing an arm-capture bearhug!

 

“This is genius!” King cheers, “Charlie Matthews is not only working in one of his signature deadly submission maneuvers, but he’s also continuing the work on that left arm of Jimmy the Doom!”

 

“And thank heaven for this,” Mak rolls his eyes, “I was worried I’d have a heart attack if the action kept at its intense pace any longer.”

 

BOOOOOORING!

 

BOOOOOORING!

 

The servicemen and women are sure to let their feelings about Grappler’s wrestling be known, even though, all things considered, it’s a pretty smart route for the former World Champion to take. Flesher, knowing that Grappler is sensitive to the crowd’s reactions, takes matters into his own hands to try to get the crowd to chant something a little more... supportive.

 

(“Jesus CHRIST, King!”

 

“Oh, show some team spirit.”)

 

UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Flesher turns to James Matheson, who shouts, “Why do you bother with these philistines?” Flesher shakes his head, disgusted. Meanwhile, Jimmy yodels and howls in pain as both his arms and midsection are crushed by the monstrous force exerted.

 

“ACHIEVE! STRETCH TENACITY LIKE A GLOBE!”

 

The Doomstroyer’s words are…helpful, at least in the back of Jimmy’s mind. They’re not actually helpful in getting him out of the bearhug, of course, but you see, it’s the thought that counts.

 

Desperate to fill time in some way other than repeating that Jimmy is in fact wrapped up in a bearhug, Mak stammers for a moment. “So... um... uh....” Finally, as if with a lightbulb over his head, he inquires, “So, King, how do you feel about Grap’s neckbrace?”

 

“It’s obviously very necessary in his continued quest to put on the best matches possible whilst keeping his own well-being intact. Still, I can tell he’s in pain.” There’s a pause, before King adds for emphasis, “Crippling pain.”

 

*Thwack* Paraplegic commentators don’t always enjoy emphasis.

 

To shake things up a little bit, Matthews adds a variation to the bearhug by…dropping down to a knee! Matheson and Flesher execute stereo golf claps as Matthews wrenches in the hold, obviously proud of himself for going above and beyond the call of duty.

 

“And even if the arm hadn’t been worked over,” Mak adds, unrolling his program, “the arm-capture is smart because it prevents Jimmy the Doom from executing the deadly ear-box, perhaps Charlie Matthews’ sole Achilles’ cochlea.”

 

The “BORING” chants formerly executed by the now-tranquil fans are replaced by something much easier to chant.

 

DOOM!

 

DOOM!

 

DOOM!

 

“Have you ever repeated a word so many times,” King begins, “that the word itself sounds completely ridiculous? Take ‘whom’ or ‘doorknob,’ or even ‘fork,’ as examples. But ‘doom?’ Well, that was already ridiculous in the first place.”

 

Unfortunately, where the arm-capture is smart in preventing escape, it also makes things quite difficult for the referee regarding the patented arm-raise method for ascertaining submission. The only solution is to incessantly ask verbally, ad nauseam. However, upon the referee’s seventeenth inquiry for a submission, Jimmy the Doom begins again violently quivering, to the point where Charlie Matthews is, essentially, holding a giant vibrator! And while this may be helpful outside of the ring, it certainly comes at a frustrating time when trying to achieve a submission. Still, Jimmy cocks his head back…and snaps forward, firing a headbutt right into Matthews’ face! And another! A third! And a fourth…right to the Old Glory neck brace!

 

“That did it!” Mak exclaims, “Jimmy the Doom makes all sufferers of neck injuries cringe with a headbutt that forced Charlie Matthews to release the bearhug. Myself included, but damn it, I’m just glad that move was finally released.”

 

Matthews stumbles back, allowing Jimmy the Doom to use a remaining pint of energy to leap into the air (not quite as high as usual because not all of the air has returned to his lungs) and catch Grappler in the collarbone with a high dropkick! The force pushes Matthews down square onto his posterior, allowing Jimmy the Doom to lunge back towards his own corner…and TAG IN THE DOOMSTROYER!

