Chuck Woolery

The camera pans to the SWF backstage area, which is full of boxes, crates, buckets, and just about anything that can sustain weight. Even though the show is live there are many crew members working hard to keep things moving smoothly. They seem to be doing a good job since half of them is sitting around playing cards and drinking coffee. Laughter echoes from the LIVE audience as they notice that the cameraman must not be doing his job either to get such a terrible shot of the crew doing absolutely nothing… This folks is what it takes to run a multi million dollar show. But lets forget about the faceless crew for a little bit. Cause the camera actually begins to shoot where it needs to be…right on a trainer. The trainer is one of the few backstage doing their job as he examines a former hardcore champ. The former champ in question…non other than the Unique Youth, Zyon! The youth received an old school beatdown courtesy the technical genius, Jay Hawke. “Well I’d say you will be ok to compete tonight. Who is your opponent again?” Zyon answers the question off handily, “That Spike Jenkins guy…” Suddenly the unbiased medical trainer grins from ear to ear before sneaking something into Zyon’s hand. “Really? Tonight if you get the chance throw this in that punk’s face. Hell if you’d like throw it right in front of the referee I’m sure he won’t even notice.” Zyon still green to the professional world takes the ball of powder before realizing that the “referee wouldn’t notice” translates into the “referee won’t care.” The mysterious trainer walks off leaving Zyon to think about tonight WHEN SUDDENLY a shadow walks passed the camera…did we just see another backstage screw up!! No. Zyon non-chalantly tosses the foreign object in the nearest trashcan before walking up to the figure… ”Hey, aren’t you that Spike Jenkins guy??” Zyon questions getting an answer in the form of a stare. The youth grinning from ear to ear extends his hands like any good babyface would… “I’m Zyon, how’s it going.” Instead of a happy go lucky greeting “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins continues to stare leaving the youth to retract his hand before scratching his head nervously… “Ok then…well…” “What do you want!” Suddenly the controversial Jenkins speaks with the tone of an angry…straight edger. “Oh nothing I guess…just kina saying hi.” Zyon quickly notices that he picked a horrible time to try a meet and greet. Before he can try and lighten the mood the straight edge lone wolf speaks again… “Do you even know who I am?” Jenkins says… “Your that straight edge guy. Yeah you fought with your best friend over a girl. I must say it was quite the battle and I…” “WHAT! I’m SPIKE JENKINS, not fucking Landon Maddix or Todd Cortez.” Spike yells leaving Zyon in a stupor… “Oh…yeah. I got it. You’re that weirdo that walks around here talking about karma and consequences. Yeah that has to be it. You kinda look like you would be into that stuff so you know…” Wrong again… “NO! Those are two people for crying out loud. Here I’ll let you in on something the whole fed knows. I’m “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins…” Before Spike can continue the crowd erupts… YEAAHHHH!!! Continuing, “And I have been deemed a black sheep by Tom Flesher. According to CC I deserve anything negative that gets thrown my way. You see those bastards sitting over there drinking their coffee. They could care less rather I come to work tomorrow. Hell they care less rather I get up tomorrow. All because of the label Tom Flesher placed on me.” Spike explains to the youth about the gigantic ego of CC and the poor cards he’s been dealt with. And Zyon finally understands… “Oh ok…so who is Tom Flesher??” No way. Spike’s eyes bulge out as he looks to be ready to kill his opponent before their official match… “Dude lighten up I was just kidding. He’s that guy that walks around here like he has a stick up his ass.” Spike can’t help, but smile at that description of his hated rival. Zyon notices the time and turns around, but not before trailing off with… “Well it was nice meeting you. Good luck tonight.” And with that the youth is out of sight leaving Spike to remain on his island alone, but some light shines through the dark moment… “Hmph…good luck to you too I guess.” And with that the lone wolf walks off as SWF goes to commercial.

Ghost enters the arena, then Nick. Running clothesline from Nick. Nick hits a bulldog off the ropes. 1 - 2 - kick out. Ghost Machine powers out of a Nick headlock. Nick gets slammed. Second rope flying axe handle, Nick goes down. 1 - 2 - kick out. Brutal suplex on Nick. 1 - 2 - almost a 3. Rude Awakening on Nick by Ghost. Nick reverses a waistlock. Nick DDTs Ghost. 1 - 2 - kick out. Nick turns Ghost inside-out with a clothesline. 1 - 2 - almost a 3. Ghost gets squashed in the corner with an arm to the face. Lame kick from Nick. Ghost Machine, like so many teenage boys, uses a right hand. Except in this case, it's for a punch. Legsweep. There's probably a Japanese name for that....like Golden Dragon Nuclear Spike....that'll do, i'll call it that from now on. Weird neckbreaker thing out of the corner from Ghost Machine...that was so brutal it should be outlawed. Nick can barely stand. Here it comes - Piledriver. 1....2...3, it's finished. Nick goes nuts, screaming and yelling at everyone within earshot. “Wow,” comments King. “What a match! And we have more coming up after these messages!”

*Click.* "Welcome to Survivor, where we pit..." *Click.* "Up next, we have a match between the South's dignitary to the SWF, Martin Hunt, and our only resident super villain, The Crimson Skull." Longdogger Pete welcomes back everyone that didn't switch to Survivor during the commercial break. "Or at least I think he's supposed to be a super villain." "He didn't seem too super to me, Pete. From the impression I got, he didn't seem too familiar with the idea of hand soap either." King grimaces, "the way I look at it, we have a match between a whino and a man on something much stronger if he envisions himself to be anything more than your average Joe. I can say whino on the air, can't I?" "I think so. This isn't Lockdown, after all." "Whino!" "Now that we've got that out of our system..." Pete tries to stay on task, "anyway you look at it tonight, bid'ness is about to pick up!" *Bang!* An eruption of sparks launches from the front of the entrance stage. The smoke from the pyro floats out over the crowd causing people with asthma in the Wachovia Center to reach for the sweet relief found within their inhalers. Out from the back runs six women wearing matching gold shorts and tank tops. Their outfits glitter in the light of the arena. "How embarrassing for us to start before the opening pyro," Pete says, shyly. Everybody dance now!!! The girls begin to shake and gyrate in ways pubescent teens could only previously dream were possible as "Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)" by C & C Music Factory blares out over the arena p.a. system. Two of the girls begin to grind on each other, but The Crimson Skull emerges from the back flanked by his skinny, awkward looking evil assistant Heff. The dance squad heads back to the back while our duo makes their way down to the ring. "I think it's safe to say that wasn't the opening pyro, Pete," King corrects his partner. "And it looks like the dancing girls have been sent to the back, and replaced by two men. Damn, I was starting to get an er" "It's safe to say that this is not a popular move with the crowd on hand. Just listen to them boo these two." "Boooooo!" "Go back to Canada!" "Not a very smart crowd on hand," King notes. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall." Funyon booms out over the audience, "Introducing first, weighing in at two hundred and eighty-five pounds... from parts unknown, now residing in Kiev, Ukraine... he is... The Crimson Skull!" The Crimson Skull climbs the rings steps and enters into the ring through the ropes. His cape flows behind him with every move he makes. He stands near a corner turnbuckle and strikes an epic pose while waiting on Martin Hunt. Heff stands on the outside, awaiting Skull's beckon call. "Is he going to wrestle in a cape?" ponders Pete. "He'd look silly without it, don't you think?" "A Countryboy Can Survive" by Hank Williams Jr. filters into the arena as Martin "Big Country" Hunt stumbles out from the back of the arena with a bottle of Southern Comfort in hand. Martin almost falls on his face as he turns the corner to make his way down the ring, but he gets a decent reaction from the crowd due to his drunken antics. He's careful not to spill his drink as he walks down the ramp. "An his opponent, weighing in at two hundred and twenty pounds... from Boone, North Carolina... he is Martin 'Big Country' Hunt!" Funyon makes his announcement and quickly exits the ring as Martin enters, leaving only referee Sexton Hardcastle with the two competitors. He draws both men in close to him, and begins to lay out the rules for the match. "I want a good clean fight, no eye pokes, closed fist punches..." "Why'd you make the dancin' girls go away? I was about to tap me some of that!" Martin slurs. "I assure you that you would have no chance with any of the Dance Squad. They hold themselves to much higher standards than your standard frat boy." "I'll show you what this southern boy can do!" *Pffffft!* "Hunt just blew some of his Southern Comfort right into the eyes of The Crimson Skull, catching him completely off guard!" Pete announces. "I guess he's going to have some red eyes to match now, too. Ha!" King says, annoyingly. *Ding ding ding.* Martin starts out the match in control, dropping his bottle and sending The Crimson Skull's head spinning with a clubbing blow to the side of his head. Skull stumbles backwards and tries to wipe the liquor out of his eyes while Referee Sexton Hardcastle scoops up the bottle and moves it to the corner of the ring. He doesn't have any time to recover though, as Hunt keeps the pressure on him with repeated blows to his head and back and sends him reeling into the corner. Hunt wraps his hands around the massive neck of The Crimson Skull and begins to choke him. Referee Hardcastle has to step in to break up the hold and remind Martin of what exactly is allowed. Hunt doesn't seem to care though, he just yells at his opponent. "I've drank liquor stronger than you!" "You have no idea who you're dealing with." Skull rubs his eyes again and shoves himself back up to his feet, only to be greeted with a scissor kick that knocks the big man down! Hunt goes down as well, apparently not taking into account just how much coordination it takes to land such a maneuver. Martin rolls over onto Skull to try and make a quick cover, but they're too close to the ropes and Referee Hardcastle is forced to break the cover. Martin grabs The Crimson Skull by his hair and pulls him back to his feet before locking on a headlock and sending a couple of punches to his opponent's face. Skull tries to fight his way out of the hold, but he only succeeds in knocking Martin's legs out from under him and getting bulldogged down to the canvas. "Not a very smart move there by The Crimson Skull, practically hitting the bulldog on himself," Pete notes. "I don't think he's ever been trained to be a wrestler, Petey. After all, he's a super villain." King says, mockingly. Hunt staggers back to his feet, and then sends a quick kick to the side of Skull's head, then drops down for a cover. Hardcastle slides in to make the count, but The Crimson Skull powers his way out and launches Hunt a couple feet into the air and off of him! Both men climb back to their feet, Skull staggers a little though a gives Martin Hunt the chance to send a couple more clubbing blows to the side of his head, keeping him unbalanced. Hunt tries to clothesline his opponent over the top rope, but he just doesn't seem to be big enough to do it. Hunt backs up some, and tries again to clothesline Skull out of the ring... failing again. "If there's one thing Hunt is, it's persistent. Persistent, and drunk." Pete chuckles. "That's two things, Pete." With Skull against the ropes, Martin lines up next to him and bounces himself off the ropes towards the other side of the ring. *Boing.* He bounces off of the ropes and heads back towards The Crimson Skull with a... *Boing.* ... another bounce off the ropes? A look of joy is on Martin's face as he heads back across the ring and... *Boing.* ... bounces off the ropes once again. He comes running across the ring right into The Crimson Skull! BAM~! Thud... Who spikes him down to the canvas with a thunderous spinebuster! The Crimson Skull's chest pumps in and out, nostrils flaring, heart pounding! He looks fired up for the first time in the match! For the first time, he has control. "My God! It looks like Hunt has just been in a car crash!" "Don't worry, Pete, I hear that alcohol helps to loosen the body up in a crash. Hunt will be fine." Martin crawls his way over to the ropes and pulls himself back up to his feet. Groggy, head spinning, aching pains... just like waking up any morning after a big night out for Big Country! He tries to gather his senses back about him, but before he has a chance The Crimson Skull comes charging in and... WAM~! ... nails him with a spear that carries both himself and Martin Hunt out of the ring between the middle ropes and to the floor outside of the ring! The fans show their appreciation for the action. "Ho-lee shit!" "Ho-lee shit!" "Ho-lee shit!" "Lets go Hunt!" Referee Sexton Hardcastle is quickly on the scene, and almost instantly starts his ten count. "One!" The Crimson Skull climbs to his feet and pulls Martin to a sitting up position while he's at it. Skull cracks his knuckles, then reels back his right hand and sending it crashing into Martin's forehead! One, two, three, four! "Two!" Five, six, seven quick punches! Skull pulls Martin up to his feet, and quickly whips him over into the crowd barrier! Skull follows him over and clotheslines him over the barrier and into the crowd! The sea of humanity is quickly split as security guards run in to protect the stars. "Three!" Skull begins to climb over the barrier, but as he does he's met with a quick drop kick that sends him stumbling backwards! As Martin comes climbing back over the wall, Skull grabs him by the neck and flings him through the air into the ring steps! "Four!" "I told you! You have no idea what I am capable of! I'm The Crimson Skull!!!" Martin looks around for help, and then turns his head back to the ring where he sees his trusty old bottle of Southern Comfort! As Skull closes in, Martin takes a random swing and connects! Skull's head jerks to the side as the bottle shatters! Referee Sexton Hardcastle has no choice but to call for the bell! *Ding ding ding!* "Ladies and gentlemen, your winner by disqualification... The Crimson Skull!" Funyon's voice booms out once again. "Martin Hunt takes the easiest way out and gets himself disqualified," King sneers, "what a pussy!" "He was like a caged animal, and had to fight his way out somehow!" Pete defends the Pi Kappa Phi member. "No excuse... but it doesn't look like The Crimson Skull is done!" Not done, indeed. Skull turns his head back towards Martin with an evil sneer, a slight bit of blood dripping down the side of his face and past his mask. In one smooth movement, Skull grabs Hunt and hoists him up behind his head in a gorilla press before launching him over the ropes and back into the ring. The Crimson Skull soars (or jumps) onto the ring apron before climbing back into the ring. Heff follows him in soon after. Hunt tries to steer clear of the super villain and his assistant... but he's quickly leveled with a thunderous clothesline. Skull points to the top rope, as Heff steps in and stands on the shoulders of Big Country. Skull slowly ascends the ropes... "What are they doing here? Can't somebody stop this?" Pete squeals. Skull lines himself up with Hunt... "This is barbaric! A massacre, even!" ... before launching himself off the top rope! All two hundred and eighty-five pounds come crashing down on Martin Hunt! Oh my, the horror! Heff and The Crimson Skull climb up to their feet as Martin Hunt gasps for air, still lying on the mat. The fans at ringside rain down jeers as the duo raise their arms in celebration. "My God, the carnage! Can anybody stop these two?" To Be... Continued...

If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to request that anybody who'd like to do a segment with the OFFICIAL HELDDOWN GM CALVIN SZECHSTEIN (man is that fun) send their promos to me for tweaking and such. I'll send it back to make sure you're okay with any changes I may make -- I simply have a very specific character in mind for Calvin, something with a little bite, and so I'd like to make sure that that properly gets across.

So this is a place where you ask me or Z or someone questions about why certain things in the fed are how they are. Example: Who the hell is Nick Soapdish? (Answer: Don't ask me, ask Danny.) It's also the place where you can throw out random trivia about your character. (Example: The entire Double Jeopardy team spawned from a discussion over how bad my ideas are.) With that established, I have a few questions to start things off. 1) This one's for ELM. Tom sent me an .mp3 of your old theme music, "Mission Trip to Mexico", and after listening to the lyrics (and with substantial prodding) I realized it was an evangelical pop song. My question is, where did you find it and what prompted you to use it? 2) This one's for Johnny but could be answered by anyone. There's quite a few of us who started out with less-than-stellar gimmicks, myself being no exception. The question for Johnny is, did you plan on making Johnny a full-time character, or was it temporary until you brought Brimstone back? And the question for anyone else is, was your current character always the one you had in mind, and if not, what did you have in mind? 3) This is a general question; who do you think had the most wasted potential in the fed's history? I'm sure (I hope) that people will ask more questions, and I hope someone gives me some answers... particularly ELM. That's still baffling for me. With love from Tampa, El Presidente.

Z's hyperbole is awesome. Anyway... I figure I'll share with you all, because the story of how I came to be head booker of the SWF is actually pretty random. I was sitting in chat one night shortly before Genesis V, bitching to Z about how shitty the fed was. Somehow the conversation turned to Z's desire to step down as head booker, but how he had no one to replace him. Off-the-cuff and completely sarcastic, he remarked, "Why don't you retire and I'll make you head booker." Naive youth that I am, I took him up on it, hotshotting both a Tag title change and a retirement angle. Not two months after that conversation, I was in control of the fed. Upon assuming control, the question became, who would book Smarkdown and Lockdown? The first thing I did was speak with Tom -- dude's got a lot of pull in the fed and loves running things, so I figured that he, if nobody else, would be an excellent booker. More importantly, he would lend some clout, as the new WFCC being led by perennial jobber Mike Van Siclen would be kind of weak -- but the new WFCC with perennial jobber Mike Van Siclen and his good friend and SWF legend Tom Flesher would get a wee bit more respect. Tom quickly agreed, and for the first month or so I booked both Lockdown and Storm while we searched for a replacement. The list was long. Crowe was the first person we tested out, and while both Tom and I thought he put together an excellent card, reliability issues became a factor. The same problem arose with Judge. Finally, we let Raynor book one card... then another... and then he became the official third booker. Not a bad decision at all, if you ask me. I've often wondered if people think that I'm actually in charge of the fed. I sometimes wonder myself if I'm actually in charge of the fed. It's not really a big secret that I often go to Tom for advice, and it would be fairly easy to make the assumption that Tom's really the guy doing all the work, and I'm just getting credit for it. How do you guys feel about this?

I'll re-up the Titans, thanks.

Uh... Cortez (with me) wrote the best Casino Brawl ever. So I think he's got a slight advantage. With love from Orlando, El Presidente

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF LOCKDOWN, WEDNESDAY, JULY 20TH, LIVE FROM THE PALAIS OMNISPORTS DE PARIS-BERCY IN PARIS, FRANCE (8:00 PM EST, 5:00 PM PST; check local listings) Send everything to Ace309. Tonight will mark the beginning of a new era in Lockdown. On the heels of the recent fiasco at the Cassa Rossa Sex Club, the SWF's network has slapped them with a warning about violence, nudity, and swearing. As a result, the SWF executives have made a compromise. - Storm will remain booked by Joseph Peters, and will remain the hardcore show. To reflect this, the timeslot for Storm will now be 12 PM, allowing all the cursing and violence that you're all used to. - Smarkdown will remain booked by Tom Flesher, and will remain the old-school wrestling show. It's timeslot will be 10 PM, allowing the mild cursing and high-impact moves that you're all used to. The network let a lot of stuff go, but they did request one thing. And as a result, the SWF is proud to present the first of many... FAMILY-FRIENDLY LOCKDOWN! No cursing! More promos! Less wrestling! We might even bring in a new commissioner, just for the kids! (I know Supes is posting this, but let it be known that this was a joint idea between Raynor, Tom, and myself.) Ed's note: Anyway... MAIN EVENT Wildchild (SWF Tag Team Champion) v. El Luchadore Magnifico -> Is Wildchild ready for the World Heavyweight division, as Melissa Fasaki assured him on Storm? His convincing win over Mak Francis certainly turned many heads. But here comes Wildchild's ultimate test, the chance to prove he can hang with the heavyweights, and the chance to prove that Melissa won't be the only Fasaki he'll put his hands on. Yes, now he faces former three-time World Heavyweight Champion El Luchadore Magnifico. But is Magnifico the proper test for the Tag Team Champion? After all, the Hall of Famer went so far as to call his comeback "fucking pathetic". Though this is Family-Friendly Lockdown, so we're not only going to change that dirty word to "funnily", but we're also going to pat Magnifico on the back and tell him that self-esteem is for everybody. Rules: Standard. Marker: janusd Word Limit: 5500 BACKSTAGE INTERVIEW FEATURING JAY HAWKE! -> Consider this the first of many changes in the way Lockdown is booked. Jay Hawke has been dominating as International Champion, and has won quite a few matches. In this segment, we're going to give him the unique opportunity to talk about whatever he wants -- and to name his opponent at Ground Zero! (Jay, if you need help thinking of someone, PM or IM either Tom or Raynor) Send To: Ace309 Word Limit: 1500 IF THIS WAS A DANCE CONTEST, WOULD THEY DO THE ROBOT?! MATCH Toxxic v. Ghost Machine -> I don't know about you, but I feel like throwing Toxxic a Cherry Coke Bash after his astounding victory over Scott Pretzler in their best-of-five series match on Storm. And Ghost Machine? Get him some oil or something to loosen those robotic joints. The latter has suffered some tough losses lately, most recently to a very determined Todd Cortez on Storm. Now Ghost Machine has a chance to step up and hang with a former three-time World Champion, smooth talker, and all around great guy. Or he could just smash him into the ground. Whatever works. And maybe Toxxic just wants a little workout. Will he take the Could-Be-Robot lightly? Not bloody likely. Rules: Standard. Marker: Justice Word Limit: 4000 TAG TEAM MATCH Manson and Zyon v. JJ Johnson and "The Critic" Scott Pretzler -> Old Revolution Zero mates team up once again! Manson's last tag team partner unceremoniously ditched him, leaving him to find a new tag partner. Well, okay, so he didn't, but the new Lockdown booker decided that it'd be genius if he teamed Zyon and Manson and thus, THIS TEAM WAS BORN. Can they defeat the hated Johnson and Pretzler, or will Scott and Silent JJ shut them down? Rules: Standard. Marker: The Superstar Word Limit: 5000 OPENING PROMO WHICH HAS YET TO BE CALLED! Also Appearing: All you bastards who told me to leave you unbooked.

