chirs3

Tom Flesher sits in his office, relishing the thought of his Disney-Sponsored World Champion and his least favorite Straight-Edge Sensation (as if he liked anything Straight-Edged) pounding the stuffing out of each other. He pours himself a glass of scotch on the rocks, taking the time to admire the aroma. Before he can partake, however, his door bangs open abruptly. Michael Alexander, an icy fury etched on his face, stomps in scowling. Flesher is used to this sort of thing, and so he just sighs as he sits down. "Michael Alexander...what can I do for you, now?" "What can you do, Flesher?" Alexander fumes. "You can reverse that ridiculous decision last week granting the New Blood title to that masked escapee from a mental ward! You and I both know that I should have that title!" "Now just a minute, Alexander," Flesher raises his hand imperiously. "I sympathize with you, I do, but Fulminatus, crazy or not - oh, hell, we all know he is crazy - got that title by yanking it off its hook, which is the way you win titles in ladder matches. No question. It's on tape." Alexander snarls. "Only after he had surrendered to me! Your tape also shows that. That freak tapped out! He forfeited the match as surely as if he had walked out! You can't win a title by tapping out!" "You can in a ladder match," Flesher points out. "Look, I understand your frustration. Losing a gimmick match to an unstable spotmonger can be infuriating when you're a serious wrestler, especially a technical expert of your obvious caliber. I've been in such situations myself, believe me." "You're making my points for me," Alexander replies. "This is a wrestling title, not a sideshow belt. The New Blood Title was supposed to represent the pinnacle wrestling acumen among the more recent additions to the roster, like myself. By putting it on the line in a ladder match, and then allowing the obviously inferior wrestler walk away with the belt, you've made the title a joke!" "Ah," Flesher folds his hands, his brow furrowing with anger and perhaps a little amusement. "Look, part of my job is to get ratings and ticket sales. Whether I like it or not, part of that is putting on gimmick matches, even insane stuff that a real wrestler wouldn't want to be caught dead in, like that Badger on a Pole fiasco we had last week. The New Blood Title included a couple of those matches, as the tournament serves also as a ratings grabber, not merely an athletic contest. And let's be clear...as much as I am disturbed and disgusted by Fulminatus, I didn't let him walk away with anything. He pushed you off a ladder, plastered you with some sort of German-themed splash off that ladder, and climbed back up to snatch the title while you were on your back, staring at the ceiling." Tom leans back nonchalantly. "I take it then that since the title is a 'joke' that you wouldn't want a return match?" Alexander frowns. "Don't misunderstand," he says quickly. "I can see that you comprehend my dilemma. I don't want the title to be left as it is, tainted by that fiasco of a ladder match and by that witless waste of a wrestler who's currently carrying it around. Give me a return match. An actual wrestling match. I proved that I am the superior wrestler already...now I just need to claim the belt he stole from me last week." Tom smiles wickedly. "I'll tell you what, Mike," he answers wryly. "You show me something in your match this week and we'll see." "Oh, you'll see something," Alexander promises as he walks out. "And so will Fulminatus. You saw that match, Flesher, and you know, better than anyone else could, that I was the superior wrestler. No question, no dispute, no debate. I have beaten him already, and I would be champion without the ridiculous stipulations that were thrown into that match." Alexander adds over his shoulder as he walks out, "I will redeem the respectability of the New Blood Title and the SWF. And I will do so over the crippled body of Fulminatus." Flesher gulps down his scotch, relieved to finally get to drink it. He smirks. "Shaping up to be another stellar week. Actually, kid, I hope you can pull it off." He says to himself. Seriously, Flesher thought, shuddering, FULMINATUS as champion...ugh. FADE OUT

Raynor vs. Bruner =

The advertisement for “Frost Brand chewing Tobacco! Now with seventy-five percent more fiberglass insulation, for that real manly chew!” fades from the screen and is replaced by a shot of our intrepid announcers idly chatting away at their announcers table. “Welcome back to SWF Storm!” a rather surprised Mak Francis says. “We’re coming to you more or less live from the sold out Stade de France in wonderful Saint-Denis in, you guessed it, France!” “Don’t be such a kiss-ass, Francis,” comes the familiar grumble of the Suicide King. “These people hate us. Seriously, I’m shocked that they haven’t booed everyone who’s come out to the ring so far, heel or face!” “Well we do happen to have a great many non-Americans on our roster,” Francis retorts. “We’ve got C.I.A. and Blue Leaf from Canada, who we already saw square off earlier tonight. Toxxic from just over the channel in England, who’ll be teaming with fellow Revolution-0 member Austin Sly tonight to take on the team of Michael Alexander and MANSON. And then there’s Jimmy the Doom from… Doomtopia…” “Yeah, that proves a hell of a lot,” King scoffs. “The French hate everyone. I tried to go out and get a bite to eat today and I got hit with damn near a dozen eggs before I could step out on the sidewalk!” “Don’t you think that might be because you’re… oh, I don’t know… one of the most hated men in wrestling?!” Mak bellows. King is stunned. “What does that have to do with it? I have no idea what you’re referring to, colonel.” “Yeah, I’ll bet you don’t…” Francis trails off. In the ring, Funyon stands, dressed in the height (or depth) of French fashion. With a smug look, well belying his French ancestry, Funyon speaks. “Madames and monsieurs, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first…” The lights dim slightly and a loud bell is heard ringing, to which the French fans immediately begin to cheer for, perhaps anticipating the arrival of the Undertaker. Their cheers are soon replaced with boos as a Gregorian chant is heard emanating from the speakers. From the back emerges “The Paladin” Chance Silver, and the crowd intensifies their boos. In his right hand, Silver is holding a chain which extends back through the curtain. He gives the chain a tug, but it is obvious that whatever is attached to the chain does not want to move. “Now that the hell has Silver got this time?” King mutters. Visibly a little annoyed, “The Paladin” finally gives a mighty tug on the chain, and from out of the back steps a figure cloaked all in brown, carrying something in it’s robe. With a surly look on his face, Chance Silver leads the hooded figure down the ramp. The hooded figure suddenly reveals what he is carrying. It is a flog. After a bit of instruction from Silver, the hooded figure removes it’s hood and exposes himself (no, not like that, you pervert) to be Matt Myers. “Matt Myers is dressed like a monk! That’s great! I wonder what kind of wacky antics he’s gonna pull tonight.” Mak Francis says warmly. The crowd begins to cheer when they see Myers, but they are instantly repulsed when after a stern nod from his apparent master, Matt begins to whip himself on the back furiously with the flog! The fans recoil in horror at seeing Myers abuse himself in such a manner. Even Funyon is a little sick to his stomach. “They weigh in at a combined weight of four hundred and sixty-one pounds… ‘The Paladin’ Chance Silver and ugh… Matt ‘Level Forty-Two Priest’ Myers… The HOLY ROOLLERRRRS!!” “I’m not certain that’s healthy, King.” Mak says. “I know Myers likes to make the most of his ‘Gimmick of the Week’ routine, but… my GOD!!” “I’m sure he feels the same way, Mak.” King wittily replies. The two wrestlers enter the ring, Myers having some difficulty getting through the ropes due to his cumbersome robe. Finally on the inside, at the behest of “The Paladin”, Myers continues whipping himself brutally on the back as a testament to his faith… or his gimmick. Meanwhile, Chance Silver holds up his wrists to the crowd, proudly displaying the symbols of which he believes so strongly in. “I really hope these two don’t keep teaming up.” King wisely states. “I’m with you there, King.” Francis agrees. “And their opponents…” Funyon declares, making sure to keep a safe distance from the strange behavior of Matt Myers. Suddenly the lights in the arena are cut and silence reigns on all. Shattering the quiet, loud bombastic orchestral music begins to play. A song so majestic it makes “O Fortuna” seem like elevator music. Bursts of black pyro erupt continuously from the ring posts throughout the song! *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* The SmarkTron is filled with images of everything imaginable: atomic bombs erupting, babies crying, emus attempting to fly, an Edsel, the Challenger explosion, a map of San Juan Capistrano, California, the Panama Canal, that video of the bulldog skateboarding, an old man drinking lager, amputees playing snooker, and many other things of a grandiose nature. More black pyro erupts from the entrance ramp from the ring up to the stage. *BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM* *BOOM* “I still don’t understand how we can get black pyro…” Mak wonders. “Don’t worry about it,” is King’s reply. The crowd is very confused at this point, having no clue what this overly elaborate entrance is supposed to signify. There are explosions of black pyro everywhere on the stage as the music comes to it’s climax. *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* Then as the music fades out from it’s final triumphant note, the trapdoor on the stage opens up and a huge flock of white doves emerges and heads for the rafters, creating a beautiful spectacle. The French fans cheer wildly as the beautiful display comes to an end. “Wow, that must have cost Flesher an ass-load of money,” the Suicide King sardonically replies. “I bet you’re right,” Mak acquiesces. “It’s been nearly two minutes and we haven’t even seen the wrestlers.” As the last few doves emerge from the trapdoor, a huge image fades to the screen of the SmarkTron. The huge grimacing feature of Winston Churchill looms over the Stade de France and the French crowd in attendance begin to boo the former prime minister of England. Suddenly, upon the image a large curly mustache begins to grow from his upper lip and a long pointy beard sprouts from his chin. The eyes also begin to glow bright red in a most eerie manner. “Ok, now that’s a little weird…” Mak Francis weakly utters. As the image remains, a spotlight illuminates the figure that has risen from beneath the stage. It is a creature the size of a large dog and is wearing a barbecue apron on it’s back. “What the hell? Is that a giant rat?!” King exclaims. In fact, he couldn’t be closer to the truth. It is of the largest species of rodent, the capybara. It’s name: C.A.P.Y.B.A.R.A. (Computerized Automaton Processing Yield Benefit Analysis Rodent Abacist), and he looks majestic. Before the crowd has the time to react to the puzzling creature, a shower of gold sparks fall from the ceiling as Tiny Tim begins to sing “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.” From the back, out step Fulminatus and Jimmy the Doom. “Well it’s about damn time,” King snarls. “We wait all this time and for what? Two weirdos coming out to Tiny Tim? I want my money back.” “You didn’t pay anything to be here!” Mak spurts. “In fact, you’re getting paid to watch this!” “Not enough,” replies the King. The two wrestlers proudly, and slowly walk down to the ring, having to keep in step with C.A.P.Y.B.A.R.A. who is in none to much of a hurry. Jimmy proudly sports the brand new officially licensed Winston Churchill t-shirt, beneath his signature, though little worn leather vest simply covered in fringe. On the back of said vest, there is also the official Winston Churchill logo, with the facial hair fashioned out of vest fringe. To his credit, Fulminatus is also showing team spirit, having the officially licensed Winston Churchill mousepad duct-taped to his chest. On the SmarkTron, the screen is filled with images of both Jimmy the Doom and Fulminatus modeling the official merchandise for their tag team. In one shot they are sitting at a table both wearing the Winston Churchill t-shirts and drinking from the Winston Churchill coffee mugs. Another shot has them barbecuing, both sporting the Winston Churchill barbecue aprons, with C.A.P.Y.B.A.R.A. also sporting his. There is even a shot of a clearly male ass wearing the Winston Churchill thong, but it is unclear who’s tuckus this might be. “Ok, now that was just unnecessary,” shudders King. “Really, who the hell is gonna wear a Winston Churchill thong?” “I have no idea,” Mak says, stunned. “Now I know the office was gonna put some money behind these two, but this is ludicrous. Doves?! They have doves? No one has doves for their entrance. That’s got to be like, five hundred dollars per entrance on wildlife alone!” “You ain’t kidding.” King bemuses. “I had enough trouble getting that one damn blast of red pyro for my entrance. I had to take a cut in pay, for crying out loud…” The three warriors finally make their way down to the ring and Funyon announces again from the ring. “And their opponents, at a combined weight of four hundred and twenty pounds, accompanied by C.A.P.Y.B.A.R.A… Fulminatus and Jimmy the Doom… WINSTOOOON CHURRRRCHILLLL!!” “Winston Churchill? What, like the politician?” Mak muses. “Your guess is as good as mine, man. When was the last time anyone could make sense of these two?” King says. The fans respond with a strange mixture of cheers for the individual wrestlers and boos for the name of their team. Before entering the ring, Fulminatus leads C.A.P.Y.B.A.R.A. around by the announcers’ table and ties his leash to the guardrail, leaving him to lay down next to King. The Gambling Man, for his part, just looks down suspiciously at the large rodent. DING!! DING!! The bell rings as the two wrestlers enter the ring. There is some confusion between Jimmy and Fulminatus as to who is to start the match. They decide to settle the dispute like men and they hold their hands out flat and strike their fists against it in traditional rock, paper, scissors formation. *ROCK!!* *PAPER!!* *HEADBUTT~!!* They strike their heads against each other and Fulminatus staggers backward a bit. He then acquiesces and with a sweep of his hand, allows the Doom to fight first. On the other side of the ring, it is the flagellating Matt Myers, temporarily ceasing his self-mutilation. With caution, Myers steps forward, only to get popped in the chin with a shotei! “WENDERBINGO!!” Matt tries to shake off the blow, but is distracted by Fulminatus placing his hands on the side of his head, in a position resembling antlers, and giving a bellowing moose call. "MAAAAAAH!!" Puzzled, Myers stares at the odd figure but then gets kicked in the face for his blunder! Jimmy grabs the 'Level Forty-Two Priest' by the wrist and whips him into the Winston Churchill corner. As Myers comes to a halt, Fulminatus leans in close and blows gently in Matt's ear, causing Myers to spring from the turnbuckles out of terror, and directly into another head kick from Doom. “ALRIBERA!!” "Now, I know this match is against Myers and Silver, but these bizarre tactics are working pretty damn well," Mak says. "I'm curious to see how well they'll work to unnerve a more cohesive unit, though." "What the hell are you talking about? You better not be suggesting that these... things... challenge Wild and Dangerous, or, hell, any tag team," King says. Jimmy hooks his left arm under Matt's right and brings him to the mat with a hip toss. Doom yanks Myers to his knees and clambers on the priest's back. The Straight-Bread Sensation then hooks both index fingers in the corners of Matt's mouth, pulling them into a hideous grin. Like clockwork, Fulminatus then enters the ring. The New Blood champ forms his hands into a viewfinder, gets Myers into frame, and then charges in with a headbutt to the face of the once and future manatee. Large letters in puce pop onto the SmarkTron, spelling out the following: *Say Cheese!* "Did the SmarkTron just give us the name of one of their moves?" Mak asks. "It would appear so. At least we don't have to decipher some insane pamphlet," King says. At the behest of referee Philip Michael Thomas, Fulminatus exits the ring. However, Jimmy quickly tags his strange partner into the match. Instead of pressing the attack, though, Fulminatus simply walks past Matt and begins scrubbing the canvas with his wrist tape. The referee known to most as Tubbs from the hit T.V. show Miami Vice looks on in confusion as Fulminatus leans back to see if the mat has taken on a reflective sheen yet. "Yeah, that'll really work against a legitimate tag team," King mumbles. "Hey, Fulminatus’ strange tactics have worked well enough to secure him the New Blood title, King," Mak says. "Ah, but your mother," King shoots back. Behind him, Myers slowly pushes himself up, drawing the attention of Fulminatus. The Earl of Enigmas springs to his feet, grabs Matt by the cheeks, and shakes them vigorously and laughin all the way. "Okay, did Fulminatus just morph into Myers' grandma?" King asks. "I'm sure it doesn't feel good, especially after Jimmy just fish hooked him," Mak points out. "Don't try to justify it, Francis," King says. Despite his lack of size, Fulminatus forces Matt into the Winston Churchill corner and releases Myers. Doom quickly grabs Matt in a full nelson, leaving Fulminatus to kick the 'Level Forty-Two Priest' in the shins repeatedly. Tubbs gets to four and three-quarters before the Straight-Breader lets go of Myers. This time, words in bole flash on the SmarkTron. *A Series of Tubes* "Do you think they've got one called 'It's Not a Big Truck!'?" Mak asks. "Knowing them, I wouldn’t be surprised," King says. Perhaps making some sort of tactical error, Fulminatus then grabs his opponent by the wrist and whips him back to his own corner, where Myers, nearly tripping on his own monk’s robe, frantically tags in his master for the evening, Chance Silver. Slightly stunned by the swift change in the match, “The Paladin” steps into the ring. Unfortunately for him, in the Winston Churchill corner, Fulminatus tags in the longest reigning Hardcore Champion ever! “As a certain big, fat, southern announcer would say:” Mak Francis spouts, “’Business is about to pick up!’” “God, can’t you even come up with your own catchphrases?” King mocks. Upon hearing the last comment, C.A.P.Y.B.A.R.A. snaps awake from his nap and barks at King, revealing a rather fierce looking set of herbivore teeth. With King temporarily startled, C.A.P.Y.B.A.R.A. lays down and continues his nap. With a swift crack of his neck, Jimmy the Doom marches forward at “The Paladin” and quickly enters a tie-up, which the stronger Straight-Breader wins. He grabs his opponent around the head in a headlock and begins furiously pounding his fist into the top of the Holy Roller’s head! ”KANDOLLOP!!” The referee and former T.V. icon insists that Jimmy release the hold, to which he obliges, but not before a quick noogie to “The Paladin’s” silver hair. “Nice… umm… noogie by Jimmy the Doom,” a baffled Mak Francis states. “Oh, you’re just groping for compliments now, aren’t ya?” King sneers. As Jimmy releases his mighty headlock, Chance Silver takes the advantage and throws a couple hard closed fist shots to Jimmy’s midsection, staggering the taller gentleman. “The Paladin” continues to throw left and right hands, back his opponent up. With his opponent momentarily staggered, Silver boots the Doom in the gut and doubles him over. “What’s Chance Silver going for, here?” Mak asks. Chance grabs his opponent and prepares to grab his head, but Jimmy suddenly springs to life and hits his dreaded double palm thrust squarely in the chest of “The Paladin”! The crowd cheers ferociously as Silver is sent stumbling backwards into the enemy corner, and the waiting Fulminatus takes the advantage given him and grabs both of Chance’s arms from behind. Holding his struggling opponent proves no easy feat though, as the clever Paladin manages to dislodge his opponent with a few sharp headbutts to his masked face. “There you go, Silver!” King yells. “Smash his ugly face in!” “You can’t even see his face, King. He’s wearing a mask.” Mak observantly notes. Upon his release, Silver throws a couple of right hands at Fulminatus, but the staggered wrestler on the apron waves his hand in apparent surrender, taking Chance by surprise. Then Fulminatus simply points over “The Paladin’s” shoulder. The confused wrestler turns around, only to be met with a swift kick to the gut by an angry Doomtopian! The kick doubles Silver and Jimmy grabs him by his head, leaps in the air and brings the unlucky Chance’s face to the mat with his DOOM Factor! ”LINFLARGO!!” “Jimmy hit the Doom Factor! This match is all over!” Mak excitedly bursts. “What? That’s impossible!” a terrified King replies. Quickly, Jimmy rolls over and makes the cover as the fans begin to build up their cheers. Philip Michael Thomas drops to the mat and quickly makes the count. ONE * * * TWO * * * THR— And Tubbs’ count is cut off by a savage boot to Jimmy’s back by a raging Matt Myers! The Mad Monk begins to lay in severely heavy kicks to the Doom as he rolls off the now helpless Chance Silver. The powerless Paladin rolls to the relative safety of the outside as his opponent takes control of the match. His boots having done their fair share of damage to the stunned Doomtopian, Matt “Level Forty-Two Priest” Myers lifts his opponent to his feet and hooks Jimmy’s leg for his familiar Ki-Krusher ’99! “If Myers can hit this, the match will end for sure!” the far too excited Mak Francis exclaims. “You keep saying that the match is about to end,” King butts in. “That doesn’t make it any more true, you know.” As Myers struggles to lift his awkwardly dimensioned opponent, he fails to notice the other half of Winston Churchill. Drawing to his full height on top of the turnbuckle, Fulminatus leaps off to a burst of cheers from the crowd and a cry of terror from Myers. The Cruiserweight Chaos Engine dives head-first, nailing Matt Myers with his senton Confusion Bomb! All three men come crashing to the ring, but both members of Winston Churchill get to their feet almost instantly. They look at one another and give each other a knowing nod, something resembling a smile spreading on both of their mouths. “What the hell are these two doing now?” King asks suspiciously. “It seems like we may get to see some sort of finishing maneuver from this odd team, King,” Francis says. He is proven correct as Jimmy the Doom grabs his weakened opponent and lifts him high in the air. At the same time, Fulminatus leaps back up to the top turnbuckle and crouches, waiting. Using a good portion of his strength, Jimmy brings Myers’ back down over his knee in a devastating backbreaker. Before Matt even has time to realize just how much that move hurt, Fulminatus jumps from the top and lands both of his feet squarely across the chest of the Rotating Gimmick Man! The SmarkTron lights up with a very bright aquamarine expression: *Sucks to Your Ass-Mar!* “THAT’S what they call their finisher?” King questions. “That doesn’t sound like a wrestling move at all!” The crowd explodes with cheers and Myers explodes with ululations of pain as Jimmy crouches down to cover his brutalized opponent. ONE * * * TWO * * * THREE DING!! DING!! DING!! Funyon pipes up from ringside, over the roar of the crowd. “Your winners of the match… WINSTOOOON CHURRRRCHILLLL!!” “Wow. That didn’t make any sense,” King defeatedly replies. “Well, it may not have been the most traditional of matches, but these two certainly got the job done.” Francis states. “Silver and Myers must feel like a huge confusing train with a lot of facial hair just ran them over. Those two just couldn’t cope with the unorthodox styles of both Jimmy the Doom AND Fulminatus! These two blended nicely tonight, King. I think they’ll go far in the tag team division here in the SWF.” “Yeah, whatever.” King grumbles The fans continue to cheer as Jimmy and Fulmy grab C.A.P.Y.B.A.R.A. from ringside, rousing him from his nap. As he is awakened, though, he snaps at King, trying to bite leg of the King of Hearts. Winston Churchill then confiscate their capybara and walk him back up the ramp in triumph. “That freaking rat…” King ponders. “We’ll be back after this with more SWF Storm!” Mak declares. “Stick around!” * FADE *

CIA vs. Leaf = ???!?!!

