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*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!* “The following contest is set for one fall and it is part of the tournament to crown a new SWF International Champion!” Funyon says the second Lockdown goes live again. “I’M BORN!” “I’M ALIVE!!” “I BREATHE!” YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! The crowd in the Gurubashi Arena come alive as “Vitamin” by Incubus is turned up high. The Unique Youth steps out of the gladiator gates with a confident grin on his face as he stops for a moment to look at the crowd gathered in the old arena. “Introducing first a former 2 times SWF Cruiserweight champion, weighing in at 200 pounds even – “The Unique Youth” ZYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONN!! Zyon sprints down the aisle towards the ring the moment his name is mentioned, covering the distance in under 10 seconds before leaping up on the apron and then bouncing over the top rope “Zyon has had quite a history with the International champion or maybe more correctly with the longest running International champion Jay Hawke” Mak starts out revealing that he’s done his homework for this match. “Yeah but remember he came close but never actually won the title, even if he should win tonight he’ll probably still have to contend with Jay Hawke on Smarkdown” King replies taking every chance he can to rain on Mak’s parade. “Don’t ask me no questions” begins to play next turning the crowd from positive to negative within 3 cords of the Lynyrd Skynyrd song. “And his opponent, accompanied by Wayne Blank, he is the former Ultraviolent champion, weighing in at 295 pounds, the self proclaimed Redneck Superman: BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!!” WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! The wide doors open once again this time to allow the Blank brothers to enter the arena, Wayne leads the procession as he proudly points to his T-Shirt that states “I’m with the next International champion” and then an arrow to his right. Once Wayne realizes that he needs to be next to Bruce before it make sense he quickly moves over to Bruce’s left hand side and high fives his big brother as the two head for the ring. “Here comes the big man!” King says with a grin, anticipating another dirty match from Bruce. “These two are no strangers to each other King, although they’ve never faced off in singles competition they have fought before” Mak says impressing no one with this information. Bruce jogs up the steps and then steps through the ropes as Zyon wisely keeps his distance to Bruce. Wayne takes up a position on the floor and immediately starts to applaud and cheer for Bruce, raising the amount of people cheering for Bruce to one. Referee Izzy Slappowitz quickly checks Zyon’s waistline and shoes for any illegal objects before turning to Bruce to do the same. “This could take a while” Mak quips. Izzy seems to be extra attentive as he pats Bruce’s down making sure he doesn’t have anything in his pockets, then when he gets to Bruce’s boots he notices something. Bruce vigorously shakes his head denying any wrong doing as Slappowitz pulls out a pair of brass knuckles from the shaft of Bruce’s boot. YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!! Wayne yells something about it being legal on Azeroth but Referee Slappowitz is having none of that, he turns to a ring side attendant to hand off the brass knuckles. For some reason Bruce doesn’t look too upset that he’s been found out and the moment the referee turns his back it’s revealed why as the big man attacks Zyon who’s still in his corner. Zyon swiftly ducks under the oncoming assault of the much slower Blank, then he bounces off the ropes on the opposite side trying to hit a twisting arm drag on the King of Pain. Bruce stands his ground though and twists the Unique Youth around so that he has him in a wheelbarrow suplex position raising the smaller man up into the air. “Zyon has Bruce well scouted, he knows that the big man likes to attack before the bell” Mak interjects as Zyon flips the lift up into a Bulldog position on Bruce. But Zyon is tossed off before he can bring Bruce down to the canvas as the big man pushes forward sending Zyon to the canvas. Zyon swiftly kips up much to the approval of the fans in the arena before he attacks Bruce Blank once more. But while Blank may not move fast enough to get out of the way he is strong enough to grab Zyon and flip him up in the air with a back body drop. “Amazing balance by Zyon” Mak marvels as the Unique Youth manages to turn his body in mid air so that he lands on his feet instead. “Oh shit Bruce didn’t see it, he’s walking right into a. . . “ Is all King gets to say before DROP KICK~! LET’S GO ZYON LET’S GO *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* LET’S GO ZYON LET’S GO *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Bruce staggers back a step or two but that’s all the effect that the kick has on the big man. Zyon kips up once more only to find himself in Bruce’s way as the freight train comes right at him. Zyon has two options, stay standing up and probably get his body flipped in the air from a lariat or dive through Bruce’s legs as the big man comes towards him. Zyon chooses option number two and slides between Bruce’s legs and then gets to his feet the second Bruce has passed by. When Zyon bounces off the ropes Wayne reaches in and takes a swipe at Zyon’s feet, it’s not enough to knock him over but it’s enough to stop the Unique Youth’s momentum as he turns and says something derogatory towards Wayne. “Why is he even out there? Wayne isn’t a manager” Mak complains “He’s not a manager? Who told you that? I happen to know that he has a manager’s license and everything” King counters “Yeah but all he does is interfere in matches or annoy the crap out of the fans at ringside” “Sounds like a manager to me” King says putting an end to that discussion. Bruce has had enough of the cat and mouse game with the much faster Zyon and slowly herds the Unique Youth into one of the corners as he tries his best to keep the young man contained. With his back against the turnbuckles Zyon knows he has to try something or gets creamed so Zyon steps to the left and throws an elbow at Bruce’s forearm, then quickly spins around and tries to run right only to get caught by the back of his shirt as Bruce’s hand grips the fabric. The King of Pain uses that grip to throw Zyon across the ring, following right behind him ready to strike the second Zyon hits the turnbuckles. “Here comes the steamroller!!!” King yells out as Bruce throws himself forward. *WHAM!!* Much to Bruce’s chagrin Zyon is just too fast for him and manages to springboard off the top rope and OVER Bruce’s head as he charges in and hits the turnbuckle chest and knee first. Bruce takes one step out of the corner and the collapses in a heap on the ground while clutching his right leg shrieking in pain. Izzy Slappowitz rushes over to check on the big man as he’s rolling on the ground in pain. “Oh man this looks. . . “ is all Mak says before trailing off. “Yeah, he hit that turnbuckle really hard” King says in a very somber “this is serious” voice. Slappowitz almost raises his hands up to make the dreaded X sign but Bruce puts a hand on his arm to stop him, saying something to him that the cameras don’t quite catch. While Bruce is on the ground talking to the referee Zyon is pacing back and forth in the background not sure what’s going on or where this is leading to. After a few more comments from Bruce the referee nods and then helps the big man back to his feet. Bruce takes an awkward step forward, limping severely but apparently ready to fight despite the obvious pain he’s in. “Man you’ve got to give Bruce credit, he’s a tough son of a bitch” Mak is surprised to hear himself say. “Damn right he is, I don’t know how wise this is though – you don’t screw around with your knees” King replies, wise from experience. Zyon looks pleased that the match is going to continue but still approaches Bruce a bit wearily, making sure not to get too close to Bruce as he focuses on the knee. Zyon dives for the knee but Bruce manages to pull it out of harms way in the last second before Zyon is able to do even more damage to it. When Zyon comes at Bruce for a second attack Bruce just grins. . . then he *BLAM!!* “THAT SON OF A BITCH!!” Mak yells out in surprise as Bruce lands a big boot right to Zyon’s nose, with his supposed bad leg and all. “Oh you evil, evil genius” is all that King can say. The kick to Zyon’s face totally levels the Unique Youth causing Wayne to leap up and down on the outside while hootin’ and hollerin’ about outsmarting Zyon. Bruce does a quick squat just to rub it in that his leg is 100% fine before turning his attention back towards Zyon, finally able to get his hands on his lighting quick opponent. Wayne actually applauds as Bruce picks up Zyon and presses him over his head, in fact he’s probably the only person in the entire arena that seems to support Bruce. “It was nice knowing you Zyon, but it ends now” King quips, reminding everyone that there are indeed TWO Bruce supporters in the arena tonight. The Redneck Superman can’t help but flaunt his strength as he begins to pumps his arms like Zyon was a weight bar ONE!! TWO!! THREE!! FOUR!! Bruce just smiles like it was nothing and considering the size of his arms 200 pounds probably isn’t that big a deal FIVE!! SIX!! SEVEN!! EIGHT!! NINE!! Bruce pauses for a second, then instead of going for the customary 10th rep he just kinda walks away from under Zyon, casually dropping him to the canvas WARRIOR~! Style! The big man oozes confidence and arrogance as he pushes Zyon around with his boot, shoving Zyon back to the canvas every time the kid tries to get back up. “Oh give me a break!” “Spike already did that a while back Mak, one more and you’ll never move again” “Bruce needs to take this match serious or he’ll end up being pinned and humiliated” The arrogant redneck puts his boot on the side of Zyon’s head and gets ready to push it down again, only to see Zyon spin around, grabbing Bruce’s leg for a leg drag takedown YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaa. . . Bruce stands his ground, planting his leg firmly on the ground and thwarting Zyon’s hopes of a comeback. Moments later the big man punishes Zyon by dropping an elbow on Zyon driving his point into Zyon’s chest before turning his whole body around so that he can use his weight to grind the point even further in forcing the air out of Zyon’s lungs. “That’s it Bruce kick his skinny ass” Wayne yells from the outside as he pounds on the edge of the ring. “He’s one to talk about skinny” Mak scoffs pointing out the irony of a guy who’s maybe 175 pounds soaking way calling anyone else skinny. With an almost unnoticeable nod to his brother Bruce gets back to his feet and drags Zyon back as well while Wayne Blank gets up on the apron and begins to complain to the referee about something, probably the amount of trash that the SWF fans in the arena are pelting him with. The moment the referee turns his back on Bruce to get Wayne off the apron Bruce lifts Zyon up in the air for an Inverted Atomic Drop. On the downward move Bruce swiftly brings up his knee and strikes Zyon between the legs before dropping his opponent with the Atomic Drop. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!! “It wouldn’t be a Bruce Blank match without a nut shot Mak” “It wouldn’t be a Bruce Blank without a nut job you mean” “I know exactly what I meant” King replies indignantly. When Izzy turns around and sees Zyon on the ground holding his testicular area he tries to question Bruce about what happened but soon realizes it’s about as pointless as putting wheels on a tomato. Bruce just blows off the warnings and pulls Zyon back to his feet once more. With one hand on Zyon’s hair and another on his shirt Bruce rubs Zyon’s face against the top rope, running his eyes over the plastic casing of the steel wire. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! “Hey cut that out!” Izzy yells, tired of Bruce’s repeated breaking of the rules. Izzy’s comments quickly get a reply from Wayne Blank in the form of one single finger being held up in the air – I’ll let you guess which. Bruce whips Zyon into the ropes and then throws his helpless opponent up high in the air for a back drop, but instead of flipping his opponent over he just lets him drop face first from his elevated position, adding a stiff punch to the gut as Zyon drops down. “You know it almost brings a tear to my eye when I see Bruce dismantle someone” King says and wipes an imaginary tear from his cheek. “Yeah it is sad” Mak replies totally missing the Suicide King’s point. Bruce picks up Zyon by the shirt and the pants and places him on the top turnbuckle with his back towards the ring. Then he reaches over the top rope and wedges one of Zyon’s feet under the ropes, trapping him before forcing the Unique Youth backwards into the Tree of Woe position. Bruce gets a bit of distance, starts to run at his opponent coming in shoulder first and then *WHAM!!* YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! The crowd goes wild as Zyon manages to flip his entire body up and out of harms way causing Bruce to slam into the turnbuckles right shoulder first. Bruce staggers backwards while holding his shoulder as Zyon frees himself from the ropes and then turns around before leaping off the top rope with a drop kick. “BRUCE CAUGHT HIM!!” King yells out as Bruce actually manages to trap both of Zyon’s legs under his armpits. “Oh this is bad, bad mojo!” Bruce turns around so that he has his back towards the turnbuckles and then drops backwards sending Zyon flying through the air with a slingshot. Usually Bruce’s opponents hit the top of the ringpost or something like that but Zyon is a bit more agile and alert and actually manages to land on the top rope with both feet putting his hands on the top of the ringpost to keep himself from falling out of the ring. “Bruce hasn’t even seen Zyon, he thinks he’s in the clear” Mak says as Bruce gets back to his feet, grinning as he turns around ONLY TO BE HIT WITH A HIGH ANGLE MISSLE DROPKICK!! The drop kick drills Bruce in the right shoulder, adding to the damage already done from hitting the turnbuckles and finally manages to knock Bruce down to a HUGE pop from the crowd. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “Come on Zyon you’ve got to keep up the attack – You’ve managed to knock him down, now try and keep him there!!” Mak yells encouragingly as Zyon tries to take control of the match. “Never gonna happen” King confidently states Zyon jumps up on the middle rope, then uses the springboard to twist himself around and land a Guillotine legdrop right across Bruce’s throat. “Smart, very smart. Bruce isn’t in the greatest shape to begin with so making it hard for him to breathe is a good way to go” Mak says “After all if you can’t breathe it doesn’t matter how big you are” “True” King reluctantly admits. Zyon grabs Bruce by his greasy hair and pulls him up, but when Bruce is on his knees he pushes the Unique Youth back off him so that he can get to his feet on his own. The push sends Zyon back into the ropes but the ropes sends Zyon back in Bruce’s direction paying the redneck back with a drop kick right to his ample midsection “HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRHH!!” “That’ll definitely knock the wind out of him” Mak says with approval Zyon wastes no time and follows up with a flash kick on Bruce as the big man is bent over holding his stomach YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!! LET’S GO ZYON LET’S GO *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* LET’S GO ZYON LET’S GO *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* The kick to the face sends Bruce backwards, knocking him into the ropes which is the only thing that prevented him from falling down again. Eyeing an opportunity Zyon leaps up on the middle of the ropes to Bruce’s right and then twists his body as he comes off striking Bruce square in the jaw with a flying forearm that takes the big man down with a thud. “I don’t believe it! Zyon has clawed, scratched and fought his way back into this match” King says truly in disbelief. “Zyon knows what’s on the line here, he knows that this is a golden opportunity and he’s not about to let it slip through his fingers” Mak says as Zyon points to the top rope. Zyon doesn’t climb the ropes but leaps straight up on the top rope where he finds his balance as Bruce slowly gets back to his feet, shaking his head to try and get rid of some of the cobwebs in his brain. Zyon leaps off the top rope as Bruce turns around, still staggered and breathing heavily but able to catch his opponent mid Corkscrew and turn it into a power bomb on the much lighter opponent *BAM!!* ONEEEEEE!!! TWOOOOOOO!!!! THREEENOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Zyon manages to lift his right shoulder off the canvas a split second before Izzy can count to 3. Wayne is besides himself on the floor, cursing and swearing up a storm after prematurely celebrating Bruce’s win. If Bruce wasn’t so winded and gasping for air he may have cared but as it is he’s focused on ending this as fast as possible while he still has a bit of gas left in the tank so he pulls Zyon up once more, lifts him up and then places him on the top turnbuckles before climbing up on the second rope himself. “Man we hardly ever see Bruce going to the ropes, he’s pulling out ALL stops tonight in hopes of advancing in this tournament” King says. Bruce gets Zyon in a front headlock, then grabs the youngster’s pants before lifting him up in the air for a super-plex. Bruce rarely goes to the ropes and when he does 9 times out of 10 it backfires on him. . . and this isn’t the 1 time. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! Zyon manages to twist his body and flip over the top of Bruce and land on the his feet right behind Bruce’s back. Zyon then leaps a good 7 feet into the air and drop kicks Bruce between the shoulderblades in an incredibly display of vertical leaping ability. The drop kick knocks Bruce forward, his skull grazing the top of the ring post before Bruce is propelled backwards by the ropes. “THIS IS IT!!” Mak yells as Bruce staggers backwards holding his head in agony. Zyon grabs the staggered Bruce by the shirt and pulls him over to the corner where he quickly climbs up and then sits on Bruce’s shoulders with a leg on either side of Bruce’s head. Zyon throws all of his body weight forward while holding on to Bruce rolling the Redneck Superman up with a Victory Roll ONEEEEEE!!! TWOOOOOOO!!!! THREEENOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “Son of a bitch I thought he had him!!” Mak complains as Bruce kicks out at the very last second. “It ain’t over till it’s over Mak” “Yeah that’s brilliant insight King, brilliant!” Bruce rolls out under the bottom rope and heads over to talk to his little brother, probably to plot out something underhanded. Zyon isn’t one for holding back and waiting, especially with Bruce still suffering the effects of hitting the ringpost with his head, so he decides to climb the ropes and then leaps off backwards in a stunning high elevation Moonsault that knocks both Bruce and Wayne into the guardrail *CRASH!* YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “Man he got some AMAZING height on that, Zyon must be part super ball” Mak says with approval “Alright, alright so he got in a good move I’ll give him that” King reluctantly admits. Zyon slides under the bottom rope and then demonstrates his amazing speed by once again running at the ropes, bouncing off for greater speed and then in a breath taking display of daring and insanity does a handstand flip into a leap OVER THE TOP ROPE onto Blank who had just gotten back on his feet “SPACE TIGER DROP!! Holy crap Zyon just showed everyone how it’s done” THAT WAS AWESOME *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* THAT WAS AWESOME *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Zyon swiftly grabs Bruce by the hair and shirt and throws him inside the ring before leaping up on the apron and then climbing the ropes, raising a hand in the air as he waits for Bruce to get to his feet and in the right position. When Bruce obliges Zyon’s wishes the Unique Youth leaps off the top rope, locks his legs around Blank’s neck and takes the much bigger man down with a twisting huracanrana that also wrenches Bruce’s neck in the process. “Does this kid not slow down??” King laments as Zyon has been nothing but movement since he caught a break earlier in the match and got the upper hand. “That’s the smart way to fight Bruce though, stick and move, stick and move before the big man gets his hands on ya. Zyon has worn Bruce out with his lighting fast offence” Mak replies The Unique Youth is set to take another run at the ropes when he sees that Bruce is in the perfect position for the Gouki Crossface. Zyon quickly locks his legs around Bruce’s extended arm and then reaches forward straining a bit but finally managing to lock his hand around Bruce’s head. At first Bruce tries to shake his opponent off but Zyon is hanging on like he was a bull rider going for the big prize, locking his legs tighter and tighter around Bruce’s arm with each movement. “This could be it King! Zyon could get the victory with the Gouki Crossface!” Mak excitedly exclaims as they both watch in anticipation. TAP OUT! *CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* TAP OUT! *CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Bruce struggles against the Crossface hold, not to reach the ropes but to get up on his knees and hopefully alleviate some of the shoulder and neck pain that Zyon is inflicting on him. Even though Bruce gets up to his knees Zyon refuses to let go of the Gouki Crossface, pulling back hard on Bruce’s head as he sits there on his knees, face still pressed against the mat. Bruce’s left hand hovers over the canvas, circling it as if Bruce is contemplating tapping out TAP OUT! *CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* TAP OUT! *CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Bruce’s hand slams into the canvas YEAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaa. . . But it’s not a tap out as the hand stays on the canvas once it’s been slammed down. Instead Blank uses all his power, all his arm and leg strength to push himself up to a standing position. Zyon still refuses to release the Gouki Crossface, keeping Bruce locked on while bend over looking like some variation of the Abdominal stretch as Zyon actually stands up with Bruce’s right arm between his legs and his arms still wrapped around Bruce’s head. “You know from the moment Bruce got to his knees this hold hasn’t been as effective as it could have been.” King comments “There is just less pressure on the body when Zyon can’t pull back as far as he can when the opponent is lying down” he adds explaining why Bruce has been able to withstand the hold longer than most opponents usually last. “You make it sound like Bruce actually prepared for this match, that he studied his opponent going in” Mak says with disbelief. “Stranger things have happened” “Yeah. . . but not much” Zyon shakes his head in disbelief as Bruce finally manages to pull himself totally upright carrying Zyon who’s still got Bruce’s right arm and head trapped in the Gouki Crossface. With one last ditch desperation effort Zyon cranks back on Bruce’s head once more hoping to maybe throw the big man off balance and back to the mat, Bruce does go off his feet but instead of falling forward Bruce LEAPS backwards driving Zyon into the mat with Bruce’s 295 pounds crashing down on his chest *BAM!* “ZYON’S RIBS HAVE BEEN CAVED IN!!” Mak yells in a delightful bit of overreacting ONEEEEEE!!! TWOOOOOOO!!!! THREEENOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “Hand on the ropes” Mak yells out as Zyon barely manages to get the tip of his finger on the bottom rope to break the count. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! The expression on Bruce’s face leaves no doubt about just how pissed off and frustrated he is over not being able to get the 3 count. In fact Bruce’s frustrations boil over as he gets to his feet and starts to yell at the referee complaining about a slow count with Wayne joining in from the outside. “Hey ref watch what’s going on” Exclaims Mak angrily. “What? What’s going on other than Slappowitz being slow on the count?” King asks pretending not to see what Mak just noticed. The problem that Mak had noticed and gotten angry over is the fact that Bruce has his foot right by Zyon’s head, his cowboy boot firmly planted on Zyon’s hair holding the Unique Youth down while also pulling on his hair. It would seem that Bruce’s complaining is mainly just to distract the referee. Once the referee looks down Bruce just steps off the hair and pretends that he’s as innocent as a little lamb despite the fact that the crowd is yelling and screaming at the referee to tell him what Bruce has been up to. It’s obvious that Bruce has something devious in mind when he grabs Zyon by the hair and pulls the youngster’s head in between his knees and then flips Zyon up in the air, straddling across his shoulders. “Sweet Home Alabama!!” the Suicide King sings as Bruce begins to run across the ring with Zyon in a power bomb position. Just as Bruce is about to bring Zyon down with the power bomb the Unique Youth shifts his weight around and locks his legs around Bruce’s leg “COUNTER INTO A HURACA-“ Mak yells out as it looks like Zyon is going to counter Bruce’s finishing move. *DENIED!!* Bruce has had the running power bomb countered like that more than a few times in his career and this time he’s ready for it. He places both feet firmly on the ground and grabs Zyon around the waist as the Cruiserweight flips down to try to Huracanrana Bruce to the ground. The Redneck Superman stands his ground and then starts to put the pressure on Zyon as he’s trapped in an upside down bear hug. “Oh I know what this is! He was watching a Charlie Matthews tape one night but he was drunk and on the floor so it looked like it was upside down” King says with a grin as Bruce begins to shake Zyon back and forth like he was a rag doll. “Oh that’s funny, that’s really funny King” Mak says without actually meaning it. “Yep, unless you’re Zyon naturally” After having Zyon in the bear hug for no more than thirty seconds Bruce turns towards the turnbuckles and with a running start DRIVES Zyon chest and face first into the turnbuckles *BAM!!* Before releasing him, leaving him hanging upside down on the top turnbuckle. Bruce swiftly turns around, bends down a bit so he can put his shoulder under Zyon’s body before picking the Unique Youth up in a running power slam position. “OH NO!” Mak yells out knowing what’s coming “OH YES!” King counters as Bruce takes 3-4 running steps across the ring before leaping into the air RUNNING PILEDRIVER!! *CRACK!* The crowd goes absolutely silent as Zyon’s head bounces off the mat, followed by Bruce dropping all of his 295 pounds of weight on Zyon’s chest and shoulders for the pin. ONEEEEEE!!! TWOOOOOOO!!!! THREEEEEEEEEEEE!!! * DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!* BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Bruce rolls off Zyon and gets to his feet as the entire arena boos him, when Izzy Slappowitz tries to raise Bruce’s right hand in the air he’s pushed off by the big man who looks a little protective of his right arm after the damage it took from the Gouki Crossface. Wayne enters the ring and raises Bruce’s left arm in the air as Funyon makes the match result final. “Ladies and Gentlemen the winner of the match, advancing in the International title tournament: BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!!” “This was an incredible match King, I mean your classic speed versus power match!” Mak gushes. “Oh spare me, it just proved that a GOOD big man will beat a GOOD little man and come Smarkdown Bruce will be the only GOOD big man in the ring” King says as he makes a mental note to put money on Bruce winning the whole thing. The last image we see before going to a commercial break is Wayne holding the very winded Bruce’s arm up in the air as he points to his “I’m with the next International Champion” T-Shirt and smirks.