Well, the large black man at the front desk of my hotel (in lovely Buckhead, Georgia) asked me what the fuck I was looking at. So, I assumed he hates us.

You just wait until we announce the new Lockdown commissioner. It'll be a hoot. On a related note, the Dirty South hates the SWF.

And that's the show, folks. Solid athletic edutainment. A (shocking!) Lockdown card should be up in a matter of minutes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Funyon announces, "please rise for our national anthem." She's stuck off in this little room With nothing left to hold onto Her life is in a little box She's wondering will it ever stop? The life of a stripper I'm so sick and I'm so tired Of these clubs, I keep crying Every night, I wipe my eyes Cause these years pass me by I give up, I'm all in My whole life is full of sin This road is a dead end I wanna live again She's stuck off in this little room With nothing left to hold onto Her life is in a little box She's wondering will it ever stop? The life of a stripper The claustrophobic and perverted crowd inside of the Cassa Rosso Sex Club applaud Funyon's rendition of the Ying Yang Twins' (featuring Adam Levine) hit song, "Live Again" as the Storm card is displayed.

And abrupt commercial breaks are always the best commercial breaks. “The following contest is a HARDCORE MATCH scheduled for ONE FALL!” booms the voice of Funyon. Immediately afterward, the rousing opening notes of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony are heard over the sound system, sending the sixty crowd members into a frenzy of booing and jeering. As the figure of the Cruiserweight Champion emerges from behind the curtain, he pauses on the stage and places his hands on his hips, unable to keep from staring down proudly at his championship belt. “Introducing first, from Toronto, Ontario, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… he is the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION… SCOTT PUUUUH-REEETZLEEER!” “Last Monday,” says Longdogger Pete, “the scheduled third match between Toxxic and Scott Pretzler was unable to be held due to the unexpected return of a very angry Spike Jenkins, who pummeled both men to within an inch of their lives. But tonight, that match will take place!” “And,” Suicide King elaborates, “Toxxic has chosen his stipulation to be a hardcore match, which plays blatantly to his strengths and Pretzler’s weaknesses. Who allowed this?” “Are you saying a submission match isn’t biased toward Pretzler?” “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” Pretzler steps into the ring, paying no attention to the screaming drunken tourists and prostitutes surrounding it. He carefully unbuckles his title belt and hands it to the referee, who in turn gives it to the timekeeper. “PRETZ-LER SUCKS!” “PRETZ-LER SUCKS!” “And HIS OPPONENT…” The widescreen TV serving as a Smarktron goes white as the opening chord of 'Rookie' by Boy Sets Fire crashes out over the arena. The screen darkens and as it hits black the familiar slogan flashes up one word at a time in jagged white letters: 'PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…' As the guitar riff starts the black screen shifts and becomes the top of a spiky-haired head that raises and stares out with piercing grey eyes before a lopsided grin creases the right-hand side of Toxxic's face. The bass drum starts and clips of his matches flash up, finishing with Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome. However, the normal pyro eruption is absent tonight due to Dutch Brothel Fire Regulations and the arrival of the SWF's premier straight-edger is signified by nothing more than a curtain being swept aside and Toxxic appearing, before he charges the few short yards to the ring and slides in under the bottom rope. ”From Nottingham, England, weighing two hundred eighteen pounds, heistheSTRAIGHTEDGESENSATIONTOXXICGETTHEHELLOUTTAMYWAY!” Funyon’s abruptness of delivery has been brought on my Toxxic declining to wait for his full introduction and instead charging at Scott Pretzler the moment he has got to his feet. Referee Brian Warner signals for the bell- *DING-DING-DING!* -and we’re underway! “Hey, our timekeeper looks a bit different this evening,” King remarks as he casts a glance at the buxom blonde Dutch girl who is holding the hammer, “I’d like to ring her bell!” “And here in the Netherlands, it’s all legal,” Pete sighs. “Thank God I’m a family man and won’t be led into temptation.” “Ha, we’ve been gone two months, you’d best hope Annie isn’t dildoing the hell out of Sydney back in the States,” King laughs at his co-commentator, causing the Miami Menace to clock him soundly round the head. “OW!” Meanwhile in the ring, Toxxic has neglected a technical wrestling approach, instead opting to hammer away at his Canadian opponent with a series of rights and lefts! Brian Warner has no obligation to warn the straight-edger about the closed fists, and as Scott Pretzler covers up it quickly occurs to the Critic that he’d better find a way out of this predicament. Accordingly the Cruiserweight Champion tries to guess at Toxxic’s rhythm, then manages to simultaneously catch and dodge an incoming punch to twist Toxxic’s arm into an armwringer! “Boring!” shout three Americans at the front who are paying attention. “What?” Pretzler shouts back, cupping his hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you!” “BORING!” “Oh,” the Canadian responds lamely, then pauses for a second. “So?” Toxxic has an answer to that though, as he first stamps very hard on Pretzler’s foot- “AAARRGGHH!” -then rolls through the armwringer and comes up to his feet before pulling the Critic in towards him for a headbutt- *CRUNCH!* “By dose!” Pretzler is heard to shriek as he staggers away. Toxxic measures his opponent carefully, then swings his foot forward in an action long-practiced on the soccer pitches of Nottingham- *CHING!* “There goes our business for tonight,” a couple of hookers mutter (in Dutch) as Pretzler drops to his knees with both hands cradling protectively around his happy-happy-joy-joy area. But Toxxic isn’t finished yet as- *WHAP!* -he nails a basement dropkick on the beleaguered Critic, sending him sprawling backwards through the ropes to the floor! “YEAH!” the same three Americans shout, and a couple of working girls who didn’t much fancy the look of Pretzler join in as well. As face pops go it’s a few manacles short of a fetish playroom, but Toxxic flashes a quick grin at his fans -such as they are- before running to bounce off the far ropes, then returning at full tilt to go flying to the outside and crush Scott Pretzler with the same tope con hilo he scored a surprise assault with at the start of the match that never was on Smarkdown! “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” That’s the Americans again, who at least have an idea of how to behave at a wrestling show. Some of the Dutch patrons are starting to catch on as well and begin clapping as Toxxic and Pretzler crash with an untidy flailing of limbs into a few girls in various states of undress beside the ring. One of them, suddenly with a Critic amidships, begins writing a receipt for what she must be perceiving as an advance of some sort; meanwhile Toxxic extricates himself from the lap of another young lady with all the panache and smoothness of fellow countryman Roger Moore before yanking Scott Pretzler’s head away from it’s resting place and giving it a well-aimed kick. “Well fans, we’re certainly seeing why Toxxic chose hardcore,” Longdogger Pete asserts. “This environment allows the straight-edger to exploit his brawling superiority to the fullest!” “FUCK HIM UP TOXX-IC, FUCK HIM UP!” The Americans are really getting to the swing of things now. “FU-UCK ME TOXX-IC, FU-UCK ME!” The Dutch hookers just want into his pants; or, alternatively, his wallet. Peeling his dizzy opponent off the alarmingly sticky floor of the club, Toxxic shoves him against the ring apron and grabs him by the hair, then aims a hard right square at his jaw. *WHUMP!* The taste of fish is instantly smacked out of the Canadian’s mouth, replaced by a saltier sensation as a small drop of blood rolls down his lip. He sags forward only for Toxxic to shove his head back and strike him again – this time with an ear-splitting bitch slap! *SMACK!* Before the red mark can begin to spread across Pretzler’s face, Toxxic hits him with a third strike – another headbutt this time – and he sinks to the floor. “Toxxic is showing absolutely no mercy tonight,” Pete exclaims. “He has only one goal in mind tonight: to destroy Scott Pretzler.” “In other words, he a sore loser,” King spits back. “I mean, he was never one to accept defeat, but this is just ridiculous. You lost – get over it!” Toxxic kicks Pretzler in the face while he’s knocked down and then looks around, seemingly unsatisfied. He ducks underneath the ring and looks around for a moment, but finds nothing of interest; all the while, Pretzler is crawling toward the ring steps. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Toxxic suddenly snaps his fingers and marches over to one of the hookers in the audience, where he reaches out and promptly rips her bra off! “YEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!” The Americans in the audience erupt in wild applause. Testing the weapon’s durability, Toxxic nods contentedly and turns toward Pretzler… who, now on his feet, launches himself forward and smashes the Brit with a lariat. *WHUMP!* Toxxic is thrown off his feet and lands hard on the floor, and Pretzler is on him in an instant – but instead of laying in punches, the Critic slaps on a grounded headlock and clasps his hands together. Within mere seconds of the hold’s application, a chant starts up among the tourists from across the Atlantic. “BOOOOOOOOORING!” “BOOOOOOOOORING!” As usual, Pretzler is undaunted, and he leans back with a strained smile on his face, bending the straight-edger’s head in toward his chest. Toxxic, feeling his energy return, powers up out of the hold and manages to get to his knees – but Pretzler quickly adjusts his weight and flips him over in a hiptoss, maintaining the headlock as Toxxic lands flat on his back. “These people are upset, and rightfully so,” complains Pete. “Nobody comes to a hardcore match to see headlocks… especially not outside the ring!” Taking reluctant advantage of the hardcore rules, Pretzler leans forward this time so that Toxxic’s shoulders are pinned to the floor beneath him, resulting in the first cover of the match. ONE! TWO! No! Toxxic jerks his shoulder up and claws aggressively at Pretzler’s face. The Critic is already uncomfortable in this awkward environment, and he begins to stand up on his own accord while keeping Toxxic in the headlock. As he carries the Nottingham native back toward the ring, Toxxic drives a hard elbow into his midsection. Pretzler is stopped momentarily but responds by punching his former teammate in the nose with his closed-fisted free left hand. He then drags him the remaining few steps and turns so Toxxic is between Pretzler and the ring apron. Lurching sideways, he violently sandwiches the Brit against the apron before rolling him under the bottom rope. “Fuck all this wrestling bullshit,” shouts a beer belly-sporting American near the front row. “Put him through a fuckin’ table or something!” Wishing he could oblige, Toxxic winks at the man, then crab-walks backward to get away from Pretzler as the Canadian rolls into the ring himself. Pretzler stands up and finds that Toxxic is also standing across the ring from him, making the headlock strategy rather difficult to resume. He ducks into a high crouch and starts to circle cautiously, and Toxxic follows suit. Suddenly darting toward Toxxic’s legs, Pretzler feigns a tackle – then pops back up to his feet and lunges into a collar and elbow tieup, from which he applies the headlock once again. “BOOOOOOOOO!” Toxxic elbows him in the ribs again to get out of it, but Pretzler swings a knee into his gut and tightens the hold. Every few seconds, he violently twists his body to the left, yanking Toxxic’s neck and nearly separating it from his shoulders. Toxxic fights it with another elbow, but then tries a different strategy; planting his feet against the mat and lifting Pretzler up into the air before crashing down with a back drop. *WHAM!* …But to his horror, Pretzler still refuses to release the headlock, sliding his feet back across Toxxic’s chest and placing them in the same perpendicular position as before. “Now that’s dedication!” King remarks with pride. Meanwhile, the hooker whose brassiere nearly became a garrote at the hands of Toxxic has fastened it back on, drawing the resentment of every man in sight. With a sad look in her eye, she sighs and removes it again, and the cheers are deafening. “LET’S GO TOXXXX-IC!” “LET’S GO TOXXXX-IC!” Pretzler leans forward belligerently and tries to force Toxxic’s shoulders down a second time, while the Straight-Edge Sensation turns inward to prevent himself from being pinned. Recalling the strategy that worked in their previous encounter, he curls his legs up and attempts to ensnare Pretzler in a headscissors – but Pretzler has learned since then, and he rolls to the side so he is on his knees with Toxxic trapped beside him. He tries to keep Toxxic secure in this position, but the former world champion has had enough – powering up to his feet, he lifts Pretzler up for another back drop and staggers back toward the ropes, dumping Pretzler over the top! The Canadian turns a reverse somersault in the air before splattering face-first on the floor! *WHUMP!* “YEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” “CHRIST ON A CRACKER!” Pete hollers. “That was absolutely sick!” “And uncalled for,” King retorts, concern showing in his voice. “Pretzler may have broken his neck.” “Wouldn’t that be a fitting punishment. I assume you remember what he did to Kaine.” Toxxic rolls onto the apron and stands up, waiting for Pretzler to recover. This takes quite some time. When Pretzler does rise shakily up to his feet, Toxxic pulls back on the third rope and jumps over it, seemingly slingshotting himself out of the ring – but he then lands legs-first on the ropes and hits an Arabian Press onto Pretzler! Both men wipe out in a heap on the filthy, ejaculation-stained floor. “And Toxxic adds insult to injury!” Pete says breathlessly. “Not to mention more injury. Such a bitter, bitter man.” Needless to say, Toxxic is the first one to make it to his feet, and he rubs his neck to make sure he wasn’t hurt by the high-risk maneuver. He then remembers what he had been attempting last time he was outside the ring. No sooner has the bashful young strumpet put her bra on for the third and final time than Toxxic yanks it right off her chest! He walks over to the downed Pretzler and squats behind him with the bra stretched out… then loops it over the Critic’s head and starts to strangle him! “FUCK HIM UP TOXX-IC, FUCK HIM UP!” Pretzler kicks and thrashes violently, all the more so when he realizes the nature of his opponent’s weapon of choice. He reaches up and claws at the bra strap with his hands, trying desperately to remove it before his body’s oxygen ceases its flow to his brain. Toxxic now straddles him as if applying a camel clutch and leans back, gritting his teeth, while Pretzler scrabbles for a handhold on the silken strangling cord. Hoping to end the match right here and now, Toxxic grunts and hauls back with all of his might, when suddenly… *SNAP!* …The bra comes apart in his hands! “OOOOOOOOOOOH!” Horrified, Toxxic can only stare for a second at the two severed halves – enough time for Pretzler to roll over onto his back and unload a clubbing forearm to the face! *WHUMP!* His indignation lending a surprising stiffness to his strikes, Pretzler lets loose with another forearm, and this time it is enough to knock Toxxic over onto his side. Pretzler then rolls over so he is straddling Toxxic and begins battering him with elbows. “Toxxic’s use of such humiliating tactics has brought out a side of Pretzler that we rarely see,” Pete observes. “Like I’ve said before,” King replies, “the man can do it all. He’s just so good that he usually doesn’t have to. Pete can only snort at this smarmy, brown-nosed remark. Pretzler, intent on turning his opponents nose a very different color, grabs a handful of Toxxic’s spiky black hair and drives an elbow downward into the middle of his face – but by now, his burst of adrenaline is starting to wind down, and Toxxic is able to respond with a left jab to the jaw… *CRACK!* …followed by a blunt right hook. *WHUMP!* Next, he curls his legs back so the soles of his feet are pointed at Pretzler’s chest, and suddenly straightens them out, driving the air out of the Critic and sending him stumbling back a good six feet! *THUMP!* Pretzler careens off balance and collapses against the front row of the audience, and finds himself surrounding by women who want to suck his dick and men who want to kick his ass. His eyes widen in fear as they swarm over him. At the same time, Toxxic pushes through the throng until he finds what he’s looking for: a steel folding chair. He compresses it to make it a suitable weapon and goes after Pretzler with a murderous fire burning in his eyes. “FUCK HIM UP TOXX-IC, FUCK HIM UP!” Pretzler shoves the sweaty bodies away from him and stands up, whereupon he is greeted with the sight of an enraged Toxxic charging him with steel chair held high. Wanting no part of it, he sprints toward the ring and slides under the bottom rope, then rolls to his feet and watches Toxxic cautiously, trying to anticipate his next move. This apparently becomes clear when Toxxic beats the chair against the ground and beckons with two fingers – only for Pretzler to shake his head and respond with one finger, and not just any one. Toxxic shakes his head, licks his lips, and gestures again… then runs head-on toward the ring, slides in, and swings wildly at Pretzler! “YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!” The Canadian dives between the second and third ropes just in time, and Toxxic’s chair hits nothing more substantial than the top rope. But this only enrages him more, and he furiously throws the chair, which catches Pretzler in the back as heads toward the entryway. *WHACK!* The impact is enough to momentarily knock him to his knees. Toxxic slides out of the ring again and runs up the makeshift ramp, kicking Pretzler in the back of the neck with the tenacity of a soccer star. *SMACK!* Pretzler collapses onto his face. Toxxic reaches down and picks up the chair. He looks at it. Looks at Pretzler. Raises the chair above his head. “Brace yourself!” Pete says while cringing. He brings the chair down, its metal frame tracing a graceless arc in the air which ends when it comes into full contact with the lean body of the Canadian Critic. *CRACK!* He lifts the chair up and swings again. *CRACK!* And again! *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* The sound still reverberating in his ears, Toxxic tosses the chair aside, rolls his opponent over, and pins him. ONE! TWO! THR—NO! “What determination by Scott Pretzler,” King oozes, “not letting himself be bested despite the odds being stacked firmly against him!” Not giving up, Toxxic throws himself into another lateral press right after Pretzler kicks out, and referee Warner again counts the pinfall. ONE! TWO! THR—NO! It wasn’t enough the first time, and Pretzler kicks out of the second attempt before turning over onto his stomach to keep from being pinned a third time. But instead of trying to cover him, Toxxic stands and picks the chair up. Pretzler rolls onto his back again and starts to recover, so Toxxic swings the chair down – and this time, Pretzler’s foot comes up to meet it! *CRACK!* The chair reverses direction and slams into Toxxic’s face! He crumples to his knees beside Pretzler, who tries to pick himself up in time to capitalize. His side still throbs from where it was struck repeatedly by the chair. Gripping the beefy arms of an inebriated American tourist, he pulls himself up to his feet and dives onto Toxxic, driving an elbow into the back of his neck. Toxxic falls flat on his stomach and Pretzler climbs on top of him, digging his right knee into his spine while applying a stepover facelock. The straight-edger cries out in pain and twists from side to side trying to free himself, but Pretzler’s knee pins him down and restricts movement. “LET’S GO TOXXXX-IC!” “LET’S GO TOXXXX-IC!” Pretzler, trying to add as much humiliation as possible to the hold, cinches his left forearm over Toxxic’s jaw while holding his right out to the side… then uses it to slap the three-time world champion across the cheek in succession. *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* Toxxic angrily bats his hand away and reaches up to try to rake the Critic across the face, but the position of his body won’t allow it. He plants his hands on the floor and tries to push his weight to the left side and throw Pretzler off-balance. In response, Pretzler quickly shifts his left knee onto Toxxic’s back and stabilizes himself with is right. This frustrates Toxxic… until he realizes that the steel chair is mere inches from his grasp. Reaching out, he grabs it and swings wildly upward – and is rewarded with the sickening sound of metal against bone! *CRACK!* As Pretzler topples, Toxxic struggles to his feet, gripping the legs of the chair with both hands. The Cruiserweight Champion is slumped over on his side, reeling from the chairshot, and Toxxic swings again with all of his strength, catching him in the side of the head! *CRACK!* This drops Pretzler like a sack of potatoes, but Toxxic isn’t done yet. He grabs the Canadian by the tights, hauls him to his feet, and stands behind him over the chair. Holding Pretzler by the temples, he suddenly sits down, and the skull of the lands neatly between Toxxic’s legs – and on the chair! *CRACK!* “UNDERKILL!” Now he makes the cover! ONE! TWO! THREE—NO!! A millisecond away from defeat, Pretzler kicks out! Toxxic is stunned. However, his frustration soon turns to something else, as he abandons Pretzler and walks over to the ring apron. He pushes the banner aside and reaches underneath the searches under the ring until he finds what he’s looking for… a fifteen-foot ladder! “YEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!” Scott Pretzler has managed to stand, though the impact with the chair still rings in his head, and he charges down the entryway and hurls himself at Toxxic as soon as he sees what weapon has been chosen. Toxxic is slammed into the apron and the ladder falls from his grasp, and Pretzler takes advantage by elbowing him over and over in the back of the neck. Toxxic defends himself with an elbow of his own, which catches Pretzler in the jaw… then turns around and hits a front-face DDT onto the edge of the ladder! *CRACK!* “Disqualify him, ref!” King shouts, to no avail. “This isn’t wrestling, this is attempted murder!” Clutching his head in agony, Pretzler rolls over and curls into a fetal position. Toxxic picks the ladder up and spreads the legs apart, standing in front of Pretzler. Then he goes back to the entryway and grabs the chair. Returning, he spreads Pretzler out flat and strikes him once with the weapon before placing it over his face. He starts to climb the ladder. “OOOOOOOOOH!” Pretzler moans and starts to roll over, but the pain in his neck stops him. About two thirds of the way up, Toxxic makes a twirling hand gesture and turns so he is looking down at his opponent. He clenches his fists and braces himself. He leaps, turning a front somersault in midair… …Into a legdrop… …That hits nothing but steel as Pretzler rolls out of the way! *WHACK!*[/i][/i] “Toxxic missed the Hangover from ten feet above the ground!” Pete screams. “His tailbone may be in splinters!” He thrashes on the ground, his entire lower body shattered by the collision. A few feet away from him, Pretzler lies on his back, catching his breath. For the second time in this match, the chant starts up: “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” Ever so slowly, Pretzler drags himself across the floor of the sex club, wincing with each movement. He drapes one arm over Toxxic’s chest. ONE! TWO!! THREE—NO!! So close! But, much to Pretzler’s chagrin, Toxxic’s mistake isn’t grave enough to spell doom for him just yet. The Critic, finally regaining some feeling in his neck, slowly climbs to his feet and starts to lift Toxxic up by the head… then decides against it. Instead, he rolls Toxxic over onto his stomach and drags him closer to the ring apron, placing the steel chair on top of his head. He rolls onto the apron and stands. Grabbing the top rope on either side of him, he stomps on the apron with both feet at once and points to Toxxic’s downed figure. “Oh, no,” Pete whispers. “He’s not signaling for a double foot stomp, is he?” “I hope so,” King almost prays. “How glorious that would be.” Pretzler crouches and prepares to jump… when Toxxic suddenly sits up, grabs the chair with both hands, and slams it into his knees! “YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” “And Toxxic is up!” He follows it up by burying the chair in Pretzler’s gut, and the Ontarian sags forward before collapsing between the top and middle ropes and landing on his back in the ring. Toxxic slides in after him with the chair in hand. Pretzler tries to get up, but Toxxic stands over him and drives the top of the chair into his throat, choking him. And it’s perfectly legal! He then places a foot on Pretzler’s chest and forcefully drives the chair downward into his Adam’s apple. Blood now flows freely the cut on his lip. He gasps and beats against the mat. “FUCK HIM UP TOXX-IC, FUCK HIM UP!” Toxxic sets the chair aside and takes a firm hold on Pretzler’s right arm. He drags the Ontarian to his feet and over to the corner, where he shoves him against the turnbuckle. He delivers a hard left. *WHAM!* And a second! *WHAM!* And a third! *WHAM!* Pretzler slumps, his face now smeared with blood. Toxxic pauses for a moment and reaches inside his pants, fumbling around for something… and then he finds it: a pair of brass knuckles! A collective gasp runs through the audience, at least those who know of his fearsome history with the weapon. He carefully puts them over his right hand. Kissing it for good luck, he balls up his fist, pulls back… *WHOOSH!* …And punches only the turnbuckle! “Pretzler ducked!” Pete sputters. As the Brit turns around to exact revenge, Pretzler’s foot comes to rest squarely between his thighs! *CHING!* The former champion doubles over and Pretzler drops him with a stiff over-the-shoulder neckbreaker! *CRUNCH!* As Pretzler turns to face his prey, he sees the chair resting on the mat in front of him. So tempting… so easy… I could finish him. With a pained expression on his face, he reaches for the chair… and restrains himself. Instead, he turns over and heaves Toxxic into a seated position. Removing the brass knuckles as though they poisonous, he tosses them contemptuously toward the club’s far wall. He reaches down and seizes Toxxic’s wrists, then crosses them over his chest in an ‘X’ position. “Snowflake Clutch coming up!” King says with great excitement. “I don’t care who you are – everyone taps out to this move!” Toxxic suddenly becomes wide awake and twists to the side, trying desperately to free himself before the hold becomes secure. Pretzler knees him in the back. This doesn’t faze him, though, and he braces his feet against the mat, bridging up until he is standing with his back still to Pretzler. The crossface halo is still locked in – until Toxxic snaps his head back violently, slamming it into Pretzler’s forehead. The straight-edger wrenches his arms free of Pretzler’s grasp… and the Critic responds simply by lowering his own hands into a rear waistlock, then hurling Toxxic overhead in a release German suplex! *WHAM!* The angle of impact is disgusting. Toxxic lands on his shoulderblades, which stay flat on the canvas as his lower body folds back over him and compresses his neck. He then slowly uncurls, his legs drooping forward and splaying themselves out flat. He lies there in a spread-eagle position while Pretzler crawls over and makes the cover. ONE! TWO! THREE—NO!! “How did he do it? How!?” But Pretzler isn’t done. As quickly as he can, he drags the dazed Toxxic back up to his feet and puts him in a standing headscissors. “Scott Pretzler has carefully bided his time, remaining on the defensive through the entire match,” King explains. “And now it’s paying off, as Toxxic has exhausted himself with his non-stop barrage of offense.” It is now Toxxic’s turn to defend himself, as he spreads his legs out to make his body as difficult to lift as possible. With a forearm smash to the back, Pretzler puts an end to his resistance, flips him onto his shoulders, and whips his body downward with savage force! *WHAM!* The Wildbomb connects, and Pretzler holds on for the pin. ONE! TWO!! THREE—NO!!! “WHAT WILL IT TAKE!?” Pretzler knows. He ignores the trembling body of Toxxic for a moment and picks up the steel chair, laying it out carefully in the center of the ring. Then he loops his arms under Toxxic’s shoulders and, with a grunt, lifts him up as well. He stands behind the Straight-Edge Sensation so the chair is on the mat in front of them. He applies a rear facelock. His other arm is braced against Toxxic’s back. “Pretzler’s going to end this match with an exclamation point,” says King. “Or rather, with a Tildebang!” He heaves Toxxic off his feet and into the air, until his body is at a completely vertical angle… …And it continues to rotate, tracing an identical arc back toward the ground as Pretzler loses control of the move’s momentum and is dropped on his head with a reverse DDT! *WHAM!* Toxxic reaches forward and grabs one of Pretzler’s legs, pulling inward to secure the cover. ONE! TWO!! THREE—KICKOUT!! Pretzler’s last bit of energy went into the escape, and he knows he won’t be able to survive whatever comes next. So he rolls… away from Toxxic, across the ring, and onto the apron. Toxxic crawls across the mat after him and stops him with a stomp before he can exit the ring. He reaches down and laboriously hauls Pretzler to his feet. *WHAM!* But Pretzler reaches across the apron and smashes an elbow into his face! The straight-edger jars and Pretzler strikes him again, then reaches out and grabs him, hooking a front facelock over the ropes. With his other hand, he grabs Toxxic by the waist. He heaves, and Toxxic is lifted off his feet. “He’s trying to suplex Toxxic all the way to the floor!” Pete exclaims. “If Pretzler can hit this move, the match will be over.” Toxxic knows this too, and he punches Pretzler hard in the kidney area to halt his ascent. He lands back on his feet and strikes Pretzler again – the Cruiserweight Champion responds by releasing the front facelock, elbowing him in the jaw, and reapplying it! He then pulls back with great force, and Toxxic is carried off the ground… over the top rope… “OOOOOOOOH!” …And onto the ring apron, as he lands successfully on his feet beside Pretzler! The Critic has little time to react as Toxxic catches him with a sideways elbow to the head, then turns his back on him and hooks on a three-quarter facelock! He runs the few remaining feet toward the turnbuckle, ascending to the first rope… …To the second… …To the top… …Before back-flipping over Pretzler and crashing down on top of him with an Intoxxication on the ring apron! *WHUMP!* Both men tumble off the apron and into a pile on the floor… and Toxxic is lying on top! ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* “Here is your winner… ‘THE STRAIGHT-EDGE SENSATION’… TOXXXXXXXX-IC!” His joints weak, Toxxic accepts the referee’s assistance and stands up to raise his hand in victory. “YEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!” He then takes two awkward steps and collapses against the ring apron. Again, the referee helps him up to his feet, and this time he offers to support the former world champion as he leaves the ringside area. Toxxic, however, shoves him aside and turns around. He limps over to Pretzler, who is still lying motionless on his back after the beating of a lifetime. “You,” he gasps, pointing a finger at his fallen foe. “You made me do this!” Pretzler groans and shakes his head, but anything more than that is beyond him for the moment. He lies there, seething with resentment, while Toxxic turns and walks away.

"PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!" ...WAAAAAHHHHH... *DUM DUM* "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" The 60 strong in the Cassa Rosso Sex Club jeer at the sounds of "Megalomaniac" by Incubus for the second time in the night, as the curtains hung over the entrance ripple open. But not from Landon Maddix. Instead, from a large Spanish flag, presumably being held by The Next Generation. Boos rain down on the flag from the patriotic Dutch hookers, who may or may not resent Spain for it's superior women. Or, so I hear. Eventually, the flag is followed through the curtain by it's bearer...Landon Maddix, a smug grin on his face as he pauses to wave the red and yellow proudly. "'Ladies' and 'gentlemen'..." begins Funyon, complete with finger quotes. "...your following contest is scheduled for one fall, and will be contested under Hardcore Rules. Introducing first, from Huron, South Dakota. He weighs in at two hundred and twenty two pounds...a former SWF World Heavyweight Champion! LANDON... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMAAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIXXXXXXXXX!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The smaller crowd make no less noise than a full stadium. Well, actually, they do...but the boos are still pretty loud as Maddix makes his way up the stage and enters the ring. Removing his new, sleveless leather jacket, Maddix then hands possession of the Spanish flag to referee Sexton Hardcastle, before beginning some warm-ups. "Well, this is certainly an intriguing match on tonight's card." enthuses Pete. "Spain versus Mexico, two former heavyweight champions. Similiar height, similiar weight, similiar sorts of styles as both were groomed on the luchadore style, but in recent years have gradually drifted more from the aerial tactics." "Certainly." King agrees. "A couple of years ago, this would have been a real air-traffic control affair. Not to say it won't be fast paced, but compared to...let's say, what it would have been like in 2003, this is going to be much less 'flippy-floppy'." "A first time meeting, ever, for these two...and since their debuts and even since their last World Title reigns, these two have changed so much. In one case, certainly not for the better." "One's a former Carnie, one's a snivelling punk. Nothing can change the first, Maddix has done nothing to change the second." King argues. “UNO!” “DOS!” “TRES!” “CUATRO!” “RAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” A sneer rises on Maddix's face as the familiar Mexican voice, pyroless of course, counts down towards the opening of Bunch of Believers’ “Mission Trip to Mexico”. Cheers meanwhile fill the club, almost loud enough to drown out the club's speaker system, despite the small crowd. Especially when El Luchadore Magnifico himself bursts out through the curtains, waving his Mexican flag with all the pride that he always has. As soon as ELM comes through the curtains though, Maddix snatches back his flag, waving it from the ring. "And, his opponent! Hailing from Mexico City, Mexico and weighing two hundred, ten pounds...he is a former THREE time SWF World Heavyweight Champion!! EL LUCHADORE... MAAAAAGG - NNIIIFFIIIIIICCOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" "RRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" A smirk rises on the face of the SWF's favourite luchador as he glances up into the ring, spotting Maddix's flag. Some dual flag-waving gets going as Magnifico and Maddix both try to make their flag the one everyone's attention fixes on. Eventually, Magnifico accepts a draw and jogs up the steps to the stage, before diving into the ring. Maddix is kept at bay by Hardcastle, as ELM leaps to the middle rope and waves the Mexican flag some more. "It's worth noting before we kick things off, that the similiarities between these two men go beyond more than just coincidence." points out Pete. "Landon Maddix has said before, back when he was a little more 'sociable' to journalists like me..." "Journalist? You?" scoffs King. "...that ELM was a big inspiration to him. Of course, ELM was at the pinnacle of the SWF when Maddix first broke into the SJL. And Maddix has said before, in his early SJL days, that he aspired to be like ELM." "So Magnifico was his inspiration?" King sneers. "No wonder he turned out to be such a loser!" Hopping back down from the ropes, Magnifico careful places his Mexican flag underneath the bottom turnbuckle. He then jigs back around, hopping impatiently from toe to toe to keep himself getting any muscle tightness as he waits for the opening bell. Across the ring, Maddix kisses his Spanish flag before laying it underneath the bottom buckle nearest him. Popping up, The Next Generation now locks eyes with a man you could consider the 'old generation', the occassion just as poignant in front of 60 people as it would be in front of 60,000. ELM simply stares back. Just another match for him, just another opponent. *DING DING DING!* Finally, someone in the club remembers they're in charge of the bell and sounds it to get the match underway. Both Maddix and Magnifico slowly leave their corners and cautiously approach the centre of the ring, where they stop and stare each other down. A heated conversation breaks out in Spanish, going right over the heads of everyone in the crowd, except for one Latino woman dressed head to toe in leather brandishing a whip. Suddenly, mid-conversation, ELM lunges forward and initiates a collar and elbow tie-up, chaining it into a quick side headlock before Maddix can figure out what's happening. ELM wrenches at the head, but Maddix quickly grabs him, reels him back to the ropes behind them and shoots the luchadore off. Back shoots ELM, but Maddix casually brushes him aside with a bi paso (lucha sidestep, with a shove in the back). Hitting the ropes again, Magnifico picks up a little speed. Maddix ducks his head for a backdrop but telegraphs it which allows Magnifico to leapfrog effortlessly over. Still with his head down, Maddix now hits the ropes in front. ELM waits, returning the earlier favour with a bi paso of his own before hitting the mat. Over leaps Maddix, as Magnifico comes up, already in the motion of a leapfrog. Hooking the ropes with an arm, The Galactico comes to an abrupt stop however, waiting for Magnifico to land before charging once more. This time, he twists in mid-run and shoots himself into a wheelbarrow position. Magnifico catches him there and looks for a lift, but Maddix is prepared for that, escaping ELM's grip on the way up and snaring his arm under an armpit on the way down with an armdrag variation. Tumbling forward, ELM rolls through and to the floor, as Maddix leaps to his feet and cries a mocking "OLE~!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "I'm no expert..." begins Pete, pausing for a King insult which surprisingly doesn't come. "But I do know that was a Que Se Dora, a lucha-libre armdrag variant." "Almost as if Maddix is trying to 'out-luchadore' the luchadore." King quips. "It could very well be. We've never seen Maddix execute that move before, so maybe it is a psychological move...using Mexican moves to upstage a Mexican luchador. After all, Magnifico could have done that back in the day with no problems. He possibly still could." "Nah. He's past it. Just ask Danny Williams." As he watches on from the outside, ELM shakes his head with a wry smile. He knows an armdrag isn't going to defeat him. And he also knows he doesn't need to try and match speed and pace with his younger opponent. So Magnifico composes himself and rolls back into the ring. Maddix is waiting, snatching an arm as ELM gets up and looking for a whip, only for ELM to reverse. Hitting the ropes, Maddix skids underneath Magnifico with a baseball slide, scrambling to his feet as Magnifico turns. Getting a little tired of the evasive tactics his opponent is using, the three time former World Champ looks to take Maddix's head off with a right hand. But Maddix ducks low, pulling a leg from under ELM and diving on top with a lateral press... ON... ELM is effortlessly out and up. However, Maddix is prepared first, repeating the leg trip and lateral press... ON... Again ELM shrugs off Maddix easily and scrambles to his feet. The pace remains quick as Maddix tries for a third leg trip, only for Magnifico to vault his legs out of the way and try to catch Maddix crouched with a legdrop. Maddix rolls away from that though and ELM jars his spine on landing. Meaning he is slow to his feet, as La Cucaracha hits the ropes, firing off a flying forearm on his return that sends ELM sprawling backwards, between the bottom and middle ropes and to the stage. Hopping back up, a cocky smirk adorns Maddix's face as he mugs for the crowd. Meanwhile, ELM pulls himself up on the outside, beginning to look slightly frustrated as he shakes out the cobwebs. "Again Magnifico to the floor to collect his thoughts." comments Pete. "A smart, veteran move on his part. He's breaking all of Maddix's momentum before any real damage can be done to him." "Well, Mag's body might not be hurt, but his pride sure as hell is." King states. "Obviously, this isn't the style of match Mag wants to fight anymore, now he's toned himself down. But it's still got to play on his mind that he's been beaten with speed and agility twice now." Taking a little more time to compose himself than before, Magnifico eventually re-enters the ring. This time, Maddix is happy to let his veteran opponent come to his feet and give him the option of starting the next fast pace exchange. Magnifico passes, instead meeting Maddix in the centre...but getting blindsighted with a sudden boot to the gut! Over doubles Magnifico, as Maddix picks up the intensity, firing four quick forearms over the back of his opponent. The blows cause ELM's back to arch, dropping him to one knee. Maddix pulls him straight up though, whipping the luchadore off towards the corner. Landon follows in close behind his opponent, not expecting him to suddenly display his agility, as he pushes off the top rope, up, and over out of the corner! Unable to stop, Maddix bundles into the turnbuckles should first. He then stumbles around in search of Magnifico, who is waiting... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOO!!" ...with a VICIOUS knifedge chop, knocking Maddix flat on his back!! Landon's eyes bug open as he pulls himself back up, clutching his reddened chest. Desperately he starts to backpedal, hands up in a begging off gesture. ELM swats them away though. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOO!!" ...and knocks Maddix down with another chop!! "Playtime's over now!" cheers Pete. "ELM is stepping it up a notch now, which is bad, bad news for Maddix!" "Well, it's no surprise." King snidely remakes. "As usual, he got too cocky..." *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOO!!" "...and now, he's paying for it!" A third chop sends Maddix scampering for cover, rolling out of the ring in an attempt to create distance between himself and ELM. But everyone's favourite luchador is right on Maddix's tracks. The two are out of the ring now, still on the stage, as Magnifico grabs Maddix by his precious blonde locks and flings him forward. The ringpost rapidly gets closer and closer to buffering Landon's stumbling run. But at the last second, Maddix manages to sidestep slightly, hooking his arm out and wheeling himself around the post, around the adjacent side of the ring. Magnifico follows him around though, charging from behind with a high knee this time... *CLUNK!* ...which does send Maddix careering into the ringpost this time. "And this time, Maddix collides with the steel. If at first you don't succeed, try adding a knee to the back I guess.." chuckles Pete, to a groan from King. Weakly, Maddix slumps against the post while ELM reaches down off the stage and tries to convince one of the front row patrons to give up their seat for him to use. Eventually, one older guy folds up his seat and passes it up to ELM. Who wastes little time in taking a hefty swing towards his target... *CLANG!* ...but hits nothing but ringpost, as Maddix manages to duck out of the way just in the nick of time. The reverberations seem to mess up the finger of Magnifico as he drops the chair, giving Maddix time to scramble back into the ring. Magnifico quickly scoops up the chair again though, sliding it in and following. Maddix is waiting with a boot however. And a second. Followed with a third. ELM gallantly tries to push himself up after each boot, but Maddix keeps him down, grabbing Magnifico's hair after the third stomp and scraaaaaping his boot very slowly and very deliberatly down the length of his face!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Ugh. A downright nasty move." disapproves LDP. "And all perfectly legal." Magnifico pulls himself up with a hand clutched to his face, wildly swinging out as Maddix approaches him. An easy duck is executed though, leaving ELM with his back to Maddix long enough for a knee to get driven into the kidneys. Dropping to his knees, ELM is still tending to his face, as Maddix quickly hits the ropes in front of his opponent and drills a basement dropkick into his middrift! The wind rushes out of the luchadore's body as he crumbles to the side, Maddix taking advantage by cradling a leg and making a pinfall attempt... ONE! TW... Shoulder up! With his palm placed firmly on ELM's face, Maddix pushes himself to his feet...keeping his opponent pressed down all the while. Reaching up, Magnifico angrily swats Maddix's hand off of his face. But as soon as he does that, Maddix stomps ELM deep in the gut, with as much force as he can. A low groan escapes Magnifico and he instinctively drapes an arm over his stomach at the point of the pain. Meanwhile, Landon steps over ELM to get closer to the fans, brushing the hair from his face to reveal a cocky smile. Boos rain down on La Cucaracha, as he then turns back to ELM. After a quick run-up, he then leaps up, driving down into Magnifico with a double stomp... ...dropping out as soon as he springs off ELM's body, bringing all of his weight crashing down back-first with a back senton! The wind is truly knocked out of the three time champ's body, as Maddix leans nonchalantly backwards, with a 'pin' that Hardcastle takes a moment to recognise... ONE! TW... Kickout by ELM, needing very little effort to do so! "A nice Double Stomp/Back Senton combination from Landon Maddix there." approves Pete. "And with no let-up between the moves, it's like a dual reaction. No sooner have you had one batch of air knocked out of you, a split-second later the rest gets driven out of you as well." "Shame he followed it up with such a ridiculous cover." Rolling back up to one knee, Maddix lashes ELM across the chest with an open handed slap. Buying himself enough time to fiddle with his right boot...or more specifically, the kickpad latched over it, unstrapping the appendage and tossing it absent-mindedly out of the ring. Landon then reaches into the boot itself, grabbing something that protrudes out from the top. Some of the crowd start to whoop and holler, as Maddix eases the item out of his boot and waves it over his head for all to see. "That's a cat-o'ninetails!!" cries King confidently, before stammering a little. "Er, I mean...I THINK that's what it's called. I wouldn't know." "Sure." As Maddix has been doing this, ELM has taken advantage of the lengthy weapon retrieval and is up to his knees. With his mouth agape, Magnifico sucks wind, trying to get some oxygen back into his system. Maddix has finally spotted Magnifico though, scampering over and choking Magnifico with the cat o'ninetails! "Now, why would a 21 year old guy carry a cat o'ninetales around with him?" asks Pete curiously. "He must have got that from that woman he was with earlier!" "Who, Megan?" "No...the hooker he was hanging around." "...Megan?" "NO!" Hardcastle is powerless to stop Maddix choking his opponent out. But luckily for Magnifico, he's shown a little mercy, as Landon releases the choke and swaggers away. A quick smirk out to the fans later and Landon then swaggers back, holding Magnifico's arm underneath his to keep him close, while brandishing the sexual accessory and lashing ELM across the back! Obviously, the whipping doesn't really do much damage to Magnifico. It doesn't seem to be turning him on either. What exactly it IS doing isn't clear, but Maddix keeps whipping away regardless. A few of the fans seem to be enjoying the action a little too much right now, so Maddix finally halts his whipping...and smartly jams the point of the impliment into the small of ELM's back, finally doing some noticeable damage. Writhing on the canvas, Magnifico continues to groan away while Maddix relaxes on top of him with another lackadaisical cover... ONE! TW... Easy kickout. "Maddix is going to have to do more than that to El Luchadore Magnifico to score a victory here." muses Pete. "Hooking a frikkin' leg might be a positive start." sneers King in response. A dis-satisfied Maddix hurls the cat o'ninetales away, landing in the lap of an elderly fan in the crowd who's eyes light up in excitement. Meanwhile, The Next Generation pulls Magnifico to his feet and drags him over to the ropes. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOO!!" Maddix rocks ELM with a quick knifedge, before snatching hold of his opponent's arm and whipping him across the ring. As ELM rebounds, Maddix crouches low and thrusts both of his palms out into the gut. Over doubles the luchadore, as a front facelock is applied and Maddix quickly takes Magnifico over with a crisp snap suplex. But rather than follow up on his offensive move, Landon instead decides now is the time to fiddle with his headband and his hair. That gives Magnifico time to pull himself back up slowly, advancing on Maddix. He's met coming however, Maddix snapping up a knee that connects low in the gut and neutralises his opponent with that one swift shot. Grabbing the arm, Maddix again executes an irish whip which this time sends Magnifico hurtling into the corner. Hitting back first, Magnifico nestles in the corner and continues to favour his ribs, all the while breathing heavier and heavier. Meanwhile, Landon leaves ELM be again. This time though, it's not for posing, but to retrieve the steel chair from the side of the ring. Maddix holds the chair to the skies, looking up at it with a beaming smile as he invisages all the things he can do with the weapon. The wasted time is giving ELM more chance to recover though. And as Maddix finally turns around with the chair, Magnifico suddenly bursts out of the corner, dropkicking the chair and sending it right back into the face of The Next Generation!! "The Spanish Conquestor!" cries Pete. "How ironic!" "Oh, yes, har de har har." Both chair and Maddix go flying...the chair bouncing off of Landon's cranium and out of the ring to the floor, while Maddix falls back into a seated position against the bottom turnbuckle. Magnifico stays down holding his ribs as well though, unable to capitalise. "E - L - M!" "E - L - M!" "E - L - M!" As the chants rise through the Cassa Rosso, Magnifico finds energy enough to pull himself up. He then clasps hold of Maddix's blonde locks, trying to drag him up from his seated position. With whatever groggy state of consciousness he's in, Maddix hooks his arm around the bottom rope. Magnifico isn't taking no for an answer though, grabbing a second handful of Maddix's headful of hair and crashing out of the corner...with a headband? Doing a double-take, Magnifico realises what going on, as Maddi turns away and leans his head out of the ring. Cursing out in Spanish, ELM flings the headband out of sight and goes back for another try. But suddenly, Maddix reaches out behind him and grabs the first thing that comes to hand...swiping out and jamming the point of ELM's Mexican flagpole right into his gut!! "OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Oh man, Magnifico walked right into the point of that pole getting stabbed towards him." groans Pete through a wincing expression. "It looks like Maddix got him good too. Mags didn't have time to get his hands or knees up to block his weakened body area." Dramatically, Magnifico collapses to his knees and then onto his front with both arms clutched around his stomach. An agonised look of pain adorns Magnifico's face as he writhes on the mat, looking like he's suffering from the effects of some bad Mexican food rather than a Mexican flag. Maddix pulls himself up in the corner, his eyes still slightly off-centre from taking a chair to the skull moments earlier, stumbling groggily into the centre of the ring. And with a mocking smile, Maddix hoists up the Mexican flag and starts waving it in the air. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" "Man, what a prick." smiles King. "If it were anyone other than this kid, I'd be impressed." "You really are bitter, aren't ya?" The flag-waving ends only as Maddix equilibrium almost causes him to collapse. A few laughs go up for that. But Maddix shoves the laughs back in the fans' faces by hoisting the flag vertically over his head, strolling over to ELM, measuring him and swinging the flag down into Magnifico's spine!! Recoiling, Magnifico rolls onto his back, opening himself up for a flag shot into the gut this time!! Hardcastle watches on with a dissapproving look, all he can really do with the structuring of the rules as they are. Tossing the flag to the canvas, Maddix decides that he's done enough damage to Magnifico and drops down, hooking a leg and yelling at Hardcastle to get over and count... ONE! TWO! TH... Kickout!! "YEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!" Rolling his eyes, Maddix grabs two handfuls of Magnifico hair and drags him off the canvas and to his feet. A big forearm connects, followed by a second. Magnifico stays on his feet despite the heavy duty shots, having absorbed far worse in his illustrious career. So Maddix goes back to the midsection with another knee. That breaks down ELM's defences, doubling him over. Reaching an arm underneath the jaw of his opponent, The Next Generation steps behind applying an inverted front facelock. Magnifico isn't going to go down without a fight and shoots his arm upwards, his forearm grazing Landon's forehead. With his free arm, Maddix slams a fist into ELM's gut though. He then steps back, dropping down to one knee and letting the Bottom Drop Out! "And the focus is clearly on the ribs still, with the modified backbreaker." comments Pete. "It's been a smart focus too, because Mags just hasn't been able to mount a sustained offense, ever since the low dropkick early in the match." "I'm surprised the kid's so...so..." "Focused? Controlled?" "Un-spotty." As Magnifico again writhes on the mat, Maddix measures him and drops an elbow low-down into the torso, leaning over and making a cover, again neglecting to hook a leg... ONE! TW... ...and Magnifico is out easily again. Looking slightly frustrated, either with himself or with Magnifico, Maddix gets to his feet and looks for some more weaponary. Again, the Mexican flag comes to hand first and Maddix wields it as he waits for ELM to pull himself up. With determination and grit, Magnifico fights through the pain barrier and does get to his feet, at which point makes a forward step and swings out with the pole like a baseball bat... ...but Magnifico's eyes fall on the flag just in time, nimbly ducking underneath the pole! Momentum takes Maddix all the way around and into Magnifico's clutches, the three time World Champion snatching The Next Generation under arm and head. But his attempt at a Rio Grande Slam is thwarted, as his ribs can't take the sharp lift. Frustrated and hurt, ELM lets Maddix go, which allows Maddix to swing out with a right hand. Despite the hurt ribs though, Magnifico still has the mobility to block the right hand, weaving Maddix's arm behind his back, ready for Montezuma's Revenge. But THAT doesn't come to fruition either, as Maddix desperatly lifts his knee up between Mag's legs with a crotchshot!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" As Magnifico releases Maddix again to tend to his ribs, allowing Maddix to double up the luchadore with a boot to the gut. A scoop and a slam follows, planting ELM in the centre of the ring. It doesn't look like Magnifico is getting up either, so Maddix walks away and leaves the ring, climbing up the turnbuckles with the top rope his destination. "Now, this might be a mistake." "Of course it is." snaps King. "Maddix has got ELM down, hurt, right where he wants him. But instead of be smart and bash his ribs in with a chair, he has to show off and go up top." Reaching the top rope, Maddix assesses the distance of Magnifico before balancing himself up top. He then takes a last moment to flick his hair away, creating a photo opportunity for anyone who happens to have a camera handy, before springing off the top... ...and MISSING a Frog Splash!! "YEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" "Nobody home! No water in the pool!" "No brain cells in the head..." Now both ELM and Maddix are left with aching ribs as Maddix bounces off the mat, coming to a a slumping stop looking up at the ceiling. Rhythmical clapping starts up from the more wrestling knowledgable wrestling fans in the crowd, while Hardcastle stands over the two... "ONE!" ...and begins a standing ten on the duo. "TWO!" "THREE!" "FOUR!" Maddix begins to stir first... "FIVE!" ...but ELM is close behind him. "SI..." The count stops abruptly as Maddix pulls himself to his feet. Magnifico is up too now and gritting his teeth, trying to summon some fighting spirit-uh~! from somewhere. That might not be enough though, as Maddix has reached off to his left and retrieved the Mexican flag again. Clutching the flag in his hands with a sinister smile, Maddix turns to Magnifico, who has collapsed front ways on in the corner. He waits, as ELM pulls himself up again, waiting for him to turn... ...AND GETTING A FLAGPOLE IN THE GUT!!! "YEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" "What the..." "Magnifico grabbed the Spanish flag!" cheers Pete. "Talk about poetic irony! Maddix only brought that flag out here to get to ELM...and in the end, it's that flag that came back to haunt him." "Dirty cheating Carnie. Dirty cheating Mexican Carnie!" Dropping the flags at the same time, it's obviously Mags who's in the better shape. The luchadore quickly switches behind The Next Generation while he's still winded from the flagpole shot, driving a forearm into the kidneys. Magnifico then locks on a waistlock, wheeling Maddix towards the ropes before popping his hips over, taking Maddix over into the centre of the ring with a bridging German!! A collective moan from both men sounds out, as Hardcastle dives over to make the count... ON... ...but ELM can't hang onto the bridge, having to release to tend to his ribs. Again ELM curses out at Spanish at his misfortune, but soon shakes off the pain enough to drop on top of Maddix, with a traditional lateral press... ONE! TW... Kickout. "Darn. ELM took just too long to apply the pinfall." sighs Pete. "Those ribs must REALLY be affecting him...I think that flagpole shot really did a lot of damage." "Yeah, but they've both taken flagpole shots now. So they should be evenly hurt. Which, considering I hate both of these scrawny runts, is excellenté~!" Rolling back to his feet, Magnifico glances around the ring for something that won't take strain on his ribs to do damage. He eventually settles on another chair, graciously provided by a woman in the front row dressed like a ferret in the second row. Magnifico does a double-take, searching for any over-sized Australian furry lovers in the crowd...but finds none, so gingerly reaches out of the ring, to retrieve the chair. Taking the chair in his arms, Magnifico then charges with chair held high, looking for a running shot on the recovering Maddix. Able to duck however, Maddix slides behind with his own waistlock and setting for his own German. Which isn't going to happen, as ELM hooks his leg around the back of Maddix's to block the move...before swinging the chair over his head, providing Maddix with a glancing blow over the skull with the chair. "HIT'EM AGAIN!" ...cries one over-eager fan, as Maddix staggers back a couple of steps. But instead of resorting to that, ELM quickly opens up the chair and sets it up in front of the wobbling Maddix. He then takes a backstep, before springing off of the chair, using it as a launchpad...for a FLYING DDT that spikes Landon right on his head!! "YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" Magnifico lands on his ribs again, but the adrenaline seems to be flowing a little more freely now, as he rolls Maddix onto his back with gritted teeth, dropping on top and weakly hooking a leg... ONE! TWO! TH... NO!!! JUST A TWO COUNT!! "OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!" Despairingly ELM throws up three fingers to Hardcastle, but he brandishes just two in response. A big sigh goes up from Magnifico, shaking his head as he gets to his feet and encourages Maddix to do the same. "ELM's got Maddix where he wants him now, despite the kickout from that scintillating DDT." predicts Pete. "Yeah, but let's face it, Mags' ribs are screwed up." King rebutts. Groggy, Maddix gets to one knee before stumbling off to the side. He gains his bearings okay though and gets back to his feet, more concerned with fixing his hair and brushing some dust off of his body before turning his attention to Magnifico. Who is waiting, going deep with his lift... ...but Maddix floats over the back, just as the fans had a glimpse of La Dia De Los Muertos!! Landing behind, The Next Generation tries to apply an inverted front facelock, but Magnifico has also done his scouting, throwing enough back elbows to weaken Maddix's abdomen, before turning into his man. A quick lift is just about managed by Magnifico, dropping Landon across one knee with an inverted atomic drop. Magnifico then scoots behind his man and snares the arms! "Goin' for the Baja California Crusher...but Maddix is fighting it..." "Mags can't pull him towards the corner with the bad ribs!" Indeed, Magnifico struggles to get near enough to the corner to climb, Maddix able to dig his heels in defiantly. His struggle seems to be waivering a little as ELM growls in determination, trying desperatly to get to the corner. But as his ribs tear and burn away, Magnifico decides to try and shock Maddix by taking him over into a backslide... ONE! TWO! THR... ONLY TWO!!! "He almost shocked him there!" Maddix kicks out and rolls through in front of Magnifico, right by the corner. As Mags gets up, Maddix quickly lungs at him with knee extended, connecting firmly in the breadbasket, doubling Magnifico over. Which gives Maddix chance to lift himself into a seated position up top, begging ELM to step forward into Crash Landon range. However, ELM sees him and suddenly thrusts upwards, rocking Landon with a Venus palmstrike from out of nowhere!! Maddix does well not to topple backwards over the top, as Magnifico reaches behind him for the chair... *CRACK!* ...and literally HURLS it at Maddix's head, The Next Generation blocking some but certainly not all of the impact with his arm! Enough connects to keep him dazed though. ELM quickly shoots up a right hand, before climbing gingerly from the bottom rope to the middle, positioning himself in front of the dazed La Cucaracha. He then reaches behind with one arm, tucking the other under Maddix's chin, trying to pull an arm into a chickenwing! "Oh my god!" cries Pete in shock. "He's going for Montezuma's Revenge...off the ropes! He'll break his jaw if he hits it!" Maddix may be dazed, but he's not just going to hand his...erm...hand, to Magnifico without a fight. An eventually, after Magnifico stumbles ever so slightly, Maddix manages to fire off a forearm! Magnifico is teetering now, as Maddix fires off another... ...and ELM falls... ...but lands on his feet! The short drop isn't good for his rib area and ELM stops, as Maddix takes a moment to adjust his right boot. He then launches off the middle rope, hurtling towards Magnifico with his arm out-stretched. "Crash Landon '04...NO!" Magnifico blocks the Flying Crash Landon, catching Maddix at the side and setting for Montezuma's Revenge yet again. Reaching behind, Magnifico manages to grab the right arm of The Next Generation and pull it into the chikenwing, ready to drop...just as a left hand rocks him in the ribs. ELM instantly breaks the hold, yelling in pain...as something small, metal and shiny falls out of Maddix's left hand. "Hey, wh..." "Is that a chain!?!" despairs Pete. "...that cheeky bastard." chuckles King, always happy to see ELM suffering. Despite spotting the foreign object, Hardcastle is powerless to act any more than retrieving the chain and tossing it from the ring. But it's too late now, as Maddix snatches ELM from the front, hooking his leg behind ELM's and dropping him with an ST... ...NO! Maddix doesn't drop ELM back. Instead, he leans him back, like a part of a ballroom dance. Only, one that ends with the dancer snapping backwards, with the head hooked, pulling ELM down with him and dropping him RIGHT ON HIS FOREHEAD!! "OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "WOW!" gasps Pete. "That was like...a standing Crash Landon!" The crowd gasp as ELM gets spiked. But they have little time to dwell on the great move, as Maddix rolls over on top of the face-down Magnifico, snaring his head in an inverted front facelock and pulling back!! The Land Of Nod is in! And the torque on the back is significant as Maddix sits back... *TAPTAPTAPTAP!* "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "He did it!" "He STOLE it." snaps King. Maddix releases the hold on the bell, ecstatically punching the air as Hardcastle calls for the bell. "Your winner of the match...LANDON! "LA CUCARACHA"! MAAAADDIIIIXXXXX!!" Rolling out of the ring, Maddix is in a rush to leave for some reason as he staggers off the stage and away out of sight, like a thief in the night. Meanwhile, Hardcastle checks on ELM who is hurting, as we go to an abrupt commercial break because I gotta go k bye!