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

As Matthews gets to his feet, the Doomstroyer sprints at him and hammers the Grappler in the sternum with a lariat! Matthews staggers backwards, and Tom Flesher reaches out to clap him on the shoulder and tag himself in. As Matthews recovers and starts out of the ring, Flesher blindsides the Doomstroyer with a vicious Yakuza kick that knocks the monster off-guard. Flesher backs away and crouches down, lying in wait for the Doomtopian giant to turn back toward him. As soon as the Doomstroyer does, Flesher launches his body at him with a blast double leg!

 

It would be more successful, of course, if the Doomstroyer weren’t able to simply lift a knee and nearly decapitate Flesher before he makes contact.

 

OOOOOOOOOOH!

 

Flesher crumbles to the mat clutching his face as the Doomstroyer grabs the top rope for balance and begins stomping a mudhole in his chest. The former World Champion tries to pull away, only to have the Doomstroyer reach down, grab him by the head and slam him back to the mat before resuming his mudhole-stomping activities.

 

“It doesn’t look good for the home team,” sighs King.

 

The Doomstroyer lifts Flesher off the mat and turns him overhead, then hoists him into the air. The heavyweight Doomtopian looks to his partner as Jimmy holds his tender arm. The monster then begins military pressing Flesher overhead, with the USO crowd counting along as he does.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

FIVE!

 

SIX!

 

SEVEN!

 

After seven presses, the Doomstroyer holds Flesher in the air, and then drops him carelessly to the mat with a gorilla press slam! Flesher hits the mat with a THWACK, and the Doomstroyer drops down onto him to make the cover!

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

NO! Flesher gets his shoulder up, safe but only for this count. The Doomstroyer, frustrated by his inability to get the pin, lifts his adversary off the mat and pulls him into a short-arm punch to the face.

 

“Well, that was... elegant,” King says.

 

“Doomstroyer has clearly been studying up on the wrestling,” says Mak approvingly.

 

As Flesher collapses to the mat, the Doomstroyer looks over to Jimmy the Doom, who shouts instructions at him in his native Doomtopian. Of course, the Doomtopian language is unbelievably difficult to understand, and so only the fans living in the areas of Doomopolis with cable TV are able to predict a half-second beforehand that Doomstroyer is about to put Flesher into a bearhug.

 

“And look at that...” says Mak, pausing as he waits for Doomstroyer to put on the hold. “... aha! bearhug!”

 

Flesher writhes in pain as the Doomstroyer tightens his grip around his upper midsection. “You’ll notice,” says Mak, “that he has his arms wrapped around what are known as the ‘floating ribs.’ They’re particularly vulnerable to pressure, and putting pressure there affects the diaphragm as well, making it quite difficult to breathe.”

 

“Oh, come on,” moans King. “Why do you have to tell us things that anyone with half a brain would know?”

 

As Flesher writhes in pain, Grappler shouts advice to him from his corner.

 

“COME ON, TOM! YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO!”

 

We never said it was particularly useful advice. Nonetheless, Flesher thinks back to earlier in the match and realizes that the Doomtopian Destroyer has failed to pin his arms! He reaches out and slams both hands into the Doomstroyer’s head, boxing his ears to get him to release the hold! As soon as he finds himself freed, Flesher backs away. The Doomstroyer turns back to him, and Flesher hammers him with a palm strike that stuns him just long enough to sprint back to his corner. As Flesher climbs to the second rope, he extends his arm. Grappler conspicuously grabs the tag rope and claps him on the hand. Without so much as a nod, Flesher dives off the top rope and right into the waiting arms of the Doomstroyer!

 

“Oh boy, this doesn’t look good for Flesher!” says Mak.

 

And it sure doesn’t. The Doomstroyer grabs Flesher in another bearhug and pivots, then slams him down to the mat with a spinebuster! Jimmy shouts further gibberish at the Doomstroyer, who remains on Flesher and looks expectantly at Sexton Hardcastle! However, Hardcastle refuses to make the count!

 

“Flesher’s not legal!” shouts King. “But the Doomstroyer doesn’t realize it!”

 

He looks up and shouts, “ARITHMETICALLY PROGRESS THE GLOBULAR TRIP!”

 

(“Count the fall?”

 

“Well, sure, Mak, if you want to get liberal with the transliteration.”)