“Welcome to Storm,” Mak says. “We have an interesting opening for this one because the one and only Danny Dagda makes his return to the SWF against the unnerving Saintly C. Killa!” “That clown might be creepy but I’ve always thought Dagda never lived up to his potential.” Suddenly “Aneurysm” by Nirvana kicks up, solely instrumental, and blue pyrotechnics shower the entrance ramp followed by a burst along the outside. Danny Dagda steps out to a loud chorus of jeers from the crowd to his approving smile, wearing his old black tights with Dagda written on the legs, his impressive upper body bare, and a cocky smirk plastered on his face. He sarcastically takes a bow and shouts that they’ll make him blush as he begins to walk down to the ringside. “Introducing… a man returning from Newark, New Jersey- weighing in at 298 pounds… DDDDAANNNNYYY DDDAAAAGGGGDDDDAAAA!” “Well, I can’t say it’s nice to have him back,” Mak muses. “Now, now give Daddy Dagda a chance,” King insists. He pauses at ringside to hit on an attractive female, promptly being rejected, and slides into the ring. He stands up and fakes enthusiasm for seeing his old self-proclaim protégé, “Lil’ Dag” Matthew Kivell, who simply sighs and rolls his eyes. He walks over, slapping him on the back, and tries to catch up but instead “Song 2” blasts with the SmarkTron highlighting some of Killa’s most psychotic moments. The creepy Saintly C. Killa comes back with his kendo stick in hand with his painted face, trench coat, suspenders, hoards of tattoos, and dickies with matching skate shoes. He pays no attention to the cheering crowd, trying to encourage him to destroy Dagda, and he pauses to stare at the cocky Danny Dagda, taunting him to come into the ring. “Next, from Jersey City, New Jersey- weighing in at 342 pounds… SSSAAINNNTTTLLLYYY CEEE… KILLLAA’!” He continues his walk down to ringside and pauses to drop his kendo stick, much to Dagda’s relief, and hands over his trench coat to a ringside employee. He climbs up the steel stairs and steps over the top rope while staring right at Dagda, heading to the center of the ring. Saintly C. Killa steps forward into Dagda’s face while psychotically smiling at him accompanied by an intimidating stare. He simply responds by shoving Saintly back with a laugh before sticking out his jaw, pointing to it, and encouraging him to take a shot. Killa gladly steps up to the challenge and cocks back his arm before lunging out with a hard right hook that hits nothing but air because Dagda quickly evades the blow with a laugh. He grunts as Danny Dagda insists he was just kidding and once again sticks out his jaw with his arms down to his side. This time Saintly doesn’t pull back but simply bulls forward with an elbow that hits square on his jaw, dropping Danny down to the canvas. He rolls back up to his feet, shocked by being floored, and slightly stumbling back in retreat while protesting about it being a cheap shot. Kivell simply sighs and signals for the bell- DING! DING! DING! “Danny Dagda has already paid for his antagonizing attitude towards Saintly C. Killa, perhaps the last guy he should take lightly,” he says. “Surprisingly enough, he’s a juggalo that you actually don’t want to mess with,” King replies. “Juggalo?” Mak asks before pausing. “I thought ICP and the juggalos died down years ago…” “That’s what I thought too,” King mumbles. Dagda leans against the ropes and watches Saintly come into striking distance as he swings at the self-proclaimed Good God with a wild hook that he dodges. He wildly swings again with a left that Dagda ducks underneath with a laugh as he straightens out, shaking his head at Killa as if he were pitiful, and gets caught with a hard jab. He goes stiff and leans against the ropes before bouncing back up like an inflatable clown, only to get nailed once again by Saintly. He steps in closely and begins to wail on his opponent with straight rights until Dagda ducks underneath to slip away. He gets behind Saintly to quickly stomp on the back of his knee, causing him to buckle, and he takes a step back before launching a high kick to the back of his opponent’s head. Saintly falls limp against the ropes and Dagda tries to capitalize by locking in the waistlock, only to be caught with two back elbows. Saintly slips away and locks in his own waistlock while Dagda struggles to shove down Killa’s arms in hopes to break the hold. After some more struggling he’s able to break free and spin around to lock in a sloppy full nelson that Saintly instantly escapes from. He spins around with an elbow that catches him and stands him stumbling backwards as Saintly rushes forward, only to get taken down by a drop toehold. Dagda scrambles back up to his feet, kicking his opponent once in the ribs, and backs away with a shake of his head, trying to recollect himself. “Danny Dagda may have underestimated Saintly C. Killa and it’s only a matter of time before he can’t evade him,” Mak says. “Well, I’m all for two New Jersey natives to wail on each other but you’re not giving Dagda enough credit- he’s trying to play it smart, be evasive until he can make his move,” King replies. Saintly C. Killa gets back to his feet and Danny Dagda charges forward, only to get caught with a kick to the gut, sucking the wind out of him. He doubles over with a groan and Killa jumps on the opportunity by locking in a front facelock, gets a handful of black tights, and hoists Dagda vertically into the air. Despite Dagda’s weight, and his struggles to slip free, Saintly begins to walk towards center of the ring, showcasing his strength and impressing the fans. “Real evasive, isn’t he, King?” Mak smugly asks to no reply. ONE! The crowd chants along while Dagda’s blood rushes to his head. TWO! Saintly C. Killa laughs at the ease of keeping his opponent up in the stalling suplex. THREE! Saintly almost looks bored as he begins to walk in a small circle before finally dropping down to the canvas with the vertical suplex and floats over for a pin attempt but Kivell doesn’t even get a chance to start a count as Dagda lifts his shoulder up. Saintly stands up and grabs a handful of Dagda’s short hair to ever-so kindly lift him back up to his feet to lift him up for a scoop slam but instead heaves him far as he possibly can. Danny Dagda flies and hits the canvas with a bounce near the ropes, where he takes advantage of his position by sliding out of the ring. “The New Jersey Toss sends Dagda retreating to the outside where he seems to be whimpering like a beaten puppy,” Mak delightfully comments. King feigns a disgusted look and comments, “What a terrible thing to say, Mak, is animal abuse something you advocate?” “No, of course not…” Mak begins until his partner cuts him off. “God, I know you’re bitter for now being a four-wheeler creature but don’t take it out on the puppies,” King says to wrap up his diatribe that has his partner speechless. Danny Dagda glances around the outside of the ring, a place he has come to feel very comfortable around, and looks up to see his massive opponent coming towards him. He weighs his options, seemingly visually all the ways that Saintly can hurt him on the outside, and accordingly slides back into the ring. Saintly C. Killa once again proves his ruthlessness as he bombards Dagda with stomps before he can even get back to his feet. Dagda tries to roll away but is followed by his opponent, loudly swearing while getting stomped on, and once again bails to the outside, only this time Saintly follows. Dagda stumbles back and leans against the guardrail, feeling random trash thrown at him, to recover but his opponent rushes him. Once again Saintly gets caught by a drop toehold but only this time instead of getting sent to the canvas he falls throat first against the steel. He stumbles back and Dagda stands up, loving the sight of his opponent holding his throat, to lunge out with a hard elbow strike to the face. Kivell futility asks them to return into the ring, mostly out of routine, before starting the count-out- “ONE!” Dagda throws a front kick to double him over and he grabs him by his suspenders, facetiously complementing him on sense of fashion, and sends him crashing against the steel barricade. “TWO!” Danny Dagda’s eyes scan around for anything he could conceivably get away with until he sees an employee clutching onto Killa’s trench coat. He steps over and simply gestures for the coat, which the employee readily hands over, and he whirls around to see Killa charging at him. Dagda proves himself a potentially competent matador since he side steps, whirling the trench coat to the side before taking a slight bow. “THREE!” Killa fumes in anger and turns on the brakes to spin around but gets blinded by his own trench coat thrown over him. He tries to shake it off quickly but Danny Dagda is too quick to follow through as he begins to quickly nail him with various wild punches. “FOUR!” Danny grabs the back of the trench coat, pulling his head forward, and throws a fierce elbow that shakes his opponent enough to send him to a knee. Dagda looks down with a hard laugh, removing the trench coat, and knees him straight in the face to floor him. He hands the coat to the employee and barks out simple directions before returning to stomp on his opponent. “FIVE!” Dagda picks up his speed and shouts out a long, incoherent noise before beginning to slow down his stomps, only to pick them back up. “SIX!” Danny Dagda looks over to an SWF employee and beckons them over while continuing to stomp down his opponent. “SEVEN!” Danny Dagda takes a step back and oddly staggers forward, waving the employee over, whom reluctantly throws the coat onto his shoulders like a cape. He begins to stagger towards the ring while loudly singing- Please, please don’t go-oh-oh “You have got to be kidding me,” Mak says, stunned by Dagda’s routine. “EIGHT!” Dagda suddenly stands tall and shakes the cape off to rush at Saintly, who begins to stand back up, and he continues the stomping. Finally he grabs Saintly and lifts him up to his feet while wiping fake sweat off his forehead, rolling Saintly into the ring. Dagda turns around to the crowd and asks- Can I get an AMEN? “A-men,” King replies and glances at his partner. “Come on, Mak, isn’t this your thing?” “Why’s that, King?” Mak sourly asks to King’s dismissive grunt. Danny Dagda suddenly drops down to the floor with a split and smoothly stands back up, wincing from the split, and rolls back into the ring. “Oh, mercy, mercy, mercy,” King facetiously pants while fanning himself with his hand. “If Dagda wasn’t putting on that show there’s a good possibility he could’ve really beaten down Saintly,” Mak says. Saintly C. Killa stands back up and Danny Dagda cautiously approaches him until he throws caution to the wind, lunging out with a huge clothesline to floor his opponent, except Saintly almost scrambles back up instantly. Dagda moves in but Killa stuns him with a straight and grabs him by the wrist, Irish whipping him into the ropes. He comes bouncing back and instinctively ducks underneath Killa’s clothesline attempt, hitting the ropes once again. This time Saintly begins to follow Dagda but gets surprised with a Lou Thesz Press by Danny that is followed by a series of mounted elbow strikes. Once his opponent seems to go limp he eases up, scrambling to his side to hook the leg for the cover- “ONE!” Killa quickly kicks out and Dagda gives Kivell the evil eye with a growl due to the alleged slow count. He begins to guide Saintly back to his feet but instead gets caught with a punch in the gut, which he promptly treats as a low blow, except he picked the wrong opponent to care since he comes up with a vicious uppercut. Dagda reels backwards and Saintly follows through by grabbing him to lift him up for the Gorilla Press Slam, except the strain and consequential unbalance from Dagda’s weight allows him to simply slip free, landing on his feet behind him. Danny Dagda positions his head underneath Killa’s arm with an arm wrapped around his waist to lift him up and drop him with the basic backdrop suplex. Dagda stands back up and drops to the canvas with an elbow drop but his opponent rolls away, back onto his feet. Danny scrambles back up but is bombarded by an overhand right and suddenly gets lifted into the air with a rib-crushing bear hug. Only Dagda simply claps his hands against his opponent’s ears, throwing off his equilibrium, allowing him to escape, and shoves him back. He grabs an arm and grins at the painted face foe before tugging him straight into a short-arm lariat that sends him to the canvas. He keeps a hold on the arm and lifts him back up to his feet, only to hit yet another short-arm lariat, still grasping onto the arm. He lifts Saintly one last time and clutches his throat with one hand, the other on his back, looking for his chokeslam. Saintly C. Killa quickly reacts with two sharp elbows against Dagda to free himself and knees him into the gut. He gets the standing headscissors and slowly hoists him into the air for a powerbomb, slowly shifting him for the crucifix powerbomb! He looks ready to fall forward but Dagda once again slips free, back to back, and reaches back to hook Killa’s arms, pulling him down to the canvas with the back slide. Saintly C. Killa instantly kicks out of Dagda’s reversal and rolls right back to his feet, beating Dagda up. Danny stands up and tries to rush his opponent but instead eats boot from Saintly, who quickly leaps into the air with a standing legdrop. “Dagda seemed to have a slight advantage but I have to think that 300-something pounds may just take the wind out of you,” Mak says. “Don’t underestimate a God,” King sarcastically replies. Danny Dagda wheezes and tries to roll away but Saintly grabs him, lifting him up, and grabbing his throat. He tries to escape but Killa is too quick as he lifts him up into the air before dropping down to deliver one vicious chokeslam to Dagda, which leads to him attempting a cover- “ONE!” “TWO!” “This could be it,” Mak says. “Dagda may be put into check with this return.” Dagda quickly gets a shoulder up and rolls to his side while Saintly gives an unnerving laugh at seeing his opponent trying to escape. He stands up and gives Dagda a taste of his own medicine with a kidney kick that sends him onto his back, wheezing for air, and staring up at the ceiling lights until they are eclipsed by Killa, who leapt into the air and comes down with a double stomp. Dagda instantly curls into a ball, desperately trying to catch his breath, and the fans begin to cheer while watching Killa run into the ropes, approach Danny, and yell out- CLOWN LOVE! “Man, he isn’t really showing that much love,” Mak remarks as Killa drops a knee into Dagda’s face. He grabs Dagda, lifting him up, and takes a step back before launching a front kick forward that Danny miraculously catches, trapping it against the side of his chest, and he wraps his other arm around the back of Killa’s neck. The crowd’s reaction instantly changes into jeers as Dagda takes a deep breath before arching backwards to throw the large Killa over with a Capture Suplex! Danny Dagda rolls up to his feet and throws out his arms to fuel the crowd as he flexes his arm muscles before giving them a kiss. He turns around and watches Saintly C. Killa latch onto the ropes for support to begin to stand back up. He stalks over to his opponent who grabs the top rope, finally getting back up to his feet, and suddenly launches a side elbow to stun Dagda before hitting a left jab, left jab, and a right hook to drop his opponent to the canvas. But the resilient Danny Dagda rolls back up to his feet and Killa rushes forward, only to eat a series of elbows from Dagda for his efforts. The massive Killa stumbles backwards and Danny grabs a hold of his wrist, sending him whipping into the turnbuckle. He smacks against it back first and tries to use the precious time away from Dagda to recollect himself but instead he sees Danny break into a sprint. He begins to move out of the way but Dagda suddenly throws his leg into the air to connect with a brutal Yakuza Kick that incites booing from the crowd. He slouches against the corner and Dagda simply grins as he grabs his opponent, throwing him down to the canvas as he begins to ascend the turnbuckle. “I really hope Dagda has Killa as stunned as he hopes because he’s not exactly the quickest,” Mak says. Danny stands on the top turnbuckle and points out to the not-so adoring fans before giving pelvic thrusts to them while Saintly staggers up to his feet to a sudden wave of cheers. Dagda, who is rather full of himself but not –that- full of himself, realizes something has gone awry and before he can react his balance is thrown off, causing him to crash against the turnbuckle that causes him to squeal in a high pitch. “Well,” King begins, “if nothing else- there probably won’t be another Dagda in this world.” “The gene pool appreciates it, and I hope Saintly takes advantage here,” Mak dryly says. Saintly climbs onto the second turnbuckle and begins to pound away with shots to Dagda’s face in hopes to keep him stunned. He tries to lock in a front facelock onto Danny but instead he gets shoved back down to the canvas. Killa rolls back up, though, and looks up to see Dagda making the best of a bad situation by leaping off to nearly decapitate him with a flying lariat! The crowd burst into jeers as Dagda rolls onto him and hooks the leg for the cover- “ONE!” “That could have done it, Mak,” King says. “Maybe Daddy Dagda hasn’t lost it.” “TWO!” “Don’t ever say ‘Daddy Dagda’ again.” But Saintly C. Killa refuses to go down that easily as he gets the shoulder up, causing Dagda to abruptly stand up, and insist that Kivell is being racist, hence the slow count. He gives Kivell a slight shove, causing Kivell to nearly disqualify him on the spot, and that leads to a quick, insincere apology from Dagda that insists he only hits him because he cares. He turns around to see one angry Saintly who stumbles towards him, stunning him with an elbow followed by a headbutt before ducking underneath Dagda’s pathetic swing, standing behind him. Killa wraps his arms around Dagda with the waistlock until he throws two quick elbows to break free and spins around to face behind Saintly. He quickly hooks both of his arms and presses his hands flat against Killa’s back with a brief moment of hesitation and throws Killa over to drop him straight onto his head with the release Tiger Suplex. He flops over onto his back with a loud moan and Danny Dagda crawls over to Saintly with a grin to attempt the cover- “ONE!” “That was one nasty release Tiger Suplex from Dagda,” Mak comments. “TWO!” “Hell, it’s even more impressive he could throw Killa so easily,” King says. “THREE!” Dagda shouts with a cocky smirk, only to realize that ring bell hasn’t rung and Kivell’s pointing two fingers in his face. He keeps his calm, however, and he grabs the back of his opponent’s head, lifting it up off the canvas, and nailing him with a hard right before standing up. He begins to debate the issue over with Kivell, kidney kicking Killa in-between syllables, and Dagda reminds Kivell of their history, only to see the referee roll his eyes. He practically pouts but spares the temper tantrum routine and instead opts to go pick up Killa, who’s amazingly staggering up to his feet. He pedals backwards in hopes to gain distance and Dagda moves forward, only to eat a big boot right in the face, sending him stumbling back. Saintly surges forward to level him with a clothesline before taking a few steps back to recollect. He doesn’t allow himself much time to spare for recovery since there’s business to be done, Dagda’s to be crushed, and so he lifts his opponent up onto his feet. Dagda quickly swipes his hands and rakes his opponent’s eyes and then, in alleged fatigue, dramatically drops to his knee on the canvas, his arm conveniently flailing up to deliver a low blow to his opponent. The skeptical Kivell, rightfully so, begins to lecture Dagda about it being his last warning to no avail since Danny just watches opponent squirm in pain. He scrambles back up to his feet and comes out swinging with a hard right that staggers the big man. Dagda stares right into his opponent’s eyes and reaches out a hand to grab him by the jaw, turning his face into a tremendous bitch slap that echoes in the arena. “Oh man, that is perhaps one of the dumbest things Dagda could do,” Mak remarks to his partner laughing in agreement. Dagda points and laughs at his opponent who slowly turns his face before lunging out with a knee to his gut that doubles him over. He grabs a hold of Dagda and takes a step back to launch a huge knee straight into his face, followed by another, another, and he finally takes a huge step back to the crowd’s ecstatic reaction before launching a deadly knee. He lets go of Dagda’s head, who crumbles down to the canvas, and he begins to stomp on his opponent in a fit of anger due to Dagda’s display of disrespect. “Man,” King says with a wince, “that is one angry clown.” Danny Dagda shields himself by curling into a ball with his arms tucked in close while he lets Saintly vent his anger, as well as tire himself out. Finally the stomping ceases and Danny Dagda rolls away to the ropes for salvation, beginning to pull himself back up. He gets up onto one knee and Killa charges forward to throw a nasty kick straight into the side of Dagda’s head, causing him to crumble against the ropes, head dangling out near the apron. Killa only sees opportunity and instead of tugging him back into the ring he steps over the top rope, standing on the apron. He ducks down and grabs Dagda’s head before simply dropping off of the canvas, cracking Dagda’s head against the ring apron to a thud that causes everybody to groan in sympathy. Danny Dagda groans with a loud swear as he remains knocked loopy and Killa gives a psychotic laughter while he sees his opponent’s eyes nearly glaze over in the pain. He slides back into the ring and, living up to his ruthless monstrous reputation, drops a knee against Dagda to begin to choke him with the ring cables. Kivell begins the five count and he reluctantly releases it at four, grabbing Dagda by the back of his tights to pull him into center of the ring. He cockily hooks one leg in hopes to put Dagda’s successful return hopes away- “An absolutely vicious yet effective display by Killa,” Mak says. “ONE!” The crowd also chants along while Dagda groans. “TWO!” “THREE!” The crowd chants but Kivell contradicts them as he shoots up two fingers into the air because Dagda broke the pin at the last second. Saintly C. Killa shoots Kivell a cold look but doesn’t let it get to him and stands up, grabbing the dazed Dagda, and tugging him back up onto his feet. He stands by the side of Dagda and makes his move beginning to lift Dagda onto his shoulders for the Argentinean backbreaker, the prelude to his finisher, the Hero’s Blessing. Except Danny Dagda is able to slip away and stuns him with an elbow before throwing a front kick to wrap his arms around his waist. He grunts and hoists Saintly onto his shoulder with the Canadian backbreaker, looking for his own finisher, Decimation. He looks ready to throw him over with the drop but his knees slightly buckle and Killa takes full advantage, flipping his weight backwards and freeing himself, awkwardly falling onto the canvas (which definitely beats the alternative). Dagda desperately swings with a clothesline but Saintly is able to duck underneath the blow and snatches him up with the human torture rack until Dagda rains down blows. “These two are going back and forth to catch the other with their finisher,” Mak excitedly says. Danny Dagda once again escapes impending doom by freeing himself from the Towerhacker Powerbomb and he catches him with a knee to double him over. He strains but picks up Saintly C. Killa once again onto his shoulder and takes a step forward before letting his opponent slip forward while keeping a loose grasp while sitting out, spiking his head against the canvas! “Dagda just caught Saintly C. Killa with the Decimation!” Mak exclaims. “That clown isn’t laughing now,” King remarks while Dagda goes for the cover. “ONE!” “This could do it,” Mak says. “TWO!” “Creepy or not, that clown got dropped on his dome,” King replies. “THREE!” DAG-DUH SUCKS! DING! DING! DING! “Danny Dagda is victorious in his return and it’ll be interesting to see where he goes from here,” Mak says. “From here, phft, where can’t Dagda go?” King sarcastically asks. “He took down Saintly with ease…” “That was far from with ease, King,” Mak corrects him. “Either way, a win is a win,” King says. The chant picks up and almost drowns out the ring bell as Dagda tiredly rolls up to his feet before facetiously wiping away sweat, acting like it was an easy victory. “Aneurysm” kicks up and Dagda holds one arm into the air in victory as the camera- ~STARWIPES~!~