*knock-knock* “Word!” Joseph Peters shouts at his door. “Er… what?” Peters looks up. “I said, ‘word’,” he calls again. “…yeah, but what’s the bloody word?” the reply comes. Peters sighs. “Toxxic, are you being deliberately obtuse?” the Eminem-lookalike demands as he recognises the distinctive Nottingham accent. “I wouldn’t be if you used language in a way normal, decent people could understand,” the Straight-Edge Sensation grumbles as he walks through the door, “rather than goin’ around being deliberately ghetto at people.” “Sit,” Peters commands, pointing at the chair in front of his desk with the barbed wire-wrapped cactus on it. Toxxic takes a long look at the potted plant as he sits down. “Reggie…?” “Huh?” “Oh, nothing,” Toxxic says, still staring at the cactus a little oddly. “A guy I knew had a plant like that…” The Brit quickly regains his focus and turns his steel-grey eyes onto the blonde-haired man who is in charge of the SWF’s most hardcore show. “That match of mine of Smarkdown,” he begins, “where I was going to face Pretzler before Spike Fuckin’ Jenkins turned it into his own private party… that was for the Cruiserweight Title.” “It was,” Peters acknowledges. “And you’re bringing this up because…?” “My match tonight isn’t for the title,” Toxxic reminds the booker. “And I want it to stay that way. In fact, for the rest of this series I don’t want any of the matches to be for the Cruiserweight Title.” “…OK,” Joseph Peters says, slightly nonplussed. “Not really a problem to me, but-” “Why?” Toxxic finishes. “Simple. Exactly the same reason I don’t want to be in the World Title picture for as long as Ejiro has it - I don’t want the hassle.” The Straight-Edge Sensation sees the Storm booker looking curious, and sighs. “Look, I’ve been forced into these matches by Flesher,” Toxxic says. “I wanted a third to settle the score, he’s made it best of five. If I ever hold the Cruiserweight Title, I want it to be for the title’s sake, not because I’ve been lumped into some matches with the guy who happens to be the champion at the minute. Besides,” Toxxic continues, “do you really think anything’s going to be settled after this series finishes? No, I don’t think so - but we can leave it at that, perhaps. If I come away with the belt though, Pretzler’s still going to be chasing me and it won’t be at an end.” “So no Cruiserweight Title shot,” Peters nods, making a note on a piece of paper. “Not right now,” Toxxic amends. “Perhaps someday I’ll try for it, even if Scott is the champion still… but when I decide I want to compete for it, not when Flesher does.” “Well, I can’t see any harm in going against Tom’s wishes,” Joseph Peters grins, then hears another knock at his door. “See who that is, will you?” “Sure, I was leaving anyway,” Toxxic grumbles as he gets to his feet. He opens the door, and one eyebrow raises. “It appears to be… they appear to be three young Dutch ladies with about enough clothes to cover one young Dutch lady.” He turns towards the Storm booker and flashes a lopsided grin. “Shall I let them in?” “If you try and keep them out then you can look for another job,” Peters tells him. Toxxic sighs and opens the door wide, then steps around the three hookers as they enter Peters’ makeshift office. “Now then ladies, thanks for coming to see the Controller of Hardcore…”

