chirs3

DING DING!!!! “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the following special challenge match is scheduled for one fall! The first contestant....” The P-MAC lights up with a single red pyro, and the crowd goes wild as confetti scatters through the arena! CHANGE MY PITCH UP! SMACK MY BITCH UP! Victor Herzog steps through the curtain and, in recognition of the warm reception he receives from the Baton Rouge crowd, waves and shouts, “SALUTATIONS!” The crowd continues cheering him as he walks to the ring, and he makes his way into the squared circle. “This is an interesting match we have coming up,” says the Suicide King. “On the one hand, you have a technical wizard and two-time heavyweight champion in ‘the Superior One’ Tom Flesher. On the other, you have a goofy Swiss guy.” “Come on, King,” says Mak Francis. “Are you really telling me you don’t like Victor Herzog after what he did to Ced Ordonez last week?” King shrugs. “I have no strong feelings on him. I do know, though, that when a veteran like Tom Flesher comes up and asks for your support on an issue like the Cold Front Classic, you don’t say no to him.” “But Vic didn’t say no,” Francis prods. “He just didn’t say yes. He’s got a policy of neutrality.” “I can take him or leave him.” “Currently in the ring,” says Funyon, “hailing from Geneva, Switzerland, and weighing in at 255 pounds... he is ‘Mister Swiss,’ VICTOR HERZOG!” Herzog waves and acknowledges the crowd, which politely continues cheering him as “Smack My Bitch Up” fades out. Funyon says, “And his opponent...” “Oh, come on,” says James Matheson, stepping through the curtain to break up Funyon’s introduction. “You’re announcing this? They hired a referee for it and everything? That’s incredible. You’re really going to cheer for that big lug while he struts to the ring and then act disappointed when he gets systematically destroyed by a guy as accomplished as my client, the one, the only, TOM FLESHER?!” With that, Flesher pushes the curtain aside, forgoing his usual entrance music and walking purposefully to the ring. James Matheson follows behind him. Flesher, not having bothered to change after issuing his challenge, has his blue collared shirt untucked and is still wearing his dark jeans and wingtip shoes. Matheson, as always, wears a dark suit and carries his Halliburton briefcase. Tom rolls into the ring and starts toward the center, pointing and shouting at Herzog. Referee Blaine Kalem stops him, pushing him back to the corner, while Herzog relaxes in his corner. Kalem says, “I need to check you.” “Come on,” Flesher says. “I’m in street clothes. What could I be packing?” With that, Kalem drops to one knee and starts checking Flesher’s pantlegs. Flesher reaches into his right pocket and pulls out a roll of coins, which he holds in his cupped right hand as Kalem makes it up to his pockets. Kalem slides a hand into the left pocket and withdraws a Bic pen. “Yeah, you got me,” says Flesher disgustedly. “A Bic’s a great foreign object, and something I’d NEVER carry with me in street clothes, you stupid piece of crap.” Satisfied that Flesher doesn’t have any foreign objects, Kalem turns and calls for the bell as Flesher slides his roll of coins back into his pocket. With that, he circles toward Herzog, who waits for him in the center. DING DING DING!!!! As Herzog turns toward Flesher, the Superior One reaches up and lets fly with a bitchslap, catching the Swiss ambassador across the face! The crowd immediately begins booing Flesher, who drops down and snags Herzog by the ankle and trips him to the mat. Flesher drops down onto his opponent and hammers him with a palm strike before reaching down and grabbing his wrist. As Herzog tries to pull back, he rolls onto his stomach, and Tom extends the arm before slapping it back down with a hammerlock. “Flesher’s showing some dominance here,” says the Suicide King, as Tom reaches down and throws a half-nelson under Herzog’s free arm. Flesher pulls him up and slaps on a bodyscissors grip, then rolls Herzog over and puts his shoulders to the mat with the freestyle tilt. Kalem counts ONE! Herzog, though, throws a shoulder off the mat, and Flesher pulls him back to his face-down mount. He reaches down, pinning the hammerlock against Herzog’s back with his chest, and throws a stiff forearm across Victor’s face to pull him into an improvised katahajime! Before Flesher can sink it in, though, Herzog throws out a long arm and grabs the bottom rope, prompting Blaine Kalem to break up the hold. An angry Flesher backs away, and Herzog quickly rolls to his knees, and then gets back to his feet. “Tom Flesher was just trying to have some fun,” says King. “There’s no reason to break up that hold.” “Hazing the newbie isn’t fun,” Francis says. “It’s the kind of crap that ends with people breaking their contracts. We’ve lost so many promising rookies, and Candice Okimurra, to that kind of junk.” As Herzog gets back up, though, Flesher drops down and hammers his knee with a basement dropkick! Herzog collapses back to the mat as Flesher rolls out from under him, and then grabs him in a front headlock. Immediately, Herzog starts trying to back away, but Flesher pulls him to his feet. The lanky Swiss superstar tries to slide out, but Flesher holds the headlock tightly. As Herzog pulls back once more, Flesher releases him. Herzog backs away, off balance, having expected more resistance, and Flesher takes advantage of his confusion by hammering him with a knee to the jaw! The Schweizer collapses, and Flesher arrogantly drops down onto him for the cover. ONE!!! TWO!!!! NO! Herzog kicks out, but Flesher stays on him in side control. He grabs Herzog’s left arm and once again pulls it into a hammerlock, but this time, he doesn’t bother doing anything with it for a few moments. “What’s he stalling for?” asks Francis. “This crap’s unnecessary. He’s just trying to embarrass Vic Herzog.” “Kind of answered your own question there, didn’t you, Mak?” Flesher reaches up, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it to the side of the ring before standing up and baiting Herzog to get to his feet. As Herzog starts up, Flesher charges at him, hoping to nail him with a Yakuza kick... but Herzog ducks it! Flesher staggers forward, and Herzog stands up, spinning around into a lariat! Flesher collapses to the mat, stunned at the rookie’s offensive flurry, but Herzog grabs him before he falls. He whips Tom to the ropes, and as Flesher rebounds, Herzog jumps up and hammers him with a dropkick! Tom falls to the mat and rolls to the outside, pausing to collect himself by dabbing his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. Herzog, for his part, merely looks to the outside. “Offensive flurry by the big man from Switzerland,” says the Suicide King, “and Flesher’s caught by surprise. Although even the chimp hits a bullseye once in a while.” Flesher rolls back in, and immediately, Herzog starts stomping on him. Tom grabs the bottom rope, but the monstrous Swiss grabs him by the head and pulls him into a front facelock, then quickly tosses him over with a snap suplex! Flesher’s back arches up, and he is in obvious pain as he tries to roll away. For his part, Herzog grabs Flesher around the waist and lifts him up. He turns the Superior One in the air and slams him down across his bended knee with a gutwrench backbreaker that sends Flesher to the mat clutching his spine. Herzog backs off, waiting for Flesher to get up to his feet. “What’s Tom going to do now?” asks Francis. “He’s gonna have to find some way to keep Herzog from hitting him as hard as he’s been, or else Mister Swiss is about to go neutral on his ass!” Flesher slowly gets back to his feet, and Herzog comes in to grab him with a collar-and-elbow tie. Flesher thrusts his right hand into his pocket and, continuing to grapple, brings his hand around to hammer Herzog with a stiff palm strike to the jaw! As he makes impact, a handful of coins scatter across the ring! As Herzog collapses to the mat, Blaine Kalem looks up and sees the split roll of quarters in Flesher’s hand. He calls for the bell! DING DING DING!!!! Kalem drops down to check on Herzog, who wasn’t expecting the foreign object any more than Kalem was. Flesher, for his part, merely shouts, “That’s what you get, you piece of crap!” “Tom Flesher hits the neutral Victor Herzog with economic sanctions!” shouts the Suicide King, as a bevy of referees run down to the ring and hold the Superior One back. “This is NOT going to be good for Herzog’s ability to keep time.” “So is that what this was all about?” snaps Mak Francis. “Tom just wanted to get Herzog out here to embarrass him by hitting him with a foreign object?” “I believe those are US quarters, Mak.” “Tom’s going to pay for that one. Not only is it going to go as a loss on his record, but I have a feeling Joe Peters is going to impose some economic sanctions of his own. He’ll hit Tom where it hurts – in the wallet!” “Oh, bitch, bitch, bitch,” says King. “Clean up that Swiss melt while we’re on commercial and let’s see what else we have on the docket.” As the referees tend to Herzog, we fade.

All is quiet in Baton Rouge as SWF Storm rolls on, moving toward Two Skinny White Guys’ Tag Team Championship defense against Wild and Dangerous. In fact, things are so quiet that for once, the backstage area is completely calm. “OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” Well, that didn’t last very long. “You’re telling me,” shouts Tom Flesher, “that because my PLANE was delayed, and I couldn’t make it in last week, I’m forfeiting any chance I had to win the Cold Front Classic? Joe, that’s bull!” Joe Peters, magnanimous as always, shrugs. “Tom, you and Spike didn’t show. What do you want me to do, delay the match even further?” Flesher rolls his eyes. “YES! Delay it until me and that little prick can settle things in the ring like men, instead of letting Johnson and Maddix dick around over it for two weeks! For god’s sake, Joe, I SELL TICKETS!” “And you’ll sell tickets in undercard matches, too,” says Peters curtly. “Come on, Tom, quit your whining and go find someone else to bother.” Flesher glares. “Joe, this isn’t going to go well for you. I could ask anyone – Andrea Montgomery, Bill Hearford, anyone – and they’d tell you it’s not fair for me to be out of the Cold Front Classic over this.” “Are you done?” “Here,” Tom protests. “I’ll ask the first person I see, and if he agrees with you, then I’ll quit complaining.” Peters turns to his iPod, clearly not paying attention to Flesher’s ranting. (After all, the Tag Team Champions are defending tonight and they need theme music.) Flesher, for his part, stalks up to the catering table and taps the shoulder of the tall, blond wrestler currently fiddling with the bagels. “Listen, fella,” Tom says, “I need you to come tell Peters he’s full of – ” “SALUTATIONS!” Victor Herzog turns around to greet Flesher, who merely continues glowering at him. “Hi to you to,” he spits. “Now come with me and tell Peters he needs to pull his head out of his – ” “Easy, easy,” says Mister Swiss. “I don’t think you quite understand my philosophy, Herr Flesher.” “Jesus,” Flesher growls, “first Craven whining about his BA in psychology and now you with your philosophy. I don’t give a damn what your undergrad major was, Vic. Just get over here and tell Peters his position is – ” Herzog looks on as Flesher stops, waiting to be cut off. After an uncomfortable silence, he says, “... wrong.” “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see, I’m... neutral.” Flesher’s eyes narrow to slits. “Neutral? Don’t they teach you schmucks to respect their elders in whatever two-bit school you came out of? I’m Tom Goddam Flesher! I was the World Heavyweight Champion twice! I was the Cruiserweight Champion twice! I’ve held more titles than you’ve ever seen! Where the hell do you get off?” Herzog smiles. “I have no strong feelings on the topic.” “How about this? Do you have any damn strong feelings about settling this in the ring like men?” Herzog shrugs. “All I know is that my gut says maybe.” “I’ll take that as a yes.” Flesher storms off, leaving a noncommittal Victor Herzog standing by the table sipping coffee. “Ah, veterans,” he murmurs. “So fiery.” ~fin~

IL vs. Nighthawk to be edited in.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF STORM Live, Saturday, December 9th, from the P-MAC in Baton Rouge, Louisiana! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Michael Stephens ©© and Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix © vs. Wild and Dangerous -> With a solid victory over ZyKira, Wild and Dangerous showed us that after all this time, they've still got it. But you don't get to be a triple champ and dominate the tag division without having some it yourself, Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix. Seperate, they are four of the most dominant men in the fed - united, they are two of the most successful teams we've seen in ages. Can Wild and Dangerous capture their record-breaking 3783783264326th Tag Team Title Reign? Rules: Use the tag ropes OR DIE. Standard rules. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- JJ Johnson vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke -> The CFC's last match has been pushed back to the Pay Per View, but that doesn't mean JJ's just going to slouch around! We've set up some tasty matches to help keep him in shape, the first of which is a bout against the recently-foiled Jay Hawke! After coming oh-so-close-but-not-close-enough to the World Title, Hawke's gotta be itching for another chance. A victory of Mr. Cold Front Classic could go a long way in getting him that chance. Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Chuck Woolery -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM MATCH Team ZyKira (Zyon © and Akira Kaibatsu ©) vs. Team CrArk (Michael Cross and Alan Clark) -> I think this is supposed to go down, but last I heard was "I think", so I'll leave this open in case it needs to be amended or removed. Real description will be edited in at that time. Rules: Standard tag. ROPES AER UR FREND. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Let's Screw With Jimmy Some More (non-title) Devin Benson vs. Jimmy the Doom -> If Jimmy is just shy of a God in the hardcore division, it stands to reason that removing Hardcore from the equation should remove his awesomeness as well. WHAT reason it stands to is debateable - the point is, Peters is has seen a whole lot of Jimmy winning, and very little of Jimmy losing, and this is something he'd like to fix. As much as he tried, though, he couldn't justify putting Jimmy's title on the line with the rules so... there's no delicate way to say this - with the rules so blatantly stacked against the Doomtopian. Rules: Devin may fight under Hardcore rules - he can use any weapons, the countout does not effect him, he cannot be disqualified. Jimmy, on the other hand, must fight clean - he cannot use weapons, the countout DOES apply to him, and he CAN be disqualified. Mwahahaha! Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Another In A Long Line of "Winner Gets a Prize" Matches Insane Luchador vs. Nighthawk -> Last year, the Christmas PPV's "Random Multiman" winner got the chance to book the very first match of the New Year. I like this, so let's do it again, but this time let's make the Multiman a little less random. You gotta EARN your shot at this shot, and we start right here! Winner of this match gets a spot in that match! Unless they already have PPV plans, in which case they'll get... something else. Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 4750 Send to: HollywoodSpikeJenkins -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ZyKira and CrArk, let me know if the tag match is or is not supposed to go down - if not, I'll finagle something out of this instead. And as usual - any requests for matches or amendments, send 'em my way.

That's actually something I'd been thinking about... it would cut a show or two between PPV cycles, which may or may not be a bad thing... the only other downside would be people left off a card would be waiting that much longer to write again. We try, but sometimes people get left off a card or two in a row, and while that equals 9-10 days now, it would be 14 days on this new schedule. Granted, that gives CC a bit more incentive to include everybody, but priority tends to go to those with titles and those with storylines, so drifters could end up either getting tossed into a lot of "just because" matches, or just left off for weeks at a time. Which is pretty much what we do now anyway, but the 3-show rotation allows less downtime for them than a one-show-per-week rotation. If I accidently leave someone off a card, I can fix it 4 days later instead of 7. Still, this is definitely something I wouldn't mind trying out. Perhaps once we reconvene after Chrismas break, we could do a month or two with a schedule like this and see what people think.

Backstage, Benjamin Hardy has found himself face to face with Alan Clark, who is himself sitting on an anvil case eating a chicken sandwich. “Alan Clark, what was your reasoning behind running out and attacking the competitors in the International Title match tonight?” Alan pauses from his chewing and looks over at Walter Reynolds, who sits next to him with, the larger man’s eyes almost pleading with the Happiest Guy On Earth to explain himself the way that Reynolds will probably have to explain Alan to his bosses in the morning. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” “Don’t play stupid, Clark. We all saw you out there.” “I’m not allowed to do those things, Benjamin. It’s in my contract.” Alan reaches behind himself and pulls a briefcase up into view. After fumbling with he latches he opens it and holds up a few sheets of paper, each with the SWF and Disney logos all over them. “If Alan Clark does anything like that, he’ll be fired. On the other hand…” Alan again reaches behind himself, except this time he pulls up a small folder. From it he removes a sheet of paper, the Disney logo noticeably absent. “…if someone like Bloodshed, who just signed this contract, would want to do something like interfere in a title match – then I guess that’s perfectly acceptable. Now if you don’t mind, I want to finish my sandwich and watch the main event. Thank you.” The scene fades out on a befuddled Benjamin Hardy and a shocked Walter Reynolds, who snatches the folder from Alan’s hands, motioning to various things with his mouth full as Alan assures him that everything is just fine.