FADE IN “We’re back on Lockdown,” says Mak Francis, “and coming up next, we’ve got Tom Flesher taking on the Wildchild! King, Tom and Wildchild faced each other just over two months ago, with Wildchild pulling out a win with an improbable reversal: do you think that lightning could strike twice?” “Not a chance!” replies the Suicide King emphatically. “Tom was still working himself back into shape back then, and Wildchild won on a fluke. There’s absolutely no chance in hell that Tom loses to this clown again!” “No mistake about it, Tom’s definitely been on a roll since that loss,” concedes Mak. “In fact, he hasn’t loss a single match since that loss to Wildchild back in May!” “Exactly!” agrees King. “And that’s why he’s going to win here tonight, as well: he’s on a roll! He’s in the zone! And Wildchild is in a bit of a rut, which can’t be helped by the fact that he’s been preoccupied in recent weeks by the return of Mike Van Siclen!” “As we heard earlier tonight,” explains Mak, “Wildchild went directly to Joseph Peters, commissioner of the SWF, and demanded a match against Van Siclen, only to be denied! And King, I know that he wants to get some payback against Van Siclen for nearly ending his career, but he’d better put that aside tonight and focus on Flesher; Tom is much too good a wrestler for him to not have one hundred percent of your energy directed towards him!” “It doesn’t matter whether he’s focused on Tom or not,” says King confidently. “He’s not in Flesher’s league… And anyway, we already know how this match is going to end!” “Is that right?” “Sure is,” laughs King. “Wildchild hasn’t won back-to-back matches in months, and he won last week on Storm, so he’s definitely going to lose tonight. Mark my words, Francis: Wildchild is going down!” “Tom’s got to be the prohibitive favorite, but Wildchild has proven time and again that he can hang with the Superior One!” says Mak Francis. “And with that in mind, we… ah jeez, here we go again!” Mak is referring to the arrival of James Matheson on the stage, carrying a microphone in one hand, and his ever-present Halliburton in the other. “My goodness; you people here are twice lucky!” insists Matheson. “Of course, Azeroth couldn’t handle the greatness of Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews in the ring together, so we had to bring them out one at a time. Without further ado, I’d like to ask all of you to get up out of your seat and show respect for a legend and true icon of the industry! A champion many times over, and an SWF Hall-of-Famer! One-half of the greatest team of all time, the Superior One, Tom Flesher!” With that, the stage is showered with blue pyro as “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin begins to play. Tom nods in acknowledgement to Matheson before making his way down to the ring, with James lagging behind him. “Oh, for crying out loud!” groans Mak. “I like Tom as much as the next guy… well, actually, I probably like him a little more than the next guy, but that introduction was a little over the top!” “Over the top?” bellows King incredulously. “I beg to differ, Francis! Hell, Tom Flesher is a legend! Why, he’s had to carry this company on his back ever since I retired; if you ask me, he doesn’t get half the praise he deserves!” “Oh please!” snorts Mak, as Flesher walks up the steel stairs to enter the ring. “If he were getting any more praise, Matheson would be shouting ‘All Hail Tom Flesher’ all the way down to the ring!” “Say,” says King, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “that’s actually a good idea; I’ll have to bring it up with Matheson after the show!” DING! DING! DING! “The following Cruiserweight Rules match is scheduled for one fall!” bellow Funyon. “Currently in the ring, and introducing first: James Matheson! He represents, from Buffalo, New York, and weighing in at two hundred twenty-nine and nine-tenths pounds, the Superior One… Tom FLESHER!” Flesher removes his warm-up suit and begins a minor stretching routine as he waits on his opponent to arrive. “I tell you what, King,” says Francis, “we’ve been talking about how Wildchild needs to not take Flesher lightly, but I think it’s fair to ask if Tom is actually up for this match!” “What are you talking about, Murderball?” “Well, Tom’s conditioning has fallen off a step or two here in recent weeks,” explains Mak. “I mean, there’s the drinking and the carousing, which has never really impacted his wrestling to any significant degree… but he’s also up to a pack-a-day habit, and let’s face it: Wildchild isn’t exactly the slowest wrestler in the world!” “Kashmir” fades out, and is quickly replaced by Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back.” Wildchild and Melissa make their way out from behind the curtain, saluting all of the fans from the top of the stage before making their way down the ramp. “His opponent,” continues Funyon, “is being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki! From the Bahamas, and weighing in at two hundred fourteen pounds: the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “Wildchild is one of the most popular performers to come along in recent memory here in the SWF,” says Mak, “as well as one of the premier Cruiserweights!” “How dare you use that phrase to describe Wildchild!” scolds King. “I’ve got half a mind to report you to Iron Mike!” “A half a mind is all you’ve got, anyway!” retorts Mak. WC removes his shin guards and hands them to Melissa before somersaulting between the ropes to enter the ring. He watches Flesher with a wary eye as he heads over to the edge of the ring, leaping onto the middle rope and raising his arms above his head to salute the crowd: DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! Wildchild quickly hops back down into the ring as his music fades out, spinning to face Tom as he feigns a move towards WC, but the Superior One merely smirks, as if to say that he was simply playing mind games with his young opponent. Referee Red Herrington signals the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone!” shouts Mak. “And we’re underway!” WC and Tom engage in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and Tom muscles him back against the edge of the ring. Once they reach the ropes, Herrington demands a clean break, and the Superior One complies, but not before patting Wildchild patronizingly on his left cheek. “I love it!” cheers King. “Tom sending a little message to Wildchild; reminding him that he’s not in Flesher’s league!” Flesher takes a few steps back towards the center of the ring, and WC heads out to confront him; they tie-up once again, with WC taking control with a go-behind into a waistlock. Flesher smirks before breaking Wildchild’s grip and reversing easily, but before he can lock his hands around Wildchild’s waist, the Caribbean Cruiser reaches over his shoulder to grab Tom by the head in a cravate, and then takes him over with a snapmare! WC springs off the canvas as Tom rolls into a sitting position, and blasts the Superior One in the back of the head with a basement dropkick! Flesher quickly rolls to his feet and charges at Wildchild, but the Bahama Bomber takes him over with a lightning-quick armdrag, and then quickly transitions into an armbar! “This is what I was talking about, King,” says Mak. “With Wildchild’s speed, Tom may be in danger of letting Wildchild push his conditioning to the limit; and, right now, it looks like Wildchild may be frustrating him in the early going of this match!” No sooner than the words come out of his mouth, though, Tom negotiates his way back to his feet, and then steps into WC’s body, hooking his far arm underneath Wildchild’s near arm to counter the armbar with an armdrag takeover of his own! Both men return to neutral ground, with Tom looking at WC as if to say, “Not bad, but now let’s see what you’ve really got!” “So much for frustrating Flesher!” mocks King. Tom and WC tie-up, with Wildchild taking control with a go-behind waistlock. Before Flesher can decide on the best counter, WC takes him completely by surprise, leapfrogging over Tom’s back and locking his ankles behind Flesher’s head as he sails past, to flip the Superior One to the canvas with a modified headscissor takeover! Tom scrambles to his feet, but WC greets him with two feet jammed into his midsection; the Bahama Bomber locks his hands behind Tom’s neck and arches backwards as he hurls Flesher through the air with his patented Freefall monkey flip! WC beats Tom to his feet and begins to make his way over towards his adversary, but the Superior One rolls out of the ring to take a breather. “Look at that!” cries Mak, as Matheson rushes over to dab Tom’s head with a towel. “I told you that conditioning might be a factor; he’s already sucking wind!” “Ah, he’s just playing mind games with Wildchild,” replies King, as Herrington begins to deliver his count. “Wildchild’s not good enough to have Flesher out of breath yet; hell, even on one lung, Flesher’s got better conditioning than ninety percent of the roster!” “Then what’s your explanation for why he rolled outside to get some air?” “He’s just trying to freeze the kid,” rationalizes King. Flesher climbs back onto the apron well ahead of the twenty-count, and returns to the ring. He goes behind WC and applies a waistlock, quickly moving his arms up to try and hook in a full-Nelson; Wildchild spins his body towards Flesher to avoid it, only for the Superior One to take him over with a snapmare and then cinch in a reverse chinlock. “I told you,” King says proudly. “He just wanted to throw Wildchild off his rhythm, that’s all!” WC struggles to find a way out of the chinlock, finally getting his feet underneath him and trying to negotiate his way back to a standing position. He tries to turn away from Flesher to get out of the chinlock, only to find himself on the business end of a top wristlock! Tom begins to use his superior mass and strength to force WC backwards, only for the Tropical Tumbler to unexpectedly drop his weight towards canvas, pulling Flesher off his feet before he can get them set, and taking him over with a modified armdrag! Tom’s face shows annoyance as he gets back to his feet, and WC decides to agitate him further by pandering to the crowd; the fans respond to his salute with a hearty cheer: DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Tom has to think of some way to slow Wildchild down,” notes Mak, “or he’s in danger of letting this match get out of control!” WC and Tom engage in a tie-up, and Flesher quickly takes advantage, shifting into a side headlock and then throwing WC down to the mat with a side headlock takeover. Flesher releases the hold almost immediately and holds WC down against the canvas, grinding his forearm into the beleaguered Bahaman’s nose with a vicious crossface as Herrington makes his first pinfall count of the night: ONE! TWO! WC kicks out at two! Wildchild rises to a sitting position, only for Tom to re-take control with an armbar. WC gets to his feet, and Flesher decides to repay him from earlier with an armdrag takeover of his own! “There!” cheers King. “How do you like the execution on THAT armdrag?” Tom pushes Wildchild onto his back and applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! TH— Wildchild kicks out at two! Flesher pulls Wildchild to his feet and scoops him off the canvas to deliver a scoop slam, but WC hooks Tom behind the head on the way down, pulling the Superior One into an inside cradle! ONE! TWO! Tom kicks out at two! Both men return to their feet simultaneously, but WC takes advantage, nailing Tom in the side of the head with a heavy right cross! A series of right jabs then forces Flesher back into a neutral corner; Wildchild straddles the middle ropes and prepares to deliver a ten-count punch, but Tom slips out from underneath, spinning around and hammering WC in the small of the back with a double-sledgehammer blow! He starts to push Wildchild over the top rope and out of the ring, but Herrington runs over to intervene, threatening disqualification. “What’s going on here?” bellows King. “Herrington has no business getting in Tom’s way like that!” “Hey,” replies Mak, “the guy’s just trying to spare Tom the indignity of being disqualified for something stupid!” Flesher brushes the referee aside and decides that perhaps a suplex is in order, but the Caribbean Cruiser knocks him backwards with a back kick to the chest, and then quickly climbs up to the top turnbuckle, springing back into the ring and toppling Flesher with a flying corkscrew body attack! WC runs to the ropes as Tom gets to his feet and explodes off the canvas as he rebounds, leveling Flesher with a leg lariat that sends him rolling out of the ring! Wildchild bounds to his feet as the Superior One is once again left to try and recover out on the arena floor! “The pace has picked up in this matchup,” says Mak as Matheson once again rushes over to Flesher’s aid, “and that definitely favors the Wildchild!” Flesher whispers some instructions to Matheson and then moves away from him, loudly directing him to “Be ready,” as he returns to the ring apron. “Well, King, the last time Tom bailed out to the arena floor, you said that he was trying to freeze up Wildchild, and it didn’t work; we’ll see if he has any more success this time around!” Tom ties up with WC, and takes control with a side headlock. Wildchild leads him back to the edge of the ring, and uses the ropes to help him launch Tom across the ring, but the Superior One obstructs Red Herrington’s view with his body as he grabs a handful of braids and pulls WC back into a side headlock! “Brilliant maneuver on the part of Tom Flesher!” cheers King, as Tom grinds harder on the headlock. “Great ring generalship!” WC tries to power his way out of the headlock, but Matheson barks at Herrington to get his attention as Tom once again grabs a handful of WC’s braids to reassert control! “Tom’s starting to dig into his bag of tricks,” says Mak. “And now he’s got his manager involved!” “I told you, Francis, it was only a matter of time before Flesher got this match at the pace he likes!” Wildchild turns his body in towards Tom and drives an elbow into his midsection. Followed by a second, and then a third, before Flesher finally releases the side headlock! Wildchild begins to belt Tom in the face with hard right hands, backing him into a neutral corner before turning around to get a running start for a flying attack into the corner, only for Flesher to grab him by the back of the head and yank him forcefully down to the canvas with two handfuls of braids! “Man, Tom is sure taking a lot of liberties with Wildchild’s hair!” says Mak. “Good!” replies King. “It’s about time somebody made him pay for having that rats nest on his head!” Herrington admonishes Tom for the hair pull, but the Superior One simply brushes him aside disdainfully. He bends down to pick up WC, but the Bahama Bomber suddenly swings his legs up, hooking them underneath Flesher’s arms and pulling him forwards into a modified victory roll! ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! WC beats Tom to his feet, running towards the edge of the ring and leaping onto the top rope, curling into a ball as he springs back into the ring to knock the Superior One to the canvas with a Pinball attack! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! Wildchild pulls Flesher to his feet and pushes him back into the corner, where he straddles the middle ropes and once again signals for a ten-count punch! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! The fans cheer with renewed intensity as Wildchild hops back down into the ring. “Wildchild was frustrated in his earlier attempt to go for those punches,” shouts Mak, “but he got all of them that time!” WC grabs Tom by the wrist and whips him across the ring, only for the Superior One to reverse, sending him into the corner instead. Wildchild leaps into the air as he approaches the corner, landing on the top turnbuckle and flipping backwards into the ring; Tom, anticipating another corkscrew attack, rushes towards the corner to knock him off, but WC sails overhead, landing on his feet in the ring behind Flesher. Tom charges back out of the corner, but WC crouches low to grab Flesher around the knee and pull him forward into an overhead single-leg takedown! Wildchild hangs onto his leg as he rolls right through, on into a half-Boston crab! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! Wildchild only stays in this hold for a split-second, though, just long enough to flip Tom onto his back and start into a figure-four, which earns an even louder cheer from the fans! YEAAAAAAAAAAH “Figure-four!” shouts Mak. “This could be upset city!” Tom still has the presence of mind to counter, however, using his trunk-like legs to propel WC back into the corner! Flesher scrambles to his feet and charges the corner, but Wildchild gets his knees up, jamming them into Tom’s face. The Bahama Bomber then leaps back onto the top turnbuckle and turns back towards the ring to launch himself… WHAM! … But the Superior One suddenly puts on a burst of speed, darting into the corner and up the turnbuckles; he grabs WC in a front waistlock and snatches him off the turnbuckle to drive him into the canvas with a tremendous belly-to-belly suplex! “Excellent move by Tom Flesher!” cheers King. “Great counter by the best in the game!” Flesher looks outside the ring and nods almost imperceptibly at Matheson, who immediately recognizes his cue and leaps onto the ring apron to get the referee’s attention. “Matheson’s up on the apron; come on, we don’t need this!” admonishes Mak. “All he’s going to do is prevent a possible pinfall attempt for Flesher!” Tom doesn’t seem too concerned with pin falls at the moment, however, as he takes advantage of Herrington’s distraction to pull WC to his feet and lead him over to the edge of the ring… CRASH! … Where he pitches him over the top rope and out to the arena floor headfirst! “Hah!” snorts King. “I knew it; it was all part of the master plan!” Melissa runs over to tend to her man as Matheson drops back down to the arena floor; Herrington is somewhat surprised to turn around and discover WC out on the floor while Flesher is in the ring, but nonetheless heads over to the edge of the ring and begins to administer a twenty-count: ONE! TWO! THREE! While Herrington is preoccupied with the count, Tom walks across the ring out of his field of vision, and over towards Matheson, who opens up the Halliburton and retrieves a Good Ol’ Memphis Chain! He hands it to Tom, who slips it into his tights while the referee is still distracted. NINE! TEN! ELEVEN! “Brilliant!” crows King. “That’s bloody brilliant!” Tom walks back across the ring and past the referee, just as WC is starting to get to his feet; Flesher steps out onto the apron to break up his count, and jumps off of the apron to drop down onto Wildchild’s back with a double-axe handle! Tom pulls WC to his feet and blasts him in the chest with an open-hand palm thrust, before lifting him off the arena floor and rolling him back into the ring. Tom walks nonchalantly up the steel stairs and steps between the ropes. He applies a half-hearted lateral press: ONE! TWO! THR— NO! “You know I’m getting sick of this guy’s poor counting!” grumbles King. “What are you talking about?” asks Mak, as Tom echoes King’s sentiments, arguing about the count. “Red Herrington is one of the most consistent referees we have here in the SWF!” “Oh, he’s consistent alright,” replies King smarmily. “One… two… PAUSE… three!” Tom turns his attention back to WC, who suddenly rises up with a surge of adrenaline and hammers Flesher in the midsection with a hard right hand! A second right knocks Tom a few steps back, and gives WC enough respite to go for a third! “Look at Wildchild fire back,” shouts Francis, “just when it looked like Tom had this match sewn up!” WC forces Tom back against the ropes and whips him across the ring, only for the Flesher to reverse it; Wildchild dives headfirst towards the edge of the ring, planting his hands against the canvas and keeping his body straight as his back bounces off the ropes, and he launches back towards the center of the ring, springing into the air as he feet touch the mat and launching himself backwards to deliver a handspring elbow smash… … But the Superior One counters, blocking the handspring elbow and holding WC into position as he slips on a half-Nelson, and hooks on a body scissors as he falls backwards towards the mat: “King Cobra!” cheers King. “Tom’s almost got it hooked! If he can just get that other arm across the throat, this one’s over!” “And Tom’s got him in the center of the ring!” adds Mak, as WC continues to try and block with his free hand. “Wildchild’s only chance is not to let Tom get the King Cobra all the way on!” “That’s right!” agrees King cheerfully. “He’s nowhere near the corner; there won’t be any fluke counter this time!” Wildchild fights for all he’s worth, but he can’t match Flesher’s strength, and slowly but surely starts to wear down. LET’S GO, WILDCHILD, LET’S GO! *CLAP, CLAP!* LET’S GO, WILDCHILD, LET’S GO! *CLAP, CLAP!* LET’S GO, WILDCHILD, LET’S GO! *CLAP, CLAP!* LET’S GO, WILDCHILD, LET’S GO! *CLAP, CLAP!* “He’s inches away!” King cackles gleefully. “Tom’s inches away from locking in that King Cobra, and from this match being a done deal!” “I doesn’t look like Wildchild’s going to be able to power out of it,” says Mak, “and he’s got no leverage to make it to the ropes; it’s going to take a miracle for the Bahama Bomber to get out of this!” A miracle… AAAAAAAAAAH! Or a sharp set of teeth! With one final, last-ditch effort, WC pushes Tom’s hand from underneath, raising it up over his throat and to mouth level, where he opens wide and closes his teeth around Flesher’s hand, holding on for dear life! “He’s biting him!” roars King. “That’s completely uncalled for! We don’t even know if Wildchild’s had all his shots!” AAAAAAAAAAH! GET HIM OFF ME! GET HIM OFF ME! Red Herrington untangles the two combatants, forcibly removing WC’s mouth from Flesher’s hand but, in the process, freeing him from the King Cobra. “Well, there’s a counter that you don’t see every day!” chuckles Mak. “I guess he really is the Wildchild!” “I can’t believe that he wasn’t immediately disqualified for that!” bellows King. “Herrington needs to be brought before the review board for his ineptitude!” Tom tries to shake some feeling back into his hand as he walks over to WC. The Bahama Bomber tries to fight back with some right jabs, but he’s still a little worn down, and succumbs easily to a Tom Flesher kneelift. Flesher grabs WC by the wrist and whips him into the ropes, but the Bahama Bomber reverses, turning into Flesher’s body and lacing his leg with Tom’s as he reaches across for a side headlock, before falling back into a Side Russian Legsweep! The crowd begins to cheer as WC rolls atop Flesher to apply a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Flesher kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls Flesher to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into a neutral corner. He charges in after him, leaping off the canvas to deliver the Blue Crush, only for Tom to dive out of the way. Wildchild, however, lands safely on the second ropes, and climbs to the top turnbuckle as he waits for Flesher to get back to his feet. WC dives into the ring at Flesher… WHAM! … But the Superior One snatches him out of the air and drives him into the canvas with a phenomenal Railgun suplex! He crawls over and makes a cover: ONE! TWO! THREE— NO! “Holy smoke!” shouts Mak, as Flesher gets to his feet, positioning his arms as he sizes WC up. “Tom hit that Railgun suplex from out of nowhere! He just barely missed with that pin!” Tom pulls WC to his feet and traps him in a side waistlock; he lifts him up onto his shoulders in a Canadian Backbreaker, but struggles to get a good grip to bring him back down into the Derailleur, enabling Wildchild to slip off his shoulders and land behind his back. Flesher spins around, but the Human Hurricane leaps off the canvas and whips his leg through the air… WHAM! … Blasting Tom in the face with a Gamengiri! Both men are down as Herrington begins to deliver his count: ONE! TWO! THREE! “This is anybody’s match to win!” shouts Mak. “The next one to hit a big move will probably take it all… now what’s he doing up on the apron?” The he that Mak is referring to is, of course, James Matheson, who lays the Halliburton flat on the apron and he begins bouncing up and down to get the referee’s attention. Herrington heads over and orders him to return to the floor, allowing Matheson to surreptitiously kick the briefcase over towards Tom. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” exclaims Mak, as WC and Tom both get to their feet. “Is Tom really going to take the win like this?” “Hey,” replies King, “you take it however you can get it!” Flesher stuns WC with a particularly aggressive eye-rake, and then bends down to pick up the Halliburton. He raises it above his head with both hands and begins to bring it down onto Wildchild’s noggin… … But Herrington turns around just in time to stop him, grabbing the briefcase out of his hands! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “Good for you, Herrington!” applauds Mak. “Don’t let him get away with that; make him earn a win here tonight!” Herrington scolds Tom, giving him an abbreviated lecture about sportsmanship, all while the Superior One continues to deny that he even had the briefcase in his hand. “Lovely!” says King. “Don’t give in, Tom; he’s wavering!” Herrington heads over to the edge of the ring and hands the briefcase to a ring attendant, confident that he’s rid the ring of all weapons… … But he didn’t know about the chain… “The chain!” croaks Mak, as Tom pulls it out of his tights. “He’s going to cheat to win anyway!” “Yes!” cheers King, as Tom wraps it around his fist. “Knock his lights out, Taamo!” Flesher gets a running start and draws his fist back to deliver a tremendous punch… … But the Human Hurricane ducks at the last second! Flesher runs past him to the ropes, hoping for one more shot before the referee starts paying attention again… WHAM! … But WC lifts him up into the air as he bounces off the ropes and slams him face-first into the canvas with a flapjack! He rolls to his feet and runs to the edge of the ring as Tom rises up on his knees, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes… CRACK! … And blasting him in the face with a Shining Wizard! Flesher collapses onto his back, and WC quickly runs to the corner, leaping onto the top rope and flipping back into the ring… WHAM! … Crashing into the Superior One with a moonsault! WC grapevines his legs as he pulls him into a pinning predicament: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! Wildchild untangles himself from the Superior One and rolls out of the ring as “Bouncin’ Back” begins to play again. He leans heavily against the apron as Melissa runs over to him. Herrington exits the ring and walks over to WC to raise his hand in victory, as the fans cheer their hearts out. “Here is your winner,” proclaims Funyon, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “He did it again!” shouts Mak. “Lightning has struck twice; Wildchild has beaten Tom Flesher again!” “I can’t believe it!” cries King. “I won’t believe it; how can one kid be so damned lucky?” “I don’t know, King,” says Mak. “All I know is that Wildchild has just done something that a lot of people didn’t think he could do: he’s proven a lot of people wrong with a win here tonight!” WC pumps his fist exuberantly, accepting congratulatory pats on the back from the fans at ringside, as he begins to make his way backstage… As we: FADE OUT