FIVE… FOUR… THREE… TWO… ONE… *BOOOM! BOOOM! BANG! BANG! BANG! BUH-BUH-BUH-BOOOOOM!* “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “WELCOME TO SWF STORM!” Mak Francis yells, “we’re here live in the Stade de France, and what a crowd King!” “Yeah, a bunch of garlic-scoffing, floppy hat-wearing peacenik frogs,” King snorts, “ANYONE WANT SOME FREEDOM FRIES!?” “King, hating on the French is soooo 2003.” “So’s walking, in your case.” *WHAP!* “OUCH!” King bawls as Mak shows that his upper body still works just fine and catches the Gambling Man with a backhand to the ear. “Fans, tonight’s mean event is going to be off the hook,” Mak informs viewers, adjusting his Oakleys and pretending that last exchange didn’t happen, “because we’re going to see Alan Clark take on ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins for the World Title, just a week out from Ground Zero!” “We’re going to watch Clark beat Spike Jenkins, you mean,” King replies tartly, “and then go on to Ground Zero where, I think, Jay Hawke may well be crowned as the best wrestler in the world today.” “I think several SWF wrestlers would take issue with that claim,” Mak Francis replies hotly, “and-” “WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “-and here come a couple now,” the Franchise sighs as an epileptic guitar riff rings out around the Stade de France. The crowd are already booing as the ‘REV-0’ logo appears on the Smarktron and the lights steadily dim down… and then the main guitar riff kicks in. *BOOOM!* *BOOOM!* *BOOOM!* ‘KNOW YOUR ENEMY!’ …and as the pyro goes off and Zack de la Rocha’s voice roars out, out come Revolution Zero! Only in attire not quite the same as usual… “King, why are they all wearing lab coats?” Mak Francis asks in complete bewilderment as Toxxic, Austin Sly, the Fabulous Jakey and Amy Stephens all make their way out dressed in knee length white cotton coats. “…I have no idea,” the Gambling Man replies, at a loss for words for once. Toxxic leads the way into the ring, and as the others follow him it becomes clear that Amy still has her can of lager, and Jakey has found some white sequins from somewhere to sew on the back of his coat. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to SWF Storm!” Toxxic calls, having picked up a microphone. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Yes yes, I’m English and you’re French,” the Straight-Edge Sensation grins, “let’s all get it out of our system, shall we? And then you can listen to what I have to say with whatever counts as politeness on this side of the Channel.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “There we go,” Toxxic continues, completely unperturbed by the hostile reception as the other members of his stable equip themselves with microphones too. “Now, I suspect you’re all wondering why we’re dressed like this; well, it would be improper for scientists such as ourselves to dress in any other way.” “Scientists?” Mak asks, completely nonplussed. “See, a couple of weeks ago we had a most illuminating conversation with Spike Jenkins,” Toxxic carries on, “in which he tried to justify his World Title shot on the basis that Alan Clark was scared of him. I pointed out to Spike that Alan Clark might be scared of emus for all we know… but of course, we didn’t know.” Toxxic grins. “Until now!” The leader of Revolution Zero whirls around and points dramatically at the Smarktron, which first blanks out, then comes up with what for all the world looks like a PowerPoint presentation. “Yes ladies and gentlemen, Revolution Zero have been working feverishly the last two weeks to discover what Alan Clark is and is not scared of!” Toxxic declares. “Jakey!” “Ahem,” the Fabulous Jakey steps forward and clears his throat, then unrolls a large piece of paper. “Well, intensive investigation has lead to the following discoveries. Alan Clark is not scared of… spiders.” A picture of a tarantula comes up on the Smarktron. “Moose,” Austin Sly says, and a picture of a moose (with a badly superimposed Mountie hat on) appears. “Sand,” Toxxic reads, cuing a picture of Myrtle Beach. “Digital Versatile Discs,” Amy says, and ‘SWF From The Fire 2007’ comes up on screen, causing Jakey and Toxxic to give a cheesy thumbs up to the camera while Sly looks faintly disdainful at such blatant product placement and Amy chugs some more lager. “The Borg Collective,” Jakey reads. “Herring.” “The planet Venus.” “Vodka.” “Monty Python’s Flying Circus.” “The People’s Republic of China.” “Eggplants.” “Fruit bats.” “Pandas,” Jakey finishes, as a picture of Scott Pretzler breaking into the panda enclosure in Beijing Zoo fills the Smarktron. The crowd react with expressions of total puzzlement, and vague chatter. “However,” Austin Sly picks up, “we have found that Alan Clark is scared of… snakes.” Samuel L. Jackson appears on the Smarktron, prompting a brief cheer. “Grasshoppers.” “People called Arnold,” Amy says, cuing a picture of The Governator. “DVD players,” Jakey reads, prompting a mutter of ‘what tragic irony…’ from Sly. “The constellation of Orion.” “My Chemical Romance.” “Anyone born in the year 1969.” “Earthquakes above 5.2 on the Richter scale.” “Imperial Scorpions.” “Roofing slates.” “Impressionist art.” “Dreamworks,” Jakey declares, prompting a picture of Shrek to appear on the Smarktron. “The Welsh language.” “Escalators.” “Meringue.” “Podiatrists.” “Liquorice.” “AAAAAND, EMUS!” Toxxic finishes, pointing to the Smarktron without looking at it. A sort of titter runs around the Stade de France and the Straight-Edge Sensation looks around to see Spike Jenkins’ face… transposed onto the body of an emu. “Oh very good,” the Englishman smirks, “who did that?” The Fabulous Jakey raises his hand, grinning. “Well, there you have it,” Toxxic says, starting to tug off his lab coat, “don’t say we never do anything for you! You’ve all just benefited from hours of gruelling scientific research conducted under strenuous conditions-” Jakey nods, that time in the air conditioning unit with a rubber spider coming back to him. “-and you didn’t even have to leave your seats!” Toxxic finishes. “However, there is something I’d like to address on a slightly more serious note…” he continues. “Uh-oh, here we go,” Mak Francis mutters. “…namely, Wild & Dangerous!” the Straight-Edge Sensation declares. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Five-time Tag Team Champions, more reigns than any other team, more reigns that any other individual,” Toxxic goes on, “and a couple of complete and utter twazzocks.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Wildchild, it’s interesting that we’re been talking about things Alan Clark is scared of,” Toxxic continues as the other Revolutionaries divest themselves of their lab coats too, “because empirical evidence suggests that you shit your pants when you’re booked into a match with me, sunshine!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Oh, you think so?” the straight-edger grins, “I beg to differ! Jakey, please, the official SWF records.” The Fabulous Jakey steps forward with his microphone and opens a large book. “SWF Tag Team Title match,” he reads, “The Galacticos (champions) versus Wild & Dangerous. Wildchild pins Michael Stephens following the Bahaman Destroyer.” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic nods his head sadly as the crowd pop. Jakey waits for the noise to die down, then speaks again. “SWF Tag Team Title match. Wild & Dangerous (champions) versus Revolution Zero (comprising Toxxic and Austin Sly). Wildchild pins Austin Sly following the Bahaman Destroyer.” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Sly mimes dissolving into tears. Badly. “See, Dub-Cee?” Toxxic asks rhetorically. “You had a couple of cracks against me and Landon, and nothing you could do could put us away. So the last two times you’ve stepped into the ring with me you’ve felt the need to bring out the big guns, bring out the biggest, baddest move in your repertoire and use it on either me or my partner to guarantee you the win… because you know damn well,” the straight-edger continues, “that you can’t win any other way.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “But you see, therein lies the problem for you,” Toxxic states. “First time round, I could maybe see where you were coming from. I’d chokeslammed you off the top rope to the floor not that long before,” he says, idly inspecting the nail varnish on his right hand, “I can see that perhaps you were a bit… het up.” “Het up!?” Mak hisses, “Wildchild was furious!” “That doesn’t excuse using a dangerous move like the Bahaman Destroyer,” King chides his commentary partner. “You heard Toxxic, he said he chokeslammed him off-” “Shush, he’s speaking!” “Last time though, last time you had no reason to use that move,” the Straight-Edge Sensation declares, “you had to use it on Sly because you knew, you knew that otherwise he was going to beat you and take your title. That’s all it was, a desire to keep your belt. So now we all know where we stand,” Toxxic says with a wide smile, “the kid gloves are off, and it’s open season. But here’s the thing, Dub-Cee…” Suddenly the smile disappears. “You do not want to get into a war of attrition with me. But two weeks ago, you opened hostilities in a fight you can’t win. Of course,” he adds, “that’s if Austin even leaves enough for me next time we face y-” “HEY!” The shout, amplified over the PA system, rings around the Stade de France. Revolution Zero look around, trying to place it. “HEY, UP HERE!” And a spotlight suddenly zeroes in on Johnny Dangerous, making his way through the crowd with a microphone in his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Austin Sly drawls, “making his way to the ring at this time, hailing from the cheap seats - where he belongs - Johnny Dangerous!” “Sly, I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut while your betters are talking,” Johnny quips, now down to ground level and pushing his way through the crowd. “You see guys, I’ve been out wandering the streets of Paris - and saying hi to some of the lovely ladies of Paris I met there,” he adds, pausing to kiss the hand of a lovely young brunette who happens to be in his path, “and I’ve only just come to the stadium tonight. And what do I find when I get here, but the four of your running your collective mouths?” “Right,” Toxxic says, leaning on the ropes, “you happened to be out wandering the streets of Paris… with a microphone in your pocket.” “My friend, a secret agent always comes prepared,” Johnny grins. “A secret agent always comes too soon,” Jakey cuts in, “or that’s what the lovely ladies of Paris say!” “I really doubt we have a similar taste in women,” Johnny tells him, vaulting the guardrail that separates the crowd from the ringside area, “or, hell, much else really… However, I said a secret agent always comes prepared, and what I’m really prepared to do this evening, is tell you to SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTHS!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “You know we have an open contract!” Johnny continues over the roar of the crowd, looking up into the ring where Revolution Zero are, “so really, if you have an issue with Nic and me all you’ve got to do is find yourselves a couple of pens, track down Tom Flesher and put your names on the dotted line. Oh Toxx?” he adds, “if you can’t fit your head through the door into Tom’s office, just get your sister to make an ‘X’ for you, we’ll know what you mean.” “LET’S GO JOHN-NY!” “LET’S GO JOHN-NY!” “Is that so?” Toxxic asks, stepping out through the ropes and dropping to the floor where he places one hand in his pocket and sidles casually towards the Barracuda, “well, I guess if you don’t mind, we’ll find that contract and we’ll see how well you and Dub-Cee do against Sly and me next time around. Oh, and,” he adds as an afterthought, “…you did hear me say it was open season, right?” And he pulls his hand out of his pocket. Holding the Aerosol Equaliser. *pssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhht* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Pepper spray!” Mak shouts as Johnny staggers backwards clutching at his eyes, “that damn pepper spray Toxxic used in the streetfight he had with Johnny-” “-when Wildchild tried to get involved!” King shouts back, “Toxxic was only using it in self-defence then, and as for now, you show me where in the wrestling rulebook it says you can’t mace an arrogant ladies man!” “King, you just described yourself!” Toxxic isn’t content with blinding Johnny though; the Straight-Edge Sensation puts the faithful pepper spray back in his pocket and grabs Dangerous, then rolls him into the ring where Sly, Jakey and Amy start putting the boots to him. The trio then drag the stricken Barracuda backwards across the mat into the middle of the ring, while Toxxic hops up to the apron and with a cheery wave to the fans on either side of him he grabs the top rope, ready to leap up and springboard off into the ring… “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …but a blur suddenly rushes down the entrance ramp, and as Toxxic looks to leap upwards Wildchild materialises at his ankle and grabs, pulling the Englishman off the apron and down to hit his head on it! *WHACK!* “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “Wildchild’s here to help out his partner!” Mak shouts in joy. Wildchild hops up to the apron; Jakey runs forward but the Bahaman Bomber ducks his head and rams his shoulder through the ropes into Jakey’s gut, then with the smaller man doubled over Wildchild slingshots in, rolls over Jakey’s back and lands on his feet only to leap upwards and floor the startled Austin Sly with a leg lariat! “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” Jakey turns around into a barrage of right hands that send him staggering backwards, but just as he’s about to follow up Wildchild finds himself brought up short as Amy Stephens grabs a double handful of braids! “Don’t count her out of any fight!” King laughs, “you remember she beat Wildchild once, right Mak?” However, Wildchild is in no mood to be hauled around by the hair; he fires one, two, three back elbows into Amy’s face, then the moment she releases her grip he performs a backflip and nails her in the face with a stinging kick! *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Wildchild gets back to his feet… and Austin Sly takes him out from behind with a chopblock. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “It’s four-on-two!” Mak shouts as Toxxic rolls back into the ring holding a chair while Jakey, who has recovered from WC’s barrage of punches, lays more kicks onto Johnny. “Hey, Johnny didn’t have to come down and talk smack!” King retorts, “Wildchild didn’t have to try and bail his reckless partner out! They made this mess!” Toxxic sets the chair up as Sly grabs WC by the throat and hauls him up. He shoves the Bahaman towards Toxxic, who delivers a stunning headbutt- *CRUNCH!* -and then shoves Wildchild back towards Sly. The dazed Caribbean Cruiserweight is turned around and gripped across the chest, then- *BANG!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Sold Out onto a steel chair!” Mak yells as Austin falls back, driving Wildchild’s face into the seat of the chair, “damn it King, Revolution Zero can play around with lab coats and stupid jokes all they want, they’re still the same cold-hearted bastards they ever were, even if the personnel has changed!” “I know,” King grins, “it’s great, isn’t it!” “YOU ALL SUCK!” “YOU ALL SUCK!” Toxxic climbs onto the second buckle and starts conducting the crowd in time with their chanting while Amy recovers her beer, Jakey kicks Johnny again in a ‘for good measure’ way and Sly leans down to talk trash to Wildchild as we… FADE OUT

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Thursday, July 19th, from the Stade de France in Saint-Denis, France! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Alan Clark vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins --> The final bump in the road before Ground Zero - one of these men will head into the Pay Per View, into the Unification match, with the World Heavyweight Championship! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 6000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Nathaniel Kibagami vs. Jay Hawke --> Because. Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM MATCH Revolution-0 (Toxxic and Austin Sly) vs. Michael Alexander and MANSON --> Rev-0 suffered a close close loss to W&D a few shows ago, but they continue to fight the good fight! Witty and/or insulting team name for Doom/Manson shall come as soon as I think of one someone suggests one. Rules: Standard tag. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH "Big Bully" Bruner vs. Chris Raynor --> Matcheez! Rules: Singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM MATCH Winston Churchill (Jimmy the Doom and Fulminatus) vs. The Holy Rollers ("The Paladin" Chance Silver and Matt "Level 42 Priest" Myers) --> New tag team? Hell yes! Rules: Standard tag. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH CIA vs. Blue Leaf --> Former Carnival member CIA takes on a guy who probably could've been a future Carnival member, were the MC still around. Wacky personalities collide! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Sly -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Danny Dagda vs. Saintly C. Killa --> Danny Dagda, SWF Veteran of God knows how long, returns! There are a number of new faces to greet him this time around, the most disturbing of which belongs to Saintly C. Killa! Rules: Singles. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- A decent amount of people get this one off. If you want a match, though, or change in stip, just yell at me Tom. Five AM. Blargh. SLeeptytime. Gnight.

Surely, it can be moved back. My stupid fault for forgetting to edit the card. Anyone whose sent a match in already, you get an extra day to work on it. For future reference - always go by the date in the thread's title. Sometimes when I copy and paste a card template, I forget to change the date in there, like this time. And I am teh stoopidz for it. But even then, the thread's title will contain the correct date. Anywho, show postponed to tomorrow night.

Yes, the 1th. You're all 16 days overdue. Extensions granted.

Doh. Sorry about the date mixup. Hoping Tom will use his complex algorithm for markers again, or at least explain it to me. Otherwise, expect 'em in a few hours.

I didn't even know there was a musical genre called hardcore.

New Blood match is in now, Toxx. And Bruner gets a match.

Has Tom still not marked it yet?

All eyes on the card: CHANGES IN THE AIR. Edits to come in a bit.

Z wins this round - Echo and the Bunnymen top the list of albums I got yesterday. Second goes to AkiraSilent, for "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea", although I'm not sure why my mind is supposed to be blown by this. It's good, but it doesn't strike me as being leaps and bounds better than "On Avery Island". Third place goes to Toxx, for giving me the first Nu-metal band that doesn't instantly make my ears bleed, with Rise Against.

