Chuck Woolery

Crossposted. I'm with Tom on this one, and I'm sure you all realize that Tom's post doesn't apply to everyone -- there's a few exceptions and we're aware and we hope that you are too, and that you don't quit because of all the bullshit you see. Jesus Christ, people, I feel like I'm one of the most emotionally mature one here and I'm only sixteen.

Hey, Sly? It's not your job to tell people who belongs and who doesn't in this federation. Shut the fuck up. As for the promo... well. It reminds me a little bit of Bo's work, and he was almost a World champion. I wish you'd tone it down a smidgen, but if you write matches show-in and show-out then you can be a time travelling pirate for all I care.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF 13TH HOUR, JUNE 12, 2005, LIVE FROM ST. PETER'S SQUARE IN THE VATICAN CITY! (10:00 PM EST, 7:00 PM PST; check local listings) (send everything to Chuck Woolery) After the strongest Smarkdown in a long time, the SWF travels from Egypt to the Vatican City for the final stop of the world-wide leg of the It's The End Of The World (And We Like It) tour, and the first stop on the European leg! Feuds have been simmering for weeks, Smarkdown brought them to a boil and added some fresh spice into the mix, and this Sunday in the Vatican, dinner is served! MAIN EVENT 30-MINUTE IRON MAN MATCH Wildchild v. "The Critic" Scott Pretzler -> And so, it all comes down to this. The number one contendership to the Cruiserweight championship happens to be on the line as well, but for these two men there is so much more at stake. After years of trying to start, revitalize, and save the Cruiserweight division, Wildchild -- with some help from Scott Pretzler -- has succeeded in bringing cruiserweight wrestling to the main event of an SWF pay-per-view. After their submissions match and their zero-gravity match, both of these men have all right to be exhausted, but they'll gut it out one last time, for one half-hour, to determine who really is the best. Rules: Twenty-count outside the ring. Pinfalls, submissions, count-outs, and disqualifications all count as one point. The person with the most points at the end of the thirty-minute round will be declared the winner. If the two men are tied after thirty minutes, there will be a thirty-second rest period followed by a sudden-death overtime. Marker: Ace309 SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Ejiro Fasaki (SWF World Heavyweight Champion) v. Lil' Buck -> And from a story of hatred to a story of... lackadaisicalness? Sorry, the word was in my head. Ejiro Fasaki's reign as World champion has been less than stellar, marked most recently by another loss to Johnny Dangerous in tag competition. Remarkably, Dangerous is unbooked tonight, and after a brief meeting, SWFCC decided that Lil' Buck would receive another shot at the champ. Can Buck pull it out this time, or will Ejiro Fasaki finally start to shine again? Rules: Standard. Marker: Chuck Woolery GRUDGE MATCH Danny Williams v. "The Franchise" Mak Francis -> Does this even need an explanation? Francis has debuted a new move. It's deadly and illegal in Utah, Montana, and the island of Puerto Rico -- luckily, none of those are stops on the second leg of our World tour. Danny Williams has called Francis out, saying that he's resorting to dishonest tactics, something like that. Personally, I wouldn't mind if Mak brought a gun to the ring and pistol-whipped people, but I like feeding into stereotypes. Anyway, Danny's going to try to beat some sense and respect into Mak, and Mak's going to make Danny bleed enough to fill the tank on an H2. Rules: Standard, as far as I know. If there's a stip, you should both know it. Marker: janusd LAST MAN STANDING Toxxic v. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins -> Spiking other people's drinks is not cool, and Toxxic is out for blood. God only knows what Toxxic took (LSD), but whatever it was it was most certainly against the rules of straight-edgedom, and anything that makes Toxxic break his Zen-like control over his body's intake is cause for a beatdown. Jenkins has been itching for his shot at Toxxic since Indonesia, and now he gets it. Careers have been ended in Last Man Standing matches... and with Toxxic's fury, it's more than likely that Spike Jenkins will be the next name on that list. Rules: Disqualifications and count-outs do not apply. A pinfall or submission is cool, but in order to win the match you must render your opponent unable to stand up for ten counts. Marker: chirs3 SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP LET MY PEOPLE GO! MATCH Arch Griffon (SWF International Champion) v. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke -> Griffon and Hawke have issues, all of which revolve around the International Championship. In Jakarta, Hawke retained his belt through rather... nefarious means, and Sean Combs was so outraged that he granted Griffon an immediate rematch. In Seychelles, Griffon made good, walking away with the belt. In the Vatican, somebody's going to walk away with the belt... can Hawke become the first-ever two-time International champion, or will Arch Griffon prove that Hawke just can't win by himself? Rules: Restholds have been outlawed for this match. It will be referee Nick Soapdish's discretion as to what is and what is not a resthold. When he spots a resthold being applied, he will make a certain signal to an organist who has a church organ set up at ringside. The organ will blare. This is the signal to release the hold. If the combatant doesn't do this, the organ will blare a second time about two seconds after the initial sound. This will get rid of annoying five counts. If it blares twice, the attacker is disqualified. Marker: The Superstar SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS Martial Law ("Urban Legend" Todd Cortez and Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix, SWF Tag Team Champions) v. THE MYSTERIOUS ARMY (??? and ???) -> Manson and Arch Griffon are booked. Wildchild is booked. So Joseph Peters and Tom Flesher made some phone calls, and here's THE MYSTERIOUS ARMY to take on Martial Law for the tag belts. It should be fun... and MYSTERIOUS. Rules: Standard tag. Marker: Chuck Woolery SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP STAINED GLASS WINDOW PAIN MATCH Insane Luchadore (SWF Hardcore Champion) v. Manson v. "The Maniac" Bryan Rodgers v. Zyon -> Look at all the stained glass windows in the Vatican City. Let's smash them. Rules: A competitor is eliminated when they are thrown through a stained-glass window. The last man remaining in the match wins. Marker: El Luchadore Magnifico

You are such a bastard, Landon.

I love those "The City" jerseys, so I'd probably go with that one... the Prince would be a good choice too.

We, uh, kinda need more markers. Badly. Me and Tom have been double-booking ourselves for a while now and anybody who could help ease the strain, at least for a while, would be appreciated.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” bellows Funyon as SWF Smarkdown returns from its final commercial break of the evening. “The following tag team contest is scheduled for ONE FALL and will be your MAIN EVENT!” “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAH!!” The Smarktron abruptly whites out as the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire crashes out across the arena, then swiftly fades to black. As it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ “YOU TAPPED OUT!” “YOU TAPPED OUT!” The familiar chants start up almost immediately and continue on as the Smarktron shows notable moments from Toxxic’s career leading up to Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the stagewide blast of red pyro- *BOOOM!!* -that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! “YOU TAPPED OUT!” “YOU TAPPED OUT!” Through the smoke and the pyro after-image comes a familiar spiky-haired figure wearing his customized England soccer shirt. He stops at the top of the ramp, smiling rather devilishly, as he waits for his partner for the evening. “Introducing first,” Funyon booms, “from Nottingham, England and weighing in at 218lbs; he is the leader of Revolution Zero and the former SWF World Heavyweight Champion; the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “And his partner…” the ring announcer continues after a hesitant deep breath and before a voice picks up on the speakers, whispering a name in a deep, sultry voice… “JOHNNY DANGEROUS~!” …and the entire building quivers as ‘After the Flesh’ thunders out across the Cairo International Stadium! Only this time it’s not a roar of cheers that greet the Barracuda’s arrival, but the exact opposite, and when he swipes aside the curtain and strolls out front and center the fans unleash holy hell upon him! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “From Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at 217lbs; he is… JOHNNY ‘THE BAAARRAAACUDAAAAA’ DAAAANGEEEROUUS!!” “…and never in a million years did I think I would ever see this day come,” Longdogger Pete woefully says. “This team just doesn’t belong together and these fans here know it - just listen to them!” “Oh, for the love of God, McDougal!” the Suicide King snaps, “I think it shows how far these two have come… how professional of them to put aside all differences in order to accomplish the greater good between them! If these pigheaded camel jockeys can‘t realize that than to hell with the whole lot of them!” “Trust me, King,” replies Pete, “there can be no good to come out of this. Toxxic is just trying to play the Barracuda against Ejiro Fasaki to try and keep the new World Champion off of him, while using Dangerous’ superior tag teaming skills to come out with a win tonight!” “Sounds like a pretty well laid plan to me,” says King. “Besides, Toxxic is just speaking to the Barracuda’s heart. He knows what Johnny wants and he’s more than happy to step out of the way and let Dangerous have what he already wanted in the beginning - a clear path at Ejiro Fasaki tonight!” Having made their way to the ring, Johnny and Toxxic take the few moments they have before the arrival of their opponents to go over a last minute strategy. It’s a task that proves a little more difficult for Dangerous than normally as all he can hear are the constant, distracting boos aimed towards him, and its not a sound he’s used to hearing. He gazes out at the sea of fans and sighs heavily - they have to understand that he has no choice. This is about a man doing what ever he has to do in order to get the chance that he has worked so hard for. “And their opponents,” Funyon begins again as ‘After the Flesh’ fades away and the crashing guitars of Black Label’s ‘Lamb of God’ fires up over the arena PA as the drumming sends a bolt through the crowd! The crowd immediately lights up… “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” …and their cheer is answered by the voice of Randy Blythe. “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” Bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway and the familiar figure of Spike Jenkins emerges. “From Hollywood, California and weighing in at 226lbs; ‘HOLLYWOOD’… SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE… JEEEEEENNNNNN-KIIIIIINNNNNSSSSSSSS!!” “I’m surprised you’re not bitching about this team, Drain-Clogger,” says King. “Right now Fasaki’s like Pinocchio without Jiminy Cricket to keep him straight – he’s a loose cannon! Who worse to have by his side right now than a man that spikes another mans drink with LSD!?” “While I cannot condone Spike’s actions I will say that he was pushed to that point,” replies Pete. “What else is a man to do when he’s given no other options? Toxxic had it coming to him a long time ago!” *POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP!* Machine gun pyro explodes as Queen’s “Princes of the Universe” blares over the speakers, and the crowd roars out with a tremendous cheer! “And his partner,” continues Funyon. “From Sarasota, Florida, and weighing in at 223lbs; he is the REIGNING SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIOOOOOOON… EJIROOOOOOO FAAAASAAAAKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” Fasaki and Jenkins head down the ramp, both of them with their eyeballs locked hard on their British opponent. They slide into the ring, which is oddly enough void of their opponents when they rise up to their feet - they wisely wait at ringside to avoid a sneaky attack by these two lowlife scumbags. Nonetheless, Fasaki strips the World Title off his waist and holds it aloft for the Egyptian fans before turning it over to referee Ronald ‘Red’ Herrington, the official for this match. Herrington hands the belt off to a ringside assistant for safekeeping as this title is not on the line tonight, and then calls for the bell. DING DING DING!!! Without even a second thought, Johnny steps out onto the apron to let Toxxic kick off the match while a debate ensues between Jenkins and Fasaki as they politely invite the other to step out onto the apron. “At least Dangerous and Toxxic are on the same page here,” notes King. “Jenkins and Fasaki can’t even get past something so simple as to who’s going to start the match!” WHAM! …And it looks like that problem will get solved by the Straight-Edger. He races in from behind the two unsuspecting men and hammers Spike in the back with a double axe handle! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Spike goes down to his hands and knees and the referee immediately orders Fasaki to step out onto the apron. Though hesitant, the last thing Ejiro wants is a disqualification, so he begrudgingly heads to the apron as Toxxic continues to hammer down on Spike’s back. WHAM! WHAM! Until Jenkins finally rolls himself out of harms reach and up to his feet. The hard shots have made him a little bit unsteady already, and he stumbles back ever so slightly… then stops against the ropes. His eyes fall onto those piercing gray eyes of his former leader standing just several feet away, lopsided grin and all. “That look has got to be enough to make Hollywood’s blood boil,” comments Pete. “However, Spike’s going to have to remain calm if he wants to stand a chance against this unholy team he’s facing and I think he knows it.” “Shit, I’m worried about Toxxic remaining calm,” adds King. “He’s the one who got his drink spiked with LSD by Jenkins and HE’S the one who is out for blood!” Despite the Suicide King’s fears, the two men are seemingly able to keep their emotions in check for the time being as they move to begin circling one another - Spike gingerly rubbing his back as the Straight-Edger slow steps the path around Hollywood while the crowd buzzes with anticipation… SMACK! …And then Toxxic wheelbarrows around and tags Johnny Dangerous in! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “What in the heck is the meaning of this!?” shouts Pete, flabbergasted by the sight. “No offense to the Barracuda but the showdown these fans want to see doesn’t include him!” Nonetheless, it’s Johnny who bolts into the ring and straight towards a slack-jawed Jenkins, hammering Hollywood in the face with a quick right hand! Jenkins is rocked on his heels, and a second punch sends him staggering into the ropes before Johnny grabs him by the arm and whips him across the ring. Springing off the ropes, Jenkins is returned to his sender… WHAM! …and then he catches the Barracuda with a leaping lariat across the throat, flooring him instantly! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” “What a hit!” exclaims Pete, “Spike just exploded off those ropes and caught Dangerous by complete surprise there!” Hopping back onto his feet, Spike doesn’t waste a single moment trying to further an attack against his opponent - instead he scrambles towards his corner and tags Fasaki in to a huge cheer! Leaping over the top rope, Ejiro comes into the ring at top speed and makes a beeline straight for the Secret Agent, just as Johnny gets back to a vertical base with one hand clenched around his neck… CRACK! …before getting dropped once again with an elbow to the side of his skull! Fasaki quickly applies a lateral press as Herrington drops and counts for: ONE! But Johnny quickly powers out! He shoves Rule off of him and rolls up to his feet and is rather surprised when his opponent doesn’t press a further attack, and instead points towards Toxxic on the apron! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” “Apparently Fasaki would rather compete against Toxxic instead of the Barracuda,” notes Pete, “and if Ejiro gets his way the Straight-Edged Sensation’s going to have his work cut out for him.” “Ejiro would be wise to concentrate on the man who wants nothing more than that gold belt around his waist,” suggests King, even as Johnny shrugs and turns towards Toxxic to tag him in. “But if Pinocchio wants all the pent up rage that Toxxic’s been harboring against Spike then let him have it I say!” Johnny reaches out for Toxxic’s hand but just before the Revolution Zero Leader can accept the tag the Barracuda quickly spins around and bolts back towards Rule! “Or maybe not,” King continues as the Barracuda swings for Fasaki’s mouth with his fist. However, the blow goes sailing high over Rule’s head as he ducks down then reaches around Johnny to latch onto his other arm, and with a pop of his hips, sends the Barracuda to the mat with a textbook hip toss! Johnny quickly pops back up to his feet - his pride hurt more than anything else - and Ejiro chases after him… TH-WACK! TH-WACK! …Only to receive two Shotei palmstrikes to the face, and it sends him stumbling back before dropping flat on his ass. Johnny grabs a handful of hair and drags Rule to his feet, repeatedly kneeing him in the chest as he does so before finally sending Fasaki barreling across the ring with an Irish whip! Rule bounces back off the ropes, back towards his aggressor, and right into a drop kick that sinks deep into his chest! Having downed his opponent, Johnny dives in with a cover for: ONE! “And not a penny more, as the World Champion easily kicks out!” exclaims Pete. Fasaki rolls over onto his knees with one hand clutching his