“Fans, welcome to Smarkdown!” Mak Francis shouts as the generic rock music pounds out through the arena, “we’re due to open with a newcomer to the SWF, ‘Mr Swiss-’” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The Smarktron whites out as the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ rings out and every light in the arena hits full, then drops sharply down to black. At the same time jagged white letters flash up on the Smarktron, spelling out a familiar phrase one word at a time: “PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…” “Well, we were due to open with him,” King snorts, “but instead we get this jerk.” “A ‘jerk’ who happened to beat Jay Hawke to retain the World Title on Lockdown, despite interference from Gabriel Drake,” Mak reminds viewers. “Still a jerk. You just said so yourself.” The Smarktron is flickering with images of a famous career now, and it finally comes to Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BOOOM!* -blast of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and smoke… "TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC..." …World Title around his waist and Tag Title slung over his right shoulder… "TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC..." …blue-black hair hanging down in front of his eyes and trenchcoat partially hiding his personalised England shirt… "TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man once known as Toxxic. “Ladies and gentlemen, making his way to the ring at this time,” Funyon booms, “he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions and STILL~ the SWF World Heavyweight Champion… MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Stephens pauses at the bottom of the ramp, then throws his arms wide, palms flat, to ignite a blast of red pyro from each ringpost as the verse of ‘Rookie’ hits! *bap-bap* *BOOOM!* “I never thought this could be me I guess you never do until it’s happening to you Like all the fun turns into shame And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’ Stephens rolls into the ring and waits until the flames have died down, then beckons to Funyon for the microphone. The veteran ring announcer hands it over and exits the ring, leaving Michael Stephens alone in the ring with the chants of the fans. "TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC..." "TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC..." The steel-grey eyes flicker around the arena, seemingly on the lookout. Stephens has been jumped twice in the last couple of weeks by an "old friend" coming through the crowd, and isn't taking any chances. After a few seconds he raises his microphone. "I've come out here to address three people," the Englishman begins, then corrects himself, "no, wait, make that four. First of all, Jay Hawke-" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" "Exactly," Stephens says with a slight grin. "Jay, I hope you're listening to me, and I hope you listen very carefully sunshine. See, at the end of our match I got a bit carried away. I broke out the Caffeine Bomb, which is a potentially dangerous move that I try not to resort to using because I've come to the conclusion that being a good wrestler is not about who can drop people on their heads at the most acute angle." "Took you long enough," King snorts. "So you see Jay, under normal circumstances I might even apologise to you," Stephens says, "I mean sure, I used it on Tom, but everyone knows that you can drop Tom on his head from the top of the Empire State Building and he'll still probably get up and lariat you, the man's inhuman. But for someone like you or me, a match shouldn't be about who can hit who with the nastiest headdrop first. It should be about wrestling, and I'll admit you're damn good at that. So under normal circumstances, I might apologise to you." Stephens pauses for a second. "However, my definition of 'normal circumstances' don't include inviting my old friend Gabe to interfere with the promise of a title shot as reward. See," Stephens continues, "just as being a good wrestler ain't about dropping people on their heads all the time, being World Champion shouldn't be about who can hire the most muscle to do their dirty work for them. In my opinion, if that's the way you want to play it you deserve everything you got an' more, sunshine!" "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Fighting words from the World Champion there," Mak Francis notes, "and words I agree with. Gabriel Drake had no place in that title match, and Jay Hawke had no place inviting him there!" "Hawke only offered Drake the title shot to show his appreciation of the man's talent," Suicide King snaps, "not to get him to interfere! That's a malign slur on Hawke!" "Oh, shut up." Michael Stephens is pacing about the ring now. Having got his broadside at Jay Hawke out of the way it seems the Englishman is a little more conflicted about how to go about his next statement. "Zyon..." There is a mixed reaction from the Dallas crowd; some cheer, others boo. All in all the Unique Youth definitely gets a response, but you'd be hard-pressed to tell what sort. "Zyon, since the new James Bond film is doing the rounds I'm gonna borrow a line from Ian Fleming," Stephens says, "namely, 'the first time is happenstance, the second time is coincidence, but the third time it's enemy action'." The World Champion looks back at the entranceway for a moment, then continues. "In our Cruiserweight Title match you took advantage of Gabe's interference to give me the Final Flash and then climb the ladder to get the title. Fair enough," Stephens says, "no blame on you there, I'd have done the same thing. I mean, it didn't even look like you knew Drake had been in at all. "But see, recent events have caused me to rethink that." There is a muttering in the crowd. Some of the Texans in attendance think Stephens may be right in his suspicions, others clearly feel that he's looking to pin blame on someone. The muttering quietens as Mike raises the microphone again. "Now, on Storm you came down to the ring where I was involved in my World Title match, a match where you had no place, a match that you had no business with. You were saying something to me but I'll be honest, I couldn't hear you. The only thing I understood was when you pointed behind me and I turned around to see Gabe coming at me a moment before the bastard near enough speared me out of my boots. So now I've got to wonder," Stephens declares, "what were you doing? Did you just want a ringside seat? Did you feel you still had unfinished business with me, and for whatever reason that was an appropriate time to bring it up? Did you point past me to warn me when you saw Gabe, or," the World Champion carries on as the crowd noise starts to pick up a little, "OR, were you there to distract me while he got into the ring? Were you there to set me up?" "RRRAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The crowd doesn't have one mind on this subject, but each person certainly has an opinion they want to express. Some cheer, some jeer; some shout approval and support for the World Champion, others are outraged at the finger of blame being pointed at the Unique Youth. In the middle of it all stands Michael Stephens, World Title around his waist and Tag Title over one shoulder, head tilted slightly to one side as he listens to the crowd. Then he raises the hand that doesn't hold the microphone and extends a black-nailed index finger. "The first time, you took the Cruiserweight Title." Another finger goes up. "The second time, you might have cost me the World Title." Stephens pauses. "Should I be on the lookout for the third time, Zyon? Are you an innocent bystander, or an enemy? Believe me sunshine, you don't want to go to war with me." "Michael Stephens is certainly being very confrontational about this," Mak Francis says, "I for one might be inclined to give Zyon the benefit of the doubt!" "He's flipped," King says happily, "he's gone completely paranoid! Of course," the Gambling Man adds, "that doesn't mean that Zyon isn't a treacherous backstabber who'll try anything to make up for his own lack of talent." "It still amazes me how you can spin things to think the worst of everyone," Mak grumbles. "Don't knock it kid, it's a gift." Michael Stephens is looking around at the crowd; they’re certainly fired up now. All in all, it feels like a good time for the World Champion to make his play. Get people into the right frame of mind and they’ll cheer anything that’s pitched to them in the right way. So here goes nothing… “The last two people I want to speak to,” Stephens begins again, “are my old friend Gabriel Drake-” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “-and the SWF’s CEO, Joseph Peters!” Hark, can you hear the indifference? “Gabe, you’re on a mission, I realise that,” Stephens declares, “you want to do everything in your power to make my life difficult, make me lose matches, make me lose titles and generally be the biggest bloody jackmonkey you can. Now,” he continues, “whether you’re doing this because you hold me responsible for events four years ago, because you’re mentally unstable or simply because you’re jealous of my astounding good looks and unrivalled popularity” here he pauses for a moment with a slight grin to hint that maybe he’s not quite serious about that last one “I’m not gonna take it anymore sunshine! See, I don’t even know if you want to get into the ring with me one-on-one anymore, cos you seem to be happy hanging around and interfering in my matches, but I don’t intend to give you an option now. Playtime is over, now we’re gonna get serious. As a result, if I could impose upon Our Glorious Leader Joseph Peters to haul his backside out here…” There is a pause for a few seconds. Then ‘Ghetto Goggles’ by the Filthy Four hits, and after a few more seconds the Generalissimo of the SWF comes out, followed by a technician who hands him a microphone and runs. “Stephens, what the hell do you think you’re doing, standing in my ring at the top of my show and spouting garbage?” Peters demands. “I’m selling our next Pay-Per-View,” the World Champion replies, grinning. “What are you talking about?” Peters snaps, continuing his walk down to the ring, “there are currently no matches finalised for that show!” “Well, see that’s where I’m going to help you out,” Stephens says, eyeing Peters as the head honcho starts to climb the ring steps, “because I’ve come up with this fantastic idea.” “If it involves naked guys and green jello, we’re not interested.” “How’d you guess!?” Stephens chuckles, but the eyes are telling Peters not to try a joke like that again. “No, actually I’ve come up with an idea for your main event,” he explains, “and seeing as how we’ve got a representative sample of the SWF audience here with us tonight, I thought I’d suggest it in front of them so you could gauge the reaction.” Joe Peters crosses his arms and looks at him. Stephens’ grin goes lopsided. “Gabriel Drake…” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “…versus Michael Stephens…” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “…one-on-one…” “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “…for the World Title!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “C’mon Peters, whaddya say?” Stephens demands, sweeping a hand around to take in the crowd and struggling to make himself heard over the universal roar of approval, “you’ve got a guy who’s made an impact on the fed like few others since his debut, he only got eliminated at Ashes 2 Ashes when someone already eliminated from the match came back and interfered, he’s got personal history with your World Champion, and all these people want to see it, ain’t that right!?” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “An’ if that sort of reaction don’t sway you, well then here’s something else to think on,” Stephens informs the CEO, “just bear in mind that despite my legendary patience and forbearance, I have my limits. I’ve had about all I can take of Gabe shoving his nose into my business, and I’m gonna start taking action soon. So sooner or later Stephens vs. Drake is going to go down,” he informs Peters, “so it’s your call whether it’s gonna happen in the back, in someone’s locker room, in the parking lot, or in the middle of the ring where you can wheel out some cameras, sell some tickets and make a bloody killing out of it!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Personally I’m hoping we get to see this in the ring,” Mak Francis says, “Michael Stephens vs. Gabriel Drake would be big in many ways… but I wouldn’t be surprised if Peters said no just to spite the World Champion!” “Gabriel Drake winning the World Title on Pay-Per-View?” King asks, “I couldn’t imagine a better Christmas present, and so I’m hoping for exactly the same result you are!” “Will wonders ever cease?” Joe Peters still stands in the ring, watching Michael Stephens. The CEO appears to be considering… but he’s also coming to a decision. The idea of approving an suggestion that comes from Stephens is a distasteful one, even more so under these circumstances where it will look like he’s been muscled into it by the reaction of the crowd… …but at the end of the day, it is a good idea. The hastily-aborted Stephens/Drake singles match on free TV drew high ratings, and the Elimination Chamber got a good buyrate. Stephens is shifting merchandise like there’s no tomorrow, and Peters knows that the SWF fans are clamouring to see Drake finally be on the end of a convincing defeat; not a fluke roll-up in a multi-man match, not a cage match technicality, but finally a loss where it can be said that the other man was a better wrestler. If anyone can give him that defeat, it’s Michael Stephens. Peters knows the fans will pay to see that possibility. And should Gabriel Drake truly justify his place in the main event and take the World Title from Stephens… well, that won’t be a bad thing. That won’t be a bad thing at all. Peters look at Stephens for a second more, then raises the mic. “Done.” “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The fans erupt into what has to be the biggest ovation that a statement made by Joseph Peters has ever got, and the SWF’s Generalissimo simply turns and walks away, unwilling to be in the same ring with Stephens for any longer than he has to. However, the World Champion isn’t going to let him go without making his point. “You hear that Gabe?” Stephens yells, “no more shadows for you, sunshine! No more sidling in when my back’s turned, now you’ve gotta come at me from the front when I’m ready for you! And if you think I’ve underestimated you… if you think you’ve got what it takes to come and take my title… if, above all, you think that The Beast can defeat The Sensation, then sunshine…” The crowd knows the words, and they know the tune. It’s time to sing along. “…PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG!” Stephens drops his microphone with a grin and rolls out of the ring. The die, as they say, is cast. Now it’s just a case of waiting until the 18th to see whose number comes up. FADE OUT

The Reunion Arena is alive and well – well, not the actual arena. That would be pretty weird – a living arena. Although they’ve done a living house, before, so I guess it’s not TOTALLY out of the question… Anyway, the FANS in the Reunion Arena are alive and well (thank God for that, or we’d have a hell of a lawsuit on our hands), screaming as loud as they can as the next match’s marquee appears on the Smarktron: COLD FRONT CLASSIC – FINAL MATCH JJ Johnson vs. Landon Maddix “Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!” ”Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah!” ”Whooooooohoooooooooooooo!” Yippee! That last one may or may not have been King. “Did you just say ‘yippee’?” “Er, no, it was this chick behind me.” “Oh,” Mak says, turning towards the camera with a knowing grin. “You mean the topless chick?” “YIPPEE-“ King whirls around… … … … “I hate you, Mak.” “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” All eyes turn to Funyon, standing dead center of the ring, holding an index card that was just passed to him. “Who here is ready to see Landon Maddix battle JJ Johnson?” YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! “Who here is ready to see the final match of the Cold Front Classic?” YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH! “Who here is willing to shell out 35 bucks for it?” YEEEEEEEEEeeeeeaahuuuuuuuh? Funyon looks just as confused as that word I just wrote up there, doing a double take at the card. He jogs over to the… guy… and shouts something that sounds suspiciously like “What, the duck is his?” Suddenly, the Smarktron whites out, and a few moments later everyone’s favori- BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Don’t interrupt. Everyone’s favorite CEO, Joseph Peters, appears on the screen, sporting an all-too-familiar scowl. “Damn it Funyon,” he growls, “can’t you do anything right? You were supposed to – never mind. Listen up, Dallasi… Dallasins… Da… Dallasians? What ever, who cares. Am I correct in assuming that you guys came tonight to see this Main Event?” YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! “Well, I regret to inform you – actually, no I don’t. I’m pleased to inform you that this match will no longer be taking place.” “WHAT?!” King and Mak and, well, everyone, all shout in unison, before engaging in generic “rabblerabblerabbblerabble” crowd noise. “Well if the thousands in attendance could pool their collective brainpower, you might just barely be able to make sense to the little line at the bottom of the programme we charged you 10 bucks for… ha! 10 bucks. That kills me.” A disgruntled murmur, as a few people in the audience seem to be catching on faster than others. “That’s right – this line right here,” Peters says, pointing at his own copy of the program. “Down at the bottom – right- right, there you go. The one that says: Card is subject to change.” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “Seriously, did you really think we’d put the FINALS of the Cold Front Classic on free-TV? Some of you people bought tickets just for this match – that tells me people would be willing to order PAY PER VIEWS for this match. Do the math- wait, right, Texans. Hire a tutor to do the math for you. You’ll get it, eventually. Landon Maddix and JJ Johnson won’t be fighting here tonight – the Cold Front Classic finals will be fought on a stage worthy of their name – at the Name Not Yet Determined SWF Christmas Pay Per View!” Most of the time people would cheer, but this group of fans in particular just got shafted out of an awesome main event, so they seem pretty indifferent to the announcement. “See, Funyon?” Peters continues. “That’s how you deliver an announcement.” Funyon, now just about as angry as everyone else in attendance, rips up the card and storms out of the ring, back up the ramp. “Well, uh… I guess… that’s our show?” Mak laments. “I… I guess we’ll see you on Storm. Good night, everybody!”

“The show must go on” by Queen roars throughout The Reunion Arena, letting everyone know that Iron Mike Cross is about to make his way down the ramp. The Suicide Machine makes no expression as the fans boo his name. “This is a big opportunity for Cross,” Mak says. “He’s tried more than once to topple not only Akira but the International Title,” “Why the hell is he even getting this title shot?” King asks. “Isn’t he 0-2 since returning?” “That may be true, but these two have a score to settle, and an injury to Akira never quite let them.” “May be true? No, Mak, that’s true. Cross hasn’t done shit. We could have at least made this a non-title match,” “Making his way down to the ring, from Detroit Michigan…IRON….MIKE….CROSSSSSSSSS!” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “King, Akira has never been one to turn down a title defense. He crammed a ton of defenses into his Cruiserweight title reign” “And, what was it, zero into his Tag team title reign with CROSS? What are these two doing sub-main eventing?” WU-TANG CLAN COMIN’ ATCHA! “Watch ya step kid!” Mak sings along, earning a sigh from his broadcast partner. As Mak raps, Kaibatsu comes out of the curtain bearing the International Gold around his waist. “It’s been 15 days now for The Divine Wind as International Championship, and this is his first defense. Prediction, King?” “Ugh, I’m hoping for a double dq or something…anythin….just not 15 minutes of mindless spot monkey drivel.” “Really? Interesting. I’m leaning more towards Akira.” DING DING DING Cross and Akira circle each other around the ring before locking up collar and elbow style. Cross, easily the stronger of the two, over powers The Divine Wind and shoves him into the ropes, letting go, and following up with a big knife edged chop to the chest, before whipping The Divine Wind into the opposite ropes. Akira bounces off the ropes, but stops suddenly, as a noise surprised the whole arena. “When you wish upon a star” blasts through the pa system, and The Disney Sponsored Alan Clark runs down the ramp. “What the hell?” Mak asks. “Clark’s tight contract won’t allow this. He’ll get canned.” “Not that anyone’ll be disappointed” Clark runs into the ring, and sprints towards the International Champion, nailing him with the clothesline. The act startles Cross, and he stands motionless in the center of the ring. Clark runs towards him to and dropkicks him out of the ring. DING DING DING “Ladies and Gentleman this contest has gone to a no-contest!” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “Thank god” King sighs. Alan Clark flees the scene, running back up the ramp, as the segement fades, with a lot of fans scratching their heads.