SWF Lockdown returns to the airwaves to the strains of Evanescence’s “Bring Me to Life,” because who needs an introductory paragraph for a fictional location anyway? The writer—who, for the record, is intoxicated as of this writing—has never nor will ever play World of Warcraft, so let’s just call it Azeroth and the fans Azerothians. Or just fans. But back to the ring. With Amy Lee’s grating voice shouting along with the dude from the band from whom everyone heard one song, I forget what it is though. So, from the “good guy” entrance, the familiar masked appearance of GRENDEL appears, much to the delight of the Azerothians. He doesn’t stop to make nice with the fans though, because he’s on a mission. “This show has been stacked,” Suicide King begins, “so it only makes sense that we throw in some filler matches in between the International Championship tournament matches.” “Why, King, this is anything but filler!” Mak bullshits, “Grendel has a score to settle with the tag team champions, who actually unmasked him two shows back! He couldn’t get the job done in a handicap match, understandably, but now the odds are closer to even as he only takes on half of the team.” “First of all, if we go by weight, Grendel is actually facing three-fifths of the champions. And the odds will never be even when someone of Grendel’s stature takes on Charlie Matthews.” “Nevertheless, Grendel suffered a hard-fought loss at the hands of Michael Cross on the last show, so he also has that to make up for.” “How many matches has Grendel actually won?” “Millions!” Amidst all of this banter, Grendel has entered the ring and does many impressive athletic things, like jumps and stretches. “This contest is scheduled for one fall!” Funyon cries, “First, in the ring, from Brooklyn, New York, weighing in at two-hundred and twenty pounds, this is GREEEEEENDELLLLL!” “Bring Me to Life” finally ends, and is replaced by the old-school classic riff of Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy,” prompting jeers to elicit from one half of the stadium. The other half consists of smarks, probably, because they don’t feel the need to look like actual “fans,” and would much rather bitch about workrate and how Landon Maddix can’t work SWF style. “Grendel, Grendel, Grendel!” a shrill voice cries, causing 90% of the fans to roll their eyes and Tom Flesher to mark out. Sure enough, James Matheson emerges from the “heel” entrance, albeit without his main charge. Carrying his signature briefcase in one hand and a microphone in the other, he continues his diatribe to Grendel. “You just won’t learn, will you? Granted, you may have what we call a vendetta against Charlie Matthews and, especially, The Superior One Tom Flesher. But that vendetta will just not be settled by being crushed to death week after week! Now, according to my inside sources, there’s someone important underneath that mask. Methinks you’re just hiding a hideous face that not a single person here actually wants to see. Any modicum of talent etc. etc. etc. heel promo stuff. Now! Allow me now to explain why you will not win this match!” Matheson stoops down to open up his briefcase, and this distraction keeps Grendel’s eyes on the pencil-necked bitch, allowing- WALLOP! -that to happen. “Charlie Matthews just blindsided Grendel with his Tag Team Championship belt!” Mak cries, “what a dirty, cheating bastard!” “And the best part is he came out of the face entrance!” King cheers. “That man knows what the fans want!” With Matheson cackling aloud, Charlie Matthews stomps down on the fallen form of Grendel. Referee Robbie Robertson tries to intervene and stop the Tag Team Champion, but gets a huge right hand for his troubles, taking him down! “What the hell is going on?!” Mak exclaims, “Does Matthews realize that he’s in a match tonight?” “Well, yeah.” Grappler forcibly brings Grendel up to his feet, locking him in a front facelock. From there he hoists the masked one vertically into the air, then quickly pivots around and brings his weight down with a jaaaaaaackhammerish move called the Wake-Up Call! “What you people need to understand,” Matheson begins again on the house mic, “is that this man is more than just Tom Flesher’s tag team partner. Yes, he’s also a fan and a friend of The Superior One. But he’s also a monster!!” Matthews proves this by bringing Grendel up again, this time sandwiching him in a standing headscissors. Without even doing his typical “raise my open hands in the air” taunt, Grappler hoists Grendel up…and DROPS him with a massive powerbomb! BOOM! But he keeps his hands clenched together, lifts Grendel up again… BOOM! …and hits a second powerbomb! Without even breaking a sweat, he brings Grendel right back up, spins around and BA-BAM! Lands a third, vicious vicious powerbomb! Grappler stays on top of Grendel and James Matheson slides into the ring, registers a three count, and calls for the bell (which doesn’t ring, because they’re heels). “Your winner is Charlie Matthews!” Matheson declares, “and Grendel, let that be a lesson to you. Don’t come knocking on our door anymore looking for opportunities at vengeance. You blew your chances. Grap, let’s get out of here and find a Waffle House.” Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy” hits as Matthews exits the ring with Matheson and his tag title belt, satisfied with his easy workday. “Maybe he heard what you said about a filler match,” Mak groans, “but either way, Charlie Matthews has completely decimated Grendel here tonight!” “It was really lovely,” King agrees, “Sometimes, you don’t need an actual competitive match to be entertaining. Some time, you just have to go out and kick some ass. Some people were taking Charlie Matthews lightly with his crippling—sorry Mak—neck injury, and he needed to reestablish himself.” “And it looks like this segment is out of time!” Mak exclaims, “apparently, this writer makes a mean Mojito.”