“Two of the icons in the SWF are about to square off,” says Longdogger Pete, “as Wildchild and Mak Francis get ready to lock horns!” “This is the first ever meeting between Wildchild and Mak Francis,” adds the Suicide King, “and I’m going to have to predict Mak Francis to win this one!” “That’s a pretty bold prediction,” says Pete. “I’d be interested in hearing your logic behind that; care to elaborate on that, King?” “I have a couple of reasons for picking Francis,” explains King. “For starters, Mak has been in a little bit of a slump, and I think that he’s probably hungrier for a win. Secondly, Mak is obviously the more experienced of the two, to say nothing of being the more accomplished mat technician. And finally, I just think that Wildchild’s performance on Smarkdown was a fluke; I think that he was wrestling way over his head, and I don’t think that there’s any way that he can duplicate that kind of performance tonight!” “Sounds like you’re sticking with the safe pick, so to speak,” replies Pete, “and there’s nothing wrong with that… but I’m going to go out on a limb and pick the kid. I know that Mak has more experience, and is obviously a more accomplished mat wrestler, but Wildchild has been on an unbelievable tear as of late; in fact, as poorly as he went into last Pay-Per-View, I think that he’s on track to head to Ground Zero as the hottest wrestler in the SWF!” “Oh, come on!” groans King. “I know that you’ve been jocking this kid for a while, but the hottest wrestler in the SWF going into Ground Zero? Please; if anybody, that title should go to Scott Pretzler, or maybe even Johnny Dangerous, before this guy!” “Funny that you mention Johnny Dangerous,” interjects Pete, happy for the segue way. I still can’t believe that he would be so selfish as to cost his own partner a chance at the World Heavyweight Championship; even you have to admit that he literally took the belt right out of his partner’s hands, King!” “Hey, all’s fair when it comes to the championship of the world,” King replies nonchalantly. “If Wildchild were that concerned with winning, he shouldn’t have thrown Ejiro out of the ring in the first place! He’s got nobody to blame but himself; in fact, he should thank Johnny for saving him from a beating at Ground Zero!” Pete rolls his eyes. “I don’t really think that it would have been as one-sided as you’re trying to make out. Wildchild does, after all, hold a winning record against his partner in singles competition!” “And, like I’ve always said about the bogus stats you pull out,” counters King, “Wildchild has never beaten a reigning champion, including his own partner. He last beat Johnny almost two years ago; I really doubt that Wildchild could compete against Johnny if he were to fight him today!” “Well then, it’s just a shame that Johnny felt the need to take matters into his own hands, otherwise we’d know for sure!” Pete says sadly. “At any rate, what’s done is done; Johnny Dangerous has a date with Ejiro Fasaki at Ground Zero, and Wildchild has a date tonight with the Franchise, as we send it up to Funyon!” DING! DING! DING! “The following contest is a hardcore match,” says Funyon, “and it is scheduled for one fall!” With that, the lights dim and the ominous and familiar sounds of a xylophone chime begins to ring throughout the hall Ice blue and emerald green beams of light shine down from the rafters, alternating on and off with each ring of the xylophone: SO DO YOU WANNA BE A FRANCHISE? AND LIVE LARGE? A BIG HOUSE? FIVE CARS? YOU’RE IN CHARGE? COMIN’ UP IN THE WORLD, DON’T TRUST NOBODY, GOTTA LOOK OVER YOUR SHOULDER, CONSTANTLY! Mak Francis’ customized remix of Cypress Hill’s “Rock Superstar” swings into full gear and the fans continue to wait for the Franchise… and wait… and wait… “You gotta like the way Franchise makes the crowd wait on him,” notes King. Finally, Mak makes his way through the curtain. The lights come back up and Francis comes out onto the stage, tilting his shades down on the bridge of his nose, looking left and then right before making his way towards the ring. “Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing two hundred forty pounds… the Franchise, MAAAAAK FRANCIS!” Mak removes his trenchcoat and hands it over the top rope to a nearby ring attendant, and then walks over to his assigned corner, leaning back against the turnbuckles as his music fades out. ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA… “Let’s Get Dirty” by Redman begins to blast through the speakers as Wildchild steps out from behind the curtain, and the crowd goes crazy as they see the Bahama Bomber step out from behind the curtain alongside Melissa Fasaki, who’s showing her support for Wildchild by wearing an aquamarine blouse, he dark hair tied up in a gold ribbon. “His opponent,” booms Funyon, “is being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki! From the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild high-fives Melissa as they arrive at the ring and then somersaults into the ring and rolls to his feet, raising his arms above his head as he stares out into the crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Wildchild, obviously still a tremendous crowd favorite,” notes Pete. “And he looks fired up; you can see the confidence in his eyes!” “Well, there’ve been rumors going around in the back that Wildchild and Melissa have been growing close, and it looks like those rumors were founded,” agrees King. “I’m curious as to what Ejiro’s reaction to this will be!” “Well, we saw Melissa and Wildchild talking backstage earlier in the night,” replies Pete, “so I doubt that Ejiro is totally in the dark about it, but I can’t help but be curious, too!” “And of course he’s got those damned shin guards on!” gripes King, as Wildchild bends down to adjust the objects in question. “He certainly does,” confirms Pete. “And this is Storm, which means that they’re in play!” “Well, that’s just great!” snaps King. “I can’t believe that they allow this kid to wrestle with those things on!” Referee Ronald “Red” Herrington motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! Mak and Wildchild circle each other to start the match, and appear about to lock up, when Francis extends his arm for a handshake. Wildchild reaches forward to accept the handshake, but Francis pulls his hand away at the last second and runs it through his hair! He turns towards the crowd with a sarcastic grin plastered on his face, and they respond with loud boos. He turns back towards his opponent in the ring… SLAM! … And Wildchild tackles him to the mat with a running double-leg takedown! Wildchild straddles Mak and begins to assault him with a battery of lightning-quick right hands! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! “I have to think that was a mistake on Mak’s part,” says King, shaking his head. “He made the mistake of getting Wildchild’s attention, and now he’s taking a beating!” Wildchild pulls Mak to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, only for Francis to reverse it! Mak, always a student of the game, has scouted Wildchild extensively, and therefore steps backwards out of Wildchild’s Pinball range, but the Bahama Bomber picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes, exploding into the air… WHAM! … And dives feet-first towards the Franchise, sending him flying up over the top rope and out of the ring! Wildchild immediately rolls to his feet and waits for Mak to get to his feet before racing towards the corner and leaping to the top turnbuckle, twisting through the air as he springs out of the ring… SPLASH! … And crashing into Francis with a corkscrew moonsault! Wildchild pulls Mak to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him by head towards the corner of the ring and smashing his face into the ringpost! He then leads Francis over to the corner where two sections of ring barricade intersect and leans him against that corner before returning to the ring. Wildchild reaches underneath the apron to pull out a Kendo stick before turning back towards the Franchise… CRACK! … And hammering him in the back with the Kendo stick! Wildchild again grabs Francis by the back of the head, this time slamming it into the corner of the hard rubber barricade, before pulling him back up and bringing the Kendo stick across his throat, pressing a knee into his back as he chokes him out with the stick! “Wow!” exclaims King. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Wildchild so aggressive! I’m not sure whether or not he’s trying to show off for Melissa, or whether she’s brought out a mean streak in him!” Wildchild props Mak back up against the corner of the barricade and turns back around to return to the ring, but the Franchise grabs him by the back of the head and pulls him backwards down to the floor! Mak pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him to the corner, and slams the Bahaman face-first into the solid steel post! Francis then picks the Kendo stick up and slides back into the ring. He climbs onto the top turnbuckle, and raises the bamboo sword above his head as he prepares to come down onto Wildchild’s back! “Wait a minute!” shouts LDP. “Look at this! Melissa just stepped in front of Mak Francis! She just put herself in harm’s way!” “That’s an extremely dangerous risk she just took,” says King, as Francis barks at Melissa to move out of the way, “especially with Mak’s recent change in attitude! He’s liable to come off that top rope and level Melissa Fasaki with that Kendo stick! But look, it looks like she got what she wanted; he’s getting down off that turnbuckle!” Francis climbs down from the turnbuckle and steps through the ropes out of the ring, down to the floor. He walks over to Melissa and begins screaming at her, shoving her out of the way as he attempts to get his hands on Wildchild… CRACK! … And the Bahama Bomber takes advantage of the distraction and nails Mak with a shuffling sidekick! “Mak got distracted by Melissa Fasaki,” shouts Pete, “and Wildchild was able to turn the tables with that sidekick!” Wildchild grabs Francis by the back of the head and leads him across the arena floor, before slamming him face-first into the solid steel stairs! Wildchild rolls Mak back into the ring before returning to the ring himself, leaving the Kendo stick on the arena floor. Maddix beats Wildchild to his feet and charges towards him, arm raised to deliver a vicious right hook, but Wildchild sees it coming a mile away and ducks easily. “Mak needs to settle down,” notes King. “Wildchild’s come out the chute quick, and now the Franchise is off his game! He just went after Wildchild with a wild swing, and didn’t even come close!” Mak and Wildchild engage in a collar-and-elbow tie-up in the center of the ring, and Wildchild quickly takes advantage, shifting into a go-behind waistlock, but the Franchise gets both legs underneath him and backs Wildchild forcefully into a nearby corner! “Mak was able to use that weight advantage and that tremendous leg strength to get Wildchild into the corner,” reports Pete, as Wildchild is forced to release the waistlock. Mak quickly spins back around and drives his knee into Wildchild’s chest, which causes his eyes to bulge out in pain! “Here you’re seeing some excellent ring generalship by Mak Francis,” says King, as Mak delivers another kneelift. “If he continues to drive those kneelifts into Wildchild’s chest, he’s not going to be able to breathe and get that oxygen that he needs!” Mak pulls Wildchild out of the corner with a snapmare… WHAM! … And quickly follows up with a fistdrop that nails the Caribbean Cruiser right between the eyes! Mak gets back up and pulls Wildchild to his feet, grabbing him by the back of the head and leading him into the corner, where he rams him face-first into the top turnbuckle! “And now Mak is in complete control of this match,” sneers King, “You can tell that he didn’t appreciate getting hit by that Kendo stick, and I wonder if something might have snapped inside him! He’s going to have Wildchild begging for mercy in a minute, and you can tell by the look in his eyes that Mak ain’t gonna show no mercy!” Mak grabs Wildchild and leads him back across the ring to ram his head into the opposing turnbuckle… WHAM! … But the Bahama Bomber gets his foot up to block it and rams Mak’s face into the turnbuckle instead! RAAAAAAAAAAH! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Wildchild pulls Mak out of the corner and hammers him in the side of the face with a flurry of forearm shots and then traps him in a front facelock, grabbing him by the leg and lifting him into the air to deliver a vertical suplex, but the Franchise grapevines he leg around Wildchild’s to block it. “Wildchild tries to get Mak up for a suplex,” says Pete, “but Mak is just too big and too powerful!” Mak then reaches down to grab Wildchild’s leg and takes him over with a suplex of his own! He quickly stands back up and pulls Wildchild to his feet, wrapping both hands around his waist and lifting him up to deliver a gutwrench suplex, but the Human Hurricane flips through and lands on his feet besides Francis. Wildchild whips his leg through the air to deliver a roundhouse kick as Mak spins around, but the Franchise catches his leg at chest level… CRACK! … But Wildchild immediately springs off the mat with his other leg, whipping it through the air and blasting Francis in the face with a Gamengiri! “Mak Francis poised to retake control of the match,” says LDP, “but Wildchild with a counter to the counter! And, for the first time tonight, the shin guard comes into play! That’ll give you Excedrin headache number 28!” Wildchild rolls to his feet and runs towards the edge of the ring, leaping into the air as he bounces off the ropes, and crashing into Francis with a running Shooting Star Press! Herrington drops to his knees as Wildchild hooks the leg for a cover: ONE! TWO! BUT FRANCIS GETS THE SHOULDER UP! Wildchild pulls Francis back to his feet, only to take him back down with a snapmare takeover, and then runs quickly to the ropes, picking up speed as he bounces off, and slamming his shin into the back of Mak’s head with a running punt kick! Francis rolls out to the apron to recover, but Wildchild charges right after him, pulling Mak to his feet and draping his neck over the top rope. Wildchild traps Mak in a front facelock, and tries again to lift him up with a suplex, but the Franchise again fights his way out of it, and then lifts Wildchild off the canvas, sending him over the top rope and down to the floor with a vertical suplex! OOOOOH! “Another ill-advised maneuver by the Wildchild to go for that suplex, and now he’s in bad shape!” says Pete. “He’s going to get himself into trouble trying to match power with Mak Francis!” “Wildchild could get himself into trouble trying to match power with anybody,” says King, “I don’t know how he’s managed to go on this winning streak making stupid mistake like that!” Mak runs to the corner as Wildchild gets back to his feet out on the floor, and climbs to the top turnbuckle, leaping off fearlessly… WHAM! … And leveling Wildchild with a flying Hart Attack clothesline! The Franchise pulls Wildchild to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head - leading him towards the corner of the ring and once again smacking him face-first into the ringpost! Mak then walks back around the ring and picks the Kendo stick off the floor. He stalks towards Wildchild and raises the bamboo sword above his head to smash it down on the Tropical Tumbler… but once again, Melissa runs in front of her friend to protect him! “That’s the second time that Melissa Fasaki’s put herself in harm’s way in this match,” says Pete, as Mak raises the sword above his head in a threatening manner. “And you can tell by the look in Mak’s eyes that he’s at war with his conscience! He’s trying to decide whether or not to hit Melissa Fasaki!” “He should definitely hit her!” says King. “If she wants to involve herself into this match, and put herself in harm’s way, then she deserves whatever she gets!” Mak’s eyes flash with intensity as he holds the Kendo stick high above his head, threatening Melissa to move before he hits her, as the crowd screams at him, imploring him not to go through with it. “You can hear this capacity crowd begging Mak not to hit her,” cries LDP. “And the Franchise isn’t sure what he wants to do! Even with his recent change in attitude and with everything that’s happened to him recently, I don’t think that he really wants to hit Melissa Fasaki; even with his new ruthless aggression, I don’t think that he’s comfortable with the idea of hitting her!” “Hit her!” goads King, as Mak lowers the Kendo stick to waist level. “Give it to me; I’ll hit her!” Mak’s eyes waver with uncertainty as the cries of the fans continue to fill him with doubt. He raises the sword above his head once more, which causes the fans to scream even louder! He looks to them as if seeking guidance from the fans… and he finally relents, dropping the stick to the ground! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “He dropped it!” exclaims Pete. “Mak Francis looked out into the crowd, into the fans that have supported him throughout the years that he’s been in the SWF for guidance, and they literally made him drop the Kendo stick!” “That makes me sick!” spits King. “I can’t believer that Mak Francis would let these idiot fans tell him what to do; I thought that he was stronger than that! This is exactly why he’s never been the World Champion! He doesn’t have the all-consuming will to win; he’s not willing to do whatever it takes to come out on top! That’s why he’s doomed to live a life of mediocrity in professional wrestling; standing on the sidelines while less talented wrestlers like Landon Maddix and Toxxic advance all the way to the top!” Mak gets Wildchild up off the floor and rolls him back into the ring, before climbing up onto the apron and using the top rope to propel his body into the ring… SPLASH! … Crashing into the Caribbean Cruiser with his patented Senton Atomico! Mak stands back up immediately and pulls Wildchild to his feet, whipping him across the ring and snatches him out of the air as he bounces off the ropes, planting him into the canvas with a railgun suplex! The Franchise rolls to his feet and runs to the edge of the ring, slowing down to struts as he bounces off the ropes! BOOOOOOOOOO! “Look at this!” exclaims Pete, as Mak taunts Wildchild with a few pelvic thrusts before nailing him between the eyes with a fist drop, “Mak with that Truth Hurts fistdrop, trying to add a little insult to injury!” Mak reaches over to hook the leg as Herrington drops down to cover: ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! “I tell you what, King,” says LDP, “You can question the attitude of Mak Francis, but can’t deny his ability or his tenacity; he survived an early assault by Wildchild, and now he’s pretty much dominating the action!” Mak pulls Wildchild back to his feet and whips him across the ring. He lowers his head to deliver a backdrop, but the Bahama Bomber anticipates it, and stands him up with a stiff kick to the chest then… SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! “Look at Wildchild firing back with those chops!” says King. “Let’s see if he passes up an opportunity to use whatever it takes to win!” Wildchild backs Francis into the corner and grabs him by the wrist to whip him across the ring, but the Franchise reverses, sending Wildchild into the turnbuckles instead! Francis races towards the corner, his arm raised to deliver an elbow smash… CRASH! … But Wildchild moves out of the way, and Mak crashes elbow-first into the turnbuckles! “Wildchild’s taken an awful lot of punishment in this match,” says Pete, “but he still had the presence of mind to avoid that elbow!” Wildchild pulls Mak out of the corner and towards the center of the ropes, whipping him across the ring, but the Franchise reverses… WHAM! … And catches him as he comes off the ropes with clothesline! “I’ll say this for Mak,” concedes King, as the Franchise gets to his feet, “he’s done an excellent job of using his power in this match; knows that he has a significant size and strength advantage, and he’s been using it to control the pace of this match!” Mak looks outside the ring at Melissa Fasaki, and begins to berate her as he makes his way towards the corner. “But he’d better stop worrying about Melissa Fasaki if he’s going to that top rope or whatever!” “Obviously, just because he wasn’t willing to waffle her with that Kendo stick, it doesn’t mean that he’s happy to have her out there,” adds Pete, as Mak continues to give verbal static to Melissa. “But you’re right, King: he’s wasting time… Valuable time; he’s not exactly known for being a high-flier, so he’d better concentrate on what he’s doing!” As Mak climbs slowly up to the top turnbuckle, he continues to admonish Melissa, as Wildchild crawls to the edge of the ring, using the ropes to pull himself back to his feet. “He’s still jawing away,” says an incredulous LDP. “Wildchild’s back on his feet now, King!” Francis finally turns his attention back towards the ring, but in the split-second it takes him to realize that Wildchild is no longer out on the mat, the Bahama Bomber leaps towards the corner and dropkicks the top rope, crotching the Franchise on the top turnbuckle! “Francis got caught!” shouts Pete. “He took too much time to get up there, and got caught with no place to go!” “You know, Drain-Clogger,” says King, “I’ve got to give Melissa Fasaki great credit: she’s distracted Mak Francis this entire match… I dunno, maybe showing him a little cleavage or whatever… and has managed to draw his attention every time her man was in dire straits!” Wildchild climbs up to the top turnbuckle and leaps onto Mak’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around the back of Mak’s neck…. WHAM! …. And pulling backwards as he arches into the ring, sending the Franchise sailing overhead and down to the canvas with a top rope Rana! “Dragonsteiner!” shouts Pete. “And Wildchild just gave the sign for the Falling Star Bomb!” Wildchild races across the ring and quickly steps out onto the ring apron before leaping to the top rope and springing back into the ring in one fluid motion, flipping forward twice as he plummets into the ring… SPLASH! And crashing into Mak with his patented flying vertical splash! “There it is!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild reaches back to hook the legs. “There’s the Falling Star Bomb!” “He ain’t gonna get up from it!” adds King, as Red Herrington drops down to count the shoulders. ONE! “No way!” shouts Pete. “He’s got the leg hooked!” TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! The fans erupt as “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play once more. Melissa climbs up the steel stairs and steps underneath the middle rope to enter the ring as Herrington raises his arm in victory. “Here is your winner,” booms Funyon, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Melissa is beaming as she helps Wildchild to his feet, expressing her congratulations by hugging him tightly. “Look at this!” says Pete. “How about this show of support by Melissa Fasaki?” “Well, she’s been here standing by Wildchild for the whole match,” says King, “and if you ask me, she had nearly as much to do with Wildchild’s win as he did!” “Terrific match!” says LDP. “Stick around, folks, because we’re back in two with more awesome wrestling action here on Storm!” Melissa walks Wildchild around the ring, holding his hand up in victory… As we: FADE OUT

FADE IN Wildchild is splayed out on a mat on the floor of his locker room, completing his pre-ring stretch routine, when he hears a light knocking. Getting up, he walks over to the door and opens it to reveal Melissa Fasaki. “Hey!” Wildchild says, beaming. “How are you?” “I’m doing okay,” she replies. “It’s a shame that we don’t get to travel together; I haven’t seen you since Smarkdown!” “Oui,” agrees Wildchild. “You could always ask Ejiro to let you ride with me.” Melissa giggles in response. “Jerry’s mad enough that I spent half the trip talking to you on the phone. He’s still a little bent out of shape over Smarkdown, and I don’t think that he was happy with me spending hours talking to the guy that just beat him. Besides, don’t you travel with Johnny?” “Oui,” replies Wildchild, “but Johnny an’ me ain’t been talkin’ so good lately." “I felt bad for you when that happened,” says Melissa, patting Wildchild on the shoulder. “I thought that you were doing great, and I was sure that you were going to get the win!” “Thanks,” replies Wildchild blushing a little. “Your brother is a great wrestler, an’ I’m a little surprised dat I was able t’do dat well against him!” “You know,” says Melissa, “I’m sure that I could get you a rematch if you really wanted it; I’ll bet you’d look great with the World Heavyweight Championship around your waist!” “I dunno,” Wildchild replies. “I still want t’ get my hands on Scott Pretzler; I’m not happy about how I went out t’ him!” “Forget Pretzler!” Melissa counters, placing a hand on each of Wildchild’s shoulders. “He’s old news… you need to start looking forward to your future in the SWF; haven’t you ever seriously thought about becoming the World Heavyweight Champion?” Wildchild shrugs, nearly pushing Melissa’s hands off his shoulders. “I can’t honestly say dat I’ve given it much thought; I’ve always been happy wresslin’ as a Cruiserweight.” “Well, do me a favor,” says Melissa. “Give it some thought; let your match out there against Mak Francis tonight be like a tryout… Consider it like a kind of audition for the Heavyweight division.” “I’m not sure,” repeats Wildchild. “Heavyweights aren’ really my style.” “Well,” says Melissa, how about this: how about if I come down to the ring with you, to give you some moral support?” “Huh?” Wildchild asks incredulously. “You serious?” “Uh-huh,” replies Melissa. “I’d really like to see how far you can go in the Heavyweight Division, and if you decide to move up, I’ll be behind you every step of the way!” “But what about Ejiro?” he asks. “Don’t worry about Jerry,” counters Melissa. “He’s a big boy; he can take care of himself.” “Well, I feel like I still got some unfinished business in de Cruiserweight Division,” says Wildchild,” but I’d love t’have you come down to de ring wit me tonight!” “Dominic, you don’t need the Cruiserweight Division,” Melissa says firmly. “I think you’ve proven in the last few weeks that you can rise to the level of your competition at the Main Event level… look, just give it some thought, okay?” Wildchild sighs softly. “Okay den, I’ll t’ink about it. Does dat mean dat you’ll be out dere wit me?” “You bet!” she replies, patting him on the arm as she heads out the door. “I’m going to go get changed; I’ll see you soon, killer!” With that, she waves at Wildchild as she heads towards the ladies locker room. Wildchild smiles to himself as he returns to his mat to finish his stretching routine… As we: FADE OUT