Smarkdown returns from a commercial to the packed Reunion Arena, and a camera man turns on the audience and rips two fans to shreds. Wait, that was a Chimera man. Chimera man? This script is lousy. Did Glen Furbman write this trash? Damn it, Charlie, we're broadcasting right now! I know Furbman did a hack job, but just read the copy, okay? Okay, but I want hazard pay, this stuff's worse than toxic waste. A camera man pans around the remaining fans, then swings over to focus on Mak Francis and the Suicide King. "Welcome back to Dallas, folks. We're at the midpoint of tonight's show, but this next match should be far from average. After a few non-title matches, Jimmy the Doom defends his Hardcore strap against Nighthawk, but this is no ordinary hardcore affair. This bout will take place on the streets of Dallas, that's right, a good old fashioned street fight!" Mak exclaims. "While Nighthawk isn't my first choice, I'm sure he'll make a fine champion," King says. "Don't be too hasty there, King. While Nighthawk is very tough, Jimmy the Doom has dealt with his fair share of strong wrestlers and bested them. Besides, you can't overlook how incredibly tough Doom is. At the risk of being mocked, this street fight is right up Doom's alley," Mak says. The Smarktron crackles to life, showing Sports Street. A relatively nondescript black sedan pulls up to the front of the arena and Nighthawk emerges from the backseat. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following is a street fight for the Hardcore championship! Introducing first, the challenger! Hailing from Hawk Mountain, Pennsylvania, he weighs two hundred, eighty-five pounds, NIGHTHAWK!" Funyon roars. The massive Hawk stretches out his steel talon gloves while referee Matt Kivell waits on nervously. Skreeeeeeeee! The sound of metal grinding on asphalt causes Kivell and Nighthawk to grimace in pain as Jimmy the Doom rounds the corner on a Ghetto Scooter. Despite the scooter having distinctly non-round metal 'wheels', the Straight-Breader is enjoying his ride to the fullest. "And his opponent, the champion! From Doomopolis, Doomtopia, he weighs two hundred, thirty pounds, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JIMMY THE DOOM!" Funyon shouts. Doom pulls the belt from around his waist and gives it to Kivell. Matt takes the strap, bends down, and turns on a giant ghetto blaster stereo. Michael Jackson's "Beat It" strikes up, and Kivell signalls for the match to begin. Ding! Ding! Ding! "Why the hell is Michael Jackson playing? Neither man is about to molest a young boy, is he?" King asks. "Allegedly!" Mak shouts. "Jackson has never been convicted, and until he is, to insinuate that he's done such a thing is a surefire way to getting sued, so shut your dirty mouth. Besides, 'Beat It' is a great street fighting song." "What about 'Street Fighting Man'? Or the theme from 'Street Fighter'?" King asks. "Because shut up." Doom lunges forward, cracking Nighthawk with a shotei to the chest. The big man takes a step back, only to nail Jimmy with a vicious right cross. Doom stumbles, but quickly recovers and whips Nighthawk into a Geo Metro. The big Pennsylvanian slams into the car, knocking it over. DANDLE! Nighthawk clambers to his feet, only to eat a flying front kick that sends him over the car. "Well, there goes our lawyer fund for the night," Mak mutters. "That was pretty quick. We are going to end up owing so much," King laments. Jimmy walks around the car to Nighthawk, but gets nailed with a forearm to the groin. Nighthawk climbs to his feet and yanks Doom to the ground with a DDT. Hawk stands and smashes out the passenger side window of the Geo. The big guy unlocks and opens the door, then completely rips it from its hinges. Nighthawk lifts his weapon and bashes the Straight-Breader across the back with it. DANSEUSE! Nighthawk measures up for another blow, but Jimmy rolls out of the way. As metal collides with asphalt, the reverberations cause Hawk to drop the car door. Jimmy pops up and laces two quick kicks into Nighthawk's left leg before clambering over the car. Doom snatches up his Ghetto Scooter, and in a move that completely voids the warranty, shatters the wooden frame over Nighthawk's head. DATIVE! "The property damage just keeps going up in this match. I feel like I'm watching that Rampage game where you destroy a city," Mak says. "Except with people instead of giant apes and dinosaurs?" King asks. "Yes, except with people instead of giant apes and dinosaurs," Francis clarifies. Nighthawk shakes off the blow as the wood was termite-riddled to begin with, and he slams a shoulder into Doom's gut. Hawk stands up, carrying the Hardcore champion like a sack of dirt. The big man walks down the street and rams Doom's back into a lamppost before continuing. Hawk rounds a corner, shifts Jimmy into a military press, and launches the Hardcore champ. The Straight-Breader picks himself up and tries to cross the street, but is blocked by a constant stream of traffic. Doom turns around to find Hawk charging. The challenger blasts the champ to the ground with a stiff lariat and drops to make a lateral press. Kivell hustles over and makes the count. One! T-No! "Kick out from the champ, and that's his unrivaled toughness showing through," Mak says. "We really need to get his blood and urine tested a lot more frequently," King mumbles. "King, are you trying to imply that Jimmy the Doom's vitality comes from a source other than his natural genetics?" Francis asks. "Well, look at it this way. The last man that was as tough as Doom was Nathaniel Kibagami, in fact, he was probably tougher, and the Slaughterer was a known pill-popper. I'm just covering all bases," King says. Nighthawk stands up, pulling Doom to his feet as well, and then the big guy slams Jimmy into a brick wall. Nighthawk shoves the Straight-Bread Sensation away and begins to plot his next move. The Hardcore champ staggers up and faces his opponent. Jimmy adopts his Warring Monkey School stance and shuffles towards Hawk, who faces up the Straight-Breader. Hawk paws out with a jab, but Doom blocks and responds with a low kick. Nighthawk takes a step backward, and Doom chases after him, tripping the big man with a leg sweep. "What a cheap move! Jimmy is such a scrub," King says. "Hey, they didn't agree to not using sweeps, so Jimmy's just taking full advantage," Mak says. "They didn't agree because neither man should be using sweeps! Do we have to agree to not punch each other in the face? No, because that's a cheap, scrub thing to do!" King shouts. "Perhaps, but you might be forgetting that this is a wrestling match, not a video game, even if the camera angle makes it look like a two dimensional fighter," Mak says. Hawk pops to his feet, enraged, and charges Doom. Jimmy covers up as Nighthawk unleashes a barrage of punches, but Doom manages to cover his head and torso up with his arms. The Straight-Breader sees an opening and slams a knee into Hawk's ribs, causing the challenger to stumble backwards. Jimmy presses forward, lashing out with a flurry of palmstrikes. Hawk turns tail and runs, and the champion is right on his heels. Nighthawk suddenly turns around and snares the rushing Doomtopian. Hawk spins and launches Jimmy overhead with an exploder suplex. "Excellent throw by Nighthawk! He caught Doom completely off guard and he's got a shot to really take advantage," King says. "It's still early, though, King. Jimmy the Doom has no doubt weathered fiercer storms," Mak says. "Hey, speaking of storms, what happened to Chris Storm? There's like a ton of dudes that just vanished it seems," King says. "MADRAC!" Mak shouts. Doom picks himself up off the sidewalk, only to get smashed with a knee to the face. Jimmy staggers backwards, clears his head with a quick shake, and sprints towards Nighthawk. Hawk begins jogging forward as well, then sticks out his right arm, but Jimmy vaults over the Pennsylvanian with a leap frog. Doom turns on a dime and rockets back towards Hawk. The Hardcore champ leaps in the air again just as Hawk turns around, and the big man gets smacked with an elbow right in the nose. "Picture perfect corkscrew elbow from the champion, and that should pay dividends as this match progresses," Mak says. "A little elbow to the schnoz? Maybe from Danny Williams or JJ Johnson, but even then, it's just one blow. You've gotta be shitting me, Francis," King says. "No defecation, King. If that elbow causes some bleeding, it'll get harder and harder for Nighthawk to breathe, and it's pretty damn tough to win a wrestling match if you can't breathe," Mak explains. "No fair, you've got a Star Trek computer in your chair that feeds you answers," King says. Doom clambers to his feet, walks to the end of the sidewalk, and pulls down the stairs for the fire escape. Jimmy heads back to Nighthawk, and assists the big man to his feet. The Straight-Bread Sensation stops being friendly with a shotei to the chest, then whips Hawk into the stairs. DEBARKATION! The Doomtopian runs over to the downed Nighthawk and leaps, dropping a knee across his head. Jimmy remains on the ground as he makes a lateral press. One! Two-No! "Nighthawk showing some toughness as well with that kick out, but Jimmy is still in control of this match," Mak says. "Not for long, Francis, not for long," King says. Doom stands up and climbs the stairs. Jimmy clambers on top of the railing on the landing and leaps, colliding spectacularly with the concrete below. DEFALCATE! "You shut your dirty mouth," Mak says preemptively. Nighthawk slowly gets to his feet and pulls Jimmy off the ground. Hawk rams Doom's head into the door of a parked truck, and then tosses him into the vehicle's bed. Nighthawk clambers up, slaps a chokehold on Doom, and clambers to the roof of the cab. Nighthawk lifts the Straight-Bread Sensation high in the cold Dallas air, and leaps, driving the Hardcore champion into the asphalt. DELIQUESCENT! "What a devastating chokeslam from Nighthawk! That just might win him the Hardcore title!" Mak exclaims. "About damn time someone else had that belt," King says. Nighthawk makes a lateral press and Kivell drops to count. One! Two! Th-No! "Shoulder up from the champion! Jimmy the Doom is still champion, at least for a few moments longer," Mak says. "That's all, Mak, just a few more moments," King says. ***OnlineHost*** MannyTheTorpedoes has entered the room MannyTheTorpedoes: ok bak "What the hell is he doing here?!" King screams. "I'm not sure, King. What's up, Manny?" Mak inquires. MannyTheTorpedoes: i wanna watch wrestle already watch all muppet babies "I take it that you escaped your doppleganger from last time, right?" Mak asks. MannyTheTorpedoes: yeah but i break him outta jail "Why the hell would you do that? He tried to kill you, remember?" King asks. MannyTheTorpedoes: manny freeing manny Nighthawk yanks Doom off the ground and drags him down the street. Hawk crosses an intersection, and finds himself in front of a train station. Nighthawk nails Doom with an uppercut then launches Jimmy through a glass window. DIATHERMY! MannyTheTorpedoes: owie jimee need my blankie "Manny, that thing's covered with small pox!" Mak warns. "Give it to him, then," King says. MannyTheTorpedoes: manny cherokeeing manny Hawk enters the station and kicks Jimmy across the marble floor. Hawk pulls the Straight-Breader up and drags him outside to the platforms. Nighthawk buries a knee in Jimmy's gut, but Doom replies with a lunging Hand of Doom. The Hardcore champ whips the bigger man into a stationary train and follows in with a corkscrew elbow. DIAPASON! Across the station, a train begins moving, and Jimmy takes off for the locomotive. Doom leaps into a car just as it picks up speed and thunders down the track, leaving a dazed Nighthawk wonder where his opponent is. "Son of a bitch! That train could be going anywhere, and this match has been reduced to a standstill," Mak laments. MannyTheTorpedoes: i stan still in outfield an see butterflies i like eatta whole stick butter "Speaking of that, you had some health problems this season, and I hear you've gone on a more heart-healthy diet. Anything you reall miss eating?" Mak asks. MannyTheTorpedoes: i like sof geez manny brieing manny "The fact that this imbecile makes more than both of us combined sickens me, Mak. Absolutely sickens me," King says. MannyTheTorpedoes: you should take peptoes bibsmall i fix you problems like i fix my computer manny ITing manny Nighthawk peels himself off the train and looks around for his opponent. Finding no sign of the Doomtopian, Hawk simply begins walking down the tracks. The Straight-Bread Sensation rolls from underneath a train behind Nighthawk and pastes him with a dropkick to the head. Hawk goes tumbling and Jimmy gives chase. "Doom must have gotten off the train the instant it started moving. Jimmy pulled the old switcheroo and it worked flawlessly," Mak says. MannyTheTorpedoes: i pull switchers in airplang an it almost go down "Pity it didn't," King says. Nighthawk recovers before Doom reaches him, and the Pennsylvanian whips around, catching the incoming Doomtopian with a superkick. Hawk sweeps Jimmy up and drives him into the turf with a brainbuster. Kivell rushes over and makes the count. One! Two! Thre-No! "Shoulder up from Doom! That wasn't quite the Power Dive, but it still looked rough," Mak says. "Nighthawk should go for another brainbuster. That should put Doom away," King says. Hawk yanks Jimmy up and heeds King's advice, lifting the Hardcore champion for another brainbuster. Nighthawk plants the Straight-Bread Sensation into the ground a second time and makes a lateral press. One! Two! Three-No! "Another kick out from Doom! Nighthawk must be doubting his abilities right now," Mak says. "You honestly believe that, Mak? Nighthawk is in firm control of this match and nothing is changing that," King says. MannyTheTorpedoes: bob saget was in control on full house he was a good tv dad danny being danny Nighthawk yanks Jimmy to his feet once more and prepares for a third brainbuster. Hawk lifts, but the Hardcore champion slips behind him. Nighthawk spins around, only to eat a massive roundhouse to the head. DIBBLE! Doom boots Hawk in the gut and grabs hold of the big guy's hair. Jimmy drags Nighthawk to the railroad tracks and jumps, slamming Hawk's face into the metal. DILATORINESS! Jimmy flips Hawk over and makes a cover. One! Two! Three! Kivell springs to his feet and waves three fingers to the camera. Ding! Ding! Ding! "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner and still Hardcore champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, JIMMY THE DOOM!" Funyon shouts. "An unexpected and out of nowhere Doomfactor seals the match for Jimmy! That was a brutal contest, King," Mak says. "Fuckin' Doomtopians," King grumbles. MannyTheTorpedoes: jimmy bein jimmy ***OnlineHost*** MannyTheTorpedoes has left the room With that, Smarkdown fades to a commercial for the color orange. Told you that script was lousy.