FADE IN “Welcome back to Storm,” says Mak Francis, “Where it’s time for the main event! And King, this time next week, we’ll be seeing Hollywood Spike Jenkins going one-on-one against the World Heavyweight Champion, Alan Clark, to see who will be the champion heading into Ground Zero. But tonight, they’ll be on the same side, as they team up to face the World Tag Team Champions, Wild and Dangerous, whom have signed an open contract to defend the tag titles against anybody!” “Well, Wild and Dangerous have laid down a challenge to the rest of the SWF, and now it’s up to them to put their money where their mouth is,” says King. “I mean, how embarrassing would it be for them to lose their titles in their first defense after signing that open contract?” “You’d have to think that a loss so soon after signing the open contract would set them back in the eyes of the championship committee,” says Mak. “And, if there are two guys in the SWF today with the skills to pull off the upset, it’s got to be Spike and Alan Clark. But the question there, King, is whether or not these two can work together long enough to achieve a common goal?” “It’s definitely tough,” adds King. “Clark is going to have to put some degree of trust in a guy that wants his title, and is going to be fighting tooth and nail to try and take it from him in a week. I mean, it would be a nice feather in the cap for these two to add a tag team championship to their résumé, but they’re going to be in for a tough matchup against Wild and Dangerous, and sooner or later, both men are going to have to start looking out for their own interests. At the same time, you’ve got a pride factor going on, as well: the last time either Clark or Jenkins faced off against Wild and Dangerous in tag team competition, they came away from it with the losers’ end of the purse, so they’re may be motivated to get some payback!” “It’s that looking out for their own interest part that’s going to add a measure of intrigue to this match for me,” agrees Mak. “We know that neither Spike Jenkins nor Alan Clark are particularly above double-crossing a partner, and if things get rough against Wild and Dangerous, I’d want to grow eyes in the back of my head if I were either one of these guys!” “Positively!” agrees King. “I don’t think either man would mind winning the tag team titles, but if the going gets tough, you’re going to see a race to see which one can double-cross the other one first!” “And with that,” shouts Mak, “let’s go to Funyon in the ring!” *DING DING DING!!!* “Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “this… is the MAIN EVENT!” With that, the lights begin to flicker around the arena as the violent guitar riffs and the blaring trumpets of Emmure’s “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong” blast through the PA system. RAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The horrifying shriek of a laugh from lead singer Frank Palmieri sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in attendance. I hope this is a passing phase. There is no future where I stand, Here with you! The lights on the stage begin to flicker on and off. The audience begins to stomp their feet and clap their hands as they await The New Straight Edge Sensation. A small, but audible “Spike…Spike…Spike” chant breaks out inside the arena. This Is… …The End! With that, the crowd goes into frenzy as “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins steps out from behind the curtain, shrouded in his newly-minted black “Heartless” zip-up sweatshirt. Jenkins stomps down the ramp towards the ring. "The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is for the SWF World Tag Team Championships!" booms Funyon. "Introducing the challengers: first, from Long Island, in New York City, weighing two hundred five pounds... Hollywood! SPIIIIIKE JENK-INS!" Jenkins stomps down the ramp, unzipping the sweatshirt and tossing it to the side. Climbing up the steel steps, he slowly climbs onto the ring apron. glaring into the empty ring, he steps inside. Hollywood then trains his eyes on the top of the ramp as his music fades out, and his parter for the night is about to be introduced: the lights go out, and the following echoes from the loudspeakers... "Please Stand Clear of the...." the voice fades, and red, white, and gold spotlights flicker and flash around the arena slowly as "To Die For" thumps to life. The SmarkTron flashes shots of Alan Clark's steady career climb - flashing all of his various championship wins before finally showing a live shot of the stage as a spotlight hits the ramp to show Alan Clark emerging from the darkness, championship around his waist and Walter Reynolds in tow. "And his tag team partner," continues Funyon, "coming towards the ring at this time...representing Germany, and being accompanied by Walter Reynolds... weighing two hundred twenty-five pounds, he is the SWF Heavyweight Champion of the World... AAAAALAN CUUUUUH-LARK!" Alan makes a slow walk to ring, stopping midway down the ramp and offering pose with some fans, but he is met with an icy reception by the Norburgring fans. "I tell you what," says King, "I've never been a big fan of Alan Clark, but it's refreshing to see some new blood in the title picture, especially someone who loves being champion as much as he does!" Clark walks up the solid steel stairs and steps through the ropes. With the music at full bore, Alan heads over to a neutral corner and jumps up onto the middle turnbuckles, posing as though he is looking down on the crowd with his ever-present smirk. "Absolutely," agrees Mak. "I mean, we had some new blood in Gabriel Drake, but he practically took the title as collateral damage; he wanted Toxxic, and he got Toxxic, and the Heavyweight Title just happened to be a bonus... but Clark seems to be in love with being Heavyweight Champion more than anybody I've seen in a long time!" Clark climbs back down into the ring and turns his attention towards his teammate for the night; he gives Jenkins a sarcastic grin as he removes the World Heavyweight Title from his waist, and raises the belt above his head while staring down his partner. “I love the gamesmanship,” says King. “Clark reminding Spike Jenkins that he’s got what Jenkins wants!” Suddenly, Clark’s music is replaced by the up-tempo dance track that heralds the arrival of the Champions! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” The fans at Rock Am Ring cheer loudly as Uncle L and Busta Rhymes’ “Starsky and Hutch” pumps through the speakers! Wild and Dangerous break out from the backstage area and suddenly start racing towards the ring at breakneck speed! The both enter the ring simultaneously, with Johnny sliding underneath the ropes, and WC somersaulting beneath the bottom and middle ropes; both men somersault to their feet simultaneously and turn to face their challengers. “Their opponents,” booms Funyon, “at a total combined weight of four hundred thirty-nine pounds, here are the reigning… AND DEFENDING… SWF World Tag Team Champions: WILD! AAAAAND DAAAAANGEROUS!” Johnny and WC glare at their opponents, as if warning them not to try any funny business, and then each head over to a corner of the ring, where they scale the turnbuckles to face the crowd. They hop down into the center of the ring and surrender the title belts to Herrington, who holds them aloft to display to the crowd as “Starsky and Hutch” fades out. Spike, anxious to get some ring action, steps into the ring to start against Wildchild. Red Herrington motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: *DING DING DING!!!* “Bell’s gone,” shouts Mak, “and we’re underway!” Spike and Wildchild lock up in the center of the ring, and Hollywood easily takes control, shoving the Tropical Tumbler backwards and sending him rolling halfway across the ring. As WC looks up at his opponent, Jenkins holds his hand high overhead, inviting the Bahaman to engage him in a Greco-Roman knuckle lock. “Spike challenging Wildchild to a test of strength!” says a bemused King. “And, as dumb as I tend to think that Wildchild is, he can’t possibly be stupid enough to think that he can out-power Jenkins!” Spike and WC lock up into a knuckle-lock, and Jenkins easily powers his opponent down to his knees… but the Human Hurricane somersaults backwards, rolling to reverse the pressure, and turns the tables on Hollywood! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “Maybe not, King,” answers Mak, “but he can outsmart him!” WC stuns Spike with repeated boots to the midsection, eventually causing him to release the knuckle-lock with his right hand, but WC maintains control of the left; Wildchild plants a series of boots to the midsection, and then shifts into a standing arm wringer before rushing over towards the ropes, leaping onto the top rope (while still having the arm-wringer applied), and springing back into the ring with a scintillating springboard armdrag! Spike quickly gets to his feet and charges towards Wildchild, who takes him over with his patented Freefall monkey flip! This time, Wildchild beats Spike to his feet, and rushes over to him, leaping into the air to land on his shoulders, and then locking his ankles behind Hollywood’s head as he arches back, taking Jenkins over with a rana! “Spike thought he was going to be able to take advantage of his speed,” says Mak, “but Wildchild turned the speed up to ten, and suddenly Spike didn’t know whether he was coming or going!” WC pulls Jenkins over to his corner and makes the tag to the Barracuda; the Champions combine to whip Spike across the ring, and catch him as he bounces off the ropes with a double-hiptoss! Johnny pulls Spike to his feet and whips him across the ring into a neutral corner, but Jenkins dives out of the way to avoid a charging Barracuda! Spike rolls over to his corner and makes the tag to Alan Clark. The Heavyweight Champion steps into the ring and makes his way over to Dangerous, but Johnny surprises him with an armdrag takeover! Johnny traps Clark in a front facelock and drags him over towards his corner where he tags Wildchild back in. Johnny grabs Clark by the wrist and whips him across the ring, as WC steps between the ropes; the Barracuda bellies out against the canvas and allows Clark to run over the top of him… *WHAM!* … Right into a standing dropkick from the Wildchild! WC scurries over to Clark and applies a cover: ONE! Clark easily kicks out at one! Wildchild pulls Alan to his feet and quickly tags Johnny back in; they both whip Clark across the ring and knock him down as he rebounds with a double-dropkick! “The tag team champs are going to work on the World Heavyweight Champion,” says Mak, as Johnny leads Alan over towards the neutral corner. “And look at Jenkins across the ring; is it my imagination, King, or is Spike Jenkins smiling?” “I believe you’re right,” remarks King, as Johnny smashes Clark’s face into the top of the turnbuckle. “Although, I can hardly blame him; any punishment that Wild and Dangerous inflicts on Clark only increases Spike’s chances of becoming World Heavyweight Champion!” Johnny leads Alan over towards his corner and once again smashes Clark’s face into the top turnbuckle; he makes the tag to Wildchild and then hangs Alan’s upper body over the top rope as he reaches down to grab his legs. “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “Here we go!” shouts Mak, as WC takes off across the ring. “Haven’t seen this move in a while!” The Bahama Bomber runs towards Johnny and leaps over his partner’s shoulders to come crashing down onto Clark’s back with a Slam Dance! Wildchild grabs Alan by the waist and pulls him backwards into a rolling cradle: ONE! TWO! Clark kicks out at two! WC pulls Alan to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, but Clark reverses and plants a boot into his midsection before trapping him in a front-facelock… *BANG!* … And driving him face-first into the canvas with the Cutting in Line! “Cutting in Line!” shouts Mak, as Clark rolls atop Wildchild. “This could do it!” Herrington drops down to count: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Clark gets to his feet and stumbles over to his corner; he slaps Spike Jenkins derisively on the chest and thumbs backwards over his shoulder, as if to say, “get your ass in there!” The two exchange a heated glance as Spike steps into the ring and passes Clark. Alan makes a rather derogatory gesture towards Spike, but only does so once Jenkins’ back is turned and he pulls WC up to his feet. “I’m starting to wonder how well this is going to work out,” sighs Mak. “Oh, like you thought they’d be a compatible team to begin with.” Spike backs Wildchild into the ropes and then… *SMACK!* “WHOOOOOOOOO!” *SMACK!* “WHOOOOOOOOO!” …cuts into WC’s chest with a few knife-edged chops, lighting up the Bahaman’s chest! He grabs WC and whips him across the ring, but the Bahaman grabs hold of the ropes to keep him from bouncing back towards Jenkins, and then suddenly bolts towards Spike for a leg lariat… *WHOOSH!* …but Spike ducks down to avoid the blast! WC slams on the breaks and then quickly spins around, turning directly into a drop kick! Spike drops down, covering him for: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Spike grabs Wildchild in a front face lock and then stands him up, but stops as Clark calls out to him for a tag. Spike just stares with a raised brow before finally waving Alan off. He obviously has no need for Clark’s assistance, but as he turns to put his back to Alan he unintentionally moves a tad too close to the corner and Alan easily leans over the rope and tags Spike on the back. Jenkins immediately lets Wildchild go and turns around, completely taken back by Clark’s actions, and when Alan steps into the ring the two exchange more than a few heated words! “This isn’t going to get them anywhere in this match,” says Mak. “These two need to learn a thing or two about teamwork.” “Possibly three,” King adds in. With the distraction, neither Alan nor Spike notice WC crawling away to his corner. He tags in Johnny and the Barracuda leaps into the ring! “They’d better watch out!” shouts Mak, but Alan doesn’t realize anything is wrong until the sound of the Barracuda’s clubbed hand striking Clark’s spine rings out! Spike steps out of the ring, smiling and Johnny grabs around the World Champion from behind and arches back, sending Clark overhead with a German suplex! *WHAM!*[/b} Johnny stands and then takes off for the ropes, hits them, and them comes charging back, just as Alan painfully stands back up. Clark looks up and watches like a deer in the headlights as Johnny charges and blasts him with a lariat! Alan is down on his back and Johnny stands back up, backpedals into the ropes and bounces off them to drop a knee into Clark with a little added momentum before covering for: ONE! TWO! But Alan kicks out at two! “Thanks to a lack of teamwork, Alan and Spike are quickly losing this match,” comments Mak. Johnny heads to the corner and tags his partner then strolls back towards Clark, “-and just where in the heck does he think he’s going?” King vehemently questions. “When you tag out you step to the apron not head back into the ring!” “Legally, you have five seconds,” Francis calmly informs the Gambling Man, as Johnny pulls Alan up to his feet and then plants the World Champion back down into the canvas with a scoop slam! When WC pulls up to the scene, Johnny spins around and grabs the Caribbean Cruiserweight by the arm then steps forward, sending his own partner across the ring with an Irish whip! Wildchild hits the ropes and rockets back towards the Barracuda as Johnny ducks down, snatching the Bahama Bomber off his feet before lifting up and sending him high over head with a back body drop- *WHAM!* -and WC crashes across Clark’s exposed chest with an assisted senton splash, and he does so to a thunderous cheer! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” WC skids a good foot across the mat after hitting the move, and after a moment he scrambles back over the World Champion, hooking his leg and rolling back on it to firmly plant Alan’s shoulders to the mat for: ONE! TWO!! TH-NO!!! “Alan kicks out under his own steam, but without much authority,” says Mak. “He’s going to have to make a tag soon – like it or not!” “I’m absolutely sure he would if Wild and Dangerous would stop cheating all the damn time!” King barks in response. Alan is pulled to his feet by Wildchild, and then backed into a neutral corner before WC takes the World Champion by his arm and whips him across the ring, towards the opposite corner… “No! Clark digs his heels in and reverses the Irish whip, sending Wildchild for the ride instead,” Mak reports, and then Wildchild crunches into the steel post with a sickening thud! Clark charges the corner but WC quickly kicks both feet up and nails the World Champion in the face to hopefully end Alan’s comeback attempt. Alan turns away from the corner and staggers a few steps away from it while holding his face with both hands, before finally dropping to his knees and collapsing to his side. Watching from the corner, Spike can only shake his head in dismay after watching his partner’s futile attempts. “Well, you can’t fault him for trying,” says King. Wildchild backs himself up the turnbuckle, which gets the crowd stirred, and after reaching the top he quickly leaps off, extending his elbow out as he plummets towards the World Champion and- *WHAM!* “Nobody home!” shouts Mak. “Wildchild tried for an elbow drop but Clark moved out of the way just in time to avoid it!” Seeing that his chance has finally come, Clark pushes up to his knees and then crawls towards his corner, leaving Wildchild to gingerly grasp at his elbow alone as he heads for Jenkins. Spike pounds the turnbuckle padding, trying to hurry Clark along, and he hollers for him to come on while extending his arm out as far as he possibly can. Meanwhile, Johnny frantically tries to get his partner to come tag him in but WC seems too preoccupied with working the kink out of his arm to notice, and Alan makes his way to Spike for the tag! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “Here comes Jenkins!” exclaims Mak, as Spike hurriedly steps through the ropes to a booming cheer from the crowd. Spike rushes towards WC and blasts him from behind with a solid lariat, knocking him to the canvas then spins around and socks the Barracuda right in the kisser! Immediately some boos ring out for this act, but Jenkins just turns away from the corner and heads back for Wildchild, stalking towards him like a raging lunatic! WC quickly rolls onto his back and kicks his leg out to fend off Spike, but Jenkins catches his foot in both hands! Spike looks down at the Bahama Bomber and sees the look of panic on WC’s face, which causes a faint smile to crawl up the side of his lip… *CRACK!* *CRACK!* … and he doesn’t have a chance to react this time as WC quickly kicks his free leg out, and plants his foot into Spike’s chest three times! Spike stumbles back after releasing Wildchild’s foot, momentarily stunned from the surprising kicks and WC quickly tumbles forward then springs off the canvas, tackling Spike down in the ring! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “Spike took to long to mull over that one and gave Wildchild an opportunity,” says Mak. “He can’t give Wildchild even a second to breathe!” WC mounts himself over Spike and starts battering him with punch after punch, forcing Herrington to step in and begin a count to stop it… …but Wildchild won’t push him into counting. WC quickly rolls up to his feet and Spike follows pursuit, all though he’s not as quick as the Bahama Bomber right this second, feeling a little woozy after Wildchild’s assault. WC grabs Jenkins by his arm and steps forward to send him to the ropes with an Irish whip. Spike hits the ropes and rebounds, but WC leapfrogs over him and Jenkins continues to the opposite end of the ring, rebounding off the ropes once more… *CRACK!* …before Wildchild executes a back-flip kick that catches Spike right in the chin! “Oh! An impressive maneuver by the Wildchild,” marvels Francis, as Jenkins shudders to the mat. WC quickly dives in and applies a lateral press for: ONE! TWO! TH-NO! “Spike kicks out and it’s a good thing he did; it didn’t look like Alan was even going to attempt to make the save,” comments Mak. “He’s still trying to gather his bearings over there,” King defensively replies. “Besides, he should be able to trust that Spike can go for two minutes without getting himself pinned.” WC quickly pops up to his feet. Spike moves to an upright position as well, but is obviously a little slower than his opponent in doing so and is easily taken into a hammerlock by Wildchild. WC marches Jenkins straight to the Wild and Dangerous corner and tags Dangerous into the match. “Now the Barracuda is in and it looks like the teamwork of Wild and Dangerous is going to keep their momentum building,” notes Mak. WC holds Spike in a compromising position as Johnny steps into the ring and kicks his foot into Spike’s gut, keeping Jenkins subdued for just a little longer. Johnny Ducks down and pulls the New Straight-Edged Sensation onto his shoulders, which gets the crowd going in anticipation of the Spinal Explosion! “Let’s see if this clown learned from last week,” King says, “Johnny’s pandering to the crowd before hitting this exact move on Toxxic last week gave Stephens the chance to escape.” Unfortunately, for Spike, Johnny doesn’t hesitate this week before launching himself into a forward flip, and drilling Jenkins’ back into the mat with the Spinal Explosion! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” Johnny comes to a halt in a seated position and he simply leans back to cover his opponent, though he hooks Spike’s leg as an added measure as Herrington counts for for: ONE! TWO! TH-NO! Jenkins pulls a shoulder off the canvas just before three! Johnny grabs Spike by the sides of his head and drags him to his feet, but Jenkins refuses to give the barracuda another opportunity against him and he slaps Dangerous’ hands away from his face and suddenly- *CRACK!* -slams his fist into Johnny’s face! The Barracuda stumbles back and Jenkins steps forward, swinging his fist out again… “Jenkins is fighting back!” exclaims Francis. “He’s not going to hand the match over to Wild and Dangerous this easily!” …but this time Johnny brings his forearm up to block the shot and then fires back with a hit of his own! *CRACK!* “OOOH!” the crowd winces at the hit. It catches Spike right in the jaw and sends him stumbling sideways and into the ropes! Johnny grabs Jenkins and whips him to the opposite end of the ring and as Spike rebounds off the ropes, heading back towards Johnny, he ducks down to take Jenkins overhead with a back body drop… but Spike suddenly slams on the breaks directly in front of Johnny and franticly grabs around the Barracuda’s head- *CRUNCH*-*WHAM!* -and takes him down with the Sobering Thought! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “Sobering Thought! That’s straight out of the playbook of Michael Stephens!” shouts Mak. “Spike is pulling out all the stops for tonight and he might have it right here!” Spike quickly drops down and covers Dangerous, and Herrington is there to count for: ONE! TWO! TH- *WHAM!* Wildchild kicks Jenkins off his partner to save the match and chases after the retreating Jenkins with stomps until the referee steps in the way, ordering WC to leave the ring. “If Spike can get the tag to Clark they just might be able to capitalize!” As Wildchild departs Spike heads towards Alan… … he arrives at their corner… … reaches out… …but that’s when Clark pulls his hand away and drops down to the outside floor! “What the hell!?” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” The crowd gives Alan the what for as Spike stares in disbelief! “That spineless, no good son of a bitch!” shouts Francis. “He’s double crossing Spike – we predicted this happening but why would Clark do this when they actually have a shot of winning!? Why!?” “He doesn’t want to be any part of a tag team with Spike and winning the titles would just force him to team up with Spike again,” explains King. “That and Spike needs to learn a lesson about trying to challenge someone he has no business challenging!” Enraged, Spike shouts lividly at Clark but Alan simply waves him off and heads around the ring with Walter in tow. Spike watches, still shouting as Alan heads to the walkway, and not even thinking about his opponent in the ring. Johnny stalks in from behind Spike, grabs him by the arm and spins Jenkins around… *CRACK!* …and nails him in the face, right between the eyes with a Shotei palmstrike! Spike is rocked on his heels and two more palmstrikes send him reeling! Johnny chases after Spike, punishing him with more strikes… *CRACK!* “Now Spike will have to face Wild and Dangerous alone,” says Mak. “Already this isn’t looking good for him.” *SMACK!* When Alan reaches the stage he stops and turns around, watching as the Barracuda pounds Jenkins from one side of the ring to the other. *CRACK!* “This is exactly what he wants to see happen to Spike,” says King. “When Wild and Dangerous get done with Spike he won’t be able to put up a fight against Alan next week!” “Such a cowardly move,” Mak hisses, as Dangerous finally drops Spike with a leaping side kick. “I hope Alan rots in hell!” Johnny pulls Spike up and boots him in the gut, forcing the wind from Jenkins’ lungs and doubling the World Champion hopeful over. The crowd moves to the edges of their seats as Dangerous pulls Spike into a standing head-scissors and the lifts him off the mat and onto his shoulders as Wildchild ascends the turnbuckle in preparation! “They’re going for the Dangerous Drop!” shouts Francis trying to focus on calling the match as best as he can, but Spike isn’t as stunned as Dangerous believed and Jenkins frantically starts slamming his fist into the Barracuda’s dome! “Not just yet!” Suicide King returns. “The Heartless Kid has some fight left in him!” Spike’s shots stun the Barracuda just enough and Jenkins quickly hooks Johnny’s shoulders with his legs and flips over- “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “He’s got him!” shouts Mak, as Alan Clark watches from the stage – his eyes wide with shock and his mouth gaping wide open. “This isn’t what Alan had planned on seeing!” -and Spike flips the secret agent over onto his shoulders with a surprising victory roll! Jenkins reaches back and hooks both of Johnny’s legs, holding him in place as Herrington dives in and counts for: ONE!!! TWO!!! THHHRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! NOOOOOOO!!!!! Wildchild kicks Jenkins off of his partner and not a moment too soon! “Wildchild comes in and saves his partner by the skin of his teeth!” Mak shouts as Alan smiles in relief. “If Wildchild hadn’t made that move, Spike Jenkins would have single handedly defeated Wild and Dangerous for the titles!” “I highly doubt they would have ever shown their faces in public again if that happened,” King adds in, and then ponders momentarily before continuing: “Damn; That might have been a good thing.” Herrington quickly pops up to his feet, barking at the Bahaman to exit to the apron before WC can pounce onto Spike. WC complies with the referee as not to tie up his attention and give Jenkins an opportunity to take advantage of, leaving Jenkins to do nothing more than to become fuming mad! Spike shoves off the canvas and stands back up; the obvious pain he’s in shows as he rises to his feet, but he refuses to give up, even though he is now outnumbered by the Tag Team Champions. Spike stalks towards the Barracuda, who dazedly stands, and with an aggressive howl- *WHAM!* -Jenkins smashes his knuckles into Johnny’s mouth, rocking the secret agent’s head on his shoulders! Spike launches two more punches into the Barracuda before stepping back… and then coming back in with a tremendous European uppercut! *CRACK!* Dangerous is floored from the hit and the only thing that stops Spike from jumping on top of Johnny and pounding him into the canvas is Wildchild hollering at him from the apron. Spike pivots and spins around—his eyes wide with madness—and marches right up to the Bahama Bomber… *CRACK!* …and blasts Wildchild without any regard, knocking him to the floor! “Now he’s taking the fight to both of them,” says King. “He’s desperately trying to prove that he doesn’t need any help to win this match!” Spike swivels his head around and sees the Barracuda getting back up, so he rushes back towards Johnny and catches him with another punch that knocks him right back down to the mat, stirring up the crowd some more! “Jenkins is starting to build some steam here,” comments Mak. “Maybe he really doesn’t need Alan’s help!” Alan sees Jenkins’ momentum building and he starts looking on worriedly, even more so when Spike again bolts for the Wild and Dangerous corner as WC gets back up and blast the Bahaman again! “Oh!” King winces at the hit, and again WC is knocked down from the apron. Jenkins bolts for Johnny once again, and knocks him down with a third hit, and then races back for Wildchild as he climbs to the apron once more! Spike swings but Wildchild ducks this time and then rams his shoulder through the ropes, into Spike’s abdomen, and then WC reaches up to grab Jenkins by the head before dropping to the floor- “OH NO!” -and forces Spike’s throat across the top rope! “Wildchild caught him with a hangman!” exclaims King, and Jenkins stumbles backwards, clutching his neck with both hands and gagging uncontrollably as Johnny gets back to his feet and comes in from behind Jenkins. “He’s going for –” exclaims Mak, and Johnny lifts Spike off the mat, looking for the MI Slam! “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEM-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-” *-SLAM!!* Johnny reaches back and hooks Jenkins’ leg, and rolls back on it to firmly pin his opponent’s shoulders to the mat. Herrington drops down and counts as the crowd excitedly counts with him for: ONE!!! TWO!!! THHHRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! *DING DING DING!!!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!” Wildchild rushes the ring to help his partner to his feet; even though Johnny might have been able to execute the MI Slam successfully he’s still a bit dazed from Spike’s attack. “The winners of this match by pinfall,” Funyon booms, “and as a result… STILL THE SWF… WORLD… TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS… WILD! AAAAAAAAAND DANGEROOUUUS!” Herrington hands the tag titles back to Wildchild and Johnny, then grabs their arms to raise them in victory as Alan watches from the stage. “Wild and Dangerous we’re successful once again,” comments Mak, “but you have to wonder how things would have turned out had Alan not walked out on Spike. He showed his true colors with that move and he’d better hope it doesn’t give Spike enough fuel to take him down next week.” “I highly doubt that,” scoffs King. “Alan just showed Spike that he has no chance. The beating he took from Wild and Dangerous will be nothing compared to the one he receives from Clark. Spike will be given no quarter, and the results of that match will be exactly the same as this match.” Johnny and Wildchild both reach down to try and help Spike back up to his feet, showing him they harbor no feelings against him, but he only shoves them away. As he painfully pushes up to his knees under his own steam, he weakly gazes at the World Champion. Alan stands on the stage smiling and then winks at Jenkins before patting his bodyguard on the chest and motioning for them to head out. Spike keeps his eyes fixed on the World Champion until he disappears behind the curtains and then he pounds his fist into the mat and stands up… As we: FADE OUT.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Thursday, July 12th, from the site of Rock Am Ring in Norburgring, Germany! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) Some big uber-music-fest in Germany held about this time of year. Ring will be out in the crowd, near the main stage, and whatever band happens to be on at the time will cover your entrance music. Oh, hey, looks like MTV has something to do with it. Bonus points if you find a creative way to off an MTV employee in your match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Wild and Dangerous vs. The Heartless Foundation (Alan Clark and "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins) --> Spike Jenkins wants the SWF to know he means business, and after putting our Cruiserweight Champion away last show, I don't think many would argue. He's had his eye on the World Champion, Alan Clark, and before the Disneyman can make it to the Unification match at Ground Zero, he's going to have to go through Hollywood! But that'll be next week. In an effort to satisfy the HUNGER~! of the Tag Team Champions to prove themselves, and also to screw with the two guys who'll be facing each other next week, this beauty of a match was dreamt up. Rules: Standard tag team match. Plus AWESOME. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke vs. Austin Sly --> Episode 2 of "Can Rev-0 repair the damage done last week" sees Austin Sly, off a narrow defeat at the hands of Wild and Dangerous, take on the man who will be heading into Ground Zero's super ultra mega awesometastic Unification Match! A win for either man would provide an epic momentum boost, but sadly there can be only one... Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- HARDCORE MATCH (non-title) The Fabulous Jakey vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix --> While CC hunts for Jakey's next challenger, presumably at Ground Zero, we want to keep both of these champs in tip-top shape. By which, of course, we mean we want them to pound the crap out of each other with sharp, heavy objects for our own amusement. With Rev-0's pride damaged last show, will Jakey bring what he needs to restore their (lack of) honor? Rules: Hardcoooooooore. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD CHAMPIONSHIP FINALS - LADDER MATCH Fulminatus! vs. Michael Alexander --> The two top names of the recent rookie surge have made it to the finals! Tonight, the SWF's New Blood Title will debut, hanging above 20 feet above the ring, and one man will make SWF History by becoming the very first New Blood Champion! Rules: The first man to scale a ladder and retrieve the belt will be the winner. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Badger on a Pole Match Jimmy the Doom vs. Chris Raynor --> Chris Raynor was responsible for that horrific Straight Bread match. Now Tom Flesher gets his revenge. If Jimmy the Doom wants a stip for this match - any stip at all - he just needs to speak up. I am at your mercy, God help me. Rules: Um... 'Drea? -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- IT IS BEINGS A MYSTERY MANZ MATCH ??? vs. MANSON --> Everyone always knows who ??? is before me, but still, I guess we'll keep up the charade. MYSTERY MAN! WHO COULD IT BE?!!?!?!?! Rules: Singleys. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As Storm returns to the air, some really lousy pop band that nobody will remember in the morning performs some really lousy song that nobody will remember the title of the morning. Francis: “Welcome back to Storm…” King: “And consider it a blessing that your ears aren’t bleeding. If you didn’t already die from the brain hemorrhaging.” Francis: “And we are ready for yet another fantastic matchup. Jay Hawke, the International Champion, prepares for his huge title unification match when he takes on Austin Sly tonight.” King: “And for the most part, Mak, this one shouldn’t be in doubt. They’ve met a number of times previously, and I can’t remember Austin Sly gaining a victory over Hawke. Ever.” Francis: “Are you saying Revolution Zero only hires scrubs?” King: “Your words, not mine.” Francis: “Indeed, there is a lot of history between these two. It was Jay Hawke who beat Austin Sly to become the final USJL Champion in 2005, so Hawke definitely has the higher profile victories in their rivalry. But now, over two years later, what exactly is in store for these two competitors?” King: “Pain. Suffering. Torture. Good fun for all.” Francis: “Let’s go up to Funyon for the introductions.” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit.” As the lights dim, some lousy German band performs a poor cover of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly”. Funyon: “Introducing first, fighting out of the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing 215 pounds … the SWF International Champion … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” Francis: “Even in Germany, these crowds don’t like the champion.” King: “And yet they like David Hasselhoff. Go figure.” Jay Hawke makes his way into the ring and removes his robe, revealing the beautiful International Championship belt. As Hawke removes the belt and hands it to the timekeeper, Funyon continues. Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, here to do his cover of the opponent’s theme song “Defy You” … DAVID HASSELHOFF!” King: “God no! Anything but that!” The German fans scream their heads off as the Baywatch star and, for some inexplicable reason, German entertainment sensation takes the stage. The cover band begins to play the music, and you can forget about the normal hush falling over the crowd. ]'WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!' *Boom!* A barrage of silver sparks fills the air as The Sly One’s chosen pyros explode from each side of the entrance ramp, receiving a less than positive response from the crowd on hand. You may push me around, But you can not win. You may throw me down, But I’ll rise again. … escorting Austin from behind the curtain and out onto stage. He pauses at the top of the ramp for only a brief second to take a glance through the audience before he heads towards the ring. Funyon: “And the opponent…from St. Louis, Missouri and weighing in at 240 pounds … representing Revolution Zero…AUSTIN SLY!” Austin climbs the ring steps and enters into the ring between the second and third rope before shooting across the ring and ascending the corner turnbuckles. He stretches his arms out into a crucifixion-esque pose, soaking in the loathing of the fans. He cracks a slight smile before jumping down and going into his pre-match stretches. King: “Make the song stop, Mak. Anything but David Hasselhoff!” | David Hasselhoff continues to sing, but it’s not like you can really hear him over the uncontrolled screaming. The music finally dies down, and the crowd erupts in appreciation so loudly that we can barely hear the opening bell over the crowd. DING DING DING The two competitors circle each other cautiously, neither one of them wanting to make any sort of mistake in the early going. Quickly they lock up. Jay Hawke locks Austin Sly into a side headlock, then slips behind into a hammerlock before maneuvering back into the side headlock. King: “Typical Jay Hawke here, showing us an absolute wrestling clinic.” Austin Sly pushes Jay Hawke off, sending him into the ropes. Hawke comes back and takes him down with a shoulder block. Off the ropes goes Hawke again, but Sly is quickly to his feet. He catches Hawke quickly with a deep arm drag takedown. Both men return to their feet, and this time Hawke takes Sly down with an arm drag. Both men to their feet again, and this time Austin Sly sweeps Hawke’s leg and drops down for the cover, but Hawke quickly gets the shoulder up before referee Nick Soapdish can get into position. Francis: “Quick action in the early going here, and neither man can get the edge on the other.” Jay Hawke gets a legsweep in of his own and goes for the cover, and this time Soapdish is basically already in position: ONE! Sly quickly kicks out and returns to his feet, and Hawke catches him with a knee into the midsection to double him over. Jay Hawke hooks the head and neck, taking Austin Sly down with a swinging neck breaker and going for the pin again: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Quick action, quick fall attempts, and these men are trying to gain the victory in the early going here.” King: “And that’s smart wrestling. You’re not getting paid by the hour out there, why not see if you can get a quick victory out of the deal?” Austin Sly gets to his feet and backs into the corner, and Jay Hawke wisely decides to back off and wait for Sly to move in. Sly slowly moves out of the corner into the center of the ring. Sly holds out his arms, seemingly looking for a test of strength, but Hawke catches him with a kick to the thigh, then to the other thigh, before finishing the sequence with a roundhouse kick to the face that drops him to the canvas. The Dean of Professional Wrestling drops down into the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Another count of two. Only a minute or two into this one and four or five attempts to win the match already.” King: “I don’t think you’re going to see this one end in the first five minutes, but if they keep going for the pins like they are, they will wear each other out sooner rather than later. This does not look like it is going to go very long.” Jay Hawke picks Austin Sly up and body slams him to the canvas. He runs off the ropes and drops a leg across the head and neck on the rebound, then quickly goes for another cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Another count of two. Have you ever seen Hawke go for the win this early?” King: “No, he normally likes taking a much more methodical approach to his matches.” Jay Hawke finally decides to slow the action down just a bit, locking Austin Sly into a reverse chinlock. King: “Like this. And realistically, this is probably the way he should wrestle this match. We’ve seen him go 30 or 45 minutes on a fairly consistent basis so he should be wearing Sly down and using his conditioning to his advantage.” Austin Sly begins to make his way to his feet. As he stands up, Jay Hawke releases the hold, driving the point of the elbow into the back of the neck for good measure, then hooking the head and neck and bringing Sly down with another swinging neck breaker. Hawke spits on Austin Sly, then drops down into the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “That was pretty straight forward.” King: “I guess we know how Jay Hawke feels about Austin Sly at this point.” Jay Hawke picks up Austin Sly and goes for another body slam, but Sly kicks his legs to loosen Hawke’s grip and slides behind his back, landing on his feet. He gets in a couple of kicks to the hamstring to bring Hawke down to his knees, then levels him in the back of the head with a super kick. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Sly moves in for the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Hawke snapped that super kick into the back of Hawke’s head, and most men would be out cold after a move like that!” King: “I’m not sure that kickout was anything more than instinctive on the part of the International Champion. His eyes are becoming glazed over!” Sensing victory is near, Austin Sly drops a series of elbows across Hawke’s neck and throat with rapid succession. He then picks his opponent up, only to bring him right back down to the mat with a twisting neck breaker. He immediately goes for another cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “And only a count of two again! What a frantic pace these two men have utilized in this match!” King: “Now is that just because they really want a victory, or is it because they want to get away from this horrible music festival as fast at they can?” Now it’s Austin Sly who decides to try and slow the pace down, as he locks in a reverse chinlock and cranks back on it. Jay Hawke knows not to stay in that position for very long, so he begins to make his way to his feet. He drives a couple of elbows into Sly’s midsection, only for Austin to catch him with a knee to the gut that doubles him over. Sly then locks in a front facelock and makes his way to the corner, using the ropes as a springboard to twist around and drop the International Champion on his head. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Francis: “Tornado DDT, and Austin Sly going for the cover!” ONE! TWO! Francis: “Could be the upset…” TH -- kickout. Francis: “But the champion kicks out. Jay Hawke is finding himself in a very physical confrontation before his big title unification match with Alan Clark!” King: “And how much is this taking out of him? He doesn’t want to go into that match injured!” As Jay Hawke makes his way to his feet, Austin Sly goes for a super kick, but Hawke ducks underneath it. Hawke then takes Sly down with a single-leg takedown, then locks in a leg scissors. Francis: “Leg submission by Jay Hawke, and normally it’s Austin Sly who works the legs for submission holds!” King: “Hawke knows that, and he also knows that Sly’s expecting submissions that work the neck and arms, so he’s keeping his opponent off-guard doing this!” Austin Sly isn’t so far from the ropes that he can’t just reach for them to break the hold, but why use the ropes when you can apply some punishment? He executes three kicks: two to the back and one to the head. The kick to the head forces Hawke to relinquish the hold. Sly gets to his feet, limping slightly as he pulls Hawke to his and locks in a front facelock. Sly leaps into the air, apparently for a jumping DDT, but Hawke blocks it and drives a knee to the midsection. Hawke slips behind into a waistlock, then takes his opponent over with a picture-perfect German suplex: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Snapping that German suplex almost out of nowhere, and he almost got the pin!” King: “This is a hell of a match we’ve got going here, Mak!” Jay Hawke grabs a leg and turns Sly over, cranking back on it into a submission hold. Francis: “And now Jay Hawke with a single-leg Boston crab! We’ve seen Austin Sly use this on a number of occasions!” King: “I wouldn’t be surprised to see Hawke turn this into an STF if Sly gets too close to the ropes!” Austin Sly takes a look at the ropes as if he wants to reach for them, but instead he rolls himself over. He tries to kick Hawke’s back to force a break, but Hawke winds up hooking the free leg instead. He goes for the full Boston crab, but Sly blocks it, so Hawke simply falls backward and catapults Austin Sly into the turnbuckle. Francis: “Slingshot into the turnbuckle, and Sly staggers backwards…and right into a roll up!” ONE! TWO! Kickout. King: “But only two, and give both of these men credit, Mak! Both men showing tremendous resilience in this semi-main event tonight!” Austin Sly slowly pulls himself to his feet. Jay Hawke moves in, catching him with a European uppercut that knocks his opponent back into the corner. Hawke then hooks in a side headlock and runs forward, driving Austin Sly into the mat with a bulldog headlock. Hawke goes for the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout! Francis: “Again only two! Where is Austin Sly getting it from?” King: “It’s amazing what will happen when you’ve got the will to win, Mak!” Jay Hawke is clearly beginning to get frustrated, but as Austin Sly makes his way to his feet, Hawke hooks both of Austin Sly’s arms and suplexes him over. Francis: “Butterfly suplex, and Hawke into the cover again!” ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “And again Sly kicks out!” King: “And again, you have to be impressed with both of these men tonight! What an awesome matchup!” Clearly frustrated, Jay Hawke sits on the mat with an angry look in his eyes. He wants to finish this one quickly and train for his shot at Alan Clark. As Sly gets to his feet, Jay Hawke runs into the ropes, only for Sly to take him down with a drop toehold before seemingly in one motion locking Hawke into a tight STF. Francis: “Hawke hesitated for just a moment or two, and now he’s trapped in the clutches of Austin Sly and the STF!” King: “It’s very unusual for Hawke to become frustrated, but he did, and it might cost him the victory right here!” Hawke reaches out for the rope, but it’s slightly out of reach. As Nick Soapdish checks in on him, Hawke shakes his head no before making one more reach for the ropes, this time just barely grabbing hold of it to force the hold to be broken. Francis: “The International Champion reaches the ropes, but you have to think he was only moments away from getting beat right there!” King: “Chalk that one up to Hawke being a master of ring positioning, because that’s what saved him there!” Francis: “But how much does he have left in the gas tank?” King: “I don’t know, but he’d better have something left in the tank if he wants to unify those titles at the pay-per-view!” Austin Sly pulls Hawke to his feet and locks in a front facelock. He drags Hawke to the corner and hops up, standing on the middle turnbuckle. Francis: “Sly getting some elevation, possibly for another tornado DDT.” Indeed, Sly does try to go for another tornado DDT, but Hawke throws him off. Sly lands on his feet and moves in, but Hawke sides steps, and Sly runs hard into the corner. Sly staggers backwards, and Hawke climbs the turnbuckle. Sly gains his bearing and charges forward, but Hawke kicks him coming in, spinning Sly around. Hawke then sits on Sly’s shoulders and falls forward, rolling Sly over onto his shoulders: ONE! Francis: “Victory roll!” TWO! Francis: “Perfectly executed!” THREE! DING DING DING! Francis: “And he got him!” King: “Tremendous move!” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, in 8 minutes 32 seconds, the winner of this match…JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!” Jay Hawke raises his arms in celebration as the crowd boos, but whichever shitty German pop band does their version of “Learning to Fly”, Jay Hawke covers his ears and runs like hell to the relatively quiet safety of the dressing room. King: “That is one hell of an idea.” Francis: “Well, we have to put up with it for one more match.” King: “Why?” Francis: “Because if we leave early, we’ve breached our contract.” King: “Dammit!” Francis: “Jay Hawke with a big victory, but the main event is next!”