Inside the infamous Cassa Rosso, even more uncomfortably cramped than usual due to the wrestling ring on the premises, tens of perverts there waiting for their turn at teh secks, along with many of the ladies working that night, surround the stage. On location are Longdogger Pete, and Suicide King, who frantically hurries down the stairs and zips up his pants as he joins LDP. "Welcome back to Storm from Amersterdam," says Pete, "where Manson versus International Champion Jay Hawke is on tap!" "Yeah, right… somebody versus Hawke," says King, as he puts on his headphones. "Manson versus Hawke, King, and of course this is a singles match resulting from a tag bout on SmarkDown, in which Hawke and JJ Johnson upset Manson and Arch Griffon." Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly" starts over the PA system as the lights dim. Thinking a strip show is about to begin, everyone crowds the stage, but imagine their disappointment as Jay Hawke walks out, his purple and black robe glittering as spotlights hit it. Says Funyon, in the ring, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the following is a hardcore match scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio, USA, and weighing in at two-hundred and fifteen pounds… 'The DEAN of Professional Wrestling' JAAAAAAAAYYY HAAAAAAAAWWWWWKE!" Hawke begins the short walk down to the ring, but it's cut short as Manson rushes him from behind with his bullrope wrapped around his arm! Manson knocks Hawke down and begins laying in the kicks as the belligerent pervs begin cheering, figuring it to be good entertainment for the time being. Hawke comes to a stand and undoes his robe, throwing it off as The Raging Bull charges and knocks him back down with a bullrope laced flying forearm! *DING DING!* "We're already under way as Manson attacks Hawke from behind!" Pete screams. "Man, he must be ANGRY~ over what happened on SmarkDown, taking the fall for his team and all." A 'ring girl,' in reality one of the club's employees, picks up Hawke's robe and begins walking to the back, but Manson drops his bullrope and grabs her, picking her up by the legs. As Hawke gets to his feet, Manson swings at him with the girl in his arms, knocking him down once again! "What?" mutters Pete. Hawke catches the girl in his arms as Manson lets her go, but she runs away screaming in fright into the crowd, but as all the scuzzy sex fiends surround her, she jumps onto the stage into Hawke's arms… but he also picks her up! Hawke swings at Manson with the whore bat and connects, knocking Manson down, as he had done to Hawke earlier. The girl climbs to her feet and runs toward the back, again screaming in terror, as Manson gets to his knees and lunges for his bullrope. "Don't tell me it's another one of those Manson matches…" says King, as he orders a drink from one of the girls. Hawke does he same, lunging for the bullrope, and with each man having an end, they begin fighting over it, as if in a tug of war. Each with a white knuckle grip on the rope, they begin pull, and with Manson being the stronger and heavier of the two, he begins dragging Hawke towards him. Hawke doesn't give up so easily, so tiring of this, Manson just gives up, throwing Hawke off balance and down on his ass. Hawke gathers himself and stands, but Manson catches him with a kick to the stomach, doubling him over. Grabbing Hawke by the head, Manson throws him inside the ring! "The Battle of Bullrope ends with Manson emerging the winner…" "But the war is far from over!" Indeed, because as Manson climbs into the ring, Hawke jumps on him with stomps to the back! Manson gets to his feet with the assistance of the ropes, and Hawke hits him with forearms to the face. His opponent staggered against the ropes, Hawke grabs and whips him across the ring. Manson bounces off and Hawke catches him with a knee to the stomach. Up and over the knee Manson goes, falling onto his back, where Hawke picks him up and hits a chop across the chest, the sound reverberating quite well in the small establishment! Hawke hits Manson with another chop, but Manson comes back with one of his own! He hits another, driving Hawke back, before changing hands and striking Hawke with the patented mini chop to the neck! "Chop battle going on now, and Manson has the upper hand!" Manson hits another mini chop, and Hawke bristles, causing Manson to hit another, and another, and so on, each more rapid than the last. With Hawke down on his knees, Manson smashes a knee in his face! Hawke grabs his nose, and Manson goes for a pin, with Kivell counting. "A knee! A knee directly to Hawke's face!" "Damn it, those should be outlawed too!" "ONE!" KICKOUT! Manson pulls Hawke up off the mat, and after hitting another chop, he grabs Hawke and whips him toward the opposite side ropes. Hawke slides out near the timekeeper position, looking for a break, but Manson heads out after him. Hawke catches him, though, wrapping his arms around Manson's wait. Hawke then charges forward, slamming Manson lower back first into the edge of the ring apron! Manson goes down to his knees, and Hawke waits for him to stand back up. Manson does so and he heads for Hawke, but Hawke had this planned all along, as he ducks down and lifts Manson up, throwing him clear down to the floor with a back body drop! Some members of the crowd break his fall, but otherwise it's a hard landing for Manson, as Hawke jumps down after him. "OH MY! Back body drop, throwing Manson off the stage!!" "Thankfully enough for him, that wasn't as hard a fall as it could've been." Manson gets up pained, but in otherwise decent spirits, and with his opponent in no position to fight, Hawke grabs him by the head and smashes him face first into the edge of the stage! Manson falls to the floor, but as Hawke bends down to pick him up, Manson hits an elbow. Making his way up to his feet, Manson begins hitting fists to the face, but Hawke puts a quick end to that with an thumb to the eye. Hawke looks in all directions before spotting a folding chair, and after picking it up and swinging, he smashes Manson across the skull! The chair drops, dented, to the ground, and so does Manson, as Hawke goes for a cover. "OMGZY! CHAIR TO THE SKULL!" "ONE!" "T-- "Manson kicks out! He kicks out!" screams Pete. Hawke picks Manson up and throws a forearm to the jaw, followed by a number of disrespectful slaps to the face, and this only charges Manson up, as he begins throwing wild rights and lefts! Hawke holds his own against the onslaught, though, as he grabs Manson and wraps an arm around him with a side headlock. Hawke attempts to go for a bulldog, but Manson pushes him off. Hawke goes flailing into the crowd, and as he turns back around, Manson takes him down by the legs and mounts, then rains down with even more lefts and rights! Hawke desperately covers up, and Manson stands, looking to gain some distance before coming up on the bar. "It's a brawl now as Manson throws a series of fists at Hawke and, oh wait, it looks like he found the bar!" "Speaking of, where the hell's my drink!?" As if on cue, a shot glass whizzes past King's ear and smashes against the ground, shards of glass flying everywhere! *CRASH!* Next, Manson takes a gulp from a bottle of brew and tosses the half empty bottle into the crowd, at Hawke's feet. The crowd all begins a mad rush to get out of the building as Manson alternately drinks and throws glasses and bottles at Hawke! *CRASH!* *CRASH!* "Jesus! What's gotten into him!" "I guess he was REALLY upset about losing on SmarkDown, then." Doing everything to avoid the glass flying around him, Hawke goes for a small square table and grabs it, looking to shield himself from the attack as he moves in on Manson. Hawke moves cautiously as he continues pressing Manson until he reaches the bar and dives over, tackling Manson! Both get to their feet, but Manson has an ace up his sleeve, as he spits a mouthful of liquor at Hawke! Hawke is sent stumbling back and Manson grabs a pitcher of beer and smashes it in Hawke face! The pitcher shatters and Hawke falls to the floor, screaming with his face in his hands, and Manson covers. "ONE!!" "TWO!!!!" "THREEE!!!!" *DING DING!* "Your Winner," says Funyon, "by pinfall… MMMAAAAANNNNSOONNNNNN!" "Crusher Destroyer" by Mastodon hits, as he stands and has his hand raised by Kivell. The crowd peeks their heads in the door, and seeing the match is over, begin to fill back into the Cassa Rosso. Kivell quickly begins brushing the glass out of Hawke's bleeding face as Manson lumbers out of the building. "Where's he going?" King asks. "Who knows," says LDP, "but regardless, he made a big statement tonight in his victory over Hawke." "Man, that was ugly. Manson had best hope he didn't scar Hawke's handsome face." "Frankly, my dear, I don't think he gives a damn." "Dude..." Twenty hours later, the sad walking away song from The Hulk plays, as Manson walks along a desolate roadside with his thumb out, looking for a kind stranger to give him a ride to wherever he's needed next...

“Welcome back to SWF Storm!” Ben Hardy startlingly greets as the shot suddenly cuts to him. Hardy is standing outside the Cassa Rosso in Amsterdam’s infamous Red Light District. The camera’s in on him tight to show the least amount of debauchery possible. “With me now is a true SWF Legend.” Hardy declares. “A Former Three-Time World Heavyweight Champion and Hall of Famer, El Luchadore Magnifico!” The camera pulls out to reveal Magnifico standing next to Hardy. The luchadore is dressed in street clothes and seems distracted, as he looks off-camera while Hardy continues. “So, Magnifico.” Ben begins. “You took a real nasty blow to the head after Williams hit you with the Axe Bomber on Smarkdown. It seemed like he completely knocked you out. I’m sure many of your fans were concerned for your well-being after that match.” ELM looks somewhat annoyed, but still doesn’t make eye contact with Hardy or the camera. “Well, I appreciate their concern, but I’m fine. I did suffer a mild concussion and checked myself into a nearby hospital after the match, but just as a precaution. I’m cleared to wrestle and am not suffering any symptoms of post-concussion syndrome, thankfully.” Ben nods. “We’re all glad to hear that. Now, about your match tonight. It’s no secret that you don’t have a lot of experience in Hardcore matches; in fact, you’ve only had a handful throughout your entire career. Meanwhile, your opponent, Landon Maddix, has quite a bit of experience with the stipulation, and considers himself an expert with using tables. Any thoughts on your strategy tonight?” Magnifico scoffs. “Like it matters. Anything I’ve tried recently has blown up in my face.” “I beg your pardon?” Hardy asks, not quite hearing the luchadore. “You understood exactly what I said.” ELM snaps, finally making eye conact with the interviewer. “There’s no point in creating a strategy, since it’s just going to backfire on me anyway.” Ben seems surprised. “Well, it’s true that maybe you haven’t been at your best since returning-“ “HAVEN’T BEEN AT MY BEST?!” Magnifico interrupts, shouting. “I’ve been getting my ass handed to me out there! I only managed to beat Wildchild because I got off a lucky finisher, and Sly because of the match’s ridiculous stipulation! Ejiro, Toxxic and Danny each beat the shit out of me!” Ben starts to respond, but ELM isn’t done. “And even when something I try works, I still manage to lose! Danny’s arm was damaged and he still managed to knock me out with the Axe Bomber! I haven’t been below average, I’ve been fucking pathetic!” Hardy’s taken aback, having never seen ELM snap at anyone like that. He’s at a loss for words as Magnifico finishes, his eyes boring a hole into Ben’s skull. When ELM sees Ben’s expression, he sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “...I’m sorry. I just...” Magnifico trails off. Without saying another word, he walks off camera, leaving Hardy speechless. He looks after the luchadore as the shot slowly fades to darkness...

"Jesus, I thought this was the hardcore show, not the Every Match Contested Under Lumberjack Match Rules show!" quips King, in his ever sarcastic manner. "What can I say, it's a tight fit." responds Longdogger Pete, the SWF's resident straight man for commentary teams. "Which is more than you can say for the women in this pl...OUCH!" King's commentary has finally landed him in hot water, as a passing *ahem* lady of the night bitchslaps him across the back of the head. "Hey! Now give me my hundred and fif...um, I mean, let's go to the ring!" Amidst the cigar smoke, scantily clad women, and grabby hands tourists, a large, imposing figure emerges, pushing and shoving his way through the cramped building as an untitled, techno-ish beat plays over the sounds of the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Hardcore Match, scheduled for one fall. Making his way to the ring at this time, accompanied by JL Crunk, he weighs in tonight at three hundred, twelve pounds...this is the GHOOOOOOST MAAAAAAAAACHIIIIIIIIIIIINE!" Funyon backs away as Ghost Machine steps over the top rope, while JL Crunk struts around ringside, pointing at his charge and warning the crowd that his man is the next big thing. Several of the Cassa Rosso employees try to flirt with the manager a little, but they're blown off, as apparently Crunk has already given his heart to the walking freakshow that's in the ring. "One of the weirdest personalities to grace our rings in some time, and his opponent couldn't be anymore different." remarks Pete, as Ghost Machine walks slowly around the ring, like a, well, like a robot. As the crowd boos the duo of Crunk and Machine (Crunk Machine?), the sound of "Oh No" overpowers them, and sends the women swooning, while the men who don't have their hands full let out a cheer for the incoming superstar. "Making his way through the crowd at this time, hailing from Hollywood Boulevard, he weighs in tonight at two hundred, twenty six pounds, he is the Urban Legend, TODDDDDDD CORRRRRTEZZZZZ!" Blowing past the various men and woman that are cluttering the room, Cortez slides into the ring and immediately storms over to Ghost Machine, shoving the big man and calling him out! Cortez removes his sunglasses, looking up into the eyes of his larger adversary and urging him to come get some, which makes the big man irate. Cortez pushes again, and this time Machine grabs Todd by the throat, only to have Cortez kick upwards, striking Ghost Machine low! DING! "Did Harding call for the bell, or did we get a sound effects guy for nutshots now?" Ghost Machine reels back, and Cortez quickly chucks his sunglasses out into the crowd before cutting loose with several right hands before running the ropes...and running right into a flapjack! Ghost Machine presses Cortez high up into the air, nearly squashing the Urban Legend on the Cassa Rossa ceiling, before Cortez shifts his body in mid-air and connects with a dropkick to the chest of his opponent, sending him staggering backwards and falling through the ropes! "Looks like that talk with Mike Van Siclen has lit a fire under his ass tonight!" "Hey, that's a better burning sensation than some of these guys are gonna leave here with." "KING!" "What?" Crunk comes over to check on his client, but quickly jumps out of the way as Cortez slides under the bottom rope, cracking his feet into the side of Machine's face with a baseball slide kick that sends him falling over. Not wanting a homosexual alleged robot anywhere near them, the clientele and staff of the Cassa Rosso push Ghost Machine back to his feet, and he turns around to see Cortez take hold of the top rope and slingshot himself over, crashing down on the big guy with a pescado that manages to put him down! "It's been all Cortez in the opening moments, and...hey!" As Cortez is coming up to his feet, JL Crunk runs over and jumps on his back, much to the chagrin of the crowd. The scrawny manager flails, trying to do God-knows-what to the Urban Legend, while Cortez just rolls his eyes. Crunk winds up getting snapmared off the shoulders off Cortez, and Todd follows up with a running soccer kick to his back, just to drive home the point not to mess with him. The crowd cheers this move, but it infuriates Ghost Machine, who gets up and clubs Todd in the back of the head with a forearm, then rolls him back into the ring. Cortez gets to his knees as Machine grabs a chair and slides it into the ring, then starts to re-enter himself. Acting quickly, Cortez grabs the chair and swings it just as Ghost Machine steps over the ropes, but the rookie catches the chair in his hands, then flattens Cortez with a big boot to the face! "A valiant attempt at out-maneuvering the big man by Cortez, but he got overwhelmed by sheer power." Ghost Machine lifts the chair over his head and brings it down, but Cortez quickly rolls out of the way, onto his stomach. Ghost Machine slams the chair down again, but this time Cortez rolls forward, coming up to his feet. The lumbering giant tries a third swing, and again Cortez uses his quickness to his advantage, dodging the shot and bringing his knee up into Ghost Machine's circuits/ribs/whatever's under there, then swipes the chair out of his grip and PASTES him with a chair shot across the head...but it simply staggers the big guy! A second shot follows, and Ghost Machine teeters, looking like a giant-sized Weeble Wobble, while Cortez throws the chair aside and runs the ropes, coming full speed at Ghost Machine and...running right past him!? Cortez hits the opposite side, and his foe can't turn in time to block Cortez's low dropkick to the knee, which sends Ghost Machine toppling over! "Hey Pete...if a tree fell in a whorehouse, would it make a sound?" "Ummm..." "Of course not, who'd be paying attention to it?" "King..." "Yeah?" "We REALLY need to get you some new material." With Ghost Machine down, Cortez quickly follows up with a standing moonsault to him, then grabs the chair and positions it under his legs, jumping up and crashing down with an Arabian facebuster! After discarding of the chair, Cortez goes for the cover... ONE! TWO! ...but Ghost Machine pushes him off at the count of two! Cortez comes to his feet, but is then pulled to the canvas and yanked out of the ring by JL Crunk, who is back up and out for revenge, although when he calls Todd on, Cortez responds by hitting a YAKUZA KICK~! on the weasely manager and knocking him out cold! “Well, that didn’t work out how he intended, now did it?” With Crunk down and a sleeping giant coming to his feet in the ring, Cortez scours his surroundings and starts shifting his way through the crowd, perplexing the fans and causing Ghost Machine to come out of the ring and shove patron after patron aside in hot pursuit of the Urban Legend! “Todd Cortez is taking the match away from the ring, and Ghost Machine is trailing him.” “I wonder which one of these guys is going to wind up with a happy ending.” “King…” “What, you just ASSUME I meant it that way? I’m talking about who’ll win the match!” With speed on his side, Cortez quickly jogs towards the stairs, pulling anyone in sight closer to block the path of the oncoming monster. Having lost his foe in the crowd, Ghost Machine forces his way through the crowd, looking around for the Urban Legend. “Cortez just high-tailed it out of here, and…hey, look!” The SWF cameras catch up with Cortez, as they zoom in to see the Urban Legend on the second floor, handing money to one of the Cassa Rosso employees! ”Jesus, Todd, couldn’t you wait?” Down on the first floor, Ghost Machine hasn’t caught on, and is looking around, but Cortez draws himself out of hiding by calling out to his opponent. Ghost Machine turns and looks up, but the only thing he sees is a 125 lbs. Hooker by the name of Alexia being hurled down on top of him, and lucky for her he catches her! The frightened hooker kicks and screams to be put down, and Ghost Machine gladly obliges, but the next time he looks up it’s Todd Cortez soaring downward, wiping out the big man with a flip plancha from the second floor balcony! “Insanity!” “What? C’mon, King, you know Cortez is a daredevil!” “I’m talking about the fact that he paid a hooker off for the night to throw her off the balcony!” “Hey, adapt to your surroundings, that’s his motto.” Cortez quickly gets up, nodding his head towards the applauding crowd, and makes his way across the room, again purposely getting lost in the crowd. Ghost Machine gets up and comes stomping through the crowd, this time not being so nice as he plows through customers and employees alike, trying to find the streetwise superstar. He forces his way through the crowd, coming up at the bar and looking all around him for a sign of his opponent. The bartender steps back, frightened by the monster in front of him, but he’s then hoisted up into the air by his collar, with Ghost Machine peering menacingly (we hope) into his eyes. Machine wants answers, and the barkeep looks like he’s about to shit himself…until Cortez pops up from behind the bar and sprays seltzer water in Ghost Machine’s face! “Only in the SWF do you get action inspired by the Three Stooges!” chuckles Pete. Machine flails, temporarily blinded, as Cortez hops over the bar. Seeing one of the patrons chomping on a cigar, Todd steals the man’s cigar and jumps up on the back of Ghost Machine, bringing his hand around and jabbing the lit cigar in his eye! Machine howls in pain as Cortez slides off his back, and leans over the bar, grabbing a bottle of liquor and smashing it over Ghost Machine’s head! Just like the chairshot earlier, Machine doesn’t go down right away, so Cortez swipes another bottle from behind the bar and breaks it over Ghost Machine’s head, bringing him down to one knee! Todd leans over the bar for a third bottle, but as he turns to swing it across Ghost’s skull, his wrist is grabbed by the big guy, and Cortez is scooped up and slammed down on the shrapnel from the very bottles that bloodied Ghost Machine moments ago! “Looks like Machine stole a page out of that “adapt to your surroundings” handbook!” Todd writhes in pain on the ground, the sharp points of the shrapnel digging through his wifebeater and into his back. Dazed and bloodied, Ghost Machine knocks a patron off his bar stool and grabs it, bringing it down across Cortez’s back as he’s pushing himself up to his feet. Cortez falls back down in a heap, and Ghost Machine raises his arms and lets out a loud, proud growl before pulling Cortez up off the ground and pressing him over his head…then hurling the Urban Legend over the bar and crashing into the wall of bottles behind it! “Thank God for damage bills!” “Uh, King…I don’t know if this place is covered by SWF corporate insurance.” “What…why not?” “Think about it. How good would it look to have our company filing claims to repair a whorehouse?” “Valid point, Peter.” Machine continues to work himself up, wiping the blood off his forehead which should prove that maybe, just maybe, he’s not a robot. Cortez meanwhile, is drenched in irony, as the straight edge superstar is currently covered in liquor, the spoils of being tossed into the wall of a bar. Machine uses his size to his advantage, leaning over the bar…but as he exposes his head, Cortez reaches up and yanks the beverage gun from it’s holster, using the cord to choke Machine! Cortez pulls it tightly, trying to suffocate the big man, while taking what’s left of the liquor and pouring it all over Machine’s body. “Hey, I saw a guy do this on Cinemax once, only…” “King, it’s not like that. At least I’d hope not.” “True. Crunk would be pretty pissed, no?” “…” The sight of a big man covered in liquor and gasping for air might not be an odd site in the Cassa Rosso, but in the SWF, it’s not something you see every day. Cortez stands up and staggers out from behind the bar, bloodied from the back of his head and down the back, with liquor and blood stains merging on his wifebeater. Machine remains draped over the bar, trying to un-strangle himself, while Cortez notices Cigar Man about to light up again…and ganks his Zippo! “That poor guy can’t win tonight.” Flustered, the man barks at Cortez, but all Todd needs to do is pretend his moving towards him to get the man to fall on his ass in fear. The guy scoots away, and Cortez starts motioning for everyone to get back, as he swipes the lighter open and drops it on Ghost Machine’s back, SETTING HIM ON FIRE~! “My God, he’s on fire!” “Who are you, Dick Vitale?” Machine panics, flailing his arms around and looking to put the fire out, although the crowd that has filled Cassa Rosso panics, moving as far away from the human torch as possible. Machine clears a path, storming in circles looking for something to put the fire out, and then finds a holy grail of sorts…a penis shaped water fountain. Something like that is just too good to pass up, but for a guy on fire, it’s heaven sent, and Ghost Machine goes charging towards the phallic symbol and flops right into the water, rolling around as water spews from the tip of the sculptured genitalia. “He’s in the penis pool!” “Heh, oh man, Pete, congratulations. I think you just gave us something for the Classic Quotes ballot this year.” Finally breathing normally and not on fire, Ghost Machine slowly rises from the fountain like a horror movie monster ready to continue his rampage…until he’s cracked in the face with a superkick from Todd Cortez, which sends him falling back into the water! Cortez then dives in himself, landing on top of Ghost Machine and calling Jefferson Harding over quickly to count the pin! ONE! TWO! THR…NO! Ghost Machine pushes Cortez off of him! “Yes folks, only in the SWF can you fight dirty and stay clean at the same time!” The waters become stained red with the blood of both competitors, and a drenched Cortez crawls to the edge of the fountain, contemplating his next move. Seeing a woman nearby straddling a patron and playfully toying with his belt, Cortez falls over the edge to the floor and crawls across the room a bit before getting to his feet and coming by, yanking the belt right off the man’s pants himself. Hopefully because he’s in a drunken state, the man tries to slip Todd a $20, but the honorable Cortez refuses, leaving the money to go to the oldest profession in the book. As he walks back towards the fountain, he wraps the belt around his fist with the belt buckle exposed, and the metal prong sticking out…the same tactic used against Dace Night months back in the Rumble In The Pit! Seeing Ghost Machine pushing himself up and trying to step out of the fountain, Cortez runs across the room and hops up on the fountain, jogging across the ledge before leaping into the air and ramming the belt-covered fist into the back of Machine’s head! The big man tumbles over the side of the fountain and to the floor, and instantly Cortez pounces on him, resting on his shoulders and pummeling him with punches, opening up a cut on his forehead and drawing ounces of blood from his body! “Cortez is attacking Ghost Machine with such viciousness here, he’s completely destroying his adversary!” “Remember what Mike Van Siclen told Cortez earlier this week…if he’s going to have Landon Maddix on the brain, he needs to channel that into his other matches. Right now Todd Cortez isn’t pouncing on Ghost Machine…in his head, that’s Landon Maddix who is a bloody mess on the floor!” After God knows how many punches, Cortez stands up on his own accord, leaving Ghost Machine’s face completely covered in red. Cortez then reaches down and turns the big man over, unraveling the belt from around his fist and wrapping it around Ghost Machine’s throat, pulling back as far as he can and once again strangling the big man! “A blatant chokehold, but it’s all legal tonight!” “Well, except for that one girl who came up to us earlier. You cannot tell me she’s really 19.” Cortez wrenches back, gritting his teeth as his hands cling to the belt, blocking the air supply of the supposed robotic wrestler. Ghost Machine coughs and gags, and winds up choking on his own blood, as it drips into his mouth while he tries to suck any air that he can back into his body. The big man tries to power up, pushing up with Cortez seated on his back, but Cortez acts fast, wrapping his legs around Ghost Machine in a grapevine and pulling back, still using the belt to choke him out! The crowd gathers around the sadistic visual, watching as Cortez keeps the belt tight around his throat, and orders Harding to check on Machine’s status. Wary of touching a liquor and blood soaked monster (and really, should that be the only thing anyone should be wary of touching in this environment?), Harding limply grabs the hand of Machine and pulls his arm up, then watches it drop back down. A second time, same result. Harding lifts for the third time, and the crowd waits with baited breath… “One more drop and he’s done for.” “You mean Machine, or the guy in room…” “KING.” Harding grabs the hand of Ghost Machine for what could be one last time, lifting his arm into the air, while Todd Cortez keeps the stranglehold applied… …AND IT DROPS! Harding quickly motions for the bell to be rung, and Cortez rolls Ghost Machine away from him, standing up and getting his hand raised by Harding. “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, the Urban Legend, TODDDDDDDDDDDDDD CORRRRRRRRRRRTEZZZZZZZZZZZZ!” Funyon bellows out the official ruling of the contest, but Cortez starts to make his way back towards ringside, and slides into the ring. As Funyon is exiting, Todd calls over to him, and motions for the mic. Funyon gladly obliges, and Todd Cortez waits for the cheering patrons to settle down before speaking. “This isn’t like Cortez.” Cortez breathes heavy as the mic hovers near his lips, and he looks around the room. “Maddix. Landon Maddix. Brother, you know I’ve got you on the brain, and I hope you’re watching this. I hope you’re paying close attention to Todd Cortez these days, because I want you to see what I’m doing. I want you to see what I’m all about now, and I want you to sleep at night knowing one thing, Landon; if I’m going to do something like what I did tonight to Ghost Machine, just imagine what I’m going to do to you.” Cortez drops the mic and tears off his stained wifebeater, dropping it in the ring as before exiting, again drawing a large pop from the crowd. “Well, definitely some strong words from Todd Cortez.” “He’s got a point, Pete. Landon Maddix is responsible for this vicious streak, and it could come back to bite him in the ass.” “I didn’t know he was into that kind of thing.” ”Pete?” “What, you’re the only one who can make the sex jokes tonight? Give me some credit. Fans, we’ll be back, after this.”