“From one kind of cheese to another, now we have to deal with that annoying Alan Clark again!” The voice of the Suicide King brings the world of fans watching at home back to Smarkdown, where the sounds of the French National Anthem are blaring louder than they ever should in a place like Dallas, Texas. “But this is a return, too, King! The return of the Ace, Pierre Donette” as the Franchise speaks; blasts of pyrotechnics explode from the entranceway to heed the arrival of the Frenchman. Pierre, flag in hand, steps through the curtain to a resounding chorus of boos with a bit of an accent for emphasis. Booooooooooo!!! “Well, that’s exactly the response I think everyone was expecting. Too bad he looks to be more sophisticated that any of these backwater hicks.” King is his usual passionate self about the farmlands and their people as Funyon stands at the ready in the ring, microphone to his lips. “Ladies and Gentlemen…the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL. Introducing first, from Marseille, France…weighing in at two hundred twenty pounds… he is “THE ACE”…PIERRE DONNEEEEETTE!!” Booooooooooooooo!! Pierre slinks to the ring and climbs the steps to the apron, a constant wave of his flag flanked by the constant rounds of jeers from one side of the arena to the other. Entering the ring carefully, Pierre continues his flag waving festivities as his music fades down. Pierre hands off his flag and turns back to the entrance just as… “Please Stand Clear Of The Ring. Svp Stand Dégagé De l'Anneau… …For The Safety And Comfort Of Others, No Smoking Please. Anneau Pour La Sûreté Et Le Confort De D'autres, Aucun Tabagisme Svp.” “And introducing his opponent, being accompanied by Walter Reynolds…representing the France Pavillion of Epcot in Walt Disney World, Florida….” “WHAT?!”! “…weighing in at two hundred twenty five pounds…he is the “Happiest Guy On Earth”…ALAAAAAAAAN CLARK!!” The music of Epcot’s ‘Impressions de France’ begins to play as Alan Clark appears from behind the curtain, dressing in Disney’s own brand of French garb with Walter Reynolds following behind him. AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN! “Oh boy, King, Not since the days of the Junior League European Championship have we seen something like this, and you can tell by the look on the face of the Ace that he is not happy one bit.” Francis continues as Donette stands in the ring, clutching his hands together with rage as Alan slaps a few hands, poses for a few photos, and finally hits ringside, taking a second to wave toward his opponent in the ring, causing his eyes to dart from Clark to referee Sexton Hardcastle, who can seen to be mouthing ‘get used to it’ as Walter Reynolds takes his place next to the ring and Alan slides into the ring and to his feet, quickly moving to Pierre and sticking his hand out for a shake. “Bonjour!!” Alan shouts as loud as he can, so much so that the close cameras are able to pick it up as Clark smiles his widest… SLAP!! “And a slap to the mush by the Ace!! I might actually end up liking this guy after all!” *DING! DING! DING!* After a quick warning, Hardcastle calls for the bell to start the match as Pierre stays on the attack with a flurry of right hands, keeping Clark reeling backwards and towards the ropes. “He might be rethinking the idea of coming out dressed that way!” “That nutcase can barely think, let alone RE-think, Mak.” The King is, as always, full of his little quips as Donette pulls Clark out from the ropes and spins his body, wiping Alan across the ring with a hard shove. “Irish whip, Pierre trying to keep his advantage with a clothesline, NO! Alan Clark ducks out of the way!” Clark ducks beneath the outstretched arm of the Ace and hits the ropes once more, coming back to find his opponent dropping to his stomach in the center of the ring. Alan leapfrogs the ducking Frenchman, only for Pierre to pop off the mat and roll his body into the legs of the Happiest Guy on Earth, sending him falling down to the canvas face-first!! SPLAT!! “If aiming for the face doesn’t work, go for the legs! Simple, but effective. You take anyone’s legs out from under them and they won’t be able to do much of anything in that ring!” Alan rolls to his back and clutches at his face in anguish as Pierre stands over top of him, a small hint of smug coming across his lips before he reaches down and pulls Clark up by his hair, getting a second warning from Hardcastle before he locks on a facelock and chokes down on it, holding Clark in place on his knees and wrenching the body of the WF veteran as much as he can as Alan’s legs flail toward the ropes, his left foot finally catching the second rope, leaving him in a bit of an awkward position as the break is called for. Pierre follows orders, but not before pulling back and kicking the right leg out from under Alan’s body, sending him down into the canvas face-first for the second time in less than a minute. “I’d probably mention plastic surgery or something at this point, King, but we both know that Alan Clark would never pay someone to cut him open when he used to do it himself on a nightly basis in the very ring he is lying in right now!” calls Mak as Sexton tries to keep the two men separated and check on the downed Clark, only for Donette to push past him and pull Alan into the center of the ring and up to his feet, staring him in the face before reapplying his facelock and lifting Alan off his feet… WHAM! …and driving him straight down into the mat!! “He calls that the 22 Year Old, which is something I wouldn’t mind having myself right about now, so long as it’s not some dude looking like that…” The Suicide King is not Bobby Riley, at least. “And I call this a cover and a count!” ONE! TW—NO!! “Pierre Donette can NOT let Alan Clark get to him the way he seems to be already. The outfit, the music, all of it, Alan Clark is one of only a handful of people to step foot in this company that has such a passion for completely throwing you off your game and keeping you off it as long as he needs to in order to win the match. We’ve seen him do it before and I can tell by the look on the Ace’s face that he is looking to do whatever it takes to show the Happiest Guy On Earth that France is more than a piece of a theme park.” Francis and the King watch on as Alan tries to get back to his feet, holding his head… THUD!! “..DDT!” King cries out, but instead of going for the cover, the Ace rolls to his back and begins to thread his leg through the arms of Clark, and begins to lift his leg off the mat, pulling Alan’s body up and into a modified full nelson, the bending knee of Donette pushing the neck of Clark forward with tremendous force. “Look at the pain on Alan Clark’s face!! He is doing whatever he can to get to those ropes!” Alan’s body is indeed thrashing against the force of the Acelock, and after a few seconds of trying to keep the hold in, Pierre simply pushes his weight back down, giving Alan no way to block the mat from once again mashing into his nose and forehead. “He’s going to have a Picasso above the neck by the end of this if his face keeps taking that kind of beating. I love it. I’ve never seen a Picasso in person before…” ONE! TWO! TH-NOOO!! RAAAAAAAAAAH!! The King is cut off by the cheering crowd as Alan once again is able to get his shoulder up before the three, and before Pierre can get back to his feet Alan is rolling away from him, heading toward the ropes and to the floor for a breather. “Alan Clark on the outside now, looking to get a second wi—oh what the…” Mak is puzzled as Walter moves to Alan, who simply brushes him off and begins signing an autograph for a fan at ringside. The camera moves in as Clark takes a few deep breathes in between his conversation. “I saw you from in the ring with your little book, so I thought I’d come say hi. Are you from around here?” “Yeah, in town.” “Great, great. Ever been to Disney World or Disneyland? It’s wonderful this time of year you know with the Christmas decorations and everything.” “No, I haven’t. I would like to go though.” “You would? Well wouldn’t you know it, I have in my possession four passes to Walt Disney World! It’s the Year Of A Million Dreams, and I want to make your dream come true!” Alan signals for Walter to come over and hands over a small envelope to the young fan. “An unexpected development outside the ring from Alan Clark! He’s made a dream come true!” “He needs to get back in the ring, Francis, as he’s about to get counted out.” “EIGHT!!” Hardcastle yells as Clark turns back around, only to see nothing but the body of Pierre Donette spinning down towards him from inside the ring… CRAAAASH!! “HE MISSED!! MY GOD!!” Mak Francis hollers out as Donnette crashes into the floor as Clark, at the last possible moment, is able to throw his body out of the way, saving himself from being French toast. Replays play on the screen, showing the space between the two bodies is less than six inches before Clark is able to sneak away. “Unbelievable! That lucky creep might have just evened up the score a little right there. His face might be swollen but the Ace just got royally flushed!” “Always with the playing card references, Mr. Gamblin’ Man?” Mak chuckles a bit and the King can be heard groaning as Alan slides back into the ring and to his feet, posing in the center of the ring by himself as Pierre tries to get to his feet on the outside. AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN! Alan looks out into the crowd and begins a slow spin, posing his body with his arms up. Sexton and even Walter Reynolds look on shaking their heads. “I guess it’s just a small world after all, King.” “I’m going to be sick, I *hate* those dolls. HATE.” King groans once again as Alan completes his full spin just as the Ace rolls back into the ring, giving Clark the chance to return to his regular stance and irregular demeanor before the Frenchman can get back to his feet. “You and most of this hemisphere, King” replies Mak as the two superstars clash in the center of the ring once again, going in to a tie-up. Each begins to push back on the other, but Alan has been in a state of recovery for the last few moments, and as each second passes the tide seems to be flowing his way and against the Ace, the rookie’s feet sliding backwards towards the corner. He does his best to fight back, but one last hard shove sends him flying into the corner…. SMACK! “…and a clothesline from Clark!! The feet of Pierre Donnette left the ground from the sheer velocity of that shot!” Alan steps back from the corner and the camera shows his face looking toward his opponent with a bit of rage that the SWF fans have not seen in quite a while… SLAP!!! “Uncalled for!” “AND A SLAP!! Payback for the start of the match!” “Ref! Where’s the warning?” Sure enough, as the spit from Pierre’s mouth flies towards the floor, Sexton sends a warning to Clark, but the smile that was on the Happiest Guy on Earth’s face moments ago has turned south, and Alan raises his hand once again… SLAP!!!!! Ooooooooooooooo!! “…and ANOTHER!” A second warning comes from the ref, only for Alan to brush it aside and attack with a flurry of chops into the Ace’s chest, a crimson red shine forming as each shot blisters the skin. CHOP! CHOP! CHOP! CHOP! CHOP! CHOP! “AAAAAAAAAAAH!!” Alan screams as he turns a full circle and leaps into the air, sending his foot SCORCHING into the side of Pierre’s head!! “Usually a cartwheel precedes the Wreck of the Miss Tilly, but either way the end result is the same!” Mak calls as Alan is finally persuaded away from his opponent, only for Pierre to simply fall to his knees in the corner, the crook of his right elbow holding his upper body off the mat. “I don’t think I like it when I see that look in anyone’s eyes, especially that nutjob right there.” The camera is zoomed on Clark’s face as he looks on, with Sexton checking on Donette. From the outside, Walter can be seen trying to talk with Clark, but Alan’s eyes stay focused on the Ace. “MOVE!” Alan begins to yell toward the referee, and as Hardcastle steps aside Alan comes in, sending his forearm down across Donette’s back repeatedly and with rapid-fire. “What is the deal? Someone explain this!” King yells as Alan backs away once more and throws his hands in the air, looking for some love from the crowd around him as a small smile shows through. AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN! Donnette falls to the corner and Alan turns back toward him and moves in once again, throwing his body sideways and his right leg up in a crescent swing… “SUPERKICK!!” “NOOO!!” The Ace slides out of the corner, Alan’s leg flying over his head and over the top turnbuckle, trapping Clark for just long enough so that Pierre can get his hands around Alan’s neck and pull him out of the corner and back-first toward the canvas with a neckbreaker!! “Beautiful counter! I could not have done it better…well, yeah I could.” The Suicide King basks in his own ego as Donette shies away from a quick pin attempt and instead pulls Alan up to his feet. “This can’t be good, he’s sizing him up!” The Ace locks eyes with his opponent and raises his hand… “Another slap!” “Yes!” “NO!” Mak calls as Alan’s right hand moves to Donette’s face and his fingers rake across the Frenchman’s eyes, momentarily blinding the rookie. “I don’t think Disney would approve of that!” King yells as Pierre recoils, turning his back to his opponent, leaving himself free to be lifted into the air from behind and spun around like a dervish. “A Whole New Whirl!! Don’t you care close your eyes, Mr. Donette! Or you just might be in for a surprise when you open them back up!” “Do you need a music bed for your commentary now, Francis?” King scoffs at his partner’s vocal abilities, which Mak ignores as Pierre is dropped down from his perilous pivoting perch and onto his feet, his body (and his world) still spinning as he tries to gain back his balance before Alan catches him once again around the waist and lifts him into the air… …over the shoulder… …and DOWN ONTO THE BACK OF THE NECK! “The Backlot Suplex! The accordion is a fairly common instrument in France, and that’s what the Ace’s body just turned into after that huge suplex…and a cover!!” ONE!! TWO!! THRE-NOOOO!! “Pierre Donette is able to get his shoulder up, and Alan Clark is not looking happy about that.” Alan argues about the three count with the referee as Pierre rolls across the mat with his arm around his neck, his face in visible pain as Alan gives chase, sending his foot into the Ace’s neck and head with as much force as he can. “There is an aggression here that I don’t think any of us have seen out of Alan Clark in years. Not since his days going against Landon Maddix, and now he and Maddix are a team over in the OAOAST, as odd as that is. Can you believe that, King?” “I don’t think Alan Clark is teaming with anyone over there. There’s a guy that looks like him and hell, he even sort of acts like him, but if Bloodshed saw the way Alan Clark comes out here all cheery and smiling and dancing and everything else, I think he’d rip Alan Clark’s damn face off!” The Suicide King and the Franchise watch on along with the millions at home and the thousands in attendance as Alan has pulled Pierre toward a corner after dropping two successive elbows to the head of the European rookie. After a quick signal of his hands spinning above his head for the crowd, Alan jumps up to the top rope and faces into the ring, looking as though he is about to finish off the Ace… “Alan Clark is looking for that oddly-named Fauntleroy…that 450 Splash…if he connects with this…” Alan steadies himself and crouches down….he springs to the sky… “Pierre’s got his knees tucked!” “Alan Clark over shoots it!!” THUUUD!!! “He saw the counter coming and did what he could as he left the top rope to keep himself from eating those knees, and instead ate the middle of the ring! Did you see the way he bounced off the mat like that?” “He rotated probably two and half times between when he left the top rope and where he lays now writhing after landing on his face and chest. That’s why they call that stuff high-risk, Francis. You won’t see me going to the top rope because of that one reason right there. “And cause you’re old, right?” “At least I could climb the ropes if I really wanted to, Wheels!” The King’s verbal low-blow strikes hard, and one can hear Francis telling the King what he thinks of it away from his microphone as, in the ring, the Ace quickly moves to make a cover on the wreckage that is Alan Clark… …REVERSED! “SMALL PACKAGE!!” ONE!! TWO!! “HE’S GOT THE ROPES!!! THREE!!!! “The Ref didn’t see it!!” *DING! DING! DING!* With a shocked Walter Reynolds watching on, Alan releases his grip from the second rope just in time for Sexton Hardcastle to look up and call for the bell. On the outside, the Suicide King has spit his PepsiMax all over his broadcast partner and the monitors in front of him. “DID YOU SEE THAT?!” “Yes, and I felt it too, thanks. Can I get a towel, please?” Francis is wiped down by a helpful ringside attendant as Funyon makes the announcement from his position on the outside. “Ladies and Gentlemen…here is your winner…ALAAAAAAN CLAAAAAARK!” As “When You Wish Upon A Star” explodes throughout the arena, Alan rolls out of the ring and makes his way up the entranceway, holding his hands high in victory as he walks backwards up the ramp, waiting for a panicked and questioning Walter Reynolds to catch up to him. Alan can be seen shaking his head and giving him a thumbs up as Pierre Donette sits in the ring, just as shocked as the Suicide King, slamming his hand down across the same ropes Alan Clark just used to secure a victory. “I can’t believe that. No. Alan Clark did not just do that.” The King continues to mutter to himself as Mak tries to clean up and Alan Clark disappears through the curtain, the last quick glimpse of his face shows his eerily creepy and cheerful smile back in full force. “Well, Alan Clark is back folks, and if what we saw tonight is any indication, we are going to have to stay tuned to see what happens next. Speaking of, on the other side of the break we have a match that Alan Clark can’t even compete in – a street fight for the Hardcore Championship and Akira Kaibatsu looks to hold on to his International Championship a little while longer as he takes on the man known as Michael Cross and you definitely do not want to miss our Cold Front Classic Main Event – Keep It Here!!”

“Mister Swiss” Victor Herzog vs. Ced Ordonez Francis: The first match is the debut of a new superstar in the SWF, the much very highly touted Victor Herzog straight from the mountains of Switzerland! King: You know, I lost my house to a swiss guy. Francis: He will be taking on the SWF mainstay Ced Ordonez in his first match here, it should be a good one. The syles of the two seem to be very different, Ced being a Crusierweight/High flyer while Herzog is a technical big man. In fact, here comes Ced now to start the match “NIGHT OF FIRE~!” The lights go out and *BEWM!* A burst of flames fills the arena while the Eurobeat pulses through the crowd. The fire goes out to reveal Ced standing there, and then he runs to the ring and poses for the crowd on the turnbuckle for a minute. Francis: Ced has been on a bit of a losing streak lately and he’s hoping to dash the dreams of the up and coming Swiss grappler tonight making his debut. King: I doubt it. Plus, I have 500 bucks riding on this new guy. Ced is a vanilla midget. Francis: Ugh. Ced’s music fades and all of a sudden…. “TAKE MY PICTURE” “SMACK MY BITCH UP” *BOOM!* A shot of red pyro goes up to the top of the arena and showers the stage with confetti. The pyro clears and the big swissman Herzog stands proudly on the stage and slowly walks to the ring eyeing Ordonez up. Before he jumps onto the apron and enters the ring, he then asks for a mic. He takes the mic and says: “SALUTATIONS DALLAS~!” The crowd pops and starts chanting “HER-ZOG” “HER-ZOG” King: What an asskiss. LET’S HOPE HE’S AN ASSKICK TOO. He puts the mic down outside the ring and jumps into the ring to his corner. The official calls him and Ordonez to the middle of the ring. The bell rings. Francis: The match is starting as they begin to lock up. Herzog and Ced lock up arms and the bigger Victor pushes Ced to the ground. Ced gets up and pushes Vic. Vic pushes him back. Ced chops him in the chest. Vic returns the favor. They get into a chopping battle until Vic gives Ced a European Uppercut. While Ced is stunned, Herzog attempts a vertical suplex, but Ced slips out behind him and delivers a dropkick to the back of Victor. Francis: A beautiful counter into a dropkick by Ordonez who is not gonna lay down easily for the noticeably larger Swiss bigman. King: Lucky shot, it’s only a matter of time before he gets killed. Ced goes to the top rope while Victor is stunned on the floor, he jumps off the rope and attempts to give him an elbow drop to put his momentum at a high, but Victor rolls away and Ced falls to the mat, missing his target. Victor rises to his feet and picks up the dazed Ordonez, puts his arm across his chest, into a uranage and picks Ced up and SLAMS him over his knee for a wicked backbreaker. Francis: That’s GOTTA hurt. King: Almost as much as being in Dallas. Victor picks up Ced again and irish whips him into the corner, Vic runs full force at his dazed opponent, but Ced moves out of the way at the last minute and jumps to the top rope swiftly, while Vic turns around, Ced leaps from the ropes feet first and nails a flying leg scissors on the European bigman. He scrambles on the canvas for a pin ONE! Francis: NO! He kicks out after a one count! This looks to be an uphill battle for Ordonez against this opponent. Ced has shown a lot of resilience so far, maybe I smell an upset? King: That’s just the crowd. Victor rises to his feet and slaps Ced in the chest repeatedly, then, backing up hits a short clothesline on Ordonez and knocks him to the canvas. Then, picking up Ced, facing his back, he wraps his arms around Ced’s and raises them above his head, stretching out his arms and back. Francis: Impressive display of power from Herzog, standing in at 6’6”, 255 pounds. King: Almost as big as my ex-wife. Victor then throws Ced to the floor face first and props him up in the sitting position, then wrapping his arms around Ced’s head, applies a headlock. Ced squirms and flails his arms around while screaming, trying to break the hold, to no avail. Francis: That headlock looks painful from here, we could see a tap out here from Ordonez, which would certainly be an impressive display of ability from Victor. Ced then stops struggling. The ref pulls his arm up and it drops limply to his body. ONE! The ref picks the arm up and drops it again, it falls with no resistance. 2! He picks it up once more and it dro- NO! Ced keeps his arm up and rises to his feet, he elbows Herzog in the gut over and over until the hold is released, he bounces off the ropes and lays a gorgeous cross body on Victor. Ced with a full head of steam jumps to the top rope yet again. Francis: It looks like Ced is going to attempt his signature double stomp on Herzog! The tide of this match changes yet again! Ced leaps from the turnbuckle, legs perpendicular to the ring but VICTOR LEAPS UP AND GRABS CED’S FEET YANKING HIM TO THE FLOOR! Ced falls face first and Herzog twists his legs and applies the Swiss Crab! Ced grabs out for the bottom rope but only grabs air, he pulls himself towards the rope and after a struggle grabs it, mercifully breaking the hold. Herzog sets up in the middle of the ring waiting for Ced to rise to his feet. A woozy Ced finally regains his composure and rises to his feet, but all in vain. Victor boots him in the stomach and takes the doubled over Ced into a vertical suplex position. Holding the suplex for a good half minute, forcing the blood to rush to Ced’s head, he finally slams him to the canvas hitting the Neutral Zone Infraction! Francis: OH MY GOD HE HITS THE NEUTRAL ZONE JACKHAMMER BAH GAWD~! King: This looks like it could be it for Ceddy. Victor drags Ordonez limp body to the middle of the ring and flips him on his stomach, then pulls Ced’s arm between his legs. Then he places his arms into the reverse cravate, locking in his patented ‘Ficken Schloss’ hold. After little struggle and time, Ced forcefully slams his hand to the mat, brutally ending the contest. DING DING DING YOUR WINNER BY SUBMISSION, ‘THE SWISS MISTER’ VICTORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR HERRZOGG! Francis: And the Swiss Mister wins his debut match in an impressive fashion going over the veteran Ordonez showing no mercy with that devastating Neutral Zone Infraction jackhammer move and making Ced tap with that cravate crossface. I think this victory lets the rest of the locker room that while he is playful outside of the ring, Victor is all business inside of that squared circle. King: Plus, I won an extra $100 by betting he’d win by submission, so I’m already off to a good night. Herzog celebrates his debut win in the ring posing for the crowd before leaving backstage to the roar of the Dallas fans. FADE OUT.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF SMARKDOWN Live, Monday, December 4th, from The Reunion Arena in Dallas, Texas! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - COLD FRONT CLASSIC SEMIFINAL MATCH - 2/3 Falls JJ Johnson vs. Landon Maddix © -> After the dust and metal settled (rhyme intended) on Smarkdown, it was JJ Johnson who triumphed against Jimmy the Doom, and in some small way, against referee Landon Maddix! With Tom Flesher and Spike Jenkins mysteriously absent last show, I guess this match is for all the marbles! The winner tonight will face the World Champeen at the Clusterfuck! Rules: First to score two pinfalls or submissions wins! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu © vs. Michael Cross -> Smarkdown's tag match was 2 hawt 4 TV!!11!1!1!111! But in it, Michael Cross said and did some unflattering things involving his fists and Akira's face. The match was stopped due to manatee interference, but these two still want to settle the score, and Akira has agreed to put his gold on the line! Rules: Standard singles. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - STREET FIGHT Jimmy the Doom © vs. Nighthawk -> See? I told you you'd get something - I bet Trent Hawk is feeling pretty silly right now. Just one show after his partner went for the World Title (no clue if he won it yet), Nighthawk gets a crack a title of his own - the Hardcore title! But Jimmy the Doom, arguably the most dominant Hardcore Champ since Bruce Blank, has shown no signs of slowing down! Will Nighthawk be the one to finally pry the title from Jimmy's cold, dead, Doomtopian hands? Rules: Match begins outside the arena, and is not allowed inside the building. Don't worry, there's plenty to see and do around town: No disqualification, no countouts (duh), first pinfall or submission wins! chirs3's note: Please bring back Manny Ramirez for commentary. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGULAR MATCH Alan Clark vs. "The Ace" Pierre Donette -> Return #1000109845-AB44-A1. The Ace returns after a long hiatus, and he's set to go up against everyones (least) favorite Disney character, Alan Clark! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SPECTACULARIFFIC DEBUT "Mister Swiss" Victor Herzog vs. Ced Ordonez -> At one time, Joseph Peters might have thought a "Mister Swiss" to be odd, but considering we've got a Doomtopian running around with the Hardcore title, Swiss lineage hardly seems noteworthy. You hear that, Victor? Joseph Peters SCOFFS at your heritage! Let's see if Herzog can stick it to the man in his debut against everyone's favorite JTTS, Ced Ordonez! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Next week: Hopefully a Cruiser and/or Tag Title Defense!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF SMARKDOWN Live, Monday, December 4th, from The Reunion Arena in Dallas, Texas! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - COLD FRONT CLASSIC SEMIFINAL MATCH - 2/3 Falls JJ Johnson vs. Landon Maddix © -> After the dust and metal settled (rhyme intended) on Smarkdown, it was JJ Johnson who triumphed against Jimmy the Doom, and in some small way, against referee Landon Maddix! With Tom Flesher and Spike Jenkins mysteriously absent last show, I guess this match is for all the marbles! The winner tonight will face the World Champeen at the Clusterfuck! Rules: First to score two pinfalls or submissions wins! Word Limit: 5500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu © vs. Michael Cross -> Smarkdown's tag match was 2 hawt 4 TV!!11!1!1!111! But in it, Michael Cross said and did some unflattering things involving his fists and Akira's face. The match was stopped due to manatee interference, but these two still want to settle the score, and Akira has agreed to put his gold on the line! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Mr. S£im Citrus -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - STREET FIGHT Jimmy the Doom © vs. Nighthawk -> See? I told you you'd get something - I bet Trent Hawk is feeling pretty silly right now. Just one show after his partner went for the World Title (no clue if he won it yet), Nighthawk gets a crack a title of his own - the Hardcore title! But Jimmy the Doom, arguably the most dominant Hardcore Champ since Bruce Blank, has shown no signs of slowing down! Will Nighthawk be the one to finally pry the title from Jimmy's cold, dead, Doomtopian hands? Rules: Match begins outside the arena, and is not allowed inside the building. Don't worry, there's plenty to see and do around town: No disqualification, no countouts (duh), first pinfall or submission wins! Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 chirs3's note: Please bring back Manny Ramirez for commentary. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGULAR MATCH Alan Clark vs. "The Ace" Pierre Donette -> Return #1000109845-AB44-A1. The Ace returns after a long hiatus, and he's set to go up against everyones (least) favorite Disney character, Alan Clark! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SPECTACULARIFFIC DEBUT "Mister Swiss" Victor Herzog vs. Ced Ordonez -> At one time, Joseph Peters might have thought a "Mister Swiss" to be odd, but considering we've got a Doomtopian running around with the Hardcore title, Swiss lineage hardly seems noteworthy. You hear that, Victor? Joseph Peters SCOFFS at your heritage! Let's see if Herzog can stick it to the man in his debut against everyone's favorite JTTS, Ced Ordonez! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Next week: Hopefully a Cruiser and/or Tag Title Defense! Still haven't heard from one or two people, so here's what I gots. Any booking requests, please, speak up and I'll put 'em up.