“Well, King, up next is a Hardcore Rules match with possibly the least likely participants!” Mak Francis hypothesizes. The lights dim and the band up on the stage begins to play “Personal Jesus” by Marilyn Manson. The crowd roars and the lights begin to flash on and off. Megan Skye appears on the apron, leaving the crowd of mostly men to cheer louder, before she signals the arrival of her man … …as Landon Maddix emerges onto the ramp, with the Hardcore Gamers Championship around his waist. He appears to be relaxed. “The following is a non-title, HARDCORE RULES MATCH!” Funyon bellows while Landon and Megan walk down the ramp soaking up the glory of the fans cheering. “Introducing first, being Accompanied to the ring by MEGAN SKYE! Hailing from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain... weighing in at two hundred and eight pounds... he is the SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion … LLLAAAAAANNDDOOOOONN... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMMAAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!" Landon leaps up onto the ring apron staring at the crowd as Megan takes the steps. Megan opens the ropes for him as he enters the ring, and they both stand in the center posing Shawn Michaels-style. “This crowd in Germany certainly on the side of Maddix tonight!” Mak Francis yells. “He certainly looks to be in a better mood than the last time we saw him in the ring!” “I don’t even understand why this crowd is cheering him!” Suicide King cries. “He didn’t even want the Hardcore Gamers title, he won it and ended a year-long reign by Jimmy the Doom, and now he won’t even sign the papers to fight MANSON at Ground Zero!” Landon hands his belt to Megan and stands in the corner lightly stretching his arms while red and pink lights fill the arena. The house band flares up the synthesizers, trying to play techno music the best way a rock band can. “His opponent…” Funyon begins. A grocery cart is the first thing the fans see coming from the curtain, as The Fabulous Jakey emerges pushing a cart full of various weapons/household items. “Is this when someone says business is about to pick up?!” Suicide King asks excitedly. “Not really,” Mak Francis demurs. Funyon continues: “Representing Revolution-Zero! From Minneapolis, Minnesota, weighing in at 160 lbs., he is the SWF Cruiserweight Champion, THE FABULOUS JAKEY!” Jakey doesn’t have his title on him, but he is wearing a blood red trenchcoat suggesting he means business. “And to my knowledge, Jakey has never competed in a match of this kind!” Mak Francis asserts. “What, you mean Jakey’s never been hardcore?” Suicide King asks. “I’m … not saying anything past that,” Mak grumbles. Jakey parks the cart at ringside, and before the lights turn off, throws a cookie sheet into the ring! The music stops and the lights turn off, while Megan flees the ring and Landon moves towards the apron. “GET IN THE RING!” Landon yells at his opponent, but Jakey prefers a different route, throwing a trash can lid into the ring that barely misses Landon. “I don’t think Jakey wants to get in the ring!” Mak suggests. Jakey and Landon trash-talk each other in a chess-game situation until … “Wait a minute!” Mak Francis cries. Taking exception, Megan Skye, from behind, throws Jakey into the ring, getting a rise out of the audience. Landon quickly begins to stomp on Jakey, who still has his trenchcoat. “That’s why she gets paid the big bucks!” Mak cries. Landon stomps on Jakey furthermore, then throws him into the turnbuckle and punishes him with a foot choke. Landon picks up the fallen trash can lid and attempts to hit Jakey with it, but the much smaller Jakey ducks out of the way, causing the lid to reflect off of the top turnbuckle and return in Landon’s face! “HAHAHAHAHA!” Suicide King guffaws. “That is by far the greatest thing I have ever seen in my life!” “You must be a very sad man,” Mak Francis accuses. Jakey takes advantage by quickly turning Landon around and executing a monkey flip, but the agile Landon Maddix lands on his feet, and Jakey turns around into a kick that knocks him to the ground! Landon yells at Megan (not yells in a mean way, but y’know, over the sound and everything) to get him a weapon. Ever the opportunist, Megan digs in Jakey’s cart and throws a broom and trash can in the ring. Jakey gets up, only for Landon to violently swing the broom into his stomach, then breaks it over Jakey’s back, which sends his opponent to his stomach. “And Landon making this match a walk in the park!” Mak yells. As Jakey slowly gets to his feet, Landon strategically places the trash can over the Cruiserweight Champion’s head, leaving the crowd to laugh at the sight gag of Jakey blindly trying to grab Landon. The laughing stops when Landon runs off the top ropes— --and DROPKICKS the trash can (and Jakey), sending Jakey down to the mat! Landon pulls Jakey out of the trash can, then quickly goes for a cover. ONE TWO -and a kickout! Landon picks Jakey up, but the smaller guy buries his head in Landon’s stomach, forcing him to the ropes and through them, causing both men to fall violently to the floor! Jakey’s fall is somewhat broken by Landon, who lands on the outside of the ring with the brunt of his back. “And a rough landing for both men!” Mak Francis yells. Megan Skye claps for Landon, encouraging him to get up. “Landon took the worse of that landing, as Jakey sacrificed himself to get out of the squared circle!” Mak asserts. “I don’t know how well Jakey would fare in a normal match with Landon Maddix, but in this different environment, the scales are a bit tipped!” Jakey gets to his feet a bit before Landon, and he quickly grabs the nearby trash can lid from the ring. Landon returns to his feet, only for Jakey to SMASH the trash can lid over his head! Landon staggers, but doesn’t fall, until Jakey WHAMS him again, this time in a sideswipe attack that also hits his face! The effect is audible and Landon falls to the ground. Jakey yells at the crowd, then finally removes his trenchcoat, revealing his typical jersey underneath. With Landon on his knees facing the fans, Jakey begins to strangle him with the trenchcoat. “YOU LIKE SEEING HIM THIS WAY, HUH?!” Jakey yells to the fans. “HERE’S YOUR CHAMPION!” Jakey knocks Landon back on his stomach, then walks toward the center of the ring to his cart of weapons. Megan gets out of his way as Jakey pulls out a Singapore Cane! “Oh no!” Mak Francis yells. Jakey walks back to Landon, but Landon, on his feet, knocks Jakey down with a clothesline to the floor! Landon throws Jakey back in the ring, then picks up the cane himself, leaving the crowd to roar. Landon gets back in the ring while Jakey backs up, pleading. “What, Jakey doesn’t want to fight anymore?” Mak Francis asks. Landon smirks, then KICKS Jakey in the chest, knocking him down. As Jakey crawls to the corner, Landon WHACKS Jakey in the ass with the cane, the sound renovating through the venue! “The look on his face says it all!” Mak Francis yells. “This is sadistic!” Suicide King objects, as Landon deftly WHACKS him for a second time! “That’s gotta leave a mark!” Mak cries. “What, are you gonna check?” Suicide King snaps. “Landon Maddix is being relentless!” Jakey gets himself into the turnbuckle, where he again begs for mercy, while a relaxed Landon stares him down. “You’ve seen how many violent matches here in SWF and it takes Jakey getting hit with a cane for you to cry sadism?” Mak asks. Landon sets down the cane, then gestures at Jakey to come at him. With gumption, Jakey runs at Landon, but runs right into his trap, as Landon easily trips him up with a drop-toe hold – sending Jakey facefirst into the nearby cookie sheet! Landon orders Megan to get him another weapon, and Megan looks under the ring, finding another trash can. Taking his time, Landon takes the trash can and sandwiches it in the turnbuckle ropes, with the open end facing outward. “This doesn’t look good!” Mak predicts. Landon grabs a fallen Jakey by his legs, then positions him directly under the trash can. “Don’t do this!” Suicide King protests. With ease, La Cucaracha CATAPULTS Jakey’s face right into the trash can, the maneuver filling the venue with an echo. “Landon Maddix easing into his role as the new Hardcore Champion!” Mak summarizes. “Now before you start being so accusatory, King, you should think of it that way. Maybe he’s using this match as practice. It IS non-title!” Landon informs Megan to bring something else in the ring, and she goes to the side of the ring closest to the announcer’s table (opposite of the ramp) trying to find something. “Yet again, Landon sends a woman to do a man’s work!” Suicide King accuses. “Can’t even look for himself!” The decision appears to pay off, as Megan pulls a LADDER from the ring! Landon gets out of the ring to help her, and the German crowd approves of Megan’s find! Landon takes the full reins of the ladder, placing it horizontally in the ring, but before he can get back on the apron … ..Jakey, back on his feet, baseball slides the ladder right in Landon’s face, knocking him down! With a second wind (and a slightly bleeding mouth), Jakey quickly out of the ring and goes after Landon, hitting him with a few forearms before launching him into the nearby pole! “Perhaps seeing his own blood put some fire into Jakey!” Mak suggests. “Absolutely!” Suicide King agrees, a scary thought. “We’ve seen it happen many times!” “At least it matches his coat!” Mak offers. Jakey picks up Landon and rolls him back into the ring, then takes some time insulting Megan’s attire. Whether or not Megan is seriously offended, it proves to be a mistake, as a regrouped Landon clubs Jakey from behind, then grabs him by the collar, bringing him into the ring the hard way! “And now Jakey’s back where he might not want to be!” Mak yells. “Landon’s got a full arsenal in there, with the trash can lids, the Singapore cane, the ladder!” Landon picks up Jakey and throws him into the far turnbuckle with velocity. Landon runs at Jakey for a charge, but Jakey dodges it! Jakey very quickly picks up a trash can lid, with which he uses to THWACK Landon in the back! As the bigger man grabs his back in pain, Jakey pulls him away from the corner ever so slightly, then hooks a front face lock. “Could this be it?!” Mak cries. “The Jumping Jakey Flash!” Jakey goes for his Springboard DDT-like maneuver, but upon his return off of the ropes, Landon counters it by launching Jakey to the ground, falling right on his (admittedly injured) ass! Jakey merely misses the ladder. “What a counter by Landon!” Mak yells. Landon quickly re-asserts himself, picking up Jakey from behind and hooking the head – “But what’s Landon gonna do? Is this gonna be the Seated Shinarui?” Behind Jakey with the head hooked, Landon runs up the ropes to hit the Sliced Bread #2— And does Jakey one better, as Jakey lands FACEFIRST ON THE LADDER! Unfortunately for Landon, he doesn’t entirely miss the ladder himself, though Jakey took the worse of it. “Did Landon take too much of himself to get that maneuver?” Mak asks. Shaking it off, Landon goes for a cover on the ladder, hooking the leg. “The cover! ONE— TWO— TH— And a kickout!” Landon looks ahead with a menacing look on his face, then looks back to the Singapore cane. “And is this how Landon Maddix plans on getting this over with?” Mak Francis wonders. Jakey begins to stir, and when Landon walks over to the Singapore cane, and the crowd roars, Jakey reacts by initially pleading, then dipping out of the ring entirely. “I don’t believe you can lose a hardcore match by countout!” Mak Francis yells. “I don’t think Jakey can coward his way out of this one!” “Did you just use ‘coward’ as a verb?” Suicide King scoffs. Jakey begins to back up the ramp, towing his grocery cart of weapons with him. “The man is obviously injured!” Suicide King cries. “Not to mention traumatized!” Landon Maddix slowly gets out of the ring, hitting the cane against the ground for dramatic effect. Jakey continues backing up, but the quicker Megan Skye runs up the ramp alongside him, then gets behind him and teasingly blocks him from going any farther. “Megan has certainly been the X factor here!” Mak says. Jakey turns around to yell at Megan, and the distraction gives Landon enough time to get to Jakey. Jakey gulps and stares down Landon, who throws the cart out of the way with a grin. “And Landon has Jakey right where he wants him!” Landon swings with the Singapore cane, and Jakey ducks, then runs back into the ring. Landon slowly chases him, stalking him like he’s the Fisherman from “I Know What You Did Last Summer.” “There’s nowhere for Jakey to run!” Mak cries. Jakey attempts to strike Landon, but Landon overpowers his punch, sending him a violent forearm that knocks him to the ground. Landon picks up Jakey from behind and appears to set up a move to put him away … “This looks like the Lungblower!” Mak predicts. But before Landon can strike, he is alerted by the audience, which quickly goes from cheering to jeering! The action goes to the ramp: Megan is cheering her man on, not realizing that MANSON is right behind her! “What the hell is MANSON doing out here??” Mak Francis cries. Instinctively, Landon releases Jakey, shoving him aside much like he did the grocery cart, while MANSON has a screaming Megan Skye by the hair! “UNHAND HER!” Mak Francis yells. As Landon yells, Jakey schoolboys La Cucaracha! “Jakey’s got a pin! ONE— TWO— THREE!!” “I can’t believe it!” Mak Francis cries. “Here is your winner, THE FABULOUS JAKEY!” Funyon cries as the referee raises Jakey’s arm in the air. As Jakey continues to celebrate his victory, Landon doesn't waste any time mourning his loss. Instead he bails out of the ring and right past the retreating Megan, catching MANSON by surprise with some wild right hands! "YYYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" "Landon, coming to his manageress' rescue!" cheers Mak. The wild rights manage to back MANSON towards the stage, where the confused Fratellis watch on waiting to play their set. MANSON takes the opportunity to bum-rush the stage and scampers up the steps, Landon happy to watch him go as he turns back to Megan and embraces her. She quickly informs him she's okay and to keep going after MANSON, but Landon conveniently decides it's best to 'leave it'. "MANSON succeeding in getting under Landon's skin here tonight and costing him a victory against The Fabulous Jakey. We have not heard the last of this one!" predicts Mak, as we fade away.