The lights in the arena go dark. Pitch black. A hush falls over the fans at ringside, as a single spotlight shines down onto the stage at the beginning of the entrance ramp. Boom! Pyros explode from each side of the stage, launching a mix of red and gold stars towards the ceiling and cueing a change in music as Zach de la Rocha's voice once again floods the building, this time doing a cover of "Street Fighting Man". The arena lights pulse along to the beat. Fans at ringside don't seems to appreciate the obvious work that went into producing such a spectacle, instead cheering the arrival of Austin Sly as he steps out of the curtain. "Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet boooooy..." "'Cause summers here and the time is right for fighting in the streeeet boooooy..." “Ladies and Gentlemen this match is scheduled for one fall and is a SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST QUAAALIFYERRRR!!!!” Funyon informs. “First, from St. Louis Missouri….AUUSTIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN SLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!” With a smile on his face, Austin slowly makes his way down the entrance ramp, the parted sea of humanity lashing out looking for a high five him on either side. He slaps a few hands on his approach before casually rolling underneath the bottom rope and into the ring, the end of his trenchcoat trailing his every moment with an extra flare. He quickly paces the ring before making his way to a corner of the ring and removing his coat before hanging it on the ringpost. He stands in anxious anticipation, waiting for his opponent. … … … WU TANG CLAN COMIN ATCHA! YEEEAAAAAAAHHHH!!! “He’s back, King! After a long, long month without him, former Cruiserweight champion Akira Kaibatsu has made his return for the Survival of the Fittest!” “Oh, wonderful, Mak! Another personality devoid .500 wrestler back on the roster! How did we go on without him!” “I’m not sure King, but I’m glad he’s back!” Watch ya step kid Watch ya step kid No longer masked, the returning star and his brand new beard make their way out of the curtain. Along with the brand new look, is a brand new sense of confidence, and it shows. Akira and his new maroon and black tights run down the ramp, his chest slapped with high five like maneuvers, all the way to the ring, where he lays eyes on his first opponent back. With hardly enough time to bask in the pre match glory, the bell rings, DING DING DING! Akira wastes no time, he’s already wasted a month. He runs at sly, extending his arm out for a short arm clothesline. Sly had anticipated a collar and elbow tie up, as Akira normally starts his matches in this fashion, and is caught off guard. Sly gets right up though, and throws Akira with an arm drag. The Divine Wind rolls through it, and leaps up onto the second rope. He springboards backwards, spinning in mid air… CRRAAACCCKKKKKK “Springboard Gamengiirrriiiiii!” Mak cries. “Lateral press!” ONEE! TWOOO! THRTOOEARLY! Akira follows up quickly, lifting Sly by his arm, and soon there after wrenching it. Sly flips forward, un-wrenching it. He then swipes Akira’s feet from his knees, Sly tries a quick cover but Akira rolls to his left after a one cont, Kaibatsu runs towards the ropes, and bounces off. Sly is read for him though, and flips him backwards with a back body drop! … … YOU FUCKED UP! YOU FUCKED UP! “Oh shit, King…” “Akira’s legs just bounced off the rope, and he landed on that injured neck!” Sly, not feeling guilty about possibly re injuring Akira, quickly jumps on him, and locks in a head scissors. Akira’s legs squirm, and referee Marky Mark asks Akira if he’s ok to continue. Like all wrestlers, he tells the official he’s fine. “How did Marky Mark get a job here?” Mak ponders. “Ugh. Marky Mark gets ALL the cool roles.” Akira does his best to kip up out of the head scissors, It doesn’t work the first time, but the second effort is effective. Akira takes a moment to shake out his head, and loosen up the neck. This appears to be a bad idea, as Sly runs at him with a clothesline, but The Divine Wind side steps, and Sly runs through the ropes, and hits the floor. YEEEAAHHH!! “Akira may have lost a step or two, but he’s still so poised in the ring,” Mak praises. “Which is particularly odd, because he’s no longer by the side of Mr. Kobe” “Mr. Kobe turned out to be a dick anyway,” Kaibatsu gives the fans a cocky smile, and the egg him on. He runs at the ropes, and bounces off. He picks up speed in the middle of the ring, and boom, he takes off. Leaping through the middle rope, throwing his arm out. *SMMMMAAAAAAAASSHHH* “Same old Akira!” “European Uppercut Suicida!” Mak calls. Akira comes up rubbing his neck a little bit, but he flips the hair out of his eyes, and carries on with the support of the crowd. He throws Sly back in the ring, and climbs to the apron, Austin reaches his feet, and Akira takes action. He leaps up onto the top rope, and springboards forward. Hurling his feet in front of him, going for his trademark front drop kick… …and his falls on his back. OOOOHHHHHHHH “Akira’s just missing a step in this match…the basics are there, but Sly’s always one step ahead of him,” Sly points to his head, in classic heelish fashion. He grabs Akira by his quickly grown hair, and throws an overhand chop at Akira’s neck, sending a shriek all throughout the super lame arena that for some reason isn’t the Wonka Factory. Sly then shoves Akira over to the turnbuckle and hurls knife edge chops to Akira’s chest. He then runs at the ropes opposite Kaibatsu and raises his foot up for a Yakuza Kick to Akira’s head! “Kaibatsu’s neck, likely, will never be the same. A target for everyone in matches to come,” Mak sees for the future. Sly follows this up by lifting Akira onto the top turnbuckle. Sly grabs Akira’s head in a front facelock. Sly smiles to his side of the crowd, and drops down to the mat, slamming The Divine Wind’s face to the ground with an avalanche DDT! Cover!! ONEEEEEEEEEEEEE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOO~! THREEENOOOOO! “Akira’s a real trooper, King.” “There’s a World War II joke to be made there, but I wont be the one to do it,” Sly slams the mat with his fist in rage, and lifts up Akira once again. He puts Akira in another front facelock, and lifts him upwards, going for a brainbuster, but Kaibatsu pushes off Austin’s shoulders and slides around behind him. He grabs Sly from the side and throws him backwards with a backrop driver!!!! “BACK DROP DRIVERRRR” “Akira Advances!!” ONEEE! TWOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEE! NO! FOOT ON THE ROPE! Akira doesn’t let the inconvenience bother him. Instead he ascends to the turnbuckle. Kaibatsu shoots hit legs out, sliding backwards, as all the Kodaks in the arena flash. The Divine Wind’s back dives into the stomach of Sly, and the crowd erupts. YEEAAAAAAHHHHHH “SENTON BOOOOMMMMMBBBBB” ONNEEEEEEEEE TWOOOOOO! THREEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOO! Akira, not frustrated, (rarely is he ever, as we’ve seen), and lifts Sly by the hair. He throws a European Uppercut, and Sly falls backwards, on his ass, stunned at the power Akira’s small frame packs behind the uppercut. The Divine Wind runs at Sly, throwing his foot out, going for White Magic, but Sly lowers his head, and avoids it! “Missed White Magic…going for Black Magic instead!” Mak cries. And Mak’s cries are correct. Akira steps backwards and tries for a kick to the back of Sly’s head, but Sly has studied Akira’s tendencies in the ring, and avoids that as well. Akira is thrown off balance by this and falls to the mat. Sly gets up immediately and runs to the ropes and bounces off. He times his run perfectly, and just as Akira gets to his knees… *CRACK* “SHINING WIZAAARRD!” King yells. “Hooks a leg!” ONNNEEEEEEEEE!!!! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEEEEE! Wait, NO! Akira rolls backwards…and lunges forward at Austin’s throat. He curls Sly’s arm backwards and hooks his arm through the whole he created! “Akira’s got the Anaconda Vice locked in!” Mak screams. “How much longer can Sly stay in there!” Sly reaches forward with his free hand, but this position doesn’t allow him to move anywhere…he’s got nowhere else to go…and nothing left to breathe… TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP!! DING DING DING “And Akira qualifies for the 4 way on Smarkdown!” Mak shouts. “Here is your winner…THE DIVIINEEE WIND AKIRRRAAA KAAIIBATSUUUUU!”