Uber apologies. As some of you already know, I've had a few health problems recently - namely, my stomach is attempting to secede from the rest of my body. An ungodly amount of doctors visits and one emergency room scare later, there is actually more wrong with me than before. In between setting up new appointments, juggling new work schedule, and just sitting in the corner worrying myself sick, I completely spaced out on adding the markers. Muchas Gracias to those who covered for me, and I'll do my damnedest to make sure I don't screw up quite so badly again.

Perhaps, but you've only got 3.5 days to write. Still, if you want more, I'll see what I can do.

Sad but true. I mean, JJ vs. Landon will still be an awesome match, but... yeah.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re back in Alberquerque for our main event,” Mak Francis announces, “and this promises to be one to remember! The SWF’s World Champion Michael Stephens goes into this title defence against Jay Hawke with a more turbulent record that he’s used to - he and Landon Maddix-” King makes a spitting sound. “-defeated the Predators to retain the Tag Titles,” Francis continues with a sideways glare at his commentary partner, “but then Stephens’ undefeated record was broken as Zyon took the Cruiserweight Title from him in a Ladder Match… although we should make it clear that Gabriel Drake played a role in that.” “Yeah, and?” King asks, “it was a Ladder Match, no disqualification. Besides, are you saying that Zyon was in on it?” “Well, no,” Mak admits, “that wasn’t clear-” “Then you can shut up about it,” the Gambling Man tells his partner, “get on with telling them how Hawke’s going to take Toxxic’s title.” “…well actually I’d say that’s far from certain,” the Franchise responds testily, “since Stephens saw off the joint threat of Tom Flesher and Spike Jenkins in a Triple Threat on Storm, both men who have grudges with him!” “Bah,” King snorts, “Spike did the hard work, he wrestled his heart out and got in a position where he could, unbelievably, have pinned Tom. It’s just like Toxxic to sneak in and weasel a win after Spike was exhausted from that gargantuan effort.” “Yeah, and?” Mak counters in his turn, “it was a Triple Threat, opportunists win those. He still had to make Spike submit.” “Oh shut up.” And with that witty exchange the lights inside the Alberquerque Convention Centre start to dim, prompting the opening strains of Pink Floyd’s ‘Learning To Fly’ to ooze out through the PA system. The crowd responds in a fairly predictable way… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” A spotlight shines down from the ceiling and illuminates the Dean as he makes his stately way down to the ring, robe swishing as he does so. Falcon stay a couple of steps behind, well aware that she should not be sharing the spotlight with the man who with any luck after tonight will be the champion of the world. For his part Hawke just smirks at the fans who hurl abuse at him, supremely confident in his own abilities as he is. “Jay Hawke has never won ‘the Big One’ here in the SWF,” Mak Francis reminds viewers, “but he did capture a singles victory win over Tom Flesher at Ashes 2 Ashes, and that’s no easy thing to do, as Michael Stephens can tell you!” “You could tell them that too,” King puts in. “Well, yes.” “Only from your experience, you’d be telling them it’s impossible,” the Gambling Man smirks. Hawke climbs the ring steps up to the apron, whereupon Falcon holds the ropes open for him. The Dean steps jauntily into the ring and removes his robe, then raises his arms for the fans. They don’t appreciate the gesture. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “He’s cocky, arrogant and a regular pain in the ass,” Mak Francis says, “no actually, he’s much worse than a plain, regular pain in the ass would be… but there’s no denying that he’s talented.” “Yeah, like you can feel a pain in the ass these days.” As the mocking of the cripple continues in defiance of all PC and broadcasting guidelines, a sudden change comes over the arena. Every light hits full and the Smarktron whites out; this phenomenon is followed half a second later by a raucous, rolling chant that blasts out from the PA system in a brutal challenge to the classic rock-inspired pageantry of Jay Hawke: “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The opening chord of ‘Rookie’ crashes out through the PA system, prompting everyone in the arena to rise to their feet as the Smarktron fades quickly down to black, jagged white letters flashing up a familiar slogan, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The Smarktron changes again to show famous clips from famous matches, clips that many of those watching know off by heart; the All-Show Brawl with the Insane Luchador; the infamous Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas; the Caffeine Bomb on Nathaniel Kibagami; and the Sunny In England on Tom Flesher at Genesis VII. Finally it changes to show one last clip, that of Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BOOOM!* -explosion of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman as the main riff hammers out! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …World Title wrapped around his waist with one of the Tag Titles slung over his right shoulder… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …blue-black hair hanging down in front of steel-grey eyes, wrapped in his black-and-red canvas trenchcoat… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man once known as Toxxic. “He’s lost the Cruiserweight Title, but he still has two belts!” Mak Francis declares over the roar of the crowd. “Make no mistake, Michael Stephens will be going into this match with every intention of holding onto his World Title! He’s already passed the record for the most number of successful World Title defences in any one reign, and now he’s heading towards El Luchadore Magnifico’s record for the longest World Title reign of all time!” “Heresy,” King spits. Michael Stephens reaches the bottom of the entrance ramp, whereupon he unbuckles the World Title with one hand and takes the Tag belt into the other. He then crosses his arms into the straight-edge ‘X’ for a moment, then flings them wide with a title belt dangling from each hand as the first verse comes in and more pyro erupts from the top of each ringpost! *bap-bap* *BOOOM!!* ‘I never thought this could be me I guess you never do until it’s happening to you Like all the fun turns into shame And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’ Stephens hands both title belts to referee Matthew Kivell, then strips off his trenchcoat and the personalised England shirt underneath, throwing the latter into the crowd. Then he cracks his neck from side-to-side and stares across the ring at Jay Hawke, who returns his gaze steadily. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, standing in the middle of the ring, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the SWF World Heavyweight Title! Introducing first, in the corner to my right, the challenger; from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio, he weighs in tonight at 215lbs and is accompanied to the ring by Falcon; this is ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’, JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY… HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “And his opponent,” Funyon continues, “from Nottingham, England; he weighs in tonight at 218lbs and is the reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion… this is ‘The Sensation’, MIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Matthew Kivell shows both men the World Title, then lifts it up and puts the belt on display to all four sides of the Alberquerque Convention Center. He hands it through the ropes to the timekeeper and, as Jay Hawke swings his arms a couple of times and Stephens jiggles up and down to limber up, calls for the bell. *DING-DING-DING!* Neither man wastes any time; they surge forward immediately, arms coming up for a traditional collar-and-elbow tie-up in the middle of the ring. Despite his shorter frame the Dean of Professional Wrestling seems to get better traction on the mat, and after a few seconds of shoving he starts to edge Stephens back towards the corner of the ring. Once Mike’s back touches the buckles Kivell steps inbetween the two men and orders them to break; Hawke releases cautiously and steps back slowly… …then swings a right hand that catches Stephens on the jaw and off-guard! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Kivell rounds on Hawke and remonstrates with him, but the Dean just backs away smirking. Stephens rubs his jaw and regards Hawke steadily, steel-grey eyes not betraying any emotion yet, then he steps out of the corner and advances towards his opponent again. Hawke seems quite happy to go for a lock-up again, but this time contact has barely been made before Stephens twists off to one side, taking one of Hawke’s arms with him and coming up behind the Dean with a hammerlock applied. However it seems the Englishman has a certain amount of revenge in mind, as instead of trying to work the hold or transition it into a different one he simply jumps up and dropkicks Hawke in the back, sending the challenger sprawling away across the ring! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “Jay Hawke showed the ring experience of a veteran there,” Mak Francis notes, referencing Hawke’s ten-year career, “but Michael Stephens has been in the SWF longer than his opponent and this is where he made his name; I think he views the SWF as his stomping ground, and anyone who takes liberties will suffer the consequences!” “Toxxic showed he’s a temperamental brat who overreacts when a better wrestler is in the ring with him,” King sniffs. Hawke is back up, and not looking pleased at the manner of his recent journey across the ring. Stephens is back on his feet too, and is holding one black-nailed hand up above his head in an invite for a test of strength. Hawke, at three inches shorter than his opponent, could potentially be at a disadvantage and the challenger seems to weigh up the pros and cons of the situation before stepping forwards and cautiously reaching up to lace his fingers with those of Stephens’ right hand… and then the left hand… …and instead of trying to use his height to his advantage Stephens brings his right foot up to kick Hawke’s left hand away from his own, then applies an armwringer to Hawke’s right arm. This unexpected tactic takes the Dean off-guard for a moment; only for a moment though, as a second later he rolls forward and back to his feet to neutralise the hold, then takes Stephens’ wrist and twists the other way to apply his own armwringer and prevent his opponent from taking the same way out. Stephens doesn’t seem daunted and runs for the nearest set of ropes, springing off the middle rope to land in a seated position on the top cable, then backflipping off in what would have been an Arabian Press if he hadn’t landed on his feet (conveniently untwisting his arm as he does so). From there Stephens again twists in an armwringer, but this time he drives the point of his left elbow into Hawke’s shoulder, trying to force the shorter man down for a Fujiwara! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Jay Hawke’s face shows pain but he maintains a wide vertical base and plants his left arm in front of him, preventing Stephens from forcing him down to the mat. Stephens adjust his position to try and get more weight over his opponent, but this allows Hawke to go for a new tactic and he hooks his legs around Stephens’, then starts to roll forward and down. Mike releases his grip on his opponent’s arm as he becomes more concerned with breaking his fall, and Hawke takes Stephens down with a drop toehold that results in him also getting free of his opponent’s clutches! “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “Don’t you listen to them Jay,” King advises the challenger, “they don’t know a true wrestler when they see one.” Hawke is quick to turn the position to his advantage and scuttles into a back mount, from where he slips his right arm underneath Stephens’ to try and apply a chickenwing… but Stephens has no intention of letting Hawke secure even the first step of the dreaded Wing Span, and he wriggles with all his might to turn over onto his back. The motion throws Hawke for a second, long enough for Stephens to grab the arm that a moment before was trying to capture his, then continue around so he’s belly-down on the mat again, but this time with Hawke’s arm in his grasp and nearly in position for a Fujiwara! However, Jay Hawke has just as little intention of being trapped in a painful submission this early in the match and as Stephens tries to adjust his position to lock the armbar in properly Hawke braces himself up away from the mat with his left arm, then tucks his head in and rolls forward. Now on his back the challenger has more mobility in his body, and he reaches back with his legs to fasten them around Stephens’ head, then pulls the surprised Englishman down into a headscissors! “I have to say, both men are putting on a good display of wrestling and counter-wrestling here,” Mak Francis says, “you’d expect Jay Hawke to have the edge here, but Stephens has definitely upped the technical side of his game since his comeback and he’s still capable of taking some people off-guard if they underestimate him…” Stephens forces his way up in the headscissors until the top of his skull is pointing down towards the mat, ass in the air for all the world as if expecting Bobby Riley. Hawke shows no great concern, convinced that he’s got his opponent under control, and that impression is reinforced when Stephens tries to use his hands to prise his opponent’s legs apart and gets nowhere. Hawke smiles smugly to himself, but Stephens suddenly performs a headstand… and Hawke, well aware of how Stephens can pop up out of a headscissors from this position, smacks him hard on the back with two open palms and knocks him back down. “Counter-wrestling my ass,” King sniffs, “that’s Toxxic’s one trick, and Hawke’s wise to it. Jay can keep him there all day now we know that.” Michael Stephens may have other ideas however. The World Champion starts heaving at Hawke’s legs again, but this time instead of prising them apart all his efforts focus on rolling the Dean over onto his front. Finally Stephens simply wraps his arms around Hawke’s legs and rolls sideways, and succeeds in bringing his opponent with him. In this new position Stephens is able to extract his head while keeping Hawke’s legs controlled, then threads his own right leg around Hawke’s left and bridges backwards to grab a reverse chinlock on the startled Hawke! From there it’s the work of a moment to roll over again and hoist the challenger into the air! “Inverted Sickle Hold!” Mak calls, “Michael Stephens has got Jay Hawke in a submission hold here in the early going! Make no mistake, it’s painful… but the knock to Jay Hawke’s pride has to be nearly as bad, considering how seriously the man takes himself as a technical God!” Matthew Kivell is checking on Jay Hawke, both to see if the Dean wants to give up (he doesn’t) and to make sure that Stephens’ reverse chinlock doesn’t slip into a choke (it hasn’t). Hawke thrashes wildly, tries to unclamp Stephens’ hands with no great amount of success, and swears audibly. However, after a few seconds the Dean seems to come to a more organised strategy and starts deliberately throwing his bodyweight to his right, the side nearest the ropes. Stephens tries to hold on but he hasn’t got a great deal of width to balance himself and after a couple of tries Hawke manages to collapse them both sideways, whereupon he can reach out and grab the rope! ‘OK, break it up Mike! ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ Stephens releases before the third count and rolls away, coming quickly back to his feet in case Hawke wants to launch a quick counterattack. However, the Dean of Professional Wrestling instead rolls out of the ring to the outside, where Falcon is on hand to provide comfort and words of advice! “As I suspected,” Mak chuckles, “Jay Hawke doesn’t seem impressed with being outwrestled by Michael Stephens!” “He wasn’t!” King snaps, “he’s just unimpressed with the fact that these morons - and I’m counting you in that statement, on the basis of what you’ve just said - will think that Toxxic’s outwrestled him!” “King, I’ve forgotten more about mat wrestling than you ever knew,” Mak says, “in fact, I think I’ve shat more mat wrestling that you ever knew.” ‘ONE!’ Matthew Kivell declares, after his initial demand for Jay Hawke to get back into the ring is ignored by the Dean. ‘TWO!’ Hawke is no fool; even as he takes a breather and talks with Falcon he keeps one eye on the ring. ‘THREE!’ Stephens is watching, waiting for the Dean to turn his back or drop his guard so he can embark on one of his somersault senton dives to the outside that the crowd love so much… ‘FOUR!’ …but the opportunity never arises. Jay Hawke remains annoyingly focused, even when some fan in the front row starts verbally abusing him. ‘FIVE! C’mon Hawke, get in here!’ Jay Hawke shrugs and hops up to the apron, resting on one knee and swinging the other leg up to stand in preparation for stepping through the ropes… then drops back down to the outside as Michael Stephens moves quickly forwards towards him. ‘Get him back!’ ‘C’mon Mike, let the man in,’ Matthew Kivell mutters, ushering the World Champion backwards. Stephens obliges, but beckons Hawke into the ring with a black-nailed hand. ‘SIX!’ Hawke gets cautiously up to the apron again, and this time remains unmolested as he steps through the ropes. The Dean ostentatiously stretches, perhaps implying that he wasn’t properly warmed up last time, then signals that he’s ready to go. Stephens flashes an ‘about time’ look at Kivell and moves forwards, refocusing on Hawke as they approach for another lock-up… …and moments before they meet, Jay Hawke goes to the eyes. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Oh, that’s cheap,” Mak Francis says in disgust. “Like you never did that,” King retorts. “Well, maybe sometimes, yes,” Francis admits, “but damn it King, raking the guy’s eyes after he’s just outwrestled you? What does that prove, except that you know he’s the better wrestler and you can’t take him?” Stephens has instinctively turned away from his opponent, and Hawke takes this opportunity to grab a reverse headlock and then fall to one knee, driving the back of Stephens’ skull into the other knee. From there Hawke transitions into that most complicated and deadly of submissions… the rear chinlock. “I think he’s trying to make a point,” Mak mutters as Hawke looks around at the booing crowd and smiles. “I think he’s succeeding!” King agrees happily. “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” Hawke’s eyes widen in mock horror as the crowd abuse him, and then in a fit of ‘temper’ he removes his knee from the back of Stephens’ neck and hurls the World Champion to the mat so the back of the Englishman’s skull strikes it hard; from there he jumps into the air and comes down with a legdrop, then applies a cover. ONE! TW- -but Stephens kicks out before two! Hawke isn’t bothered, and covers again… ONE! TW- -and Stephens kicks out again. This time the World Champion succeeds in turning over onto his front where he can’t be covered; or so you’d think, but Hawke rises back to his feet before grabbing Stephens’ nearest arm and twisting it around his leg, then rolling across his opponent’s shoulders to bring Stephens back down into a pin with a La Majistral! ONE! TWO!! …but Stephens still kicks out! Hawke grabs Mike’s head as the Englishman starts to try and rise and rolls backwards, hooking Stephens for a small package… ONE! TWO!! …with no more result that before. Not that this discourages Hawke mind you, because although Stephens does get upright this time after breaking the pin it’s only for a second; Hawke dives past him at waist-height and wraps an arm up between Stephens’ legs, with maybe the barest hint of a hand tugging at the back of the World Champion’s pants to bring him over with a schoolboy pin… ONE! TWO!! …and Stephens still kicks out, but when he pops up this time he seems disorientated. Hawke slips behind him and applies a rear waistlock- *BAM!