The enormous crowd of the Rock Am Ring music festival roars with excitement as the band on stage finishes playing a raucous tune during the commercial break. (Mak) Up next, we’re going to see the first ever New Blood Champion crowned as the self-proclaimed “Mad Scientist of the Mat” Michael Alexander takes on the peculiar Fulminatus! [King] I cant believe Flesher’s making Alexander do this. Not only is he being forced to degrade himself by fighting that freak, he has to do it in a ladder match! (Mak) It’s a big title match, why not throw in a stipulation to raise the stakes? It’s called entertaining the fans, King. [King] Why not? WHY NOT?! I’ll tell you why not! Because Alexander’s out of his element, that’s why not. Now he can’t just throw on the Gordian Knot, make that masked creep scream for mercy, and become the first ever New Blood Champion! He has to try and wrestle some costumed phony in a freaking LADDER MATCH!! (Mak) Come on, it’s not like the match particularly favors Fulminatus. As far as I know, he’s no “Ladder Match Specialist”. Besides, we’ve never gotten a chance to see what Michael Alexander can do outside of a straight singles match. [King] Don’t worry, he’ll show us just how capable he is tonight. He’s “The Mad Scientist of the Mat,” remember? He’s inventive! (Mak) You’re right there, King. Let’s give it over to Funyon! Standing in the center of the ring, Funyon raises the mic and announces. “Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for ONE fall and is a LADDER MATCH!!” The ring announcer extraordinaire pauses and shifts gears. “I would like to now draw your attention to the object hanging high above my head. In the SWF we’ve had World Championships. We’ve had Hardcore Championships. We’ve even had International Championships. But the belt above me is different. It is a beacon of hope to all of our up-and-coming wrestlers. This is the SWF NEWWWW BLOOOOD CHAMPIONSHIIIIP!!” True to his word, nigh on eighteen feet above the ring, suspended from a metal scaffolding of some sort, hangs a championship belt. It shines brightly, yet untarnished by the myriad head smashings and blood-coatings that it will no doubt eventually receive. [King] Damn, that is a nice looking belt. I can’t believe we wasted our money on that thing. (Mak) What are you talking about? [King] Come on. We only have, what, five, maybe six new guys who can compete for that belt? That’s an awfully small group of guys for us to waste our money on such an elaborate belt. (Mak) We get new wrestlers all the time! The New Blood Championship is gonna turn out to be a very important title in the coming months, just wait. [King] Bah, it’s a pointless title. It just means that you’re the best of the worst wrestlers in the company. That’s kinda like bragging about being the World’s Tallest Midget. The pulsing electronic beat of “Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold pumps through the speakers as re-mixed and re-played by one of the many DJs present at the festival. The fans instantly begin to boo, before even seeing the wrestler to whom the music belongs. On the SmarkTron, the Vitruvian Man’s limbs light up in accordance with shots of Alexander punishing an opponent’s body. Then, as sure as the dawn, Michael Alexander emerges from the back and begins walking down the aisle. As the German crowd hurls insults at the mat technician, he simply walks past them down to the ring, a little more focused than usual. “Introducing first… from Greenville, South Carolina, he weighs in at two hundred and twenty one pounds… ‘The Mad Scientist of the Mat’ MICHAAAAEL ALEXAAAANDEEEER!!” The crowd renews their hatred as the indifferent Michael Alexander enters the ring and goes to his corner, adjusting his ring gear. He looks intently towards the entrance as his music fades and Funyon begins to speak again. “And his opponent…” The lights don’t go out, seeing as the ring is outside, but a large explosion of sparks does erupt from the stage. What more or less sounds like “Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida” begins to play, only at approximately twice the speed and containing a whole hell of a lot more accordion! Indeed, the gypsy-punk band Gogol Bordello has taken the stage and are dancing around, violently playing their own sped-up version of the song. From out of the backstage area wanders Fulminatus, and he makes his way over to the band. His limbs twitch violently and he begins “dancing” along with the musicians. [King] I can’t tell if he’s dancing or having a seizure. (Mak) I’m not entirely sure that it matters. [King] How is it the only time he doesn’t look out of place is when he’s surrounded by gypsies? Funyon makes himself heard “His opponent, weighing in at one hundred and ninety pounds… FULMINAAAATUUUUS!!” A portion of the crowd cheers Fulminatus, as he is apparently becoming surprisingly popular. His pre-match celebration over, Fulminatus hops down from the stage and makes his way through the crowd to the ring. Lightly mauled by the likely intoxicated German fans, Fulminatus reaches the guardrail and hops it, security making sure none of the fans follow him. In the ring, Michael Alexander eyes his opponent carefully, as he has done since Fulminatus appeared on the stage. His eyes fixed, Alexander takes mental notes on every facet of his opponent, as the masked man slides into the ring. DING!! DING!! “The Mad Scientist of the Mat” crouches down, holding his arms out, signaling his opponent to initiate a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Fulminatus, for his part, just looks perplexed. Carefully, he walks up to his opponent, not quite sure what Alexander’s up to. Finally Fulminatus understands what the gesture signifies. A broad, warm smile then crosses the madman’s lips as he holds his arms out to accept his opponent’s offer for a pre-match hug. Michael has no such intentions, however, and he grabs his unwitting opponent around the head and whirls him to the mat with a headlock takedown! As soon as he hits the ground, Alexander jams his knee into Fulminatus’ back and slaps on a rear chinlock. [King] Did Fulminatus seriously not know what a collar-and-elbow tie-up was? (Mak) I’m sure he knows. Maybe he just… forgot… [King] Mak, the man just went for a hug… (Mak) Maybe it’s just been a while since he’s fought a technical wrestler— [King] He went for a HUG in a damn WRESTLING MATCH!! The hold securely in place, Alexander leans back, trying to make a Pez dispenser out of Fulminatus. Struggling against the hold, Fulminatus shifts his weight to the side, forcing Michael to break the hold. Determined to keep his opponent on the mat, the Mad Scientist moves over and grabs a hold of Fulminatus’ masked head with a seated side-headlock. Before he can get enough pressure applied to secure the hold, though, Alexander is unseated by Fulminatus who begins to stand up, firing elbows to the side of his opponent to force him to break the hold! The resilient mat technician maintains his side-headlock and uses his hold to shove the masked man forward and into the ropes. As Fulminatus bounces back, Michael Alexander uses the running momentum to quickly send his opponent to the mat with a drop toe-hold which he quickly rolls up into a half Boston crab. Quickly, he stands up so as to add extra torque to Fulminatus’ back and leg. Unfortunately Alexander allowed his lithe opponent to wiggle out from between his legs, escaping the hold. Turning himself over onto his back, his left leg still held by Michael, Fulminatus fires off a quick kick to the chin with his free leg, sending the technical wrestler back into the ropes! As quickly as he can, Fulminatus rolls out of the ring to regroup. (Mak) Michael Alexander showing Fulminatus what technical wrestling is all about. [King] That’ll teach that freak! Look at him, hiding on the outside. He doesn’t know what to do against someone like Alexander! (Mak) You’re right about that, King. It doesn’t look like Fulminatus has the first clue about fighting a technical wrestler. That does appear to be the case, as Fulminatus regroups himself on the outside, rubbing his head and generally getting his “wits” about him. Regaining his bearings, if he had them in the first place, Fulminatus looks to his right and sees the metal ladder all ready for him to take the advantage with. A happy smirk crosses his face as he grabs the ladder and folds it back up, sliding it in the ring before sliding in himself. Alexander isn’t about to let Fulminatus get ahead in this match and as the ladder comes sliding into the ring, “The Mad Scientist of the Mat” simply pushes it back outside. The metal ladder clangs to the floor in front of the Spanish announcers’ table. As soon as Fulminatus gets to a crouching position on his feet, Alexander runs up and nails him in the face with a knee lift! As Fulminatus’ back hits the mat, the Mad Scientist walks up and grinds his boot into the masked face of his opponent. The crowd groans in sympathy and the referee expresses his displeasure, but Michael simply chooses to ignore them. His familiar cocksure grin returns to his face and Alexander bends over to pick up Fulminatus by the head, slapping him disrespectfully while he’s down there. (Mak) Great sportsmanship by Michael Alexander. [King] What are you talking about? A slap is a perfectly legal maneuver in wrestling. Especially when your opponent is damn near helpless. (Mak) Fulminatus is going to have to get his act together soon or he wont stand a chance. As Alexander wastes his time taunting his opponent, Fulminatus reaches up and chops Michael across the throat with the side of his hand! The crowd cheers as Fulminatus stands and starts throwing sharp chops across the chest of the gasping Alexander. Building up speed with chop after chop, Fulminatus backs his opponent against the ropes and in one grand motion… stomps on Alexander’s foot. The seemingly silly maneuver causes the swelling of the crowd to dissipate somewhat, replaced with a sort of mild chuckling as Alexander leans back against the ropes and holds his foot. Grasping his hurt opponent by the wrist, Fulminatus whips Alexander to the corner and charges after him. Just as Michael hits the turnbuckles, the masked man runs up to him and leaps in the air with a spin kick. In the very nick of time, the Mad Scientist moves out of the way, allowing Fulminatus to spin kick nothing but padding. With Fulminatus even temporarily on the mat, Michael Alexander scurries over and drops a knee to the side of his face! His opponent thoroughly incapacitated, Alexander lifts Fulminatus to his feet and whips him into the ropes across the ring. As he bounces back, the madman slides between Michael’s legs and outside in front of the announcers’ table to safety. (Mak) It looks like Fulminatus is in a bit of a hurry to get away from Michael Alexander. [King] He’s flat out scared, look at him! He has no idea what to do against an opponent of this caliber. (Mak) This match is really logic versus illogic, King. Every single move that Alexander makes is precise and calculated, designed to inflict a specific amount of punishment on a certain part of the body at the correct time. Nothing Fulminatus does makes sense. I’m not entirely sure that Fulminatus has any sort of a battle plan whatsoever when he steps into the ring. It’s as though he’s behaving purely at random. [King] He’s a freaking nut-bar. End of story. On the outside, Fulminatus grabs the ladder and again slides it into the ring, hoping to gain some sort of advantage over his technically sound opponent. This time, Michael Alexander is ready to use the ladder and he picks it up but at the same time, his spry opponent leaps up to the top turnbuckle. With Alexander’s guard temporarily down, Fulminatus leaps off the top and dropkicks the ladder into Michael’s face! The crowd cheers and Fulminatus quickly gets to his feet and grabs the ladder from on top of Alexander, setting up right in the middle of the ring. As quickly as he can manage, Fulminatus climbs the ladder, urgently trying to get the belt. Lying dazed on the mat, Alexander catches sight of his costumed opponent scaling the ladder. The Mad Scientist quickly gets to his feet and goes to the ladder, grabbing Fulminatus by his tights. Caught off guard, Fulminatus reaches back and takes a swing at Alexander, but it’s too late. Nearly showing Fulminatus’ backside to the crowd, Michael Alexander pulls his opponent off the ladder, sending him slamming back first to the mat. (Mak) Fulminatus trying to end this match early, King. [King] Did he seriously think that he could tip-toe up the ladder and grab the belt without Alexander noticing him? He’s a SCIENTIST for crying out loud! (Mak) I’m pretty sure that’s just a nickname. Kinda like you’re name. You’ve never committed suicide and you don’t rule over any sort of medieval kingdom. [King] Says the man in the wheelchair who still calls himself “The Franchise”. Deciding it’s time to get wicked, Michael Alexander picks up his opponent, grabs him by the arm, and whips him into the ropes. As the dazed Fulminatus comes back, Alexander grabs the ladder and tips it over, causing the running man to smash helplessly into the metal climbing implement. Both Fulminatus and the ladder crash to the ground and Michael looks on, pleased with his handiwork. Alexander lifts the ladder off his opponent and picks him up, tossing the ladder off to the side. When he is on his feet, Alexander attempts to whip his opponent into the ropes once again, but Fulminatus reverses the whip and sends Michael flying! As the Professor of Pain bounces back, he runs face-first into Fulminatus’ head! Alexander gets up quickly, but is sent right back to the mat with another devastating headbutt! (Mak) Fulminatus throwing some devastating headbutts! [King] Yeah, real devastating… The crowd is really starting to get behind Fulminatus now as Michael gets back up again and is sent to the mat with one more headbutt. Now Alexander is sufficiently dazed and Fulminatus stands in the corner and waves his arms for the Mad Scientist to stand. As he rises to his feet, the masked man takes his two step approach and leaps into the air, spinning his legs high over his head with Fortuna’s Wheel, his no-handed aerial cartwheel! Instead of his spinning kick hitting it’s mark, Alexander snaps out his daze and steps to the side, shoving the flying Fulminatus out of the way! As Fulminatus awkwardly lands the move, his left knee bends in a way it was never meant to and the masked man howls in pain. Alexander looks at his opponent and grins; he has found his opening. Crawling away, Fulminatus favors his left knee and holds it gingerly. [King] What a dumbass! (Mak) Fulminatus landed bad on that left knee of his. He hurt it a few weeks ago on Storm in a match against The Fabulous Jakey, and he’s been watching it ever since. [King] He’s toast now. Alexander saw him hurt that leg. You cant let a man as dangerous as Michael Alexander see you get hurt. He might as well just tap out now. (Mak) This is a ladder match, King. [King] That’s what YOU think! (Mak) Uh… yeah. Like a shark who smells blood, Michael Alexander immediately goes for that injured leg and begins throwing quick kicks to the knee. Try as he might, Fulminatus cannot keep his leg away from Alexander, relentlessly throwing kick after kick at the knee. Finally, doing the only thing he can, Fulminatus rolls to the outside, falling with a thump to the floor. Michael Alexander follows him outside slowly, calculating each move in his head. When he gets to the outside, though, Fulminatus is gone! All he sees is the ring apron jostling, enough to tell him his opponent has crawled desperately under the ring. [King] What a coward! Crawling under the ring to try and hide. (Mak) That might be a wiser choice than I thought a guy like Fulminatus could make. If he needs a minute or two to recover, under the ring’s not a bad place to be. [King] I still say he’s just a chicken. And no, not Exploding Chicken, before you ask. Michael Alexander bends over and lifts up the curtain, but the darkness under the ring prevents him from seeing anything other than more darkness. The sounds of movement are audible and it sounds as though the most moving is coming from the side of the ring facing the aisle. Quickly, Michael Alexander goes to the other side of the ring and throws up the curtain revealing a smiling Fulminatus holding a fire extinguisher. A cloud of white carbon dioxide sprays into Alexander’s eyes and he stumbles backward. (Mak) And Fulminatus has a fire extinguisher! Abandoning the fire extinguisher behind him, Fulminatus then charges at his opponent, staggering him with sharp chops to the chest. With a kick to the gut, the madman doubles over his opponent and shoves his head in between his legs. As if possessed by something more powerful and confusing than himself, Fulminatus leans his head back and howls at the top of his lungs. “FNOOOOOOOOOORD~!!” The fans excitement grows as Michael Alexander is hoisted onto Fulminatus’ shoulders and then slammed to the barely-padded concrete outside! The crowd roars their approval and the masked man then wanders back into the ring. (Mak) And a powerbomb on the outside to “The Mad Scientist of Wrestling!” [King] That’s not legal! Tell the ref to do something about this! (Mak) Ladder matches are pretty much anything goes, King. You know that. [King] I didn’t ask you what I already know, I asked you to stop Fulminatus from being a cheating bastard! (Mak) It never bothered you before… [King] What the hell is “fnord,” anyway? Fulminatus enters the ring and immediately goes to the ladder, grabbing it and setting it up under the belt. Slowly, step by step he climbs, heavily favoring that injured left knee. As he nears the top of the ladder, Fulminatus looks down at his opponent, starting to come to on the outside, holding the back of his head. The madman looks up at the belt which is almost within his grasp, then he looks at Alexander lying on the outside. The crowd buzzes as Fulminatus looks back and forth between the belt and the Mad Scientist before making the only logical decision. [King] He’s not gonna… He uses all the strength in his healthy leg and leaps twenty-something odd feet to the ground below onto Michael Alexander! (Mak) FLIEGENDE KINDERSCHEISSE!! [King] What…? Awkwardly, the one hundred and ninety pounds of insane humanity comes tumbling down onto most of Michael Alexander’s upper torso in a big splash! Both men lie on the outside, largely unmoving except for their heaving chests as both men gasp for air. The crowd begins to roar a chant in unison: “HOLY SHIT!!” “HOLY SHIT!!” “HOLY SHIT!!” (Mak) UNBELIEVABLE!! Fulminatus just flew what had to be twenty five feet to the floor on top of Alexander! These two had better be thankful there are no count-outs in a match like this. [King] Yeah yeah, that was amazing. What the hell did you just yell? (Mak) What? “Unbelievable?” [King] No, the German thing. (Mak) Oh, that. It was in that envelop he handed me a few weeks ago. It said to yell… whatever it is I yelled whenever Fulminatus jumps off of something really high. [King] What the hell does it mean? (Mak) Not sure… I guess I’ll have to ask Todd deKindes next time I see him. The mass of flesh and tights on the ground begins to twitch and move until finally, from under Fulminatus’ carcass, Michael Alexander crawls out. Apparently the big jump from the top of the ladder did more damage to it’s deliverer than to it’s target. The mat wrestler pushes the body of Fulminatus off of him and begins to get to his feet. He staggers to the ring and rolls in slowly, no longer the cocky wrestler he was at the beginning of the match. Breathing heavily and intermittently holding the back of his head, Alexander repositions the ladder and begins to climb. (Mak) I cant believe that Michael Alexander is even moving after that big splash from twenty feet in the air! [King] Well, believe it, Mak! Believe it and get ready to congratulate the SWF’s first ever New Blood Champion! Whoo! (Mak) I thought you said the belt was pointless! [King] It’s pointless on any less of a wrestler than Michael Alexander, Mak. (Mak) Well, you may be—Oh my God, will you look at that! Astoundingly, Fulminatus has also gotten to his feet and is shambling his way to the ring as best as he can. On the ladder, Alexander climbs slowly, confident that he will reach the belt before Fulminatus even comes to. However, his confidence is shattered by a sloppy forearm to the back from his groggy opponent. Attempting to dislodge Fulminatus, Michael kicks his leg downward, but to no avail, as Fulminatus has begun to climb the other side of the ladder. Soon they are both on the ladder and are throwing hard shots at the other one! After several stiff shots back and forth, Alexander realizes that his efforts are useless and attempts a more scientific approach. Michael hops down off the ladder, leaving Fulminatus to continue climbing toward the belt. The crowd builds with anticipation for the masked madman’s triumph, but then quickly turns to horror as Michael Alexander grabs the ladder and shoves it over, leaving Fulminatus to plummet to the mat below! (Mak) Oh my god! [King] That a boy, Mikey! That’s using your head! As Fulminatus and the ladder come tumbling down, the masked man tries to cushion the blow by catching himself on his feet, but his injured leg takes the brunt of the blow and he again yells in pain! Alexander makes no mistakes this time, and as soon as Fulminatus lands, the technical wrestler is right there on top of him to capitalize. Swinging his leg as hard as it can go, Michael Alexander kicks the wounded left knee of Fulminatus repeatedly, ensuring that he will not easily be able to stand again for the duration of the match. (Mak) That’s enough! Leave the damn leg alone! [King] No, don’t listen to him! Rip it off! To add to the damage done, Alexander takes the hurt leg of his opponent and twists it between the second and third rope, twisting the leg farther than it should bend. Grabbing the injured limb, Michael turns the leg and bends it in the opposite direction, eliciting yet another cry of pain from Fulminatus. His work on the rope done, Alexander releases Fulminatus’ leg from the ropes. A wry smile crosses the lips of the Professor of Pain as he decides to put the final nail in Fulminatus’ no-doubt flamboyant coffin. (Mak) What’s Alexander gonna do here? Moving to Fulminatus’ feet, Michael Alexander pulls his masked opponent into the middle of the ring, pushing the ladder a few feet out of the way. After a few disparaging remarks and a slap to the masked face, the “Mad Scientist of the Mat” grabs Fulminatus’ feet, wraps his legs around his opponent’s, leans back, and ties The Gordian Knot! Although most of Fulminatus’ face is obscured by a mask, the pain he is feeling is clearly evident. Harsh, guttural screams well up from inside Fulminatus’ deranged belly and explode out of his mouth. [King] He’s got the Gordian Knot locked in! Fulminatus has literally no place to go! This is great! (Mak) That Reverse Indian Deathlock is locked in for sure. Fulminatus is helpless! He is helpless indeed, as he struggles and attempts to claw his way out of the hold, but to no end. Fulminatus is stuck in the middle of the ring. Michael Alexander simply smiles, though struggling to keep the excruciating hold applied. Finally after being able to take no more, Fulminatus beings to slap his hand on the mat, signaling to the referee that he is had enough. It is the ref’s unfortunate task to inform Fulminatus that since the match is a ladder match, there are no submissions. Fulminatus’ eyes grow wide behind his mask. [King] Look at him trying to tap out! This is too much! I love it! Where’s my camera? (Mak) I don’t think that’s appropriate, man. This guy’s getting his leg broken in there! [King] I know, isn’t it great? Hold still… There! Oh, that came out great! I’m definitely making that my MySpace picture as soon as I get home. Eventually, Michael Alexander grows tired of playing his game with Fulminatus and decides to end this failed experiment. Mercifully, he releases Fulminatus from the hold and drags him against the ropes, propping his head on the bottom rope. Very audibly, Alexander says to Fulminatus “You will watch this.” Without a second’s hesitation, the Mad Scientist begins to climb the ladder, ascending it step by step. When he gets nearly to the top, he turns to the crowd with his familiar smirk. They yell their hatred at full force as Alexander takes his time getting the belt. As he reaches the top rung of the ladder, Michael reaches out and his fingers scrape the side of the belt, the ladder almost too far off center to reach. Suddenly, his balance is shaken! He looks down and what should he see but Fulminatus laying on the mat, shaking the ladder in a desperate attempt to unseat the soon-to-be New Blood Champion. With a shrug of his shoulders, Alexander goes back to work attempting to grab the belt. Mustering up all of his upper body strength, until Fulminatus actually manages to tip the ladder over from his sitting position! (Mak) Look out! [King] What? The ladder tips slowly, wobbling at first, but then finally falling forward, carrying Michael Alexander with it! Falling through the cool night air, the “Mad Scientist of the Mat” falls and crashes through the little seen and less mentioned Spanish announcers’ table! The crowd roars their approval as the Professor of Pain smashes the cheap pressboard piece of furniture. Lying motionless on the ground, the Mad Scientist wonders what variable caused this result. (Mak) Michael Alexander just fell off the ladder and hit the Spanish announcers’ table right next to us! He’s got to be out. [King] Those guys can never catch a break… In the ring, Fulminatus struggles to his feet, only to find only one of them in working order. Barely putting any pressure on the foot at all, the masked man “stands” and resituates the ladder. With great difficulty, Fulminatus begins to climb the ladder, gingerly placing his injured foot on the rung and then hopping up with the good foot. This awkward motion almost tips him over several times. [King] That has got to be the slowest I’ve ever seen a guy climb a ladder… It is so slow, in fact, that on the outside, Michael Alexander begins to stir beneath the pieces of cheap “wood”. Crawling out of what looks like a car crash, the Mad Scientist is struggling to make his way to the ring. Both men have been beaten senseless, but Alexander looks to be the better, having two properly functioning legs. As Fulminatus struggles awkwardly up the ladder, Alexander stumbles toward the ring. Finally, Fulminatus reaches the top rung of the ladder and reaches for the belt, but he can’t extend his reach far enough on one leg. (Mak) He can’t reach it! A highly irritated Michael rolls in the ring and approaches the ladder and shakes it, attempting to knock the wobbly wrestler atop it loose. Still woozy from his trip through the announcers’ table, he can’t quite muster up the strength to tip the ladder, so he instead opts to climb it. At a much faster pace than Fulminatus is at the top of the ladder and begins to throw right hands at his opponent. The masked madman takes the punches and shrugs them off, having come too far now to be stopped. But try as he might, Fulminatus still can’t reach the belt. He then realizes what he has to do. With every drop of energy in his functioning leg, Fulminatus leaps off the ladder and grabs the belt in mid-air! (Mak) Oh my god! [King] NO!! With a thud, Fulminatus hits the mat, the belt still clutched in his hand. The referee signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell. DING!! DING!! DING!! Still standing on the ladder, Michael Alexander looks shocked, unable to believe what he’s seeing. The crowd bursts into cheers as they hear Funyon’s voice from ringside. “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of the match and FIRST EVER NEW BLOOD CHAMPION… FULMINAAAATUUUUS!!” (Mak) Wow! Amazing victory by Fulminatus! Leaping off the ladder and grabbing the belt in mid flight! Unbelievable! [King] Meh, it’s a worthless belt anyway. Who gives a crap? (Mak) Apparently the fans do, King. Listen! Sure enough, as Fulminatus is helped to the back, the crowd of the Rock Am Ring music festival is filling the night air with the chant of a single word. “FULMINATUS!!” *clap! clap! clapclapclap!* “FULMINATUS!!” *clap! clap! clapclapclap!* “FULMINATUS!!” *clap! clap! clapclapclap!* [King] What does that prove? The Germans love Hasslehoff… (Mak) It proves that Fulminatus is now the first ever SWF New Blood Champion, King! Stay tuned, we’ll be right back! * FADE *