 

As Hardcastle adamantly refuses to call the fall, Charlie Matthews storms into the ring. He looms over the Doomstroyer, waiting for him to stand up, no doubt to inflict some kind of vicious bodily harm on him as soon as he does! As the Doomstroyer gets to his feet to argue what he sees as a blatant failure to end the match, Matthews reaches behind him and clamps on a sleeperhold!

 

The crowd groans in collective.

 

As Flesher rolls to the outside to comply with Hardcastle’s demand that he exit the ring immediately, the Doomstroyer flails his arms before quickly grabbing the ropes! Immediately, the crowd begins to cheer, anticipating the end of Grappler’s restholds, and the Doomstroyer turns to face him. Grappler grabs him around the chest and falls to the side, throwing the Doomstroyer to the mat with a side belly-to-belly suplex!

 

As the monster hits the mat, wind knocked out of him, Flesher steps into the ring, much to the consternation of Jimmy the Doom! Jimmy enters, and immediately, Sexton Hardcastle turns and orders him out of the ring. As Jimmy shouts in protest, Flesher crouches down, watching the Doomstroyer very slowly get to his feet. Grappler turns toward Jimmy, slowly baiting him to enter the ring even as Hardcastle holds him back. Meanwhile, once the Doomstroyer gets to his feet, Flesher lets fly with a well-aimed dropkick straight to the jumblies!

 

BOLLOCKS~!

 

The Doomstroyer drops to one knee, feeling the severe pain of unethical treatment of his testicles. Meanwhile, Grappler turns around, grabbing the kneeling hoss in a standing headscissors. Flesher turns toward him and, with a smirk, makes the familiar pulling motion.

 

“Oh god,” says Mak, burying his face in his hands. “This isn’t necessary. Not after you just kicked him in the crotch!”

 

“I saw no such thing.”

 

As Flesher scurries to the second rope, Grappler turns the 285-pound brute upside down and presents him to the Superior One. Tom grabs the Doomstroyer by the boots and leaps off the turnbuckle just as Matthews sits out. Flesher’s weight turns an already vicious maneuver into a devastating, life-threatening spike piledriver!

 

“This took out Amy Stephens, Grendel and Bloodshed,” says King, his voice alight with glee. “And now it’s going to bring the Tag Team Titles back home to Flesher and Grappler!”

 

Doomstroyer crumbles to the mat, and Grappler rolls over onto him to make the cover. Immediately, Flesher runs over, shouting at Hardcastle that there’s a cover on the other side of the ring! As Hardcastle turns, Jimmy finally enters the ring and hammers Tom with a high kick the chest! He reaches out, grabbing Flesher by the throat with the Hand of Doom! Meanwhile, Hardcastle makes the count!

 

 

ONE!!!

 

 

Jimmy hoists Flesher into the air!

 

 

TWO!!!!!

 

 

He slams Tom to the mat with the Jimmy Bomb! Flesher hits with a THUD, and Jimmy looks furiously at Hardcastle!

 

 

THREE!!!!!!!!!

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

Jimmy, furious that he’s been had, fumes as he rolls out of the ring to try to rouse Lois. Meanwhile, Matheson enters the ring, and Grappler jumps (not very high) for joy!

 

“The winners of the match,” says Funyon, “and NEW SWF Tag Team Champions... Tom Flesher and CHARLIE... GRAPPLER... MAAAAAAAAAATTHEWWWWWWS!!!!!!”

 

Doomstroyer twitches on the mat, completely unconscious from the spike piledriver. Meanwhile, Matthews and Matheson help the wobbly Flesher to his feet and raise his arms. He doesn’t seem to quite register what’s going on until Matheson snatches one of the tag team belts from Hardcastle and wraps it around Tom’s waist... at which point Flesher catches on and shouts with excitement!

 

“WE’RE NUMBER ONE! WE’RE NUMBER ONE!”

 

He leaps into Matthews’ arms, somehow looking completely ungay in the process. As Matthews lifts him into the air, his neck somehow not an issue for him at this point, Flesher does the only thing he can think to do: engage the crowd.

 

U-S-A! U-S-A!

 

~fade