* “German!” Mak calls in genuine surprise, well aware how hard it is to pull off a successful German suplex against Michael Stephens, but Hawke hasn’t just managed it but he’s bridging for the pin… ONE! TWO!! …but Michael Stephens rolls a shoulder off the canvas and falls sideways, collapsing Hawke’s bridge! The dizzy World Champion bellies down again, but this plays right into Hawke’s hands as the veteran gets a back mount and pulls Stephens’ arms back before sitting down into a Camel Clutch! “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “See Francis?” King asks, “after that minor early setback Jay Hawke has now stamped his dominance on the match, as any sensible viewer knew he would.” “What, after the eye gouge you mean?” Mak asks. “But since then he’s been on top,” King argues, “you might not agree with that tactic but it gave him control of the match, and now he won’t lose it again!” Matthew Kivell is checking on Michael Stephens in the Camel Clutch, but the World Champion is shaking his head and refusing to give in. Falcon pounds on the mat in front of him and yells discouraging things but Stephens remains adamant that he’s not giving up. Jay Hawke thinks he knows how to deal with that however, and abruptly throws his weight forwards into a Gedo Clutch to roll Stephens down onto his shoulders for another pin! ONE! TWO!! …but Stephens kicks out again! “Shades of the master there,” King nods respectfully, “one of Tom’s favourite tactics.” “To be fair,” Mak notes, “that entire sequence of quick pins is a tactic that Michael Stephens has used on many occasions, usually against bigger wrestlers.” “Yeah, Toxxic’s used that,” King nods, “that’s why it didn’t work very well.” Jay Hawke seems very happy with how the match is going, to the point where he takes a moment to smirk around at the crowd as he grabs the pained and still slightly disorientated Stephens in a front facelock. “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” …and with that ringing in his ears, Hawke spins to one side and takes his opponent down with a swinging neckbreaker. Followed, oddly enough, by a cover… ONE! TWO!! …that Stephens kicks out of. “Don’t be fooled,” Mak Francis warns viewers, “Jay Hawke is not stupidly over-optimistic, or at least is not just that. All these covers are forcing Michael Stephens to keep expending valuable energy in kicking out.” There’s no rest for the wicked either. No sooner has Stephens fired a shoulder off the mat than Jay Hawke grabs him by the head and hauls him upright, then grabs the Englishman’s wrist and Irish whips him into the ropes. As Stephens rebounds Hawke scoops him up; for a moment it looks like Stephens has reversed whatever-it-is into a headscissors, but no, the whatever-it-is transpires to be- *CRUNCH!* -a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! Followed up by, you guessed it… ONE! TWO!! …a cover that Michael Stephens kicks out of before three. There’s no doubt that Hawke’s tactic is working though; exhaustion is starting to show on the champion’s face, as much a result of continually having to kick out and try to get up than from the moves he’s taken. Not that Hawke isn’t doing damage with his moves as well; with Stephens having kicked out of the backbreaker the challenger brings him back to his feet, then scoops him up and bodyslams him down. The champion is handily positioned mid-ring and Hawke turns to head towards the turnbuckles… “Jay Hawke is looking to go airborne here,” Mak Francis notes, “he’s going to start taking the match to Stephens from a different angle.” Hawke reaches the top rope, spreads his arms for a second and then leaps off, plummeting towards the World Champion with a diving headbutt- *BANG!* -that totally misses! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Michael Stephens rolled aside away from the impact at the last moment, and now the Englishman is down on the mat trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t have long though, as despite the pain in his skull Jay Hawke is already starting to get up again, looking to ensure that his opponent can’t capitalise on that unexpected mistake. He pulls Stephens up to his feet - and Stephens tucks his head underneath Hawke’s chin, reaches up to grab his opponent and then sits out to deliver a jawbreaker! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Jay Hawke staggers away clutching his face; Michael Stephens collapses back to the mat. The challenger stamps one foot in pain, then turns back towards his opponent with his reactions apparently under better control. There’s an ugly glint in Hawke’s eyes as he approaches… *whump-CRACK!* “KIP-UP ENZUIGIRI!” Mak shouts as the crowd explodes again! “That seems to come from anywhere, at anytime; it’s so hard to predict, and that’s what makes it so dangerous!” It’s Michael Stephens who pushes himself up off the mat first this time, and the Englishman grabs Jay Hawke before the challenger has time to recuperate, then Irish whips his opponent into the ropes. Hawke swings woozily for a clothesline as he rebounds but Stephens ducks under, then reaches up to grab his opponent as if for a neckbreaker before twisting around and sitting out, driving Jay’s face into the canvas with the Pressure Drop! Now it’s Stephens’ turn to roll his opponent over and apply a cover… ONE! TWO!! …and it’s Jay Hawke’s turn to kick out! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Stephens doesn’t want to waste any time either now he’s back on the right track, and the man from Nottingham brings Jay Hawke back up to his feet and places him in a front facelock, then extends his right arm out to the side. Half a second later he’s whipping it around and down, ready to drive Hawke’s face into the mat with the Unfinished Business… …and half a second after that Hawke has wriggled out and back, and trapped the arm on its way down in a chickenwing! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” All is not lost; Stephens immediately starts firing back elbows with his left arm which catch Hawke on the jaw and cause him to release his hold; with that approach having worked Stephens delivers a back elbow with his right arm as well… RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! Michael Stephens winds up like a baseball pitcher, then spins around… DISCUS CLOTHESLINE! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Michael Stephens is on a roll now, and he hauls up a glassy-eyed Jay Hawke before placing the challenger into a standing headscissors. A faint squeak of protest emerges from King as the World Champion underhooks both arms, but before the Gambling Man can move onto allegations of neck-breaking moves Stephens proves him wrong by hoisting Hawke UP… …AROUND… …AND… …DOWN! *BANG!* “Stephens Shock Syndrome!” Mak shouts, “and Michael Stephens could have won it here!” Mike rolls Hawke onto his back, then hooks the leg and makes sure he stacks as much weight as possible onto his opponent’s shoulders… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Hawke kicks out! Stephens brings the Dean upright once more and Irish whips him into the nearest set of turnbuckles, then runs in after him and launches himself into the air for an avalanche. However, something in the impact must have jolted Hawke into life because the challenger gets his boot up at the last moment and Stephens crashes into it, then drops to the canvas! “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “That was a quick-thinking and completely legal move to change the momentum of the match,” King splutters, “why are these morons abusing Jay Hawke?” “While I agree with your evaluation of that move,” Mak replies, “I happen to agree with them about the nature of Michael Stephens’ opponent!” Something more than mere survival instinct has now flashed on behind Jay Hawke’s eyes; you don’t get to be a successful ten-year veteran without recovering your faculties quickly, and the challenger can see that he has an opportunity to put this match away. He boosts himself up to the second rope and takes a seat on the top buckle for a moment to await his moment as Stephens comes up to his feet, then Hawke launches himself into the air like his namesake. However, a real hawk probably wouldn’t grab someone’s head and somersault over them to bring them down to the mat with a Blockbuster! *BANG!* “Look out!” Mak shouts, “that could do it!” The Alberquerque Convention Center holds its collective breath as Jay Hawke makes the cover and Matthew Kivell counts… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Stephens kicks out! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Jay Hawke looks up at the SWF’s senior official in apparent disbelief, but Kivell remains firm. Hawke shakes his head angrily, then suddenly grabs Stephens and hauls him up to his feet before taking the champion’s right arm in a firm grip. From there he raises his own right arm, then brings his elbow down hard, again and again and again! “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “It may look like Jay Hawke has lost it,” Mak says, “but there’s a method; he’s attacking Stephens’ arm, presumably to set up for the Wing Span! King, I don’t think the challenger wants any more frustrations in his bid to win the World Title!” “And who can blame him!?” King asks, “c’mon Jay, you take him apart!” Hawke delivers one final elbow, then simply scoops up Stephens over one shoulder as if for a powerslam, but instead Hawke drops to one knee and further punishes Stephens with a shoulderbreaker! “That’ll do it!” King crows. Hawke thinks so too. As Stephens staggers to his feet holding his right arm Hawke darts in and quickly pins the wounded limb up behind his opponent’s back in a chickenwing, then reaches round to lock in the crossface… …but Stephens gets his left arm up to block it, then quickly reaches back and grabs Jay Hawke’s head… …and starts running for, thenup the turnbuckles. “No way!” Mak Francis breathes. In the words of Bill & Ted: Yes way. *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “SUNNY IN ENGLAND!” Mak yells as Stephens completes his backflip, forcing Hawke to release the chickenwing as he does so, and drives the back of his opponent’s skull into the canvas, “Jay Hawke’s road to the title just took a major detour!” Stephens is holding his right arm to his side. Jay Hawke just isn’t moving much. Slowly, very slowly, Stephens rolls over to drape his good left arm across Hawke’s body… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “THAT WAS THREE!” “THAT WAS THREE!” “I hate to argue with the good people of Alberquerque, but I think that actually was two!” Mak Francis is forced to admit, “Jay Hawke just, just kicked out!” “C’mon Jay, get up!” King shouts, too worried to put any spin on events. Falcon is worried too. Hawke’s manager is near enough beside herself at ringside, and as an exhausted Stephens starts to get to his feet ahead of her man she actually enters the ring, seeking to position herself between Hawke and his opponent for long enough to give Jay time to recover. Stephens hasn’t even noticed but Kivell does, and instantly jumps in to try and herd Falcon away. That does catch Stephens’ attention and he starts to look around… …but his attention is caught by a figure coming down the entranceway. Small and slight for a wrestler, with long brown hair and baggy shorts. And the SWF Cruiserweight Title. “Wha- that’s Zyon!” Mak Francis exclaims at about the same time as the majority of the crowd realise the same thing, “what’s Zyon doing out here?” Stephens doesn’t know either, but he doesn’t seem impressed. The Englishman focuses on the new arrival and says something; the ring mics don’t pick it up clearly, but it’s obvious he wants an answer. Zyon’s response seems terse, and Stephens doesn’t react well to people being terse when he’s angry and in pain… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” …and suddenly Zyon points past Stephens, to where a new figure has crept through the crowd and entered the ring. Kivell is busy holding back the near-hysterical Falcon, and doesn’t know. Stephens doesn’t know. But as he turns around, he does know. Just a second to late to do anything about it. *WHAM!* “SPEAR!” Mak shouts, “Spear from GABRIEL DRAKE! He’s interfered in a Michael Stephens title match AGAIN!” Drake rolls out of the ring the moment after impact and ducks down behind the ring apron, wary in case Kivell should turn around. As it is the referee is just finishing removing Falcon from the ring, and when he does turn around all he can see is Michael Stephens down on the mat, clutching his ribs. He knows Hawke didn’t do anything because he had him in view all the time… …his gaze lights on Zyon, holding the Cruiserweight Title. The Unique Youth looks back up at him, expression difficult to read. And Kivell angrily points to the back. “What?” Mak Francis says in shock as Zyon’s face falls, then twists into anger, “I mean, I don’t know what business Zyon had out here, but he didn’t do anything! It was Drake!” Gabriel Drake has risked a glimpse over the side of the ring and, seeing Kivell otherwise engaged, hops over the guardrail and leaves the same way he came. Meanwhile, Falcon’s desperate urgings have now brought Jay Hawke round and the challenger pushes himself up onto all fours, then peers across the ring to see Michael Stephens prone on his back. All in all it seems like too good an opportunity to risk, but he daren’t go for the Wing Span again. And that just leaves one option. “It looks like Jay Hawke’s going up top one more time,” Mak says as the Dean staggers to the buckles and begins to climb, “he’s missed once and scored once when going high risk, will the third time be the charm?” Hawke reaches the top rope. He checks behind him quickly to see if Michael Stephens is still there, then faces out at the crowd and spreads his arms. This has got to be spot-on. He jumps. It looks like a moonsault at first, but then he tucks his knees in and rotates a little further, landing exactly where he planned to- *CRUNCH!* -except that Michael Stephens is no longer there. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “HAWKE SWOOP MISSES!” Mak roars over the noise of the crowd, while Jay Hawke clutches his legs in the ring, “surely Michael Stephens can still win this, despite Drake’s interference!” Michael Stephens staggers to his feet. He looks around him, slightly wild-eyed. On the outside there’s Falcon, at his feet there’s Hawke. Up the ramp he sees Zyon, backing away while still watching the action in the ring. Somewhere he knows Gabriel Drake is lurking, even if he can’t see him. Michael Stephens is tired, and most of him hurts like hell. For the second time in two weeks he’s had someone interfere in one of his matches to try and make him lose a title. Fuck this shit. Stephens reaches down and grabs Jay Hawke, then hauls the Dean upright. Hawke staggers, barely able to stand after he drove his knees into the mat. Stephens delivers a headbutt for good measure, then hooks Hawke as if for a vertical suplex. However, most vertical suplexes also feature hooking your opponent’s left leg with your left arm. “Wait, that’s the-” Mak begins. Yes, it is. Mike’s right arm might kill, but that more of a stabiliser. His left has enough strength left to keep its grip as he muscles Jay Hawke’s 215lbs up into the air… …holds him there for a second… …twists, and drops. *BAM!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “-CAFFEINE BOMB!” Francis finishes. The pinning cradle is inherent to the move. ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* Stephens releases and slumps backwards as ‘Rookie’ rings out, instinctively massaging his right arm with his left hand. Falcon leaps back into the ring to check on Hawke while Kivell, ever mindful of these things, makes sure to keep himself between the valet and the victorious but vulnerable Stephens. “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner and STILL~ SWF World Heavyweight Champion,” Funyon booms, “MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “A travesty!” King shouts, “an absolute miscarriage of justice, Francis! Jay Hawke was the better man!” “Jay Hawke was good, there’s no doubt about it,” Francis argues, “but on this occasion Michael Stephens came out on top! We don’t know how events would have played out if Drake hadn’t got involved; would Hawke have gone for such a high-risk move if Stephens hadn’t have already been down? Would he have even got a chance to, would Stephens have put him away right after the Sunny In England? We don’t know, but what we do know is that issues are far from over between the World Champion and Gabriel Drake… and possibly between Stephens and Zyon as well! But for now, thanks for joining us for LOCKDOWN~!” The last image of Lockdown shows Michael Stephens wearily leaning against the ring ropes with his two titles in his hands, looking first up the ramp where Zyon has now disappeared, and then around at the crowd. FADE OUT

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF LOCKDOWN Live, Thursday, November 30th, from The Albuquerque Convention Center in Albuquerque, New Mexico! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Michael Stephens ©© vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke -> In the words of Joseph Peters: ARGH~! What was supposed to be a two-on-one mugging of the World Champion actually turned out in Stephens' favor, and the hopes that his momentum would be stopped cold have been dashed! Now fresh off a win over two of the SWF's Top Talents, our World Champion's looking pretty damn good heading into this highly publicized midterm defense, against The Dean of Professional Wrestling, Jay Hawke! Then again, if there's ever a man not to take lightly, it's Jay Hawke - especially considering his huge singles win over Tom Flesher at Ashes 2 Ashes! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- COLD FRONT CLASSIC - SECOND ROUND MATCH "The Superior One" Tom Flesher vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins -> These two failed to destroy Michael Stephens as planned, but in order to progress into the finals of the Cold Front Classic, one of these two will have to destroy the other! Tonight, two of the SWF's finest for a chance to fight the champ, whoever he may be, at the Clusterfuck! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- FULL METAL MAYHEM (non-title) JJ Johnson vs. Jimmy the Doom © GUEST REFEREE: Landon Maddix © -> Someone must have slipped this by Peters when he wasn't looking - or maybe he was looking, and just didn't read it. That's how most of his paperwork gets done. In any event, Johnson and Landon are poised to meet next show for the second round Cold Front Classic match - I wonder what kind of liberties Landon might take, just a few days before their match. Especially when Johnson is up against a man as unpredictable as Jimmy the Doom, and in a match like Full Metal Mayhem! Rules: Any metal weapons are legal - anything else is grounds for Disqualification. No countouts, pinfalls count anywhere. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM MATCH Team ZyKira (Zyon © and Akira Kaibatsu ©) vs. Team CroNson (Michael Cross and Devin Benson) -> I just wanted an excuse to use "Team CroNson". Sounds funny. But seriously forks, it turns out the naysayers may have been right about ZyKira's momentum, but one match isn't enough to prove anything! They get a second chance in the tag realm tonight, against the formidable team of Michael Cross and Devin Benson! Rules: Standard tag team match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CRAB BATT- I MEAN, HAWK BATTLE Nighthawk vs. Trent Hawk -> I'll see to it that the winner of this match gets a little something special. So write damn you, write! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Spoonikens vs. Skinner to be edited in.