“No.” Wildchild sits up abruptly in his seat. “Pardon me?” “I’m sorry, Wildchild, but the answer is no,” repeats SWF Commissioner Joseph Peters. “I can’t give you a match against Mike Van Siclen at the moment.” “Of all de… why de hell not?” “I’m afraid that mister Van Siclen has negotiated some… veto privileges in his most recent contract,” says Peters regretfully. “And he has specifically stated to me that, under no circumstances, are you to be allowed to wrestle him.” WC looks like someone just took away his birthday. “You don’ understand; Van Siclen nearly ended my career. I owe him!” “Look, mister LeCroix,” says Peters. “I’d love to book you in a match with Van Siclen… BELIEVE me, I would; nothing would make me happier than to see that smarmy son of a bitch get his. But, unfortunately, my hands are tied at the moment; there’s nothing I can do.” “You can’t even get me an’ him in a triple-threat, or a battle royal… or somet’ing?” “I’m sorry,” insists Peters. “Van Siclen has made it clear that he will not accept any bookings against the Wildchild.” Dominic stares blankly at Peters, as if he’s trying to piece together a plan in his head. “No bookings against de Wil’chil’, huh? Fine… I got t’go get ready for my match, but know dis, monsieur Peters: dis’ ain’t over; I’m gon’ get my hands on Van Siclen, by hook, or by crook!” With that, Wildchild storms out the door of the Commissioner’s office… As we: FADE OUT