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is... um... a Badger on a Pole match!” Yeeeeaahwhaaaahuh? “Savannah”, from the We Love Katamari Soundtrack, annoys all in attendance as a PETA representative appears onstage, flanked by an animal wrangler and a lawyer. The PETE rep hoists an animal cage over his head – a zoomed in shot reveals an incredibly pissed off Burmese Ferret Badger. “Introducing first, the badger for this evening... she's a Burmese Ferret Badger... weighing in at twenty five pounds.... HONEYDEW!” The PETA personnel look grumpy, which is pretty much standard for their line of work, as they make their way down to the ring, stopping only to chastise every hot dog eating member of the audience. “Welcome back to Storm,” Mak says, looking a lot less surprised at this absurdity than one might expect... “Yes, this actually is SWF Storm you're watching.” “I get the feeling we're going to have to remind people more than once, Mak.” “Not Animal Planet, not the Discovery Channel – this is SWF StorOHJESUSCHRIST!” Despite his limited mobility, Mak manages to fall out of his chair and roll under the announce table, in response to the PETA rep angrily waving the badger cage in his direction, while shouting ”How many deer did you kill for those for boots?!” A muffled voice from under the table shouts back “I'm not wearing boots, you lunatic!” “MURDERER!” She then carefully climbs up the steps and begins to climb the pole, somehow miraculously carrying the badger carrier in one hand. She carefully balances the cage on top of the pole, opens it, and catches Honeydew by the tail as he leaps out, apparently trying to hit Mak with a flying crossbody from the top. The PETA rep quickly knocks the cage away and grabs the loop of wire sticking out of the top of the pole, and threads it around Honeydew's leg, then perches him on top. “Fucking... hate... badgers.” “... do I want to know wh-” “NO.” The awkward silence that follows is mercifully cut short as Isle of Q's “Rubberneck'” heralds the arrival of Chris Raynor! Or it would be, if Isle of Q were playing it, but this is ROCK AM RING, which means we're getting “Rubberneck” by Jan Delay and Disko #1... it's not the best fit. Doesn't seem to bother Raynor, though, as he appears onstage with the band, making sure not to make eye contact with any of them, before heading down towards the ring in the middle of the crowd. “Introducing first, from Baton Rouge, Louisianaaaa... weighing in at two hundred and fifty pounds... CHRIIIIS RAAAAAAAYNOR!” Raynor makes it to the ring and climbs inside, where his gaze immediately falls upon the overgrown rodent sitting atop the pole. Chris strolls over to the turnbuckle and reaches up- *HFJEDHDSJHFJFFFFT! And yanks his hand away as the badger leaps off the pole and dives straight for it! Honeydew is left swinging by his leg, which prompts another bout of shrieking from the PETE rep as she grabs it by the scruff of its neck and climbs back up the pole to re-perch it. “Whoever grabs the badger off the pole gets to use it as a weapon, but it's beginning to look like the badger wants to attack whomever it gets closest to!” Linkin Park's stirring rendition of “Yakety Sax” gets the German crowd cheering for the first time since we've come back from break, and a group of moshing Druids assemble near the stage, allowing Jimmy the Doom to leap out from hiding and crowd surf to the ring! “And his opponent, from Doomopolis, Doomtopia... weighing in at two hundred and thirty pounds... JIMMMYYYYY THE DOOOOOOOOOOOOM!” “And he- what's that he's holding there, King?” A quick zoom in reveals Jimmy is holding a spray-can of some sort, which Raynor immediately spots and cries foul over. The referee leans out over the ropes, trying to see... “... can't quite... Bad... Badg- oh good lord.” Badger Repellent. “Huh. I never knew they made badger repellent.” “THEY DON'T.” As Jimmy makes it to ringside, he gives his Druids a swift kick to the left kneecap (the traditional Doomtopian ritual of thanks for human based transportation), then proceeds to spray himself from head to toe with the canister. “... I don't see anything coming out, King.” “Ten bucks says Jimmy does.” Satisfied, Doom chucks the can away and rolls into the ring, and the referee finally calls for the bell. *DING DING DING* Jimmy, looking disturbingly confident, marches across the ring towards the pole, and lifts his hand up towards Honeydew... ... and much to Raynor's horror, the badger just sniffs, then turns away. Jimmy applauds the badger for his impeccable sense of smell, leaving himself wide open for a clubbing blow across the back! Raynor stuns his opponent, then immediately pulls him out away from the badger's corner, instead pummeling him back into the ropes, then whipping him across the ring! As Jimmy hits the ropes, the turnbuckles to his left and right shake, and that includes Honeydew's – the force is enough to knock him off the pole, and he begins to freely swing by his leg once again! “Something tells me on a pole was not the best way to use a badger.” “Are you kidding, Francis? This is hilarious!” Jimmy's return trip consists of ducking a clothesline attempt, then turning and delivering a series of headbutts that knock the Caveman silly! He finishes with a knee to the gut and a textbook DDT, then covers! And gets no count! Raynor kicks out anyway, but the lack of a referee is considered almost as disrespectful as washing your hands in the Doomtopian culture – Jimmy leaps to his feet to find the problem- -which lies across the ring, in Honeydew's corner! The PETA rep has the badger by the tail and is attempting to scale the pole again to put him back on top, but the referee is having none of it, and he orders her off the ring apron! Ms. PETA responds by pointing at her lawyer and screeching like a howler monkey- Jimmy marches over yanks Honeydew away from her, then begins to climb the turnbuckle! “What is he doing?” “What any sane Doomtopian would do – he's putting the badger back.” Or he would be, had Raynor not just run up from behind and kicked a BIG BOOT~ straight into Jimmy's backside! It looks awkward at first, until one sees the results – namely, Jimmy's head being launched into the steel pole, and the recoil being enough to knock him off the turnbuckle! Honeydew goes flying like a tether ball, wrapping around the pole while Miss PETA has a heart attack on the outside. The referee is lost, looking between the wrestlers – Raynor now has Jimmy pinned – and Honeydew and her trainer, not really sure which deserves his attention. Jimmy kicks out of the non-existent count, and Raynor angrily yanks him up off the mat and heaves him into a neutral corner, and begins laying into him with left and rights. The ref, now seeing his wrestlers occupied, yells to Miss PETA to get the badger back on the pole. She scales it with all the grace of a sloth (but with considerably more speed), then plops Honeydew back on his perch- At which point the ref immediately points to her, the trainer, and the lawyer, and shouts the words everyone's been waiting for: “You're outta here!” Back in the ring, Raynor's got Jimmy down in the bottom ropes, and is applying a somewhat less than legal but thoroughly satisfying choke with his boot. As soon as he sees the ref coming his way he breaks it, then pulls Doom back up to his feet and hooks him for a vertical suplex, but then drops the Doomtopian's feet on the top rope – a quick 180 and a drop later, he's nailed Jimmy with the Tower of London! Doom falls forward and tumbles straight into a pin! ONE! T- Jimmy kicks out! The Caveman gets back to his feet and steps away... looks like he's waiting for Jimmy to get up, but it's taking a moment, so Raynor takes the opportunity to walk across the ring, grab the top rope, and shake! Honeydew wobbles awkwardly a moment before losing balancing and swinging down once again! “Now that was just uncalled for!” Left swinging in the breeze, Raynor turns back- *WHAM* -only to get drilled with a Yak Kick! The momentum is enough to knock Raynor clear off his feet, but Jimmy doesn't waste a second – he takes Chris by the hair and yanks him up, then hurls him into Honeydew's corner! *EHDWEDJHFFFFTFFFFT![/i][/i] The rogue badger dangles right behind his head, and throws claws and teeth into the back of Raynor's noggin, almost certainly ripping out a decent amount of hair – a few loud expletives later, Raynor blindly bolts out of the corner, not noticing that he was running right into- *KA-BOOOOM* “-a Jimmy Bomb! And here's the cover!” ONE! TW- Raynor kicks out! Jimmy drags him up once again, and starts to whip him into the badger's corner again, but Raynor reverses! Jimmy slams into the corner... ... and gets nothing but a lick on the head! The nearest camera catches “Oh COME ON!” from the Rayn-man, just before Jimmy explodes out of the corner and latches onto his opponents' head, driving him down in a Bulldog! Another cover follows! ONE! TWO- Kickout! Undeterred, Jimmy picks Raynor up off the mat and again throws him into Honeydew's corner, but Raynor has enough sense to baseball slide this time, ending up on the outside. Honeydaw claws and scratches but gets nothing for her troubles, and Raynor takes the opportunity for a breather. “With any luck, all the blood rushing to the badger's head will make her pass out.” “How would that be a good thing?” “Because then you can grab it by the tail and swing it around. Probably doesn't carry as much punch as a sock full of quarters, but hey, you gotta take what you can get.” Raynor has now turned his attention to the crowd – more specifically, where Jimmy entered. He begins pushing people out of the way, shouting “Where is it? WHERE IS IT?” About seven rows back, someone hoists up Jimmy's can of Badger Repellent- SEVEN! Raynor looks back at the ring... does he have enough tim- EIGHT! Nope. He kicks the guardrail back in frustration, then dives into the ring just before nine, getting nothing but a hailstorm of boots for his troubles! Jimmy puts a nice imprint of his boot into the back of Raynor's head, then picks him up and yet again aims to throw Raynor into the Worst. Corner. EVER. Raynor manages to halt his momentum and skid to a stop just a few feet away, and he makes a quick judgment call and drops to his stomach! Good call. A second after doing soo, Jimmy the Doomtrain goes barreling past him – an intended splash in the corner ends up badly, and as Jimmy staggers backwards out of the turnbuckle, Raynor takes his arm and quickly puts him as far away from that badger as possible. In the center of the ring, the Caveman pulls Jimmy into a sidelock, then slams him down in a forward legsweep! But instead of making a cover, he gets back to his feet and falls into the nearby corner, his eyes jumping back and forth between Honeydew and Jimmy! “Raynor should be going for the pin here!” “I think he knows it's gonna take more than that, Mak, and if he wants to win this match...” The Suicide King pauses, his head sinking... “I never thought I would have to say something like this during a wrestling broadcast... If he wants to win this match, he's got to neutralize the badger.” Raynor looks back out at the crowd, where Jimmy's can had last been spotted – no sign of it now. In the center of the ring, Jimmy begins to stir, and the Caveman's attention falls back to him – just as Jimmy gets to his knees, a well timed and viciously executed Scissor Kick snaps him right back down! Raynor then looks down at his boot... back up at the badger... “Oh we are so sued.” Raynor begins unlacing his boot! The referee immediately demands to know what's going on – as Raynor yanks his size 11's off, he gestures his boot towards the badger, explaining something we can't hear... and a moment later, the referee nods. “Oh we are so sued.” Raynor begins to slowly tiptoe towards Honeydew, who continues to gnash and spit in his direction – he reaches out with his boot and taps the badger, and the momentum sends her swinging around the pole! Another tap, another loop, and soon the momentum has wrapped all of the wire Honeydew hangs from around the pole! Tired of seeing the room spin, the badger digs her claws into the pole and manages to catch them, but with no extra slack she's stuck to the pole! Raynor leans back in the corner and peers up – Honeydew spits and howls, but her claws remain dug into the pole, and she no longer has the reach to hit him! Pleased with himself, Raynor turns back- *WHAM* - to eat a picture perfect dropkick to the face! He scrambles to his feet, but a second dropkick puts him right back down, and a third pushes him back into the badger's corner! Raynor looks up in horror – the impact he made in corner has knocked Honeydew loose, and the wire begins to unwrap, sending the badger spinning in the opposite direction! Raynor angrily reaches out to punch the little bastard, but it grabs onto his hand and digs in! Chris manages to pull away a moment later, with a sizeable piece of his thumb no longer attached! He panics and runs out of the corner, where Jimmy is waiting! A quick series of palm thrusts push Raynor back into the corner! He drops down and rolls out, swearing a blue streak, as the referee begins to count him out again! “How sad is it that Jimmy needs help from a badger to win?” “How sad is it that Raynor can't overcome a badger?” “Touche.” Pacing on the outside and nursing his thumb, Raynor looks absolutely beside himself... Jimmy, on the other hand, is reaching up to Honeydew and scratching her chin! Raynor sees a golden opportunity and he takes it, shooting up the stairs and leaping onto the pole! Before Jimmy realizes what's happening, Raynor's right hand feels around the top of the pole – finds the wire, and yanks it free! “The badger is loose! I repeat, the badger is loose!” Raynor drops down to the apron and then the floor, now essentially holding the leash of an incredibly pissed off badger. And it's a very short leash. “What can he do with it, though? That badger absolutely hates hi- it's chasing him!” Despite being higher up on the food chain, Raynor flees at the sight of this Alpha Badger, still holding on to the short end of wire that hugs Honeydew's foot! They make two full laps around the ring before Raynor finally turns to stand his ground! Honeydew leaps off the steps and towards her aggressor, but Raynor sidesteps, and follows through with the momentum to swing the badger around and- “There is no word to describe just how sued we are.” -he shotputs the badger out into the audience, at least twenty rows deep! “Damn! Good arm, Raynor!” Jimmy looks absolutely heartbroken at the sight, and he rolls out of the ring and tries to go out into the crowd to retrieve Honeydew, but Raynor intercepts him at the guard rail and smashes his face down into it – once, twice, thrice, then wheels around and tosses Jimmy back into the ring before rolling in himself, barely beating the count out! Doom is still dazed from those nasty headbutts he gave the guardrail, and Raynor capitalizes – he yanks Jimmy up to his feet and hurls him into the ropes, and picks him up on the way back for a Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! He then runs to the nearest corner and hops up to the second rope, then hops off again to drive the point of his elbow right between the Doomtopian's eyes! “And here's the cover!” ONE! TWO! TH- Jimmy kicks out! Raynor grabs Jimmy's legs and stands between them, then rotates to put his back towards Honeydew's corner and rolls back, slingshotting the poor Doomtopian face-first into the pole for the second time tonight! “And it looks like Raynor finally has a decent strategy – technically the badger is meant to be the weapon, but the pole is there, and it's not against the rules!” After smacking his head into the pole, Jimmy falls straight onto his back, with his left leg only slightly twitching. Raynor grabs his arm and drags him back towards the center of the ring, then drops on top of him and hooks the leg! ONE! “This could be it...” TWO! “Raynor could have it!” THR- *SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE* With no tag team partner to leap in and make the save, our intrepid badger has taken it upon herself to fill in! Just after the referee's hand hit for one, Honeydew came scampering up the steps and onto the top rope, and now leaps off in a Flying Cross Badger! The impact is nothing, but the site of a gigantic furry ball of claws and teeth is enough to freak Raynor out, causing him to break the pin! He throws a few wild punches and finally manages to get Honeydew off of his face! He then grabs ahold of the wire attached to her leg and makes a mad dash for the ropes! He slides out of the ring and quickly begins wrapping the wire around the bottom rope, forming quite possibly the ugliest knot ever seen – the badger catches up with him and latches onto his arm, but Raynor keeps at it, and when he tears himself away from Honeydew's grip we see the badger is now stuck on the apron, with less than an inch of slack holding him to the bottom rope! “I don't think we ever learned that knot in Boy Scouts.” “The Jesus Fuck Get This Badger Off Me knot? It's a variation of the Anchor Bend.” Raynor falls away, now inspecting the scratches and bite marks all over his arms... content that he doesn't yet have rabies, he turns his attention back to Jimmy, who must still be out from those guard rail shots, as he's still lying in the center of the ring. Raynor leans over- -and takes a nasty Hand of Doom straight to the throat! The Rayn-man collapses, wheezing and choking and generally hating life as the Doomtopian, who had been playing possum (or badger?) leaps to his feet! Jimmy sends a quick series of kicks into Raynor's face, and finishes the series with a second Yak Kick with enough force to push Raynor back into the ropes! Off the rebound, he tries for a clumsy clothesline, with Doom easily sidesteps – he hooks the Rayn-man from behind, lifts him and- “-absolutely plants Raynor with the Jimmy-plex!” shouts Mak, as the German crowd once again gets behind their hero. “Here's the cover!” ONE! TWO! THR-Raynor just gets the shoulder up! Jimmy keeps the pressure on him, dropping a number of quick precise elbows into his opponent's chest, before running to the ropes and leaping about six inches higher than average Doomtopians of his size, weight and age, driving his knee straight across the Rayn-man's face! He yanks Raynor up to his feet and delivers another Hand of Doom to Raynor's throat! Jimmy then does something. “Uh oh! Looks like the Death Submission is coming up!” Jimmy continues to do things. “I can't even describe how painful this looks!” Until it's locked in – a submission so grotesque that most are at a loss of words! Raynor howls in pain, and stretches the only part of his body not racked with intense pain – his right hand – toward the ropes, and he manages to snare the botto- *CHOMP* “Raynor's own hurry to neutralize the badger has backfired – he picked the nearest rope, and that's the rope he needs right now!” Raynor's hand flails wildly, trying to find somewhere else, anywhere else, but there's nothing! With no other choice, he closes his eyes... grits his teeth... and seizes the bottom rope again. Honeydew pounces, applying the Badger equivalent of the Crippler Crossface on Raynor's injured thumb! The referee sees this, and tells Doom to break the hold! Jimmy keeps it on, and the referee begins to count- “But Raynor might not make it that long! Jimmy is breaking his body into twenty seven pieces, and that badger- ONE! “Look at him go!” TWO! It would take an extraordinary man to withstand the Death Submission. THREE! It would take an act of unparalleled awesomeness to withstand a Badger eating your hand off. FOUR! No man can be expected to take both. *TAP TAP TAP* YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! *DING DING DING* “The winner of this bout... JIMMY THE DOOOOOOOOOOOM!” Linkin Park has been booed offstage, thank God, so it's Muse's turn to take a stab at “Yakety Sax”, as Jimmy's Druids surround the ring to congratulate their leader, and to free their new prophet, Honeydew. “Well that was... an... interesting match...” “Don't sugar coat it, Mak, that was a travesty.” “Look, we've gone from manatees to badgers – honestly, I think that's an improvement.” “... fair point.” “In any event, while someone mops the... presents... Honeydew left us, we're going to take a quick commercial break, but stay tuned! Up next we've got the New Blood Finals Championship Match, a Ladder Match, between Fulminatus and Michael Alexander!” Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadeout.