The air is electric as the cameras pan back into the Albuquerque Convention Center, sweeping over such signs as ‘IS A TOWEL-WRAPPED BAR OF SOAP LEGAL?,’ ‘MADDIX.XMISSION.COM,’ and the omnipresent ‘JJ JOHNSON = SPOT REMOVER’. Why shouldn’t the crowd be excited? The World Heavyweight Championship is on the line tonight. There is a Cold Front Classic semifinal match tonight. Not to mention that… “Tonight, ladies and gentlemen,” the Franchise, Mak Francis, begins, ‘is a night of firsts. This match is one of them. What we have coming up for you is, for the first time in SWF history, the Full Metal Mayhem match, and it promises to be extraordinarily violent. Anything made of metal is legal; anything that isn’t is grounds for disqualification.’ “It’s a bummer that it’s non-title, though,” sighs the Suicide King. “Jimmy the Doom has held his Hardcore belt forever, and if not for Landon Maddix being the special guest referee, JJ Johnson would be just the person to take it from him.” “Landon Maddix provides another interesting dynamic in this match, King,” Francis notes. “Landon Maddix and JJ Johnson will do, as the kids like to say, ‘BIG BATTEL’ a scant four days from now. Just how fair will Maddix be with the opportunity to rough up his notoriously difficult to rough up right in front of him?” “How fair would Maddix be without that opportunity?” snaps the Heartbreaker. “It’s Landon Maddix. They don’t let him into the handicap ward of the hospital for a reason.” Mak’s mouth is opening to declare his realization as to just who cut the brake line of his wheelchair, but he doesn’t get far before he is very rudely interrupted by the abrasive voice of David Draiman. "Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do Now that I have allowed you, to beat me! Do you think that we could play another game Maybe I could win this ti-ime." “The Game” by Disturbed begins blasting out of the sound system, and shortly after, Megan Skye emerges from behind the curtain. The crowd gets slightly negative knowing what this heralds, and then the heraldee shows his face. The jeers get much louder, and two things are noticeably different about La Cucaracha. The first, Landon’s long, black, sleeveless leather jacket has been modified, adding vertical white stripes to match his black slacks and referee shirt. The second, Landon Maddix is wearing what appears to be riot gear. “An… interesting choice of attire for La Cucaracha here,” says Mak Francis with an arched eyebrow. “He’s a wuss!” snarls the Gambling Man. “I think Landon Maddix is afraid of Mr. Cold Front Classic!” “Well, the flaw in Landon’s plan is that Johnson will only attack if provoked,” says Francis. The Franchise declines to comment on how easily provoked the Canadian Murder Machine is as Maddix gloats his way down the aisle, sliding into the ring and bouncing to his feet before whirling, to a largely negative reaction. "I kinda like the misery you put me through Darling you can trust me, completely! If you even try to look the other way I think that I could kill this ti-ime!" And then, the lights drop out to massive cheers! “DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!” Which soften significantly as they realize that it is not JJ Johnson on his way to the ring, but Jimmy the Doom. The reaction is still quite loud, however, as Jimmy wrassles for the childrens. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “the following contest is the FULL METAL MAYHEM match, and it is scheduled for one fall! Anything metal is a legal weapon, and anything not made of metal is grounds for disqualification. Falls count anywhere in the arena. In the ring, the special guest referee, Landon Maddix, and on his way to the ring, from Doomopolis, Doomtopia, the SWF Hardcore Gamer’s Champion… JIMMY! THE! DOOOOOOOOM!’ Jimmy and Lois stride their way to the ring amongst the druids, Jimmy’s Buckingham Palace guard hat towering quite high above the assembled Doomites(?). Jimmy does a handstand upon reaching the ring, and then pulls himself into the ring through pure leg-and-stomach strength. “Very impressive,” says Mak. “A pretty blatant waste of energy, but regardless, very impressive.” “I think it might intimidate Johnson,” King postulates. “Core muscle strength like that is nothing but a benefit. Not to mention the guy has a skull like a rock.” “That second thing may prove far more useful in a match like this,” says The Franchise rather grimly… as for a second time, the lights drop out. A massive roar goes up, drowning out Nergal’s chanting… *BOOM!* … and then the most vocal crowd would be inaudible, as Behemoth’s “Slaves Shall Serve” kicks into full gear, Johnson striding through the curtain with no further ado, the brilliant red-and-white lights reflecting in his sunglasses… DING DING DING! … which he immediately, instinctively throws off as the bell unexpectedly goes! If Johnson were to look in the ring, he would see a huge grin on Landon Maddix’s face, but Jimmy the Doom doing the Walter Payton knee-high sprint down the aisle with a set of brass knuckles that he certainly did not bring with him, and did not find under the ring, is rather distracting. The Doomtopian wastes no time in hurling a knuckle-enhanced fist… that Johnson easily ducks, curving his body around the blow before launching his own blow: his signature elbow smash! *CRACK!* Incredibly, it fazes Jimmy little; his head snaps into place just as soon as it snaps back, and Johnson barely has time to get his arms up to block the screaming elbow that Jimmy launches in retaliation! Regardless, Jimmy is quite off-balance, and Johnson sweeps his legs, dropping him onto his face before stalking towards the ring. “Lois the Unethical is noticeably absent,” Mak says, with a frown. “Perhaps Jimmy encouraged her to stay behind, considering the stipulation.” “Maybe she got lost,” says King, shrugging, and the Franchise has to give a nod of admittance as Johnson begins digging under the ring. Jimmy the Doom effortlessly shoves himself up to his feet quickly, as a fall onto one’s face, for a man as tough as Jimmy, is not particularly devastating. He is mildly disoriented, however, and it takes him a moment to find his way back to the ring… … and ducks, Johnson’s hurled ladder sailing over his head! Jimmy reacts quickly, turning and sprinting to the head of the ladder, as Johnson takes a moment to swear before charging after the Doom, who plants a foot under the head of the ladder and, with a mighty thrust upwards, sends the ladder vertical! However, it does not do so particularly quickly, and Johnson catches it in both hands. *CLANNNGG!!* … AND EATS IT, JIMMY DRIVING IT INTO HIS FACE WITH HIS YAK KICK! “OOOOOHH!!” Johnson understandably drops the ladder and staggers backwards, certainly not expecting to have 15 pounds of aluminum kicked quite firmly into his forehead. Jimmy catches it before it hits the ground and unfolds it, standing it upright before charging and leaping into the air… *THWOCK!* … and thrusting his foot straight into Johnson’s waiting hands, Johnson recovering just in time to catch the flying front kick before it left a permanent indentation in his chest! Without any pause, Johnson tosses the foot around and to the ground before ducking under Jimmy and lifting him up into an electric chair. The crowd gasps – having been bred on this position equaling Michael Stephens’ dreaded Dangerlust – but their fears are placated (kind of) by Johnson instead grasping Jimmy’s waistband and SHOVING HIM INTO THE LADDER! Or, rather, giving Jimmy a boost to land on the ladder and pause before hurling himself back at the Canadian, turning in mid-air and nailing him with a corkscrew elbow smash! *CRACK!* Johnson goes down hard, and Jimmy lands on his feet and staggers before regaining his balance and tugging JJ up by the hair and rolling him into the ring! Landon eyes JJ very carefully as he sits up and shakes his head, but JJ could honestly care less whatever Landon Maddix is doing right now, as Jimmy the Doom has dug under the ring and pulled out a trash can filled with goodies – this term is used very loosely – and tossed it into the ring with a clang! Johnson is still quite woozy, and can only eye the contents of the can; however, one thing is within his reach. And so, not really thinking, as Jimmy the Doom slides into the ring, JJ Johnson seizes a firm hold of the handle of a kendo stick and swings. It is at this point that Landon Maddix does what, in an ordinary situation, neither he nor any other man of sound mind would do. He dives in front of the weapon. *SMAAAAACKK!!* “OWWWWWWW!!” howls La Cucaracha, and he takes a moment to take a breath before unleashing his fury on the Canadian Murder Machine. “Jesus Christ, what are you, stupid?!” screeches Landon as Megan looks concerned on the outside. “This is not Full Bamboo Mayhem! This is Full METAL Mayhem, and the only legal weapons are those made of METAL. Now do that again and you’re disqualified!” Maddix turns his back on the Canadian and grabs at his ribs, wincing with the strain on his ribs it took to berate JJ. If one were to look very closely at the Canadian’s face, one would see the faint hint of a grin. “Aha!” laughs King. “Brilliant! JJ took a risk there, and swung the kendo stick knowing full well that Landon would interfere!” “How could he know that Landon would interfere, though, King?” inquires Mak. “I mean, surely Landon would rather add another loss to JJ’s record as soon as possible.” “JJ has already been hit in the face with a ladder,” the Heartbreaker states with the utmost bluntness. “It is no doubt in Landon’s favor to have JJ roughed up as much as possible before their Cold Front Classic match on Smarkdown. Landon would LOVE for JJ to lose. Just not this early.” Meanwhile, Jimmy has been digging in the trash can, and emerges with a miniature golf-size putter. “Who the hell put that in there?” asks Mak. “I dunno,” says King with a shrug. “I guess a real one wouldn’t fit into a trash can.” Johnson is just beginning to get to his feet as Jimmy steps back into the corner; with JJ on his hands and knees, the Doomtopian begins his approach Happy Gilmore style, rears the club back, and swings, taking off Johnson’s head! *WHOOSH!* Fortunately for JJ, there was quite a chunk of space between the head of the club and the canvas, and so the Canadian Murder Machine rolls through it before rising to his feet and seizing the club that has swung up behind Jimmy’s head, jerking out of his hands! The force of the tug causes Jimmy to stagger backwards, and Johnson tucks a head under his arm before lifting him high for a backdrop! “BAAAACKDROPPUH!” shouts King, but Mr. Cold Front Classic does not fall; instead, he looks behind him, finds what he’s looking for… …and then takes a few steps backwards before jumping and shoving Jimmy off of his shoulders, SLAMMING THE DOOMTOPIAN RIGHT INTO THE TRASH CAN! *CRUMPFFK!* “OOOOOOOOHHH!!!” Jimmy spasms in a rather terrifying fashion, his eyes wide open and his mouth running, no doubt mumbling a great deal of Doomtopian swears. Johnson is already up to his feet, and he gives an eyebrow-arching Landon Maddix a look before rolling out of the ring and slamming the ladder supports shut, lifting up the Home Depot special and sliding it back into the squared circle. “Jesus!” shouts King. “Johnson may have the match won here!” He does not; Jimmy the Doom is aching very badly, no doubt, but he’s pulling his way to his feet and reaches into the trash can, tugging out… a sledgehammer! Johnson decides it would be prudent to get this out of his hands, and thus he charges, launching a kick at Jimmy! *CLANK!* This kick is subsequently blocked, Jimmy holding the sledgehammer up just in time to put it in the path of Johnson’s heavy blow! The Canadian Murder Machine’s eyes go wide, but Jimmy cares not about JJ’s surprise, and stick his sledgehammer under the outstretched leg of the Ultimate Fighter before rising to his feet, upending the number one seed and dropping him high on his shoulders! *BANG!* *THWOCK!* “OOOFF!!” Moments later, Jimmy drives the head of the hammer into Johnson’s stomach, prompting the Canadian to instinctively fold in half and try his very hardest to not vomit. Deciding the Canadian is incapacitated for now – and frankly, if he isn’t, he’s invincible – Jimmy strides over to the ladder and hoists up the device normally used for climbing, but now used for malice. With no further ado, he sets it up, unfolding it and planting it at a position from which the Doomtopian can easily leap onto his prone opponent. It seem as though this is his intent, considering he’s about three rungs up in the blink of an eye, then four, five, six, seven, eight, nine… … … and he stops short at nine, trembling uncontrollably. Understandably confused, Landon shouts up at Jimmy. “What are you doing?!” asks the shocked Cucaracha. “Many fearings of tallosity!” shouts the Doomtopian in response. “What?!” asks Landon. “Many fearings of tallosity!” Doom bellows again. “WHAT?!” shouts Maddix. “MANY FEARINGS OF TALLOSITY!” roars Jimmy. “No, no, I can hear you just fine!” snaps Landon. “What the hell are you saying?!” “I think he’s saying he’s afraid of heights!” shouts Megan Skye, attempting to help her client. “What?!” screeches Maddix, utterly shocked. “MANY FEARINGS OF TA-“ “Not you, dammit!” Meanwhile, Johnson has pulled himself up to his knees, still doubled over a great deal, and begun climbing up the ladder. One rung at a time, JJ rises, Jimmy only shaking his head and trembling. "You know, this doesn't really make any sense. Jimmy was in a Stairway to Panda match and an Ashes to Ashes match, during which he climbed a ladder," Mak points out. "I'm chalking this up to excessive head trauma," King says. ***OnlineHost*** MannyTheTorpedoes has entered the room MannyTheTorpedoes: whas this? "The hell...why is Manny Ramirez here, King?" Mak asks. "How should I know? I'm making the most of this, though. Hey, Manny, what's up?" MannyTheTorpedoes: no much jus manny bein manny Johnson finally reaches Doom's level, only to get cracked with a headbutt. MannyTheTorpedoes: ow he should getta helmet i gotta wear helmet when hit home ron hit lossa home ron JJ reels backwards, but stays on the ladder and nails Doom with an elbow. Johnson blasts Jimmy with another elbow to the jaw before the Hardcore champ retaliates with a Hand of Doom. Johnson drops off the ladder, gasping for air. Free from the Canadian Murder Machine's assault, the Straight-Breader can slide down the ladder and search through the trash can. MannyTheTorpedoes: i do that once i finna hodog an my baseball card i ate it "You ate a hot dog you found in the trash?" Mak ask incredulously. MannyTheTorpedoes: no the card manny eatin manny For some reason, the trash can is absolutely filled with tiny metal thimbles. Doom slips one on each finger, and takes an extra handful. Johnson rises to his feet and charges the Doomtopian. Jimmy hurls a thimble, hitting JJ in the forehead, but not slowing him in the slightest. Doom tosses the remaining thimbles on the ground, but this isn't a cartoon and Johnson stays on his feet, up until he spears Jimmy to the mat. The Canadian Murder Machine slides up Doom's torso and slams a vicious elbow into the Straight-Breader's face. "Johnson is livid over that throat strike, and he's certainly justified," Mak says. "Of course he is! He spent who knows how long unable to talk because a careless oaf hit him in the throat, and I'm sure he doesn't want that to happen again," King says. Johnson cracks Doom with another elbow, and another before Jimmy finally manages to buck JJ off. Johnson slides over and scoops up an aluminum baseball bat. JJ stalks after the Doomtopian, but Maddix steps in, blocking the Canuck's path. "Give me that bat, I need to check it," Landon says. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Johnson growls. "It could be a wood bat disguised as aluminum," Landon says. "Who the fuck would do that?" "Someone who likes to break the rules for the sake of breaking them," Landon says. "That group consists solely of you and Flesher, so fuck off," JJ grumbles. "Still gotta check it, or I could just disqualify you right now," Maddix says. Muttering under his breath, Johnson relinquishes his weapon. Lucky for Maddix, an expert on bats happens to be sitting next to Mak Francis. "Looks like you're being called upon, Manny," the Franchise says, turning to Ramirez. "Where the hell did you get a Tanooki Suit?" MannyTheTorpedoes: manny super mario bros. 3ing manny Maddix hands the bat to Manny, who confirms the makeup of the object. MannyTheTorpedoes: is metal like airplang he should use airplang "Manny, neither man is strong enough to lift an airplane," Mak says. MannyTheTorpedoes: i deman they use airplang or i leave boston "Uh, okay, I guess," Francis mumbles. MannyTheTorpedoes: manny decreeing manny Landon returns the weapon to Johnson, who takes a swing at Jimmy, but the Hardcore champ ducks underneath. Doom picks up the trash can and belts JJ in the face with it, knocking Johnson flat. Doom drops and makes a lateral press. "One!" Maddix shouts. Landon looks at Johnson's shoulders, and since he always has a plan, pulls out some calipers to judge just how far off the canvas they are. After getting three measurements and finding the mean, La Cucaracha is ready. "Tw-no! Shoulder up!" Landon yells. "Oh, come on! That took forever!" Mak laments. "I doubt Doom would have gotten the win there, anyway, Mak. Mr. Cold Front Classic is a tough customer in his own right," King says. MannyTheTorpedoes: jonson gonna win he haf finasure "See, Manny thinks JJ is going to win, why can't you realize that, Francis?" King asks. MannyTheTorpedoes: no jj gonna lose "What? You just said he was going to win," Mak says. MannyTheTorpedoes: manny disagreeing manny Doom pulls Johnson to his feet and whips the shorter man to the ropes. Jimmy chases after JJ and leaps into the air, wrapping his gangly limbs around the Canadian Murder Machine. Despite his smaller size, Johnson is far too strong for the flying bodyscissors takedown to be effective, so JJ simply walks to the ladder and slams Doom's back into the structure. "Look out, Manny, it's your doppelganger, and he's got a knife!" King warns. MannyTheTorpedoes: manny fleeing manny ***OnlineHost*** MannyTheTorpedoes has left the room “That was the weirdest thing EVER,” says Mak as Jimmy slides down the ladder, Johnson walking and snagging the aluminum bat before hoisting it high, showing off his intentions to the crowd. “BOOOOOOOO!” They are not particularly fond of his intentions, much to Johnson’s apathy… as he turns and gets revenge for the earlier sledgehammer attack, slamming it end-first into Jimmy’s ribs! *CRACK!* “Rat a tat tat go the sound of my bat!” bellows JJ to massive jeers as Jimmy’s eyes bug wide again, and he slumps to his knees. “That didn’t sound good at all,” gasps the Franchise. “Jimmy might have hurt ribs!” “He did NOT just say ‘rat a tat tat goes the sound of my bat’,” says King, his jaw almost to the floor. Satisfied with the damage done, Johnson casually tosses the bat aside- *CLUNK!* -directly into Landon Maddix’s head. Landon drops like a stone, and Johnson turns and eyes the prone form of his rival, raising his hands up to his mouth in mock surprise. “Oh, now that’s just a low blow!” groans Mak. “No, THIS is a low blow!” laughs King, and strikes! “King, I’m paralyzed from the waist down,” says the Franchise, flatly. “By the way, do you know the capital of Thailand?” “Oh, that’s easy,” the Heartbreaker scoffs. “The capital of Thailand is Bangkok.” King’s moans rising from the announce table shortly thereafter would be inaudible if not for his headset, as the crowd is making a great deal of noise. Not boos. Not cheers. Just… noise. What JJ Johnson is doing is far more interesting, as he seizes Jimmy in a front facelock and lifts him high… HIGH… before draping him across the top of the ladder. Jimmy slides backwards, and stops on his feet on the second-to-last rung, still quite slumped from the blunt force trauma to the ribs, not to mention rebounding off of the ladder. This is rather moot, as Johnson immediately scurries up the ladder… and tucks his head under Jimmy’s arm. “No…” Mak moans, and the crowd goes mostly silent. Johnson cannot hear Mak Francis. He probably wouldn’t care. The Canadian lifts. And falls. *BA-BOOOOOOOOM!!!! “OOOOOOHHHH!!!” “BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKDROPPPUH!!!!” roars King as Johnson and Jimmy both hit harder than humans should be hitting a surface; Jimmy bounces all the way up to his knees before slumping to the side, onto his back. Johnson, on the other hand, is grasping his neck and is, although only he knows this, gritting his teeth very, very intensely. “BACKDROP OFF OF THE LADDER!” screams Francis. “BACKDROP OFF OF THE LADDER, AND JOHNSON IS GOING FOR THE COVER!” Indeed, the Ultimate Fighter drapes himself across the Doomtopian, just as Landon Maddix raises his head. Maddix’s vision is very blurry, and all he can see is that there’s a pin. And so he does his duty. ONE! TWO! THREE! DING DING DING! “Slaves Shall Serve” comes roaring out of the sound system as Johnson immediately rolls out of the ring before collapsing, gripping his neck with a great deal of vigor, now allowing himself a moan of pain. “HERE IS YOUR WINNER,” shouts Funyon, “J! J! JOOOOOHNSSOOON!!” “And it’s over,” sighs Mak. “JJ Johnson tricked – more like attempted to murder – Landon Maddix, and he got the win.” “4-0, bay-bee!” grins King. “Landon’s probably concussed, Johnson has a hurt neck, but JJ has the momentum! Monday’s match is going to have to kick all kinds of ass!” “Maybe,” winces Mak, particularly touchy about neck injuries. “Speaking of the Cold Front Classic, we have Tom Flesher vs. Spike Jenkins coming up next, ladies and gentlemen. If this match is any indication, don’t you dare miss it.” FADE OUT