SWF returns from commercial with a shot of the grimy backstage area where ace reporter Ben stands. Really, it doesn’t matter where or how he stands, but what does matter is WHO he stands next to. The camera turns to Hardy’s right reveal the Unique Youth, Zyon! “YEAAAHHHHHH!” The crowd cheer as Hardy speaks into his mic, “As you can see I am here with Zyon who is coming off a tough loss to rookie sensation Trent Hawk.” “Tough?” Zyon interrupts, “Dude the only thing tough about that loss is everyone stating that my so called fifteen minutes of fame are up. It was just a loss to a great wrestler who made the stupid choice to hang with one Michael Cross, which is what I’m here to talk about. I personally don’t care about the Axis. I don’t care about Mr. Kobe even though I hear he is a whore. I just want to hurt one man. I want to save the Cruiserweight Division from one star. That star that burns with the blackest of flames. That star is Iron Michael Cross.” “BOOOOOO!” The crowd jeers in unison as Hardy takes over once again, “But what exactly makes you deserving. You lost the title to Cross and then you’re rematch went up in smoke. And then when CC called on for you to perform…you flat out were bested by a rookie. Hell, you’re no different than Spike really.” Hardy says with a straight face while he watches his life flash before his eyes. Zyon looks at the straight shooting reporter, opting to NOT kill the stooge, “I’m guessing Peters told you to say that. No biggy. I’ll perform when I need to perform. Like tonight when I take on Bruce Blank. I’ll perform. I may win or lose, but I’ll give the people a show. And at Ground Zero when I face Michael Cross in a ladder match, I’ll not only perform, but I’ll set a bar. A bar that nobody in their right mind could leap over. It will be glorious, cause at Ground Zero, I will save the Cruiserweight division from Michael Cross. Now you say what makes me deserving. Well, two Cruiserweight Title reigns and a Hardcore Title reign say I’m due for a chance at Cross. Numerous number one contenderships and a brilliant match with our champion, Michael Stephens says I’m hungry. And for the love of god, does it look like I would introduce my girlfriend to World of Warcraft freaks, please. I’m not Spike!” Zyon chuckles. “While all of that may be true, what makes you think you can beat Cross when he already bested you?” Young Benjamin asks. “Nothing makes me think I can beat Cross. Pride, morals, honor. Those codes tell me that I can’t think I can beat Cross. I HAVE TO BEAT CROSS! He’s a punk, a parasite, and for those gripping to Family Friendly television…he’s a big jerk! Here I’ll break it down for ya. Cross and I will duel for the CW title, and one of us will walk out with it. And let’s face it, I can’t lose to Cross…he’s just a bitch!” Zyon retreats back into his youth language as the camera fades to King and Mak. “Well that just settled that. It seems that Cross and Zyon will battle once again at Ground Zero in a ladder match for the title.” Mak makes it official. “And hopefully Cross will save me from ever having to watch Zyon again.” Fade to whatever is next.

Hawk vs. Luchador to be edited in.

"Fans, I'm here backstage with SWF World Champion Michael Stephens," Ben Hardy says, smiling into the camera. "Mike," he continues, turning to the man standing beside him, "last Smarkdown you had something of a confrontation with your old stablemate and the man you were a second for in his King's Road match at 13th Hour, JJ Johnson. He laid out a challenge for you and the World Title you carry, and when you stated your opinion that Va'aiga should get a shot first Johnson opened hostilities by knocking you down with an elbow smash. Do you have any comments on this situation?" "Well yes I do," Stephens replies levelly, "and I probably should have addressed this before now but I was preoccupied with the fact I've been forced into teaming with Maddix." He grimaces slightly, then takes the microphone from Hardy and looks directly into the camera. "JJ, I respect you as a person and as a wrestler," the World Champion says, "not because you're a particularly nice guy, but rather because you are never less than completely honest about who you are and where you stand. I know that you are one tough tough bastard, and I know that you are going to do everything in your power to take this title away from me at Ground Zero. You're the sort of person a World Champion would be very happy not to have to defend against," he continues, "but for all the fact that you suckerpunched me I can honestly say that if I have to lose this belt, I could do a lot worse than to lose it to you. You've tried to win it before and come up short each time, and I know that rather than preying on your mind that will only strengthen your resolve. You're fast, you're strong, you're harder to kill than MRSA and you know your way around the ring like few others." Michael Stephens pauses, and a small smile appears on his face. "The trouble is, you're now stepping into a zone where all of that means nothing, JJ. I've faced opponents stronger than me, like Bruce Blank for example, and I've beaten them. I've faced opponents faster than me, like Zyon, and I've beaten them too. Tough? They call Landon 'the Cockroach', and I put him down as well. When you get to the World Title it's not about your physical attributes anymore," Stephens says, tapping himself in the chest, "or this skinny white guy wouldn't be standing here holding this belt. It's not about what you can do, it's about how you do it, and when. Because when I seem to be cornered, I find a way out. When I seem beaten, I find a way to win. When someone seems to have my number... I find a way to prove them wrong." He leans closer to the camera until the shot is filled with his face, his black hair hanging down beside his face. "The fact that you jumped me... well, I'm guessing that was a reaction to the intimation that someone was better than you. You might well believe that no-one's better than you JJ, but just to be on the safe side I have a piece of advice for you. "Prepare to be proved wrong." FADE OUT

“Ladies and gentleman, SWF Lockdown is back from a fake world where only people who can’t get laid go to!” “That’s not necessarily true, King.” “Yes, it is,” replies the heel color-commentator, “I am the Suicide King, alongside the handicapped Mak Francis!” “Tonight, the Survival of the Fittest tournament begins! Eight men, four matches! The winner from those matches will meet on Smarkdown for the SWF International Title!” “Up next is the first match of the tournament!” spouts off the Suicide King, “A match with years worth of back story!” The arena is dark, silent as a pair of echoes sweep over the crowd, bringing the lights up slightly with each one, as the fans rise to their feet and thick anticipation builds… Suddenly, a guttural howl kicks “Scientific Remote Viewing” by Cephalic Carnage into full gear, as the lights flare up and seizure-inducing strobes rapidly flash and pulse in an attempt to keep with the music. “Here comes the man that will be facing ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins…a man that he has much hatred for due to Jenkins’ actions over the past several years.” “Remember back in the SJL when Spike shot a fireball into Manson’s face when he was trying to prove he was hardcore enough to fight then JL-World Champion, Crowe?” “Or when Spike stole Manson’s SWF Tag Team Title and breaking up the team of Manson and JJ Johnson?” “Or when Spike won the SWF Hardcore Gamers Title when he hit Manson in the head with a Buddha statue…the night he became the King of Cambodia?” “So…what has Manson done to Spike?” “I’m assuming he is going to kick his ass tonight.” “I hope so,” replies Francis. To the cheers (???) of the crowd, Manson throws aside the curtain and enters the arena, the hood of his robe obscuring his sneer as he pauses at the head of the ramp and looks over the sea of Tauren and Night Elves, before heading down to the ring. “The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a qualifying match for the Survival of the Fittest! First, making his way to the ring. Hailing from Denver, Colorado…weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Thirty Pounds…he is Hate Personified…HE IS MAAAAAAAAAANSOOOONNNNNNNNNNN!” He undoes his belt, letting his robe hang open, and heads up the ring steps. Through the ropes he enters, immediately heading to his corner, ascending the turnbuckles and flicking off his hood. He throws up the horns to the acclaim of the fans taking a moment to bask in the attention. “The crowd is certainly behind MANSONOSITY~ tonight.” “I think it has more to due with the fact…that well…his opponent isn’t very much liked around these parts…” “But his whore of an ex-girlfriend is.” “Oh, the humor in his pain.” “AND HIS OPPONENT!” booms Funyon. Every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl... And then *BAM* The heavy drumming of Norma Jean’s “Creating Something Out of Nothing, Only to Destroy It” blasts through the arena as the lyrics pierce the ears of everyone listening. “Like bringing a knife to a gun fight… Like Bringing A Knife To A Gun Fight… LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT!” Bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. As the growls hit the crowd, Spike walks out wearing a black hoodie on, the hood covering most of his face. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X”, symbolizing his Straight Edge life style. Spike rises to his feet and begins to make his way down the isle towards the ring. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” “The crowd REALLY hates Jenkins,” King reports, “This is pretty bad…” “They might riot, King.” “I doubt it. We don’t have any Ore or Gold.” “Making his way to the ring, he hails from Hollywood, California but represents the Cambodian Embassy. Weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Twenty Pounds, he is The King of Cambodia…HE IS ‘HOLLLLLLLLYWOOOOOOOOOD’ SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE JEEEEEEENKINNNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee and resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. He puts his arms together, forming an “X” across his chest, again promoting his Straight Edge life style. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!” “This crowd is deafening!” “That’s what you get when you try to blow up the Blizzard Entertainment Corporation’s official building.” The referee checks both men for illegal objects and when satisfied, calls for the bell. *Ding Ding Ding* Jenkins and Manson both step out of the corner into the center of the ring where they lock up with a collar-and-elbow tie up. Both men vie for control, Manson using his power and Spike using his technique to gain the advantage. They both try to shake each other around, but we all know technique beats brute strength. Spike hooks the arm and swings behind, locking MANSONOSITY in a hammerlock~! “Spike Jenkins starting the match off slowly with a hammerlock,” commentates Francis, “Spike showed his chain-wrestling skills on Storm by humiliating Matt Myers.” Manson tries to shake Spike off, but Jenkins quickly slides over into a side headlock. He drops down to one knee, flipping him over with a side headlock takedown. Manson hits the mat hard, knocking some of the oxygen out of his body. Spike uses his legs to trap his opponents’ free arm and wrenches back on the neck. “Spike now keeping the striker down on the mat. Smart ring-work by the Hollywood Superstar!” Manson shoots his legs up, attempting the only counter that is possible. He wraps his legs around the neck of Spike, ripping him away from the side headlock and capturing him in a head scissors! “Manson counters the side headlock with a head scissors that is turning the so-called King of Cambodia’s face blue!” “MANSONOSITY at its finest.” Jenkins struggles to breath as he frantically heaves his legs into the air and slamming them upon the mat. Manson uses his arm to raise his body off the mat, applying pressure to the neck of his opponent. Spike rolls over onto his side and balances himself with a headstand while still trapped in the head scissors! Manson sits up, watching as the Hollywood Superstar springs himself out of the hold and onto his feet! Before he is capable of trying to stop the King of Cambodia, Jenkins propels himself into the air and catching MANSONOSITY in the face with a dropkick! “Dropkick out of the head scissors by Jenkins,” cries the Suicide King, “Amazing technical wrestling skills!” Manson clenches his face as he rolls into the corner. Spike climbs to his feet, holding his arms out in a parading manner as he strides around the ring. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “What did Spike do to these poor kids in the audience to make them hate him so much? Sleep with their mothers?” asks a curious Suicide King. “Even worse,” responds Mak, “He slept with Morgan Webb.” “That lucky bastard.” “But the real question here is what can Manson do to put Spike down,” Francis enquires, “Manson is a brawler, but Spike is frustrating him with chain wrestling and keeping him on the mat!” Manson gets to his feet and charges at Jenkins…who quickly slips behind him and locks in a rear waistlock! Spike lifts Manson off the ground, attempting a takedown…but Manson fights back down to his feet. Spike, instead of trying for another, drops to one knee and trips Manson onto his face with a rear double leg takedown. Spike hops to his feet and places one foot on the back of Manson’s head, forcing him onto the mat as he poses for the booing Mages and Warriors! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Reminiscent of his match against Matt Myers on Storm,” says the Suicide King. But Manson isn’t Matt Myers. He’s motherfucking MANSONOSITY~ Manson squeezes his head out from underneath the boot of Spike Jenkins, causing the New Straight Edge Sensation to stumble forward. Manson, somehow finding the powers of UFC strike Chuck Liddel, hops to his feet. Jenkins turns around to meet a now standing and free-of-headlocks Manson…who fires off a BIG left hook that knocks Jenkins back! And a second! And a third that sends Spike into the ropes! “The ol’ southpaw to the jaw,” Francis says jokingly, “This is how Manson is going to beat Spike! He is going to use his striking to knock that bastard out cold!” Manson grabs Spike by the wrist and Irish whips him across the ropes…but Spike reverses and sends Manson into the opposite ropes. Manson hits the ropes and bounces back, picking up a full head of steam as he charges at the straight edger and attempting to rip his face off by planting a STIFF back elbow to the face! The impact of the blow causes the crowd to send out a “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH” as Jenkins tumbles to the mat and rolls as quickly as he can outside of the ring. “Damn it, Manson,” cries the King, “Spike needs that face to pick up emo girls after the show! Beating him is one thing, but destroying his chances of getting laid? THAT is evil.” “As the ways of MANSONOSITY~” Manson follows Jenkins out of the ring, stalking behind his opponent. Spike sees Manson coming and takes a swing, cracking him in the jaw with an elbow that doesn’t really do much damage. ONE!! Manson retaliates with a left hook of his own, that sends Spike stumbling back. TWO!! He grabs Jenkins by the wrist and Irish whips him into the guardrail…but Spike reverses it and tosses Manson into the steel placing! THREE!! FOUR!! Spike quickly rolls into the ring and back out, forcing the referee to restart the count. Spike lines up with Manson against the guardrail and charges at him…only for Manson to backdrop Jenkins over the guardrail and into the crowd! “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” “Manson just tossed Spike over the guardrail and into the crowd!” ONE!! TWO!! Manson hazily turns around and staggers over the railing. He reaches down, grabbing Spike by the hair and hauls him to his feet. With the support of the crowd behind him, he chucks Spike over the guardrail and back into the ringside area. THREE!! “MANSON! MANSON! MANSON!” “The crowd is really behind Manson tonight!” exclaims Mak. “It’s because they hate Spike and Manson is a freak, just like them.” “How dare you call the power of MANSONOSITY~ a…‘freak’!” “I don’t see the big deal of this MANSONOSITY that you speak of, Mak.” “Well, he is beating the crap out of Spike Jenkins right now!” FOUR!! Manson climbs over the guardrail, pursuing Jenkins as he climbs to his feet. Spike uses the steel post to pull himself up, as he turns towards Manson. The Raging Bull charges at full speed at Jenkins, looking for his finisher, THE RAGING LARIAT! Manson blasts towards Jenkins…who uses his speed to drop to the mat, drop toe holding Manson shoulder first straight into the steel post!!! “Manson goes shoulder first into the steel post,” shouts Francis, “That was his left shoulder, King! How will this affect his striking ability?” “Very badly.” FIVE!! The crowd gets to their feet (and hooves, for some of them) and barrages the ringside area with disdain. Spike wallows to his feet, looking at the fallen body of Manson. He grins as he stumbles to the ring and rolls in underneath the bottom rope. “Spike is going to win this by count out!” SIX!! Manson grips his left shoulder as he tries to get to his feet. The whole arena, face and heel side, cheer on for The Walking War to get to his feet. SEVEN!! EIGHT!! Manson gets to his feet and falls over onto the ring apron… NINE!! TEN---NO! MANSON SLIDES INTO THE RING!! “Manson just barely beating the ten count,” Francis barks, “The match continues!” The crowd cheers as Manson slides into the ring…but Jenkins isn’t cheering. He charges at The War Machine, violently stomping at the left arm. Manson tries to push Jenkins away, but Spike retaliates with a swift sidekick to the arm! Manson stumbles to his feet, giving Jenkins the opportunity to pull his arm backwards into a hammerlock. He bucks his hips and lifts Manson off the ground and into the air, bringing him backwards and dropping him on the arm! “Hammerlock Suplex!” Spike rolls over onto his feet, as Manson shouts in pain. He turns over onto his hands and knees, attempting to get up…but Spike cuts him off with another martial arts kick to the shoulder. Manson lets out another shriek as The King of Cambodia jumps on top of him, taking him to the mat. He locks Manson’s right arm in between his legs and pulls back on the left arm in a Rings of Saturn! “Rings of Saturn!” Manson shouts in pain as he struggles to break free…but it is no use. Manson cries that he quits and the referee calls for the bell! *Ding Ding Ding* “What an abrupt finish!” “What can you expect? Things to do.” Spike’s music plays and he leaves the winner! Fuck World of Warcraft.