chest, but before he can return to a vertical base on his own his hair is snatched up by Dangerous once more. Johnny drags the World Champion up to his feet and then whips him across the ring once more, only this time it’s straight into the corner post manned by Toxxic! Fasaki rams chest first into the unforgiving steel post and then slightly stumbles out of the pocket before Johnny slams into him from behind with an avalanche, slamming Rule into the post for a second time… and then Dangerous reaches out and tags Toxxic in to a barrage of boos! “Well, it’s about time Toxxic quit warming up the apron and stepped into the ring,” Pete says disgustedly. “I was beginning to wonder if he had even planned on seeing any action tonight!” “For a play-by-play man you’re quite the bumbling fool, McDougal!” snaps King, “the Barracuda is wisely keeping one man fresh to bail him out if need be.” “Why would he need to be bailed out?” Pete questions his announcing partner, “are they planning on cheating? If that’s the game plan the Barracuda was banking on than it’s pretty stupid idea! ” “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” whistles King, innocently twiddling his thumbs. Stepping into the ring, Toxxic grabs one of Fasaki’s arms as Dangerous grabs hold of the other, and together they send Rule across the ring with another Irish whip, and then sink four feet deep into his chest upon his return trip from the ropes, flooring the World Champion instantly! Toxxic bolts back up to his feet and then… SMACK! …charges the corner to nail Spike with a backhand! “OH!” King winces at the slap, “He caught Jenkins napping in the corner with that one!” Angered, Jenkins steps through the ropes, into the ring, but Herrington is on him like white on rice, trying as he might to keep control in this match! However, the referee’s dealings with Spike leave Fasaki wide open as Dangerous leaps off the corner post and nails Rule in the sternum with an elbow drop! “Oh, come on!” cries Pete, “that’s just pushing it a little bit, Johnny! I don’t even think Toxxic realized what kind of an opening he created for Dangerous, but the Barracuda didn’t even think twice before taking advantage of it!” “And that’s one of the main reasons Toxxic wanted Agent Dangerous on his side tonight,” replies King. “Johnny is an expert in the tag team environment as evident by what you just saw - he knows when to take advantage of a bad situation.” Toxxic heads back towards Fasaki - Rule is rocking back and forth on the mat clutching his chest as Johnny stands angelically in the corner. The Brit just shrugs. How it happened isn’t really of concern to him, and he reaches down and grabs his opponent… and quickly gets rolled up with a school boy! “Fasaki was playing possum! He’s got him!” ONE! TW - NO! While certainly caught by surprise with the tactic, Toxxic has more than enough energy to spare and he rolls off his shoulder to break the count. Back towards the corner, Johnny steps his foot back out of the ring as Herrington shoots him a glaring eye, knowing that the Secret Agent was just a nanosecond away from storming the ring for a save. Meanwhile, Rule and Toxxic both rise back to their feet and quickly leap towards each other, locking up like true gladiators fighting for purchase as the crowd roars in excitement! The two men appear to be closely matched, both of them struggling to get the advantage over their opponent to no avail until Toxxic starts to push back on Fasaki… only for Rule to suddenly snap back and put the Straight-Edger flat on his back with a lateral twist! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” ONE! TWO!! NOO!!! Once more, more egos have been shattered than bones and Toxxic kicks out! “It looks like Toxxic and Dangerous weren’t the only ones with a plan here tonight,” says Pete. “Fasaki’s trying to rattle the Straight-Edger with a slew of surprising maneuvers. If he plays his cards right he might get lucky with one of them!” “What the hell do you know about playing cards, Toilet-Clogger!” spits King, “Ejiro might have a few surprises up his sleeve but he’ll run out of them soon enough; and then what!?” “Well, I’m not sure… that’s why they’re called surprises, King,” Longdogger replies, shrugging his shoulders. However, Fasaki knows that he’s already pushed his luck far enough and a tag is what he desperately needs right about now! He starts to make his way towards his corner as Jenkins eagerly coaches him to make the tag… CRACK! …and once more the Barracuda bolts into the ring, races to the other corner and blasts Hollywood in the face, knocking him down from the apron! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “Man,” Pete says, frustrated, ‘the Barracuda sure isn’t making any friends here in Egypt tonight - that’s the second uncalled for attack that he’s made now!” “Well I sure never hear you complaining when he’s doing it as a part of Wild and Dangerous,” King counters with a glaring eye at his announcing partner. “He’s doing exactly what he knows - winning tag team matches by any means necessary. Johnny knowing when to jump into the match to keep the momentum in his teams favor is one of the main reasons Toxxic asked the Barracuda for his help!” Knowing that the Suicide King is right, Pete simply concedes the argument as Herrington admonishes Dangerous for the less than sportsmanlike tactics then orders him back out of the ring. Dangerous strolls back towards the apron with the slightest bit of hesitation, freeing up the referee’s attention as he knows Hollywood can’t resist coming into the ring for revenge now and as expected, Spike hops back onto the apron, leaps to the top rope, and springs towards his former Leader to catch him with a missile drop kick! CRACK! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” The crowd erupts when the Brit goes tumbling end-over-end before finally crashing into the mat! Spike pounces on Toxxic and starts chocking the ever-loving shit out of him, and it’s all the referee can do to try and pry Hollywood off the legal man! “Chaos ensues in the ring,” reports King. “You think this referee could keep a tighter control on Jenkins and keep him from illegally interfering in this match!” “You mean like Dangerous?” Pete appallingly asks, “He’s the one who started this whole mess by running in and punching Spike on the apron!” “He was provoked!” snaps King. Fasaki pulls himself up by the ropes just in time to catch sight of Johnny racing towards him from the corner of his eye. When Dangerous closes in, thinking that he has the drop on Rule, Ejiro suddenly ducks down and hauls the Barracuda over with a quick fireman’s carry, “-and straight over the top rope to the thinly-padded concrete floor below!” exclaims Pete, “It looks like the surprises are still a plenty for our beloved World Champion!” WHACK! “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!” Johnny cries out in sheer agony after hitting the floor. He sits up on his knee and holds dearly to his right shoulder while cringing. From inside the ring, a smile crawls onto Ejiro’s face and he glares devilishly towards his pain-ridden opponent. Fasaki quickly swivels his head back and forth to get a beat on the whereabouts of his other opponent and his partner as well. The latter is finally returning to the apron as the Straight-Edge Sensation rocks back and forth on his knees with both hands gripping his neck. Fasaki steps towards his corner man and tags him in, then carefully begins explaining something to Jenkins while looking back and pointing towards the Barracuda on the outside of the ring. “Apparently,” Pete begins to explain, “Ejiro realizes that he may have inadvertently opened up a sore spot on the Barracuda and if he and Spike can keep the pressure on that shoulder they could really turn the tables on this match.” “What a bright idea,” King mockingly replies. “If only Johnny were actually the legal man that plan could work, but he isn’t, you dolt!” “Which makes it all the trickier - they’ve got to somehow get Dangerous to tag in,” continues LDP. “If they can get that accomplished all the tag team experience in the world won’t help this unholy team in the least!” “I don’t get why it’s ‘unholy’,” King mutters, “it’s not like it’s Dace or Danny in there…” Spike and Ejiro appear to have finished their discussion and Fasaki turns around to head towards his beleaguered straight-edge opponent. However, Spike seems to have other ideas about who should get the ball rolling and reaches into the ring to tag his partner on the back! *smak!* “Blind tag by Spike!” LDP exclaims in surprise, “I wonder what Fasaki thinks of that?” Not a lot, seems to be the answer. Ejiro wheels round to confront the Hollywood Superstar and actually throws a hand out to block Jenkins’ entrance into the ring. A heated discussion follows as the two men abandon their civility from the start of the match to demand that the other steps out to the apron… “Teamwork is a wonderful thing,” King notes with some amusement. …and finally, Ejiro concedes with bad grace. The Rule steps through the ropes and grabs the tag rope, then suddenly seems to remember something and calls Spike back over. Hollywood is evidently annoyed at being distracted from his intended target - who is now starting to get back to his feet, still clutching at his throat - and Fasaki leans forward to offer his last word of advice… *smak!