Tag Match to be edited in, hopefully.

Francis: Hello everyone and welcome to another edition of SWF Lockdown. We are here, live from The Albuquerque Convention Center in Albuquerque, New Mexico! King: I guess that is better then being here dead from The Albuquerque Convention Center in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Francis: It’s going to be one of those nights isn’t it? Ah don’t answer that. Fans we have a great card for you this evening including the second round match of the cold front classic between "The Superior One" Tom Flesher and "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins. King: Not to mention our main event between the SWF World Heavyweight Champion Michael Stephens taking on a very dangerous opponent in the "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" himself, Jay Hawke The Lights go dim and a gold spotlight shines on the stage. Francis: Plus we have many other great matches but it looks like our first contest is about to begin. On the stage Trent Hawk looks around at the crowd as “The Cult of Personality” by Living Colour plays over the speakers. Hawk makes his way down to the ring as Pyro arch over the ramp behind him. Hawk slides into the ring under the ropes. Funyon: Ladies and Gentleman our first contest is schedule for one fall. Introducing first hailing from Hollywood California. He weights in at 246 pounds. He is TRENT HAWK!!! The lights go down again. A cold breeze bits through the arena. Lightning streaks across the arena roof. “Learning to Fly” by Pink Floyd begins to play as two lighting bolts streak from the roof and slam into the stage. The stage erupts in flames as the flames begin to diminish we see the figure of Nighthawk standing in the center of the flames. His arms crossed against his chest. His steel talon gloves reflecting the firelight. Once the flames die out Nighthawk begins to make his way to the ring and his manager Falcon follows slowly behind him. Funyon: And being led to the ring by his Manager Falcon. Hailing from Hawk Mountain Pennsylvania. He weighs in at 285 pounds. He is known as NIGHTHAWK!!! Francis: Here we go. Our first match is set and we are ready for action. Ding Ding Ding. Both men walk to the center of the ring and stare down each other. Trent Hawk begins to jaw a little bit. Nighthawk as is his way remains quiet Just locking eyes with Hawk. Hawk pushes Nighthawk but Nighthawk barely moves. Hawk pushes him again and again Nighthawk hardly moves. Hawks pulls back again and connects with a big right hand that staggers Nighthawk. Hawk quickly follows with another and another as Nighthawk staggers backwards toward the ropes. Hawk whips Nighthawk into the ropes Nighthawk reverses it and catches Hawk with a big back flip. Nighthawk waits for Hawk to rise to his feet. And then hits Hawk with a devastating Clothesline. Francis: Nighthawk off to a quick start. King: It looks to me like he might be tired of playing games. Nighthawk pulls Hawk to his feet. He whips Hawk into the ropes Hawks slides underneath Nighthawk and pops up behind him. As Nighthawk turns around Hawk catches him with a Superkick. Nighthawk quickly hits the mat. Hawk walks over to Nighthawk and stomps his knee several times in rapid succession. Francis: Hawk working on Nighthawk knee. Not a bad idea against a power wrestler like Nighthawk. King; Not to mention that is where Nighthawk is weakest. He has had a history of knee injuries in the past. It was the main reason he retired in the first place. Hawk drags Nighthawk over to the ropes and places his right leg on the ropes. Then Hawk jumps up and lands on Nighthawks knee. Nighthawk sits up in pain and grabs for the knee but Hawk lands a big right hand to Nighthawk head. Nighthawk is again lying on the mat. Hawk again jumps and lands on Nighthawk knee. Francis: A mans leg was not meant to bend like that. Nighthawk is trying to crawl across the ring away from Hawk. Hawk follows and helps pull Nighthawk to his feet in the corner. Hawk takes Nighthawks leg and puts it over the middle rope then kicks his knee. Hawk then turns and yells at someone in the front row. As he turns around Nighthawk hits Hawk with a big right hand. Hawk is rocked for a second. Nighthawk pulls his leg back into the ring. Hawk grabs him and whips him into the far turnbuckle. Hawk charges the turnbuckle but Nighthawk lifts his leg and catches Hawk with a Big Boot to the face. Hawk stagger to the center of the ring. Nighthawk bounces himself off the ropes and charges Hawk but its Hawk that catches Nighthawk in a side slam and takes him down. Francis: Nighthawk trying to regain some control of this match but Hawk not allowing it. King: Hawk has been very Methodical here tonight. He seems to have a game plan and is sticking to it. Hawk falls upon Nighthawk and chokes him. The ref counts One Two Three Four. Hawk lets go and the official is getting in his facing warning Hawk. Nighthawk drags himself to the ropes and drapes himself over the middle rope. Hawk races to the far side ropes and shoots himself toward Nighthawk. He Jumps on Nighthawk forcing his neck into the middle rope. Hawk hit him with enough force that he slides off Nighthawk and lands feet first on the outside of the ring. Nighthawk grabs his neck and gasp for air. Nighthawk not knowing that Hawk is outside the ring rolls himself outside to the floor. Francis: In a normal situation that may be a smart move but Hawk has been without mercy. King: Mercy is for the week. In Nighthawks day he gave no Mercy but it seems that his day has gone. Hawk pulls Nighthawk up by the hair and walks him to the corner of the ring. Hawk tries to slam Nighthawks head on the ring steps but Nighthawk blocks it. Nighthawk elbows Hawk then quickly grabs Hawk and slams him into the ring steps. King; That figures just when I count the big man out he starts to come back. Nighthawk tries to bounce his head off the steps again but this time Hawk Blocks it and slams Nighthawks head into the steps. Francis: Looks like you spoke to soon. Nighthawk has been driven to his knees. King: I can’t do it. That one is just to easy. Hawk rolls Nighthawk into the ring. Nighthawk struggles to his feet. Hawk hits him with a big right hand and Nighthawk is on his backside again. Again Nighthawk struggles to his feet. Francis: Hawk is moving to slow. He should be taking advantage of Nighthawks condition. Nighthawk falls back on the ropes and slings himself off the ropes and hits Hawk with a big right hand that staggers Hawk. Nighthawk again hits Hawk with a Big right hand and another and another then a kick to the midsection and an uppercut to the jaw. Francis: And Nighthawk is starting to unload on Hawk. King: But Hawk is not going to go so easily. Hawk elbows Nighthawk to the face. Followed by a big double axe handle to the back and neck driving Nighthawk to his hands and knees. Hawk kicks Nighthawk in the midsection. Francis: Hawk seems to be stopping Nighthawk at every turn. King: Well, that’s what youth gives you, quickness and stamina. Nighthawk rolls over on his back. Hawk drops to his knees and pounds Nighthawk over and over again in the head. He stops to shout something to falcon who is pleading with Nighthawk to get up. Nighthawk reaches up and grabs Hawk by the neck. Nighthawk sits up and the two men climb to their feet. Nighthawk draws back to hit Hawk but Hawk catches Nighthawk with a Low Kick that doubles Nighthawk over and staggers him into the corner. Hawk stands up Nighthawk in the corner and then climbs the ropes and begins punching Nighthawk in the head. Nighthawk Lifts Hawk off the ropes into a power bomb and slams him to the mat. King: But then again the older one gets the meaner they become. Nighthawk takes Hawk and tosses him out of the ring. Francis: That’s a smart move by Nighthawk. Try to regain some breath. Some energy. What is he doing!!! Nighthawk runs toward the ropes where he just tossed Hawk outside. Hawk now standing turns just in time to see Nighthawk launching himself over the top rope and landing on Hawk. King: Can you believe that! Nighthawk grabs Hawk and rolls him back into the ring. Nighthawk scoops up Hawk and Piledrives him in he center of the ring. Ref counts One Two. Kickout. Francis: Only a two count. Nighthawk digs his knee into Hawk neck. The ref counts one two three Nighthawk rises off of him. Nighthawk picks him up whips him to the ropes and drops him to the mat with a clothesline. Nighthawk pulls him up again and Hits him with a T-Bone Suplex. Hawk tries to pull himself up. Nighthawk hits him with a big forearm to the kidneys and then another. Nighthawk executes a backbreaker on Hawk and Holds him bent over his knees. Finally Nighthawk lets him go. Nighthawk picks him up in a scoop slam then bounces off the ropes for a big leg drop but Hawk rolls out of the way and out of the ring. Nighthawk follows. Hawk runs around the ring and slides in. Nighthawk slides in behind him but Hawk hits Nighthawk with an elbow to the back of the head. Francis: And again the tide of the match has turned. King: I’m surprised I thought Nighthawk was smarter then that. Nighthawk tries to get to his feet. Hawk comes up behind him and executes a full nelson suplex. Nighthawk is bent in half. Hawk picks up Nighthawk and whips him into the ropes as Nighthawk comes off the ropes Hawk wraps him up in a sleeper hold. Nighthawk struggles to get out. Ramming Hawk several times into the corner before Hawk finally lets go. Hawk charges out of the corner at Nighthawk but Nighthawk catches him in a sidewalk slam. Nighthawk pulls him to his feet and whips him into the ropes. Nighthawk catches him in a spine buster. Francis: Shades of Arn Anderson in that Spinebuster. King: Neither one of these men know the meaning of the word quit. And I doubt that they know the meaning of a lot of other words too. Again Nighthawk picks him up and executes a Jumping DDT on Hawk. Nighthawk rises up and walks around the ring taunting the crowd. Hawk get to his feet and charges Nighthawk but Nighthawk catches Hawk in a claw hold. Hawk tries to work his way out of the hold. Finally Nighthawk releases the hold. Hawk is on rubber legs as he turns around to face Nighthawk. Nighthawk lifts up Hawks head. Francis: Looks like Nighthawk is sizing up Hawk. Nighthawk pokes Hawk in the eyes. Francis: Oh What a dirty move. King: That was beautiful. I laughed, I cried, It really moved me. The official is yelling a Nighthawk about the last move. Hawk staggers to the ropes. Falcon climbs up on the apron and hits Hawk with Nighthawk steel talon gloves. Francis: Oh come on he was in control does he need to kick a man when he’s down. King: No, but it is fun. Nighthawk goes over and picks up Hawk. Nighthawk whips Hawk into the corner then follows him in with a big clothesline. Nighthawk picks up Hawk and places him on the top turnbuckle. King: This is it. He is going for the finisher. Nighthawk climbs up and tries to lift Hawk into the Top rope Brain buster Nighthawk calls the Power Dive. Hawk shifts his weight and turns the move into a splash on Nighthawk but Nighthawk holds on and rolls through the move. Hawks shoulders are down. Nighthawk has a handful of tights. The ref counts One Two Three. The ref calls for the bell. Nighthawk rolls out of the ring and into Falcons arms. Hawk stands up and argues with the ref about the handful of tights. Francis: Hawk has a legitimate argument. King: But the ref didn’t see it and he can’t call what he can’t see. Funyon: Ladies and Gentleman, Your winner NIGHTHAWK!!! Francis: I hate to see a good match end like that. King: I think it was great. It gives me some hope that the old boy Nighthawk might be finally shaking off the old ring rust. Francis: The one thing I will say is that both men showed some great toughness out there in that back and forth contest. But right now we need to pay some bills. Stay tuned fans we will be back with more great SWF action. Don’t go away.

I totally missed that the tag match had no marker. Yikes. If you guys sent it to WC already (thanks for volunteering ), that's OK - if not, go ahead and send to me. Also, regarding the brackets, Joseph Peters has prepared the following statement: I am stupid. That will be all.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF LOCKDOWN Live, Thursday, November 30th, from The Albuquerque Convention Center in Albuquerque, New Mexico! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Michael Stephens ©© vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke -> In the words of Joseph Peters: ARGH~! What was supposed to be a two-on-one mugging of the World Champion actually turned out in Stephens' favor, and the hopes that his momentum would be stopped cold have been dashed! Now fresh off a win over two of the SWF's Top Talents, our World Champion's looking pretty damn good heading into this highly publicized midterm defense, against The Dean of Professional Wrestling, Jay Hawke! Then again, if there's ever a man not to take lightly, it's Jay Hawke - especially considering his huge singles win over Tom Flesher at Ashes 2 Ashes! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 6000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- COLD FRONT CLASSIC - SECOND ROUND MATCH "The Superior One" Tom Flesher vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins -> These two failed to destroy Michael Stephens as planned, but in order to progress into the finals of the Cold Front Classic, one of these two will have to destroy the other! Tonight, two of the SWF's finest for a chance to fight the champ, whoever he may be, at the Clusterfuck! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: Chuck Woolery -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- FULL METAL MAYHEM (non-title) JJ Johnson vs. Jimmy the Doom © GUEST REFEREE: Landon Maddix © -> Someone must have slipped this by Peters when he wasn't looking - or maybe he was looking, and just didn't read it. That's how most of his paperwork gets done. In any event, Johnson and Landon are poised to meet next show for the second round Cold Front Classic match - I wonder what kind of liberties Landon might take, just a few days before their match. Especially when Johnson is up against a man as unpredictable as Jimmy the Doom, and in a match like Full Metal Mayhem! Rules: Any metal weapons are legal - anything else is grounds for Disqualification. No countouts, pinfalls count anywhere. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM MATCH Team ZyKira (Zyon © and Akira Kaibatsu ©) vs. Team CroNson (Michael Cross and Devin Benson) -> I just wanted an excuse to use "Team CroNson". Sounds funny. But seriously forks, it turns out the naysayers may have been right about ZyKira's momentum, but one match isn't enough to prove anything! They get a second chance in the tag realm tonight, against the formidable team of Michael Cross and Devin Benson! Rules: Standard tag team match. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CRAB BATT- I MEAN, HAWK BATTLE Nighthawk vs. Trent Hawk -> I'll see to it that the winner of this match gets a little something special. So write damn you, write! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-