“Tonight,” fading in, the crowd is acquainted with a face to meet Ben Hardy’s voice, “I’ve got yet another chance to speak with the Cruiserweight Champion, ‘Iron’ Mike Cross.” The backstage is shown in full view as the fade is complete and the camera pans out slightly to capture the standing body of ‘Iron’ Mike Cross. “Jay Hawke is one of the most dominant International Title holders this company has ever seen – if not the most dominant. His reign lasted longer than anyone’s in history, and tonight, that man is your challenger, your only road block on the way Ground Zero.” “Yeah,” Mike interrupts with gusto, “He’s no roadblock, though, Ben.” Mike unzips his hooded sweatshirt down to the last link, revealing the belt gripped tight to his waist. “As far as I’m concerned, Ben Hardy, he’s just another challenger for my title, and if I lose, my own title reign is over. To me, he’s simply another contender wanting to steal what I’ve earned, and I’ve gotta tell you, that makes me more dangerous than ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’.” “So you’re saying you’re treating tonight like it’s a must-win title defense?” “You have to,” Mike points out, “You’ve gotta treat every match like it’s your last, and tonight, he might have the potent arsenal of submissions and maneuvers up for use, he might have the eyes on him, but I’ve got the best opportunity and a dangerous amount of determination in my corner.” “What do you mean?” “You don’t see it,” ‘Iron’ Mike’s face has not an emotion present as he’s all business tonight, “But I do, and that’s the problem. All these people see the name Jay Hawke in contention for the International Title, and he’s the main attraction. As much as they hate him they’re a crowd of hypocrites, they know it’s his name that sold this place out tonight, they know his return screams epic. And my name? My name’s just the one beside his, some punk from Detroit looking to scrape his way into a match that no one wants to see him in.” “I wouldn’t go that far…” “I would,” Mike pauses, “But what matters is my determination – not to lose, to prove the world wrong, and to never lose while holding this belt ever again. It’s as simple as this, Jay, you’re going to have to pry my shoulder from its socket – no problem, it’s something I’ve experienced. You’re going to have to tear my jaw from my face – pain I’m willing to take to win. You’re going to have to break me mentally, physically; you’re going to have to destroy my body. That’s something I’m willing to endure, because to me, all this does is put me one step closer to proving this fucking place wrong, one step closer to Sunday, and one step closer to facing Zyon.” “Well, tonight Jay Hawke is going to need to be on his a-game, which comes expected with the kind of caliber athlete he is. Tonight though, according to this young man,” The camera shifts to the right to catch Mike Cross leaving, “he’s going to have to do more, he’s going to have to break him. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait for tonight’s match, I can’t wait!”

Lockdown returns from a commercial despite the opening match having yet to be wrestled. Anyway, a big bird with a camera swoops around the Gurubashi Arena, showing off the World of Warcraft fans screaming loudly, and a few Kingdom of Loathing-ites scattered about. In particular is a very exhuberant fan waiving a sign that proclaims "BASHY HATE FETUS!". Off in a corner, Bobby Riley has stripped to his skivvies and is trying to dance for money, but it doesn't work because: A. He's not an elf and B. He's not pretending to be a woman, so he gets beaten with sticks. "It's time for the first match of the night," beginulates the Franchise. "However, some fucking level five paladin asshole ninja'd the ring, so we've got to wait a while for it to respawn. Fucking Alliance dipshits. Paladins can't even use rings, and if they could, you have to be at least a level forty-five!" King yells. "However, the show must go on, so Jimmy the Doom will face off against Ciro Vitale in the Gurubashi Arena, like the gladiators of old," Mak states. "Except it's unlikely Azeroth ever had any Roman gladiators. Also, there will be rules, and the sides of the arena will act as the ropes, at least in terms of rope breaks," King points out. Before anything else can be said, the light goes out because some kind of wizard cast a spell of darkness, and a bunch of druid-ish people (Can't say druids because there are actual druids in the World of Warcraft) march out, all chanting one word continuously. "DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!" It would seem the wizard's mana has run out as the light returns, and a bard maybe plays "Yakety Sax" on a lute or something. Jimmy the Doom walks out, followed by Lois the Unethical, who is holding the Hardcore title. Doom stands in the middle of the arena, while Lois and the druid-ish folk climb into the stands. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Lockdown!" Funyon booms. "The following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, being accompanied by Lois the Unethical, currently eating some cotton candy, he is from Doomopolis, Doomtopia, weighs two hundred, thirty pounds, and is the current Hardcore Gamers champion. The Straight-Bread Sensation, Jimmy the Doom!" The bard guy motions for some people to step up, and the band begins playing a shitty, Renaissance fair version of Strapping Young Lad's "Imperial" (Then again, the song might be crappy on its own). Ciro Vitale walks out from the Horde section, an act that causes some uproar, as Ciro is a fucking human. "And his opponent, from Clearwater, Florida, he weighs two hundred, twenty-four pounds and is a member of the Axis, Ciro Vitale!" Funyon shouts. Vitale walks to the center of the arena, and he just stares at Doom, unsure of what to do. "Damn it, where the hell is the referee?" King asks. "Aw, shit. I just read who it is, and trust me, you'll be wishing this just breaks down into a brawl right now," Mak says. Far off in the distance, a sound can be heard, faint at first (Not surprising, as it's far off), but growing louder each passing second. "L E E E E E E E E E E E EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROY JJJJJEEEEEEENKINS!" "Oh, fuck no," King wails. The well-known and possibly mentally handicapped paladin runs into the arena, clad in striped plate mail, apparently the referee for the first match. Before he can check for weapons, a giant-ass bear rushes down and smacks the shit out of Jenkins, knocking him into the side of the arena. "Damn, kid can draw aggro like a motherfucker," Mak comments. "That's a quality tank right there." "Well, everyone hates him, so, yeah, that's what you want in a tank, I guess," King replies. Leeroy picks himself up, pulls out a chicken leg and takes a bite. "All right chums, let's do this!" Jenkins shouts. DING! DING! DING! Trying his best to ignore the odd referee, Vitale focuses in on the equally odd Doomtopian, who catches him off guard with a lunging jab. Ciro backpedals and Jimmy gives chase, firing off kick after kick, none connecting, but forcing Vitale towards the edge of the arena. Doom leaps forward, smashing his forearm into Ciro's chest and pinning him against the wooden wall. With his free hand, the Straight-Bread Sensation begins peppering Vitale with machine gun palm strikes. "Jimmy the Doom, in typical fashion, wasting no time and is already taking it to Ciro Vitale with those shoteis," Francis says. "Yeah, but he's barely got any wind up on them. They might be rapid fire, but there's hardly any force behind them," King points out. Leeroy wanders over, thinks about admonishing Doom since the walls are technically the ropes, but is quickly distracted by the glint of his greaves. Doom continues to pound Vitale with palm strikes, but Ciro quickly counters with a knee to the groin. Jimmy stumbles away and Vitale takes him to the mat with a bulldog. "Nice use of Trel'thazar's Bane by Ciro Vitale to get out of what was, at best, an annoying predicament," King says. "King, it was a knee to the balls. I mean, if anything, wouldn't that be like, Annie's Bane?" Mak asks. "You shut up right now. If these nerds find out we might have an actual female lesbian, they'll never let us leave," King mutters. Vitale climbs up, waits on Doom, and then hurls a handful of sand into the Doomtopian's eyes. Ciro races forward and dropkicks Jimmy back to the ground. Vitale crawls over to Jimmy, grabs his near leg, and rolls to make a lateral press so that Ciro can look at the crowd while Leeroy counts. That is, if Leeroy begins counting. However, he currently has scrawled "AFK" onto his chest plate and is staring at the sun. "Fuckin' Rain Man," Funyon mumbles. The massively mammoth Oregonian ring person guy (MMORPG, LOLZ~!) leans over the wall and slaps his hand on the rough wood, taking over ref duties for the time being. ONE! With only one leg hooked, and it being the near limb, too, Ciro doesn't have much leverage, which is probably why Jimmy does the nice thing and bring his other leg up. Particularly, he brings his knee up and into the side of Vitale's head, knocking him loose. "Vitale with the first pinfall of the night, but it barely gets a one count, and I think he's about to learn the hard way that Jimmy the Doom doesn't go down very easily," Mak says. "Unlike your mother, who goes down for about five bucks a pop! OH, SNAP, SPICY FUCKIN' BURNSAUCE RIGHT THERE!" King exclaims. "God damn you." Ciro climbs to his feet and boots Jimmy in the gut. Vitale takes hold of Jimmy's left wrist and attempts an armwringer, but Doom counters by pulling Ciro in, perhaps for a short-arm something or other. However, Vitale is a young, spry guy (Which is totally different from a Fry Guy, so don't even think he's got French fries for hair or something) and he improvises, letting go of the Straight-Bread Sensation and tossing his arm around Doom's chest. Ciro sweeps Jimmy to the dirt and is about to pop back to his feet, but finds lanky Doomtopian arms wrapped around his head, trapping him. "Ciro Vitale with a nice STO, but he's still on the ground, for some reason," Mak says. "From what I can tell, I'd say it's an arm triangle, or a side choke. The Doomstroyer has used a standing version a few times, and I guess he taught it to Jimmy," King states. Leeroy wanders over to the two grapplers, bends down, and asks Jimmy if he'd like to submit. Doom refuses to answer, so Jenkins turns his attention on Vitale, posing the same question to the Floridian by way of Naples. Naples, Italy, as there is a Naples, Florida. However, Ciro finds it hard to answer as some weird guy with strange personal odor is currently trying to choke him out, so Vitale just flails with his free hand. Vitale flails some more, before planting his hand on the ground and trying to simply pull his head free. It works, but a left cross from Doom practically knocks Vitale out cold. "Ciro has managed to slip free of that arm triangle choke, but he's got to be really woozy after having blood and oxygen flow to his brain restricted," Mak says. "Well, considering he just slumped over after that punch from Jimmy the Doom, I'd have to agree," King says. The Straight-Bread Sensation pulls Ciro up and whips him into the wall of the arena. Jimmy races after him and grabs Vitale by the hair. Doom bends the Floridian double and drops to the mat with the Doom Factor. However, Jimmy isn't quite ready to pin Ciro and leaves him shoved against the wall. The Hardcore champ backs up ten paces and darts towards Vitale, sliding across the ground and into the side of his head with a basement dropkick. Jimmy drags Vitale away from the wall on the off chance Leeroy Jenkins remembers that the wall counts as the ropes, and makes a lateral press. Shockingly, Jenkins drops to make the count. ONE! TWO! A large squirrel scampers down the stands and into the arena. It kicks Leeroy in the face, clamps it's jaws around his body and rushes back to whatever dwelling a giant-ass squirrel has. Grumbling, Funyon leans over to make the final count. THREE! DING! DING! DING! "And the winner of this match, Jimmy the Doom!" Funyon yells. A fife player strikes up "Yakety Sax" once more as Jimmy climbs up the wall and joins Lois. Suddenly, a wrestling ring appears in the air and crashes down on top of Ciro Vitale. "What the hell ass crap?!" Mak exclaims. "Hey, looks like a warlock summoned a ring elemental," King says. "Oh, yeah, you're right. Should work until we find that turd who stole the real ring, kill him, and then loot his corpse," Francis replies. Lockdown fades to commercial for Vampicorns and Uniculas Unlimited (Basically, it's a clothing store for unicorns that are also vampires and/or Draculas)