As the SWF's super-exciting opening comes to an end, the cameras briefly show the crowd at Norburgring's 'Rock Am Ring”, still exploding with noise as the video package fades out. Moments later, the shot cuts to your intrepid announcers, Mak Francis and the Suicide King. Mak has a wide smile on his face, while King glares at a fan leaning over the makeshift railing to get his face in the shot. “Welcome, fans, to the most exciting wrestling show in the whole world, SWF Storm! I'm 'The Franchise', Mak Francis, alongside my announcing companion, the legendary Suicide King. We are LIVE from Norburgring, Germany, folks, as the SWF continues to showcase it's talent on a worldwide stage.” King manages most of a smile as he looks at the cameras to respond to Francis' enthusiasm. “That's correct, Mak, and for all you fans, German or otherwise, we've got a real exciting show coming up for you tonight. We've got ladder match finals to find a winner in our New Blood Championship, between Fulminatus and Michael Alexander!” Mak pipes up here, interjecting with a smile. “Not to mention our exciting main event, an SWF Tag Team Championship competition between the truly dominant Wild and Dangerous and an unorthodox tag team to say the least, World Champion Alan Clark tagging with the man who wants to take that very title, “Hollywood”Spike Jenkins!” “A little bit of recognition for the Heartless one, to be involved in a matchup that will top off our card.” “He has been performing impressively, King, but right now, we've got something just as exciting, as the dangerous Manson faces off against a mystery man. If what my sources tell me is true about just who this mystery man is, it's looking to be a truly outstanding competition!” King looks shocked by this pronouncement from Mak, turning towards his announce partner and snapping out a question. “Wait a second, Mak, do you mean you know who this mystery man is, and you didn't let the King in on it?” Mak smiles, rather happy with himself. “Didn't want to spoil the surprise, King. Did you open your christmas presents early, too?” King is ready to respond, when suddenly the music kicks in, being provided by 30 Seconds to Mars from the huge Rock Am Ring stage. “Besides, King, you'll find out soon enough, now.” The Camera view cuts away from King and Mak, showing the band onstage, speakers shrieking wih the familiar guttural, distorted Warble that always Welcomes Manson to the stage. The fans become transfixed on the stage, a loud chorus of booing arising. The boos are quickly drowned out as the band kicks into high gear, blasting out the beginning of “Scientific Remote Viewing”, or at least a reasonable facsimile. The boos once more overtake the roaring music, however, when Manson enters from the side of the stage, flashing strobe spotlights following him as he moves towards the ramp, misty smoke pouring out of all edges of the stage and ramp, rolling over to dance around the feet of those nearest the action. Moving silently, seemingly completely oblivious to the crowd, Manson's chains shake and sway with his movements towards the ring. King's voice cuts through the noise for those viewers who are watching at home. “Now that's an entrance. You can't really appreciate just how ominous Manson is until you've seen him in person, and if we've got a rookie coming in for his first match in the SWF, I don't think he's ever seen anything Like Manson before.” Mak's voice comes in now, cheerily. “As much as I agree with you, King, I don't think any level of theatrics will be enough to rattle our mystery man's nerves. Besides, Manson can't be coming into this match completely focused. You know he's thinking about the problems he's been having of late with Maddix.” As Mak says this, the music dies down and the camera cuts back to the large stage, where the band has moved off to the sides and a large display screen has been rolled into place. King's voice comes in, cheerily, as he speaks to his announce partner. “Ha! Keep all the secrets you want, Mak Francis, because now eeryone gets to find out just who our mystery man is, and I think that....” King's voice cuts out as the band begins to play, guitars ringing out through the speakers with a familiar opening riff, the entire crowd popping loud as the opening strains of the Red Hot Chili Pepper's 'Rollercoaster of Love' wash over them. Onstage, the large display screen shows an empty rollercoaster roaring along a track, the letters 'M.C.' stamped proudly on it's hood. “... It can't be. Francis, you sneaky bastard, this isn't just any mystery man, it's a member of the venerated Midnight Carnival, one of the most celebrated stables in SWF history! It could be so many people. Edwin MacPhisto, Z, even...” once again King is cut off by the music, as it rises loud while the band leans into their microphones, screaming 'Say what!?' in time with the music, and the rollercoaster on the display screens is suddenly roaring towards the end of the track, and the angle changes so the empty car looks like it is about to come crashing forward through the screen. A huge 'BOOM!' sounds out, and glittering red fireworks shoot up into the sky, and out to both sides from the edges of the display screen, which rips in half as a replica of a rollercoaster cart comes crashing through, a familiar figure standing tall in the front seat, half obscured in the firework's rising smoke. The band, silent for just one moment, slam on their instruments, yelling aloud into their microphones, switching songs so they are singing another Red Hot Chili Pepper's song, 'Can't Stop', and the crowds roar grows even louder still. “Oh, great. It could be ANYONE, and we get this Canadian goofball. I guess I know who your inside man was now, eh, Mak?” Responding with far more gusto than the deflated Suicide King, Mak Francis seems overjoyed to be able to say the words he now speaks. “That's right, King! It's the former S.W.J.L. World champion, who had a hell of a title run against a great opponent, if you ask me. He's also a former SWF hardcore champion, and the one time LEADER of the Midnight Carnival! Ladies and gentlemen, C.I.A. IS BACK!”, throwing his hand up to reveal a microphone as he turns back to the crowd. “And he's going to speak. Glorious.” “Quiet down, King, let the man say his piece, it's his first night back with us in what we hope will be a long relationship with the SWF.” Walking down the ramp, C.I.A. Raises the microphone to his lips and smiling. “Boy, this German beer's got me feeling great!” The crowd pops huge, and C.I.A. Can't seem to keep the smile from rising at the corners of his mouth, just underneath the maple leaf shaped half mask obscuring his features. “That's right, make some noise, the man is back, here to entertain all and maybe pick on his ol' pal Mak! Boys, Girls, Gentlemen and ladies, C.I.A. Is a man of the people, so how've you been lately?” A slight chuckle rings through the cheering crowd at this proclamation, and C.I.A. Slides into the ring, marching over to one of the ring posts and climbing up as he is bathed in the flashes of camera bulbs. “So don't be afraid, don't be silent, make your voices heard! For the SWF, and for you, C.I.A. is the light! The truth! And most importantly, the word!!” Tossing aside his microphone and colorful ring jacket as the crowd's ovation becomes nearly deafening, C.I.A. dismounts the ringpost and turns to face Manson in the ring. Referee Ced Ordonez throws his hand in the air and the bell rings out loud, signaling the start of the match. “What an entrance from the Canadian with the gift for gab, that long time fan favorite C.I.A.! He is back, and he looks ready to tear this ring apart to put on a show for this rowdy crowd.” “Sure he does, Mak. Noone's ever said C.I.A. Wasn't a gutsy fighter, but the truth is, he's really diving into the deep end in his first match back. I don't doubt a combination of ring rust, nerves, and just plain lack of talent might not be enough to get him through a match with the truly dangerous Manson.” Responding quickly, Mak seems to have expected this kind of proclamation from King. “I take some umbrage at the idea that C.I.A. Is untalented, King, but the rest is definitely going to work against him. Still, C.I.A. Has always been tremendously difficult to put down in the ring, I should know, and either way, we don't have to wait any longer to find out, because they're off!” After a few moments of circling around each other, C.I.A. And Manson dive forward into the center of the ring, locking up while the noise of the crowd dies down. The first move is made by C.I.A., who throws one of Manson's arms off, grabbing at the other in an attempt to pull in a wristlock. Manson responds quickly, bending in his arm and stepping forward, his free hand moving around C.I.A.'s head in an attempted headlock, only to have the Canadian reach up and snag his wrist, stepping back around the side of the so-called 'Savage Messiah', pulling the arm back for a rear wristlock. Manson brings a foot back to sweep one of C.I.A.'s to the side, throwing the Canadian off balance, his free arm driving backwards to attempt an elbow into the masked face of his foe. Still moving quickly, C.I.A lets go of Manson's arm and ducks low under the elbow, popping up to full height so the two are facing each other. Both men lash out suddenly with feirce kicks, and catch each other almost simultaneously in the gut, forcing both to stumble away, before standing tall and glaring at one another. The crowd roars in appreciation of the trade off of maneuvers, and C.I.A. smiles and throws one arm in the air. “Well, I guess we can probably count ring rust off of that list of disadvantages, King, C.I.A. seems to be in true fighting form, coming out perfectly even with Manson in that exchange.” King's sarcastic reply is quick in coming, his voice filled with disdain. “Shot for shot with Manson? That's not even in ANYONE'S book, Franchise, and if C.I.A. doesn't gain a considerable advantage somehow, the sheer power of Manson will wear him down.” In the ring, the two opponents step forward cautiously as though to lock up again, but Manson's hand veers up to C.I.A.'s face, grabbing hold of the rough beard C.I.A. is now sporting and jerking hard, the Canadian's face colliding with the mat as he ends up on his stomach. The crowd boos aloud, and Ced Ordonez berates Manson, but he quickly shoves Ordonez out of the way and moves in on C.I.A., dropping a harsh knee across the back of his downed opponent's neck. The booing rises even louder as Manson rolls C.I.A. onto his back andswings one leg over him, taking up a mounted position and beginning to swing his arms in hard arcs, beginning to pummel the face of C.I.A. “And this is not good for C.I.A., Manson taking up a mounted position of our Canucklehead friend and laying in with those hard shots to the face.” Laughing, King responds. “That's right, Makky, seems C.I.A., who is not, nor will ever be my friend, has gotten himself into a bad situation fairly early in this matchup.” In the center of the ring, C.I.A. keeps his arms up to defend himself and flails his feet, finally throwing both up underneath Manson's arms and pulling him down to the mat, grabbing hold of his legs and pinning his shoulders down to the mat. Ced slides down into place to count the pin, but before he can even slam his hand into the mat, Manson brings his legs together hard around C.I.A.'s head, causing the Canadian to release him and roll away. “Ha, that fool thinks he can pin Manson this early? I never did think much of Canadians, but C.I.A. always manages to lower my expectations.” King snickers, but Mak cuts him off. “I think it was rather ingenious, King, since C.I.A. was looking for a way out of the hold, not a pinfall. Now all he has to do is find a way to take control of this match and pour on the punishment. Still, noone being in control is far better for C.I.A. than Manson being in charge of the action.” Both men come to their feet, and Manson rushes forward once more, intent on maintaining control of the match, but this time, his colourful foe seems prepared, leaping straight up into the air and kicking his feet out at the last second, his patented hard dropkick nearly taking Manson's head off and slamming the savage messiah back down onto the mat. Landing rather hard on his shoulder, C.I.A. is still first up onto his feet, and he runs to the ropes, rebounding as Manson rolls to his hands and knees, C.I.A.'s body rocketing into him, point of the Canadian's knee colliding with Manson's head and driving him down once again. Continuing in his run, C.I.A. leaps up onto the second rope, bounding back and off and dropping his elbow across the bridge of Manson's nose, the fans in the crown popping huge. “And it looks like C.I.A. is right on track now, King, maintaining control and keeping the pressure on Manson!” C.I.A. quickly rolls to his feet and steps over next to Manson, leaping up over his opponent and dropping down to slam his body across Manson's chest. Reaching over to grab Manson's leg, C.I.A. looks up to Ced Ordonez even as he slides down into place to count the pinfall attempt, his hand coming down hard onto the mat. ONE! TW..... The crowd groans in sympathy as Manson suddenly seems to recover, bringing his hand up to grab hold of C.I.A.'s mask, fingers poking the Canadian in his eyes and causing him to roll free of the pinfall situation to escape. “Let that be a lesson, Canadian. You can never count Manson out of the match, he always has something up his sleeve.” Mak seems downtrodden as he replies “A rather dirty move on Manson's part, but a smart one. If he's managed to pull that mask out of place, C.I.A.'s going to be fighting blind until he can get it corrected.” Indeed, as Mak says this, C.I.A. comes up to his feet, hands grabbing at his mask in an attempt to pull it back into place, but Manson is already standing, and as C.I.A. stumbles in a circle, Manson drives a hard kick into his gut, doubling him over. Stepping in, he wraps his arm around C.I.A.'s neck and reaches underneath to hook the leg, hefting the Canadian into the air, and spinning to slam him fiercely to the mat, much to the crowd's disdain. “Moss covered three handled family credunza from Manson, using every advantage, but mostly his superior mind, and starting to bring the hurt to that filthy foreign intruder!” Manson lets go of C.I.A., but drives his elbow down into the throat of the Canadian warrior before sitting up to get to his feet. Seconds later, he is not only on his feet, he is busy laying hard kicks into the face of C.I.A., whose mask is still askew. After a few well placed hard kicks, Manson bends over and laces his fingers in the long hair of C.I.A., dragging him to his feet. Grabbing hold of the Agent's arm, Manson whips him hard off towards the nearby ropes, almost immediately leaping up into the air and extending his knee, the half-blind C.I.A.'s face quickly coming into contact with the high knee, causing him to collapse to the mat once more. Kneeling over his fallen foe, Manson begins pounding straight down with punches, fist causing C.I.A.'s head to bounce roughly off the mat, over and over. C.I.A. throws his hands up in an attempt to defend himself, but Manson pushes them aside and leans in close continuing the assault. A few more tremendous punches bounce off the Canadian's face, and Manson leans in close, smiling down at the dazed C.I.A. as his fist draws back for a brutal swing. C.I.A. Smiles as well, a trickle of blood coming from his nose, and he thrusts his upper body forward, recklessly slamming his head into Manson's face, causing the slightly larger man to roll away. “Desperation headbutt from C.I.A., and it couldn't have come at a better time.” Mak seems happy with this turn of events, but King sneers. “Except maybe before the first four or five punches likely broke his nose. And we've still got to see who took more damage from that headbutt, as it didn't look quite on target to me.” True to King's words, C.I.A. and Manson are both clutching their faces as they roll over to try to get to their feet, C.I.A. finally tugging his mask back into place. Both men come up to their feet and look at each other, stepping in quickly as Ced Ordonez moves out from between them, locking up in center ring. Jockeying for position, it only takes a few seconds before Manson starts forcing C.I.A. back towards the corner, shoving hard when they are only a few feet away, throwing C.I.A. hard into the turnbuckle, and stepping in to follow him, delivering hard kesagiri chops to the Canadian, shoving C.I.A.'s hands out of the way whenever the Canadian tries to defend himself. “Not a good position for C.I.A., dealing with this kind of assault from Manson is no easy task.” King responds quickly. “You're absolutely right, Franchise, and every blow from a man with the strength of manson is like getting hit with a hammer. C.I.A. really has to take control of this match, and hold on to it, if he wants any chance of winning. I know he's one of the more resilient competitors the SWF had, back in his day, but noone can put up with Manson's punishment for too long.” Pulling the Canadian's head down, Manson hops backwards and drives C.I.A.'s face into his knee. This causes the Canadian to pop up and rebound into the turnbuckle, stumbling forward again towards Manson. With a quick surge, Manson claps his arms around C.I.A.'s body and throws his upper body backwards, launching the maple leaf man overhead with a crisp belly to belly suplex. The crowd continues to boo, but Manson pays them no mind, instead coming up to his feet just long enough to leap backwards and drop his knees across the chest of C.I.A, then allows them to slide off to either side, reaching back to grab one leg under his arm, then leaning forward to lay his forearm across C.I.A.'s chest. “Pinfall attempt by Manson, and referee Ced Ordonez is sliding in position to count the fall!” ONE! TWO!!! TH...... “No! Kickout by C.I.A. before the three count can fall! C.I.A. is proving he's still got that fight in him, that unstoppable force of will!” “It's just a kickout, Mak. Must you engage in such relentless hyperbole?” Even as Mak and King trade verbal witticisms, Manson rises to his feet, towering over the downed C.I.A., and starts to grind his boot into the chin and throat of C.I.A., hopping slightly to drag the sole of his shoe across his foe's face, not once, but twice. Looking down at C.I.A.'s eyes for just a moment, Manson quickly turns and runs back across the the ring, rebounding off of the ropes, and running back towards the Canuck. Kicking out towards C.I.A.'s exposed... 'lower abdomen' (Wink wink), Manson is caught off guard as the Canadian snaps his legs shut, wrapping one arm around Manson's other foot as it comes down beside him. Tugging a the back of Manson's knee, C.I.A. rolls backwards while Manson crashes to his face, keeping his arm locked around the leg and coming up with a half boston crab, putting as much torque from his roll as he can on the knee of his dangerous foe. Ced Ordonez is quick to respond, dropping down and getting close to Manson's face, asking if he wants to quit. “Sudden burst of energy from C.I.A., taking Manson down to the mat and locking in that half boston crab, right in the center of the ring. C.I.A. is known for coming back almost out of nowhere.” King seems mildly perturbed as he replies, addressing not Mak, but Manson, in the ring. “Manson, don't let a Canadian do that to you, power out, or get to the ropes!” Manson seems to hear what King has said, or at least he had the same idea, as he pushes himself up and begins to pull towards the ropes, C.I.A. stumbling back with each hard pull. Ced Ordonez slides along besides the two as Manson grits his face with pain and determination, shaking his head no whenever Ordonez asks if he wants to give up. The fans cry out for Manson to give in, to give C.I.A. a victory for his triumphant return, but Manson will not give in, pulling with all his might to gain precious inches towards the rope. Soon, as C.I.A. struggles in a futile attempt to pull Manson back to the center of the ring, his hand flying forward and grabbing hold of the ropes, a dejected C.I.A. quickly releases the hold when Ced leaps to his feet and taps him on the shoulder, the fans crying out with their disappointment. C.I.A. tuns towards Manson, but the downed heel has already used the rope to turn himself over, and he kicks up into C.I.A.'s gut, doubling over the White and Red warrior, then delivering another kick, directly into C.I.A.'s face, launching his head up and back and causing him to stumble back towards the other side of the ring. Standing up, Manson rushes towards C.I.A., limping only slightly on his now stiff and sore leg, and he drives a hard Elbow into C.I.A.'s face as the Canadian struggles to recover. Again, he strikes with an elbow, and again, then he reaches down to grab hold of C.I.A.'s arm, pulling hard to whip C.I.A. into the ropes. The Canadian plants his feet and refuses to move, then again as Manson attempts the irish whip for a second time. Manson, seemingly in a rage, shoves C.I.A. back and follows with a hard flurry of punches, until the Canadian's back is against the ropes. Stunning his foe, Manson once more grabs C.I.A.'s wrist, and plants one hand on his back, and whipe him off hard to the opposite end of the ring. “I think I know what this is, Mak, it's a setup to end this matchup right here and now, with the 'Iron-Cutting sword lariat! And the way that goofy Canadian was fighting against it, I think he knows it too!” A worried Mak quickly responds. “You might be right, and the force of that lariat might even be enough for Manson to really gain control, or end this match in a hell of a hurry!” C.I.A. bounds off the ropes, roaring off in Manson's direction, fans almost holding their breath as Manson takes a step forward, whipping his arm out towards C.I.A. and...... REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH! The speakers blare, 'Personal Jesus' sounding out loud. Manson stumbles with shock and lands on his weak leg hard, the sudden sharp stop allowing C.I.A. to duck low under the intended lariat. Manson stares at the display screens just off the stage, the face of Maddix coming on and smiling brightly. “Hey, Manson. Just wanted to tell you something REALLY important. Listen closely.” Very quietly, and slowly, Maddix continues. “Watch out for the finisher.” Just as Maddix says this, C.I.A. has popped up behind Manson and taken hold of his arm in a half-nelson. Manson's moment of shock is over, and he tries to break out of the hold, but it only takes a split second for C.I.A. to wrap a foot around his leg and drive his body forward, propelling both men downwards, and, more importantly, burying Manson face first in the mat with incredible force. The thud rings out, and the crowd screams with shocked joy. “VIA Rail! Manson let Maddix distract him, and C.I.A. just DESTROYED him with the VIA Rail, his finishing maneuver! Man, that can come almost out of nowhere!” King, rather surprised, says “Oh, yeah, and how fair is that. It's like a hidden weapon! And what the hell is Maddix doing? This is clearly an attempt to distranct Manson so that ridiculous moose-lover could get that move. Collusion! Conspiracy, I say!” C.I.A rolls Manson over as quickly as he can, hooking the leg and laying back across his chest. “If it was collusion, it's working out fantastically for C.I.A.! Can he do it?” Ced Ordonez slides across the ring to get his eyes on Manson's shoulders, and his hand swings downwards... ONE! TWO!!! THREE! *DING DING DING* The crowd explodes, up on their feet and roaring their approval. “He did it, King! His first match back and he takes out an opponent the caliber of Manson! If he keeps it up, he's gonna turn a lot of heads in the back!” King, seeming almost sad at what has happened, quickly swings to outrage. “What I want to know is what the hell was Maddix doing? He had no right to interfere in this match! We're running a madhouse around here!” Mak sarcastically replies “Why, King, because the faces can get away with it just like the heels?” King, incredulous, replies. “Of course! That's not fair at all! Nevertheless, this goofy, ridiculous, love-craving Canadian has won this matchup, and isn't it just a shame.” “Not if you ask me, King, and not if you ask that man!” In the ring, C.I.A. has recovered his coat and a microphone, and is rolling out of the ring. His feet hit the floor, and he quickly moves to the ramp, throwing his hand in the ait to a loud ovation from the crowd. Raising his microphoone to his mouth, he moves back towards the stage, the band kicking in with his music. “Thank you, eh! It's good to be back in town, and it's good to hear that three count ringing in my favor! I'll always put up a fight, I'll always do what's right, and I'll rock this house for you guys each and every night, eh!” the crowd doesn't seem to want to let up in their celebration of C.I.A.'s victory, even as he disappears backstage and a very angry Manson begins to trudge to the back, no doubt to search out Landon Maddix and make him pay. “Well, King, it's been an exciting night, and we're just getting started. We've already seen two enemies coming face to face, sort of, and a triumphant return for a veteran and a true fan favorite in the SWF, C.I.A., who I must add has the BEST taste in tag team partners.” King sighs, and responds. “A statement as questionable as C.I.A.'s sanity. Nevertheless, you're right about one thing, it's been truly tremendous so far, and it looks like it's only going to get better.” “We've got another Carny in action when in our next match, as Jimmy the Doom takes on the Rayn-man himself, Chris Raynor in one of our oddest matches in some time, a Badger on a pole match.” “Mak, what are the RULES of a Badger on a pole match?” “Don't miss it fans, it's coming up next!”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Thursday, July 12th, from the site of Rock Am Ring in Norburgring, Germany! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) Some big uber-music-fest in Germany held about this time of year. Ring will be out in the crowd, near the main stage, and whatever band happens to be on at the time will cover your entrance music. Oh, hey, looks like MTV has something to do with it. Bonus points if you find a creative way to off an MTV employee in your match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Wild and Dangerous vs. The Heartless Foundation (Alan Clark and "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins) --> Spike Jenkins wants the SWF to know he means business, and after putting our Cruiserweight Champion away last show, I don't think many would argue. He's had his eye on the World Champion, Alan Clark, and before the Disneyman can make it to the Unification match at Ground Zero, he's going to have to go through Hollywood! But that'll be next week. In an effort to satisfy the HUNGER~! of the Tag Team Champions to prove themselves, and also to screw with the two guys who'll be facing each other next week, this beauty of a match was dreamt up. Rules: Standard tag team match. Plus AWESOME. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke vs. Austin Sly --> Episode 2 of "Can Rev-0 repair the damage done last week" sees Austin Sly, off a narrow defeat at the hands of Wild and Dangerous, take on the man who will be heading into Ground Zero's super ultra mega awesometastic Unification Match! A win for either man would provide an epic momentum boost, but sadly there can be only one... Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- HARDCORE MATCH (non-title) The Fabulous Jakey vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix --> While CC hunts for Jakey's next challenger, presumably at Ground Zero, we want to keep both of these champs in tip-top shape. By which, of course, we mean we want them to pound the crap out of each other with sharp, heavy objects for our own amusement. With Rev-0's pride damaged last show, will Jakey bring what he needs to restore their (lack of) honor? Rules: Hardcoooooooore. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD CHAMPIONSHIP FINALS - LADDER MATCH Fulminatus! vs. Michael Alexander --> The two top names of the recent rookie surge have made it to the finals! Tonight, the SWF's New Blood Title will debut, hanging above 20 feet above the ring, and one man will make SWF History by becoming the very first New Blood Champion! Rules: The first man to scale a ladder and retrieve the belt will be the winner. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Badger on a Pole Match Jimmy the Doom vs. Chris Raynor --> Chris Raynor was responsible for that horrific Straight Bread match. Now Tom Flesher gets his revenge. If Jimmy the Doom wants a stip for this match - any stip at all - he just needs to speak up. I am at your mercy, God help me. Rules: Um... 'Drea? Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Sly -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- IT IS BEINGS A MYSTERY MANZ MATCH ??? vs. MANSON --> Everyone always knows who ??? is before me, but still, I guess we'll keep up the charade. MYSTERY MAN! WHO COULD IT BE?!!?!?!?! Rules: Singleys. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- PLUS: Assuming Wild and Dangerous come out of this with their titles in tact, they'll need some new challengers! And while they volunteered to wrestle R-0 from now until the end of time, I think we can do a little better. So if anyone out there wants a shot, form a team and let me know. And you better come up with a good name for yourselves, because I have an entire AIM list full of smarmy sarcastic people ready to do that job if you don't. Any other requests for additions, subtractions, amendments, etc, float 'em my way.

Be this true, Akira?

Your opponent should be PM'ing his stats soon. If he doesn't... *shakes fist* Also, blame JJ for it being a month ago. It was his idea.