“Well hi their little lady would you like to…” King goes to say before being interrupted. “King we are on their air!” Pete shouts. “What! Um, ugh…you know forget it.” King gives up is explanation attempt. Pete clears his throat, “Well anyway folks tonight Storm is taking place in the exotic Cassa Rosso. And opening the show tonight is a SWF Hardcore Title match, but with a little bit flavor.” Longdogger says trying not to stare at some of the more curvy members of the crowd. “That’s right.” King composes himself, “Zyon and his opponent JJ Johnson will have to pick one of Cassa Rosso’s…ugh…employees. Yeah, employees to be their partner.” Suicide King says. “Ladies and gentlemen the opening bout is for the SWF Hardcore Championship!!” “Let’s Do This Now” hits the club’s sound system as lights flash an alternating red and white. Sparkles fall from the ceiling and rise through the floor causing the SWF staff to panic cause of the possible fire hazard. The possible fire hazard though doesn’t stop JJ Johnson from stepping through the curtain and walking through the sparks. The former UFC competitor performs a crucifix taunt before walking down to the ring with his hood shadowing his face. “Coming to the ring hailing from Windsor, Ontario, Canada. The challenger JJ JOHNSON!!!” Funyon announces to the packed house as JJ Johnson walks to the top of the ring steps and peels back his hood. Johnson’s determined face now revealed enters the ring…with pyro missing. “I’m guessing Johnson wasn’t allowed his ring pyro.” Pete says. “Well obviously it’s not there is it?” King rhetorically asks. Johnson though finishes his entrance by doing a crucifix taunt on a random turnbuckle. The club’s crowd boos showing that most are fans of the show. Johnson hops back into the ring as the erotic lights in the club dim… “I’m Born.” “I’m Alive.” “I Breathe.” The words on the smaller than usual Smarktron appear and excite the crowd. “Vitamin” kicks into full gear as the SWF Hardcore Champion makes his way through the curtain. Zyon pauses at the top of the ramp as he looks at his surrounding and shrugs his shoulders. The Unique Youth then charges the ring and leaps on to the ring apron where he energetically flips over the ropes and into the ring. The people in the club are on their feet cheering as Zyon head bangs and raises his title into the air. “The hardcore champ looking like he is enjoying himself.” Pete says. “Hey he looks a little bit young to be in here.” King jokes. “In the ring hailing from Elkhart, Indiana. The SWF HARDCORE CHAMPION, ZYYYON!!!! “YEAAHHHH!!!” The fans in the venue cheer as the lights in the arena flicker back on. “And now their tag team partners. Both ladies hailing from the Red Light District, Cassa Rosso brings to you Shana and Chrystal.” Funyon announces trying to keep a straight face as the two lovely ladies enter the ring. Shana enters the same corner as Zyon while by default Chrystal is with JJ Johnson. “Dang, if I wasn’t retired I would pick either…hell I’d pick both of them to be my tag partner anyday.” King says losing control of himself. Now for a little visual. Both ladies are wearing skimpy SWF women’s wrestling gear. Both are…well endowed when it comes to physical features. And well…needless to say both have ZERO wrestling training. JJ Johnson shows his partner to the outside, as does Zyon. Both men grinning ear-to-ear as they watch their lady partners exit the ring. JJ Johnson faces Zyon as both men wait for the bell… Ding. Ding. DING! “Man I knew I should have been a referee, but instead I got stuck with you.” King says with disappointment in his voice. “Hey let me be the first to tell you that I am a handsome devil, just ask all the ladies.” Pete goes into suave mode. And King shoots him down, “Toilet Cleaner, your mom doesn’t count.” BURN! Anyway back in the ring…both ladies have found their way back in the ring. Zyon and Johnson have a look of “oh yeah I forgot” come across their face. “Ah that’s right this is a TORNADO tag match.” Pete points out. Zyon shrugs his shoulder as a look of intensity comes over his face, and moments later he is charging his opponent. JJ Johnson though side steps Zyon who puts on the breaks before attacking the untrained Chrystal. Chrystal though doesn’t respond kindly as she kicks Zyon in the shin. The youth rubs his ankle with a look that resembles irritation rather than pain. Zyon just shakes his head as he turns into Johnson who whips him into the ropes. Zyon runs toward Johnson and places his foot down into the mat and pivots to the side allowing him to side step whatever Johnson had planned. The hardcore champ runs up to the opposite ropes and springboard backward with his elbow sticking out. CLUB! JJ Johnson clubs Zyon out of the air with his arm. Zyon falls to the mat on all fours as he soon finds himself gasping for air after the former hardcore champ kicks his opponent in the ribs. Zyon’s eye bulge out as he quickly rolls out of the ring leaving JJ Johnson to give chase. In the ring though are Shana and Chrystal who both notice that they are being watched by everyone in the club. The two ladies make their way toward each other before Shana leaps and tackles Chrystal to the ground. “YEWHOOOOOEAH!!!!” The fans cheer as the ladies who offer exotic services roll around on the mat. “CATFIIIIIGHT!!!!” King shills. Pete looks at King, “King c’mon we are definitely more original than that.” King takes a moment to think, “Oh yeah, MOTHER FU(Bleep) CATFIGHT!! Better?” Pete is shocked, “Yeah…sorry about that mom.” Outside the ring Johnson uses his martial arts background and places a knee to the gut of his opponent. Johnson then uses his SWF hardcore background by whipping Zyon back first into the steel guardrail. The guardrail is obviously smaller than usual, but is used to protect everyone inside the club. Zyon grinds his teeth as his back shakes the steel before being pulled away. The former UFC fighter again tries to knee Zyon in the gut, but the youth blocks it before placing a forearm to the face of his opponent. JJ Johnson falls to the ground by one forearm??? “Wow I guess Zyon is a lot stronger than most of us thought.” Pete says. Zyon takes a moment to look inside the ring making sure his partner isn’t in trouble. The Unique Youth smiles when he sees the exact opposite as Shana chokes Chrystal with a piece of cloth. Zyon gets back to the task at hand as he bends over and lifts Johnson up… CRACK!!! Zyon is stunned as he falls backward clutching his face. The camera turns to reveal that Johnson has a dented steel chair in his hands. JJ Johnson drops the chair as he walks over to Zyon and forces the youth back to his feet. King smiles at what he sees, “Yes JJ Johnson has given the crowd its first view of blood.” That’s right the hardcore champ has had his blood spilled. Johnson continues his offense by slamming Zyon face first into the steel steps. Blood stains the steps as the youth’s face bounces off the cold steel. The quick former UFC competitor leaps on to the apron and as Zyon staggers away from the steps he jumps into the air. The high flying Johnson comes down on Zyon with a strong lariat! Johnson turns the bloody Zyon on to his stomach exposing his back. Johnson then shows his attentions to the audience as he muscles the steel steps into the air. “Is he looking to cripple the kid?” Pete wonders, but already knows the answer. Johnson hovers over his opponent, but before he can do anything life threatening Shana darts toward Johnson and actually performs a baseball slide. The sliding dropkick kicks the steel steps back into Johnson who immediately drops the stair and grabs at his left eye. “YEAAAHHH” The fans cheer Shana who soaks in the spotlight before turning around… SMACK!! Chrystal smacks Shana before grabbing her by the throat and forcing her back into the turnbuckle. Chrystal then dreams she is Ric Flair as she attempts a knife edge chop. Sm…ok not even a sound. “I think Ric Flair is rolling around in his grave somewhere.” King says shaking his head. Pete though once again has to play clean up duty, “King! Ric Flair is still alive!” King blinks, “Really? Wow…you learn something new everyday.” Chrystal even though her choice of employment may be rather stupid to people who are against prostitution proves she has brains. The JJ Johnson picked partner realizes that the knife edge chop didn’t work, so how about the overhand slap? SMACKKK! “Oh my, I don’t care if you’re alive or dead you just had to feel that.” King says cringing. Shana collapses in the corner clutching her chest. Back on the outside of the ring Johnson has recovered, but has a major cut above his left eye. The blood trickles out as the former UFC fighter lifts Zyon up, but is greeted by a European uppercut. Johnson’s head bobbles up and down allowing Zyon to bend over and grab a trash can full of weapons from under the ring. “YEAAHHH!!” The fans cheer the carnage that is sure to come as Zyon turns… CRACK!! The trash can is suddenly Yakuza booted into the face of Zyon. People in the front row cringe as the steel is imprinted by Zyon’s busted face. Zyon falls to the ground as Johnson looks through the trash can and picks out exactly what he wants… “Oh great JJ Johnson off all people has found his way to a Kendo stick.” Pete is worried. Johnson then looks into the ring and throws the miniature dumpster full of weapons into the ring. Chrystal notices and nods to the man who chose her to participate in the carnage. Chrystal continues the beat down on Shana by tauntingly licking her hand before shooting it toward the chest of Shana. Shana though crouches and then crawls away causing Chrystal to hurt her hand as she smacks the harder than you would think turnbuckle pad. Johnson’s female partner shakes her hand quite a few times before looking up and realizing the trouble she is in. “Chrystal better watch out, being hit with a shovel is worse than being arrested in most cases.” King says putting down the occupation of these ladies. Shana pulled a shovel from the trash can allowing Chrystal to quickly turn and try to leave. However, the untrained “wrestler” gets caught up in the ropes. Shana nods her head to the crowd getting their support. “YEAAAHHH!!!” Shana then raises the shovel and powers it down…right into the hand of JJ Johnson!! Johnson gives a scared Shana a death stare before snatching the shovel away from her. Johnson shakes his head from side to side as Shana falls to the mat terrified. Johnson though finds himself having the shovel forced against his throat as Zyon has found his way on to the apron. The hardcore cruiserweight wraps his foot around the leg of Johnson and pins the handle of the shovel to the throat of his opponent. The fans rise to their feet as Zyon jumps backward forcing his opponent back as well. CRASH!!! “YEAHHHHH!!!” The fans explode as Zyon slams Johnson into the front of the announce table with a modified Russian leg sweep!!! “Oh damn that was close.” King says not even caring about the two wrestlers. “Zyon just hurt himself and Johnson by crashing into the front of our announce table.” Pete says excited. Zyon falls to the side clutching his back as Johnson does basically the same thing. Back in the ring both ladies are momentarily stunned at what they just saw. The shock is quickly broke when Chrystal grabs Shana by her long blond hair and snapmares her over. Chrystal then bends the lines of reality by applying a chin lock on Shana. “A chin lock applied by Chrystal who to my knowledge is totally untrained.” Pete announces stunned. “Scott Pretzler would be proud.” King mentions his favorite SWF performer. “BOOO!!” The fans boo Chrystal who just shouts obscenities back at the crowd. Shana tries to break Chrystal’s tight grip, but before she can Chrystal does her a favor and releases the chin lock. Shana gasps for breath proving that the chin lock was really a modified choke, but since it is Storm the choke was definitely legal. Back outside Zyon has made it back to his feet as he forces JJ Johnson to his. Before Zyon can even think of what to do next Johnson gives King and Pete an up close and personal looks at Zyon crimson face. The hardcore martial artist grabs Zyon by the hair and slams him face first into the announce table. “Well folks this is indeed a sight to behold.” Pete announces uncomfortably. Zyon slides off of the table and back on to the ground on all fours. JJ Johnson then looks at Suicide King and smiles through his own bloody face. Johnson then lifts King’s teleprompter and steps away. “Hey damnit why didn’t you take drain clogger’s!” King says with a passion! Johnson obviously doesn’t hear the Suicide King as he stalks Zyon who has pushed himself to his feet. “Turn around.” Fans shout, but before the youth can Johnson whacks Zyon in the back of the neck with the teleprompter. Zyon falls down clutching his neck as Johnson drops the teleprompter. The submission specialist then locks Zyon in a reverse face lock and pulls back completing a dragon sleeper! Zyon squirms to get free as Johnson applies pressure hoping for Zyon to either pass out or tap out. Shana is of no help as Chrystal continues her dominance by pushing Shana back into the turnbuckle. From there the prostitute kicks Shana in the ribs getting a few members of the audience to cringe on impact. “Pete, I was previously informed that most women know some sort of kicking techniques. Which means that they are definitely more skilled than Chuck Norris.” King with a ridiculous Chuck Norris joke. Johnson continues to apply the dragon sleeper, which has now gone sloppy as Zyon forces himself to his feet. I can’t tap… Zyon thinks to himself as the youth surprises everyone and pulls his feet into the air. Zyon putting his body in a dangerous position then kicks off the steel ring post and flips over the shoulder of Johnson and on to the ring apron!!! “NOW that was better than anything Chuck Norris can do!” Pete happily says. Johnson turns his head just in time for Zyon to leap off the apron and wraps his legs around his opponent’s head. Zyon then takes Johnson down with a hurricarana causing the former hardcore champ to flip and smack his back on the ground. “YEAAAHHH!” The people cheer as Zyon searches and lifts King’s teleprompter from the ground. Zyon’s neck at this point is definitely bugging out, but the youth ignores the pain for the time being. The reigning hardcore champ waits for Johnson to rise to his feet before BUSTING the teleprompter over the head of Johnson!!!! Pieces fly everywhere as Johnson falls to the ground. Zyon drops on his opponent for the cover… ONE… TWO… Kickout. “Oh man that was a damn close near fall.” Pete says. Zyon is just as surprised as the Longdogga. Back in the ring Shana has actually gotten control of Chrystal by dumping her to the outside. Shana then exits the ring and stands on the apron. The fans cheer for something spectacular, but all they get is a failed attempt at a double ax handle. Shana goes for said move, but takes a kick to the gut instead. CRACK!! Chrystal shows her mean streak by then grabbing Shana and lunching her face first into the ring post. “Well I’m sure she just lost some potential customers.” King says. Pete laughs, “That’s right now we all know King won’t be wanting Shana’s services.” Chrystal sees the opportunity and covers Shana. ONE… TWO…break up. Zyon runs over and pulls Chrystal off before turning into a Yakuza kick attempt from JJ Johnson. Zyon though dodges causing Chrystal to eat boot!! Johnson though shrugs his shoulders and turns in time to kick Zyon in the gut. The ex UFC fighter then rolls Zyon into the ring. Johnson then pulls himself on to the ring apron and springboards into the air as Zyon picks a really bad time to get to his feet. The youth looks into the air and sees Johnson coming down like he’s the angle of death. The angle of death then proceeds to blast Zyon in the chest with a missile dropkick!! Zyon gets knocked to the mat as Johnson makes his way toward the dumpster of weapons and pulls out a baseball bat. Johnson then gets into a batting stance and as Zyon pulls himself up smacks the bat across the neck of his opponent. “Homerun!!” King shouts. Zyon falls back down to the mat as Johnson lifts Zyon to his knees before choking Zyon from behind with the baseball bat. Johnson then modifies the choke by placing the point of his knee into the back of Zyon causing quite the arch. “Now that just looks like it hurts.” King says. Pete is clearly worried, “Hurt, yeah that and the hardcore champion can’t even breathe. Look he’s turning purple for crying out loud.” A bloody and purple Zyon begins to pass out as Johnson continues to menacingly pull back on the choke. “Let’s Go Zyon!!” The show room breaks out into a chant that may just be a little too late. HOWEVER, Shana has found her way back to her feet. The young lady rolls into the ring and grabs a lead pipe from the trash can. The roughneck JJ Johnson has no idea on what is about to happen. CLANK! Shana hits Johnson across the back of his head with the lead pipe causing him to immediately let Zyon go. Zyon falls to the mat gasping for air as color returns to his skin. Johnson though has not yet fallen to the mat as he clutches the back of his head and turns to see a frightened woman. Shana drops the pipe and screams for Johnson to stay away. The angry man who gives NOBODY mercy though slowly makes his way toward his female opponent. Johnson visibly shaken from the pipe attack staggers from side to side before wrapping his hand around the throat of Shana’s. Zyon sees this as an opening as the youth rises to his feet and leaps forward…SNAPPPP!!! Zyon hits his patented dropkick sending Johnson into Shana who flies to the outside!! Zyon nips up… “YEAAAHHH!!!” The crowd cheers soon quiet though as Zyon covers his neck as he makes his way toward Johnson who has also gotten to his feet. Johnson still is railing from the lead pipe shot staggers back into Zyon who delivers a “Decline” on to a bloody JJ Johnson!! “Decline, brought to you by Zyon straight from the red light district!!” Pete shills Zyon opts to not go for the cover though. The youth notices that Johnson is awfully close to the ropes anyway. Zyon begins to ascend the turnbuckle and looks to perform his “Dawn” 450 splash! CRACK!!! Instead a shovel is planted into the back of Zyon’s neck. Zyon instantly falls from the ropes as the camera shows Chrystal with the shovel from earlier. Chrystal goes to get into the ring, but Johnson who is now back to his senses waves her off. Johnson then whispers something into the ear of Chrystal. “Hey shouldn’t she be whispering in his ear.” King wonders. Chrystal nods as she looks under the ring and pulls out a table!!!! “YEAAHHHH!!!” The fans cheer as Chrystal tries to lift the table up, but she can’t. Chrystal goes to try again, but before she can Shana sneaks up and rolls Chrystal up!!! No!!! JJ Johnson shouts as the ref hurries to the outside and starts the count. ONE… TWO… Kickout!!! “Another close call. I am on the edge of my seat.” Pete shills again. King is amused, “Folks he is not lying.” Johnson claps his hands together and sighs as he exits the ring and berates his tag team partner. Johnson then shocks the 60 or so people in attendance by placing a straight kick to the face of Shana that lands SWIFTLY!! “BOOOOO!!!” The people in the show room are visibly angry as Shana falls to the ground. Johnson then lifts the table up and easily pushes it into the ring… CRACK!!! Or that was at least the idea. Zyon though recovered and sent the table in the face of JJ Johnson with a desperate baseball slide. Johnson blindly staggers backward as Zyon gets on his feet and climbs the top rope. Johnson holds himself up on the safety rail that separates the show room and the ring room. Zyon though doesn’t notice the possible danger that he is putting himself in when he leaps off the top rope. The youth after a second of balancing himself jumps off the top and looks for an elevated cross body, but finds himself trapped in the arms of JJ Johnson. “He caught him.” Pete states the obvious. Johnson uses some brute strength and body slams Zyon on to the steel guard rail. Zyon’s back bends across the rail before falling back on to the ground. Johnson wastes no time and goes for the cover… ONE… TWO… Kickout. “YEAAHHHH!!!” The employees and tourist cheer as Johnson lifts Zyon back to his feet and goes for a SWIFT straight kick that he fed Shana earlier. Zyon though reacts in time to block the strike and subsequently spins Johnson around. Zyon then leaps on to the ring apron, which is a very big mistake since Johnson does the exact same thing. The former UFC fighter though may be the one making the mistake since Zyon gets off the first strike. Johnson takes the elbow to his head before being met with a forearm. Zyon then energetically runs down his side of the apron and ascends the top rope. “Watch out Johnson he could be going for that No Regard move he does.” King shouts trying to warn the man that stole his teleprompter. The former hardcore champ doesn’t give Zyon the chance to do his flashy stuff since he runs up and crotches Zyon on to the top rope. Zyon’s back is facing the ring as he tries to compose himself after being dropped crotch first across the top rope. JJ Johnson though stays on the attack by GOING OUT OF HIS MIND. The exciting martial artist grabs the top rope and springboards into the air. While in the atmosphere he wraps his legs around the head of Zyon and drills him into the mat with a REVERSE HURRICARANA!!! “Oh man…” Pete mutters. CLAP CLAP CLAP Tourist and most employees clap at what they just saw as Zyon was absolutely spiked into the mat. Chrystal claps as Johnson rolls on to Zyon and goes for the cover… ONE… TWO… THREE…Kickout. “He got him, wait a minute no he didn’t.” King just got caught shilling. Pete imitates King, “King, that was my ear…god.” The mat is stained in blood as Johnson rises to his feet and again orders Chrystal to put the table in the ring. Again though the martial artist has his plans foiled by Shana who attacks Chrystal from behind. The youthful hooker grabs Chrystal and launches her face first into the ring apron. Shana faces Johnson showing off the bloody nose he gave her. She then does what Chrystal could not and pushes the table into the ring. Johnson stares at Shana in confusion as the lady enters the ring with a bit more swagger to her walk. Shana then obviously proves she is mental by getting verbal with the throat injured JJ Johnson. “Is she psycho?” King wonders. Pete though has an explanation, “It’s simple King. The lady is pissed. She probably takes a beating like that on a daily basis from criminals and scum the like. Shana just took what JJ Johnson can dish out and now she is no longer afraid.” Johnson blinks as Shana goes to kick the former UFC fighter in the genitals!!! Johnson though catches her foot and spins her into an ankle lock! Shana screams as she digs her nails into the mat knowing what is on the line. Shana fights as long as she can, but suddenly it hits her. Why should I care about some wrestler? Johnson applies more pressure. Yeah that’s right. There is no way I’m risking injury. And with that Shana raises her hand… CRACK!!! And Zyon blasts Johnson with a trash can! The former hardcore champ lets go of Shana before falling to the side. Shana crawls away from the action leaving Zyon to make his way up the top rope. The hardcore champ reaches the top rope and clutches his neck for a moment before leaping off the turnbuckle… FINALLLL FLASHHHH!!!! “He nails it. It’s over!!” Pete shills. “Damnit!” King yells. Zyon clutches his back for a moment before falling back for the cover… ONE… TWO… THREE!!!!!Ohmygodaprostituebrokeitup!! “YESSSSS!” King shouts. “Chrystal just came out of nowhere and broke the count up.” Pete says shocked. King continues, “I guess she doesn’t want her fifteen minutes of fame to end in a dud, which I’m sure you know all about drain clogger, HA!” Chrystal did break the pin fall up by smacking Zyon in the rib with a lead pipe. Chrystal then sets the table up as Zyon rises to his feet clutching his rib. Before Zyon can attack Chrystal Johnson has made it back up and takes Zyon to the mat with a bulldog on to a trash can lid!! “OHHH!!” The 60 or so people shout as Zyon’s blood stains the silver. Johnson then lifts the motionless body of Zyon off the mat and rolls it on to the table. Johnson then has a sinister smile as he walks over to Chrystal and lifts her into the air???? The crazed former hardcore champ then places Chrystal on the top rope… “Oh my…he wants Chrystal to jump on to Zyon. The crazy SOB!!” Pete freaks out. “Hey he’s not crazy. He’s Canadian.” King making friends with foreigners. Chrystal at first is EXTREMELY hesitant, but Johnson gives her a stare that would horrify death itself. Chrystal without having better judgment leaps off the table and doesn’t fly through the air long… SMASHCRACKKKK!!!!! “ZYON MOVES!!” Pete shills. That’s right Zyon dodged, as Chrystal lies unconscious in the pile of rubble that used to be a table. The crazy Canadian JJ Johnson could care less as he quickly scoops Zyon up and places him into a T-bone and drops him with the UDV!!!! “Victory by unanimous decision. Looked like you celebrated too early.” King says with a grin. Zyon’s neck is once again jammed by the spiking of his head. Johnson then performs a throat slash signaling the end. The former hardcore champ turns to make his way to the turnbuckle and to possibly perform the Air Canada. Shana though grabs Johnson by the wrist and…FLASHES the man!!!!! “WHOOOOO!!! Now that is the Final Flash!” King shouts. Pete is totally stunned, “What the…sorry North American television censors.” Johnson likes what he sees as the fans in the show room are freaking out as well. “WHOOOOOOYEAHHH!!!” Johnson though soon snaps out of his daze and turns back toward Zyon… SHOTGUN POP!!!!! Zyon surprises Johnson with a HELLACIOUS chair shot that echoes like a shotgun was just fired. Zyon drops the dented blood stained chair. Johnson remarkably remains on his feet in a daze before being pulled into a head scissor and having his lights turn out… “Final Hour!!!!” Pete shills. Zyon hits the spike cradle piledriver and quickly goes for the cover as the crowd counts along with referee Ike Vawn. ONE…. TWO…. THREEEEEE!!!!! Ding Ding DING!!! “Your winners Shana and STILL Hardcore Champion ZYYYYON!!!! “YEAHHHH!!!” The crowd cheers from the show room as a bloody Zyon rises to his feet and is given his title back. Shana limps toward her partner and the two give people watching what they want… A kiss. Zyon quickly turns away not wanting to go too far. “Vitamin” plays as Zyon looks at his SWF Hardcore Title and gives it to Shana. The ring is covered in blood and the fallen bodies of Chrystal and JJ Johnson who gave the fans entertainment even in a losing effort. Shana looks at the gold title and raises it toward the show room getting full appreciation of the tourists and her peers. “What is this? A prostitute and a wrestler sharing a corny moment like this.” King has lost all hope for mankind. Pete smiles, “You know this is a great moment.” Of course great moment this is if you can ignore the blood and scantly clad women. Shana continues to pose as Zyon even though bloody and injured can’t help, but smile at the Cassa Rosso employee. Shana turns toward Zyon and smiles a magnificent grin before giving the belt back to its owner. Zyon then raises the belt high in the air getting the appreciation from those around him and most likely everyone at home. The Unique Youth exits the ring, and is followed by Shana to the back. “Looks like Zyon may continue his great night later.” “How can a spot monkey get so lucky???” COMMERCIAL

"PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!" ...WAAAAAHHHHH... *DUM DUM* "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" The kinky, perverted throng (that's thRong) of fans in the Cassa Rosso Sex Club go wild in dislike, as Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix emerges through the curtains. Hearing the boos, Maddix sneers...presumably now okay with the reaction, unlike last week. After all, who cares if a bunch of perverts like you or not? "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce at this time...LANDON! "LA CUCARACHA!" MADDIX!!" "BOOOOOOOOOO!!" Funyon's announcement is jeered to the max, as Maddix strolls towards the ring...with the occassional glance over his shoulder to make sure a certain Urban Legend isn't anywhere around him. "Well, I guess Maddix has something to say here...ahead of his huge match with ELM tonight." "Yeah, yeah, whoopie-do." ".....of course, he was booked in Sweden, but ended up getting chased out of the arena with his tail between his legs by Todd Cortez. Which apparently did sit well with the booking commitee, as he was basically told not to turn up on Smarkdown by Tom Flesher." "Between him and Dangerous, I'm wondering who hates me enough to keep giving all these people mic-time." "Bitter?" "Nope. Just bored with it all." Rolling into the ring, Maddix pulls himself to his feet and calls over Funyon...in order to snatch the microphone from his hands. Taking the hint, the SWF's supreme ring announcer skulks off. Leaving Maddix to check that the microphone is actually on before waiting for a little hush. "So, Martial Law is 'history'." Maddix begins, a slight sneering edge in his voice as he directs himself to the camera rather than the fans. "A few short weeks ago, we were the SWF World Tag Team Champions. Riding high, back on the proverbial track. It was all going so well. And now, I'm standing here with everything I had ripped away from me. International Title, gone. Tag Titles, gone. Tag team partner, gone. Manager...gone. My self respect? My dignity? They're gone too. And now, here I am, I'm standing here and I'm wondering, quite frankly, what the point of any of this is anymore." Maddix turns on his heels and paces the ring a little bit, as the fans shout random bits of abuse at him. "You see, it's dawned on me...I don't NEED to be humiliated week in and week out by people who are supposed to be my friends. I'm an SJL Grand Slam winner. I gave the SJL Television more credibility than it had possessed since TNT was a Junior Leaguer! I was the last ever SJL World and European Champion. Three time, longest reigning ICTV Champion in history. Two time USJL Champion. Tag Champion. Cold Front Classic winner. The man who retired Tom Flesher. One of only FIVE SWF Clusterf*ck winners. First man to ever make Toxxic submit in his professional career. Former World..Heavyweight..Champion. I have done it all in this company and I'm only twenty one years old!! My success is such, I don't need the SWF anymore. I don't need the embarrassment and the humiliation!" "What's he getting at?" asks Pete nervously. "Leaving the SWF would be the best thing I could ever do! Because after everything I've done for you people and for this company...NOBODY RESPECTS ME!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Any company in the world would be happy to have me on the roster and would make sure I was completely content. They wouldn't give ROBOTS title shots over me! They wouldn't feed me washed up old nobodies at Pay Per Views, because there rosters wouldn't stretch to giving Landon Maddix a half decent showing. And lord knows I'd get more respect there than from you poseur, so-called fans. Leaving the SWF would leave all this crap behind me." Maddix turns his head and smiles, brushing back his hair. "But I'm not gonna do that." "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" "See, if there's one thing a cockroach doesn't do...it's crawl up and die. A cockroach takes everything you people has to offer and lives on, defiantly. And I'm gonna do just the same. If everyone in this federation expects me to just crawl up and die, they're in for one hell of a shock, because they obviously don't know me very well. This mess that I'm in will not go unforgotten and it will not go unforgiven. It'd be easy for me to just up and leave this place. Real easy. But instead, I am going to stay right here and I am going to ressurect everything I had and everything that has been taken away from me." Maddix walks closer to the camera, eyes piercing through the lens. "Todd Cortez...it starts with you. Before Martial Law came along, I was doing perfectly okay on my own and I certainly didn't need any of your help. But you BEGGED me, you PLEADED with me to help you out. Because you were nothing without Mike Van Siclen. Nothing. Destined to be an 'also ran'. You knew you didn't have what it takes to beat Toxxic. Deep down, you knew that Alan Clark didn't have what it took to beat Toxxic. So you looked down the SWF roster, looked at all the names, searching for someone to help you get back at the man that took away Mike Van Meal-Ticket. As luck would have it, when you came across my name, I was gunning for Toxxic and the SWF World Title. Right place, right time. How you convinced me to join up with you and Alan Clark, I really don't know. But you did. And it was the SINGLE BEST decision of your LIFE! I won you the World Tag Team Titles. I ran Martial Law. And I helped you out when you needed me. Well now, you've thrown that all back in my face. And you're going to regret it." A smile forms on Maddix's face, as he leans against the ring ropes. "I'm sure you believe you and Megan are better off now. Now that I'm out of the way, you can do what you want, when you want. And that's gonna screw you over. Megan's a fickle chick. She's all about excitement and adventure, whenever and wherever she can get it, ever since she got out of Todd Royal's spell. You're a cute guy. Or, so I hear. You've got your bleeding hearts sob-story of a life, clean-cut lifestyle, nice abs, neat hair...hey, why wouldn't Megan jump at the chance to get with you behind my back? A little adventure. A little danger. Only, with me out of the way, the danger's gone. And now it's just you and her. Out in the open. You realise, Todd, there's been just one constant in her life for the past eighteen months...and that's ME! I've saved her from Chris Card, helped her train to wrestle, been there when she needed a friend. I've always been there. And eventually, she'll be back again. See, Todd, you're nothing but an accessory to Megan. She's like child with a new toy. And when she's done with her new toy, she'll come back to her favourite toy...me." "He's a modest guy, ain't he?" sneers King. "Right now, the only reason I'm in the SWF is to get back what's mine." Maddix continues. "So...that means, doing what it takes to make Megan realise she's best off with me. Now I've got no tag partner, I'm officially back in the World Title hunt. For real. And when I win the World Title for the second time, Megan will realise where she really belongs." Maddix smiles once more. "Oh, and Todd...you say you want me in the ring? Well, I'll gladly find the time in my schedule to extract some more revenge for your ungratefulness. If you thought the fallout for your disloyalty was one solitary superkick...you're DEAD WRONG! Because once I get you in that ring...and I BEAT you...and I DESTROY you...then Megan will realise that she belongs back with a winner, like me." "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "'Cause, you see...a broken toy is no use to anyone. And let's face it, it's hard keep someone - 'satisfied' - when you've got a broken neck. Or a broken leg. Lowblows aren't going to do you much good either. No...she'll soon realise what a mistake she's made. And she'll be back. Which'll leave you back out in the cold. And me, back on top...where everybody is gonna have to pay me a WHOLE lot more respect." "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Maddix tosses down the mic and a chorus of boos go up from the crowd, almost drowning out "Megalomaniac" completely. Ignoring them, Maddix raises his arms in the air and smiles a wide, beaming smile. Maddix then leaves the ring, still smiling away to himself as he swaggers up the makeshift aisle. "He talks like he deserves respect, which after his actions, he just doesn't." disapproves Pete. "Wow, we agree for once." "I know, I'm scared too King." Turning to the fans, Maddix flashes a last smile and poses... "YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" "Wait...IT'S TODD CORTEZ!!" screams Pete, noticing what the fans have clearly noticed, but Maddix hasn't. Maddix continues soaking up what he presumes must be his cheers, but as he turns around and comes face to face with Cortez, La Cucaracha scrambles backwards and falls on his ass! Emotionless, Cortez advances on Maddix who fearfully starts to back up and beg off. But Cortez isn't backing up. He's advancing. And he's got Maddix within grasp... ...only for Maddix to scuttle to the side, frantically finding a secondary exit and sprinting towards and then through it at top speed! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Maddix got away again! But I think Cortez is content to wait his turn, wait for his time...and wait to get his hands on his former partner." Once again, Cortez is left to watch as Maddix runs for safety and out of view, leaving The Urban Legend to again think of what tonight might have been.

-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STORM, JULY 15th, 2005, LIVE FROM THE CASSA ROSSO SEX CLUB IN AMSTERDAM'S RED LIGHT DISTRICT! The SWF's World Tour continues to a city so bad it makes Las Vegas blush - Amsterdam! Unfortunately, the Amsterdam Arena Plaza was booked, so we had to turn to one of the seedier venues, located deep in the heart of the Red Light District - the Cassa Rosso! In order for Storm to actually air in America, no illicit shows will be going on (in view of the cameras), but the lovely ladies and pathetic patrons of Cassa Rosso have graciously opened their club for the SWF to hold Storm (in exchange for good seats) - tonight we give Hardcore a whole new meaning! -=-=-=- MAIN EVENT - Best o' Five Toxxic vs. Scott Pretzler © --> Oy. Spike Jenkins. Yep. SO ANYWAY, Toxxic and Pretzler's Cruiserweight Title match had something of a disappointing conclusion, and I think it's a safe bet that a rematch is in order, but this is Storm, and STORM IS HARDCORE! The last time these two met under Hardcore rules, it was anything but - at least, until Scott Pretzler renegged on the agreement to fight clean. They go at it again tonight, and I seriously doubt Toxxic's going to want to play nice this time! -=-=-=- El Luchadore Magnifico vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix -- Two men who've fallen on what some might call "hard times". Magnifico has gone 0 for 2 in the Triple Champ Round Robin, leading many to believe (perhaps even himself) that he can't cut it anymore. And as for Maddix - well, his friendships and Martial Law have fallen apart - it's just a mess. Both men are fighting tonight to regain a little credit to their name, and maybe to let off some RAGE~! -=-=-=- Wildchild vs. Mak Francis -- Something fishy's going on with Wild and Dangerous - I suspect we'll find out what on Storm, but for the time being, we've got two Main Event caliber wrestlers both coming off hard losses - Mak lost to Johnny Dangerous, and Wildchild won-but-also-lost because of Johnny Dangerous. Foul trickery and tomfoolery is afoot, but in the meantime, these two warriors fight to earn back a little of what they lost on Smarkdown! -=-=-=- Manson vs. Jay Hawke © -- Whoops-a-daisy. Arch Griffon's got personal business to tend to, so the awesome-tastic team of Griffonosity is on hold. But that doesn't mean Manson's just going to sit on his hands - I mean, he might sit on his hands. I dunno. You'd have to ask him. But he won't be doing that on Storm, because he'll be going one-on-one with the reigning International Champion, who bested him in a tag match on Smarkdown! This bout isn't for the title, but who knows? A win from Manson could lead to... things... -=-=-=- Todd Cortez vs. Ghost Machine -- After a hot start, Ghost Machine's winning streak has gone cold. Tonight, he fights for a chance to turn his frown upside down, and in a big way - besting a man like Todd Cortez won't be easy, but it could do wonders for Ghosty's career. -=-=-=- House Rules - Red Light Rumble for the SWF Hardcore Championship Zyon © vs. JJ Johnson First off, an apology to the participants - I am so sorry for this match. But tradition dictates Storm has a House Rules Hardcore Title Match, and I am not one to fuck with tradition. Since Storm is emenating from the Prostitution Capital of the World, we thought of many disgusting and degrading things we could have our wrestlers do in the name of entertainment - unfortunately, 99% of those ideas would never make it on American Television, so we had to make due with something tamer. Storm's Hardcore Title match will be fought as a Hardcore Intergender Tornado Tag Team Match. Before the bout begins, Zyon will pick one of Cassa Rosso's finest... erm... employees... and JJ will do the same. These ladies will be your partners, boys. If Zyon or his woman scores the pin, he retains the HC title. If JJ or his woman scores the pin, JJ becomes the new HC Champion.

No, it's cool. He conveniently gave me his password so I could post and have mod abilities.