... that's a damn good idea, actually. We could take a step further - 10 best PPV's in fed history, and go through them in ascending order, so the shows leading up to the upcoming Pay Per View are from the locations of the 10th best PPV, 9th best PPV, 8th best PPV, etc. And when we have our Pay Per View, it will come from the location of our #1 Best PPV.

There was no problem with the regular World Tour. We'll be doing it again next year, sans the Fictional second half. I'm just looking for ideas for the other nine months of the year. Canadian Tour, Southern Tour, etc.

Anyone?

The fine folks at Milliways offered to transport the SWF back to a time BEFORE this accursed Fictional World Tour ever began, but then all the people who bought tickets for the remaining shows would be ripped off, and we can't have angry letters coming at us from all over the sea of time, now can we? Instead, we asked them to ship us back to Earth, present time, as our Science Fiction leg of the tour has just about run its course. It's time for some more normal, earth-based loca- *sees the card* God damn it! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF Lockdown! Live, Wednesday, July 19th, from the Gurubashi PvP Arena in Stranglethorn Vale, Azeroth! (6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) Fans of the good guys will be sitting on the left, which is where the good guys will enter from. Those cheering the heels will sit on the right, which is where the heels will enter from. The audience will be entirely made up of SWF Fans, though some of them may be cosplaying their WoW characters. God help us. Also, it's time to kick off the... INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT~! Eight names went into the hat, and these four matches came out! Note that the results were MOSTLY random - I say mostly because I didn't want to run Spike vs. Sly for the third time this month, so I made sure they stayed apart. The winners of these four matches will meet on Smarkdown, in an as-yet-undetermined type of match! -=-=-=-=- MAIN EVENT - INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT MATCH "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke vs. Michael Cross -> OOOOOOOH YEAH, BITCHES! JAY HAWKE IS BACK! He may not have created the International Title (those honors go to a far more Dangerous fellow), but he has become synonymous with its name. Hawke's run with the IN title is legendary, and it looks like he's back for a second go! But how did he finagle his way into the tournament you ask? Blame that (and most everything else) on good ole' Joe Peters. He thought the team of Maddix and Stephens was DYN-O-MITE, and has used his Executive Privilege to pull Maddix from the tournament in order to team them up again! What a crazy coincidence, then, that Jay Hawke reappeared at the last show, demanding a spot in the tournament! Funny how things work out, huh? Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM MATCH Two Skinny White Guys (Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix) vs. Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart -> I was this close to using "Turn Your Head and Thoth". Against everyone's predictions, Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix somehow managed to pull out a win over the Doomtopians on Storm! Joseph Peters was so impressed with the match (and the ratings) that he's actually yanked Maddix from the International Tournament, to open up more tagging opportunities! Tonight, Two Skinny White Guys take on the team that just fell short of capturing Tag Team gold on Storm, Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart! Rules: Standard tag team match. Use the tag ropes! Word Limit: 5500 Send to: Evolution -=-=-=-=- INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT MATCH Bruce Blank vs. Zyon -> Random Pairings are awesome, because you get some badass matches like this one! A fire's been lit under Bruce Blank's ass, and if he is to be believed, then his reign with the International Title will be more awe-inspiring than even Jay Hawke's! That is assuming he wins the title in the first place, though, and with stiff competition like Zyon in his way, Bruce had better keep his mind on the matters at hand! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT MATCH Wildchild vs. Tom Flesher -> A little over/under/whatever two months ago, these two clashed at the Taj Mahal, and Wildchild came out the victor! Well Flesher's got his sights set on the Cruiserweight Gold around Michael Cross's waist, but with Cross occupied in the tournament, we needed another Cruiser to keep Tom sharp, and we imagine he's got a score to settle with this particular cruiser. Two of the SWF's finest do battle once again! Rules: Standard singles, with Cruiser addenda. Surely you know them by now. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Charlie "Grappler" Matthews vs. Grendel -> It's no secret that Grendel's got a score to settle with Tom Flesher, but after his demasking in the handicap match, he's also got a bit of ANGER~! left over for Grappler! Tonight they meet again, this time one-on-one! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Evolution -=-=-=-=- INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu vs. Austin Sly -> Austin Sly has showed a great deal of interest in the International Title recently, up to earning a shot for it against Aecas! That plan has sort of fallen through, but Sly's renewed determination has not! Many are pinning Sly as a good bet to take the gold, but first he'll have to get through the freshly returned Akira Kaibatsu! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Trent Hawk vs. Insane Luchador -> Upset city, baby! Trent Hawk ends up pulling a Zyon (that is, being a rookie who rocks from the get-go) and BEATING Zyon in the same night! The same match, even! The Axis are off to a good start, and Hawk looks to make it a better start as he takes on the Insane Luchador! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Secret Agent -=-=-=-=- INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. MANSONOSITY~! -> If memory serves, these two have history. KARMA pits them against each other in the qualifying round of the International Championship Tournament! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=- OPENING BOUT Jimmy the Doom vs. Ciro Vitale -> DO BIG BATTEL. (better description pending) Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: hhh6294 -=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: Unclaimed. -=-=-=-=- NOTES: ---> Markers will be edited in ASAP. Gonna make another run at trying to find some more regulars. ---> As with the past few shows, if you want your match to have a stipulation, just ask. Make sure you clear it with your opponent, too. ---> I think I got everyone available booked, but if you're left off, again, feel free to set up a match, and I'll edit it in.

How is that possible? Sent from a TSM account created a short while ago. Zero posts, no info in the profile, and nothing relating to the sender in the message itself. As far as I can tell, the account was made just for sending this message.

Send to me, I suppose. Man, where are all our retirees when we need 'em?

No clue. This was delivered to my inbox anonymously.

Dunno about him, but I could use a little advice here too. I've got a video file I need to move from one PC to the another. It's 701 megs, but the CDR's I have only hold 700 (don't have a DVDR drive). There any programs I can use to just hack off the first minute of the video or something, to cut the size down?

My money's on T-Bone.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF Storm! Live, Friday, July 14th, from Milliways, the Restaurant At The End of the Universe! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) Posting a description of Milliways on this card would be impossible (joke intended!), so for more detailed settings (should you choose to incorporate them), click here, and skip to Chapter 14. The chapters aren't terribly long, and 14, 15, and 16 should give you some fun stuff to work with (if you want). The short version: Milliways is a restaurant that exists in a time bubble, in the moments just before all of creation ends. You get there by travelling through time, and through the windows you can watch the Universe begin to collapse and crumble while you enjoy your meal, then travel back to your time whenever you like. -=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Tom Flesher and Charlie "GRAPPLAH" Matthews vs. Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart -> Kerry Staunton and Scott Rageheart - two technically sound athletes with some solid victories, including a recent win for Scott over the CRUISERWEIGHT MASTAH, Wildchild. Tonight, these two take their shot at Team MatFlesh, who took the titles of the Doomtopians just a few short shows ago! Will the still-green team of StauntHeart rise to the top in short order? Or will MatFlesh... um... pin them... and retain the titles? (I've totally run out of things to say here) Rules: Standard tag match. TAG ROPES OR DIE. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: Evolution -=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM MATCH The New Doomtopians vs. Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix -> You've gotta be kidding me. Seriously, it was funny at first, but come on. Stephens and Maddix? A TEAM? I don't buy it. But apparently the fans do - at least, according to Joseph Peters and his wacked out logic. So tonight, one of the oddest odd couples we've seen in a while will take on the ex-champion Doomtopians! Rules: Standard tag match. Use the tag ropes (pretty please)! Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT MATCH (non-title) Grendel vs. Michael Cross -> Grendel's still got plenty of ANGER directed at Tom Flesher, and Joseph Peters has a decent amount of anger directed at Cross, considering who ran down in the main event in Smarkdown. Not Akira, though, the other guys. Yeah, them. In any event, Peters sees this as a good opportunity for both men. If Grendel can't directly put the screws to Tom, a decisive victory over the man holding the title Tom wants might be a good way to go about it. And a decisive win for Cross would give him a great deal of momentum for his next defense! Rules: Cruiserweight Rules - 20 count outside, no throwing over the top rope. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. Amy Stephens -> Innit! Haven't heard that in a while, just felt the need to get that out there. SO ANYWAY, Spike Jenkins, one of the competitors looking to get his grubby little paws on the International Title, is not about to take the show off before the big match(es)! Tonight, he takes on the less-than-ladylike-lady Amy Stephens! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Evolution -=-=-=-=- HARDCORE MATCH Mike Van Siclen vs. Bruce Blank -> Against all odds, MVS bravely took on the fearsome cardboard menace, and came out the victor! Nevertheless, he and Peters are still at odds, and Peters won't be giving him an easy time. Van Siclen's next opponent - the self-proclaimed King of Pain himself, Bruce Blank! Rules: RULES ARE FOR SISSIES! Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Secret Agent -=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Trent Hawk vs. Zyon -> A number of people showed up during Smarkdown's main event who were not invited - Akira Kaibatsu, for one, and Ciro and Trent as well! Zyon's chance to take back the Cruiserweight Title was squashed, and the Unique Youth is not about to take it lying down! Tonight, Zyon looks to put the newcomer in his place! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: hhh6294 -=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Insane Luchador vs. Ciro Vitale -> The Insale Luchador returns from vacation... although really, we just travelled in time to the point when his vacation ended, then brought him here. That worked pretty well. In any event, he takes on the newcomer Ciro Vitale! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Evolution -=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT MATCH Wildchild vs. Ced Ordonez -> Scott Rageheart pulled out a surprise win against Wildchild on Smarkdown. Has the Bahaman Bomber gotten rusty? Let's hope not. In any even, he'll attempt to sharpen (or resharpen) his m@d cru1s3r sk1llz tonight against the DDR-crazed Ced Ordonez! Rules: Cruiserweight rules - 20 count, no throwing over the top, etc. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- OPENING SQUASH OF GREAT SQUISHINESS JJ Johnson vs. Martin Hunt -> JJ's back! When did this happen? I'm not sure, but that's not the point. The point is, he's back! Hooray for JJ! On Smarkdown, he called out Michael Stephens for a World Title shot, but Joseph Peters wants to be certain that JJ's fully recovered from his injury. What better way to do that than with a Hardcore match? NONE, says I! Rules: HARDCORE~! Word Limit: 4000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: Bruce Blank. -=-=-=-=- NEXT WEEK - INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH(ES)! -=-=-=-=- Since this has actually worked pretty well, I'm just going to start declaring that anyone left off the card is free to request I add a match for you, provided you clear it with your prospective opponent. And if anyone wants a stip added to their match, same deal.

Let's try this again: Most matches have markers now. Still shopping around, as I hate giving people double (or god forbid, triple) duty, so the two matches still without markers should be edited in a bit.

Doh. Wrong thread indeed. I ams teh idiotz.

Most matches have markers now. Still shopping around, as I hate giving people double (or god forbid, triple) duty, so the two matches still without markers should be edited in a bit.

Not entirely up yet, but even so, a strong showing so far. We are most pleased.