* …and tags himself back in! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The roar of the crowd is not only because they might now finally get to see someone lay the Smarkdown on Toxxic, but also because as Fasaki steps through the ropes Spike cuts him off and backs the World Champion up against the turnbuckles. Ejiro is having none of it and shoves Spike backwards, but as he steps forward Spike regains his balance and replies in kind! “It’s breaking down!” Pete calls as Ejiro collides backfirst with the turnbuckles again. “Don’t forget, Ejiro was unintentionally responsible for Spike’s most recent loss to Toxxic when he tried to interfere in their Hardcore match in Jakarta, and you can bet your bottom dollar that Spike hasn’t forgotten!” Ejiro steps forward and goes nose-to-nose with Spike, the two volatile cruiserweights exchanging heated words as their teamwork seems to go out of the window. Toxxic looks over at his opponents to see them otherwise engaged, then back at his own corner where Johnny Dangerous is clambering back up to the apron nursing his right arm. The Straight-Edge Sensation’s breath is still coming a little hard so he reaches out and tags in his partner for the evening… *smak!* …and after a moment to confer, they charge across the ring at Spike and Fasaki! “It’s a ruse,” Pete yells, “they persuaded Toxxic to tag Johnny in!” *WHAM!* *WHAM!* “Noo-ooo,” King replies as Johnny and Toxxic wipe their opposition out with stereo spinning heel kicks, “they really are that dumb.” Toxxic and Johnny grab Spike first and haul the Hollywood Superstar to his feet, then each grabs his hair and trunks before launching him over the top rope out to the concrete floor! “OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” With Jenkins out of the way Johnny brings the slightly dazed Ejiro up and hotshots him onto the top rope, then takes one of the Rule’s legs under each arm to bring his opponent horizontal while Toxxic bounces off the ropes behind them and leaps over Johnny’s head… “Slam Dance!” King yells as the Straight-Edge Sensation lands BUTT-first on Ejiro’s back. “A vintage Wild & Dangerous move performed to perfection by this duo - in fact,” the Gambling Man continues, “I note that Toxxic’s execution of his role was actually rather superior to Wildchild’s normal carnival tumbling!” “Oh, shut up,” Pete wittily rejoins. Meanwhile Toxxic sees referee Herrington bearing down on him and wielding the dreaded five-count, so he looks for a way to exit the ring. Out on the floor Spike Jenkins is starting to pick himself up… “OI! WANKER!” Rather amusingly, Jenkins does indeed look up just as a 218lb human missile planchas himself over the top rope and onto him! As British Airways performs an emergency landing in Hollywood, Johnny tries to take advantage of the Slam Dance and covers Ejiro… ONE! TWO!! …but Fasaki kicks out, not willing to go down just yet! Grunting, Johnny picks Ejiro up and hooks him for a suplex before hoisting the World Champion up and over… *BANG!* …and down! However, instead of going for the rolling verticals Johnny clutches at his shoulder, clearly in pain from his unexpected trip over the top rope. This pain stops the Barracuda from continuing with his offence in the expected way, so instead he brings Ejiro up again before taking the Rule’s weight onto his shoulders in a more balanced way with a Fireman’s Carry. Once vertical, Johnny takes a couple of quick steps forwards before rolling and crushing his opponent’s torso against the canvas with the Spinal Explosion! *CLANG!* Meanwhile, the cameras attention is drawn to the outside where Toxxic just sent Spike Jenkins backfirst into the steel steps! The crash draws the attention of Red Herrington who begins berating the two wayward wrestlers, but he doesn’t have the time to take his eyes off the ring as Johnny presses his advantage and begins firing off stomps into Ejiro’s back. “Well, Johnny’s certainly trying to work Ejiro over,” Pete comments. “Welcome to the world of wrestling,” King snorts, “you’re supposed to win, Drain-Clogger.” However, the truth of Pete’s comment is borne out as Dangerous pulls the wincing Fasaki upright again and then slips behind him. In another moment the Barracuda has placed his head under Ejiro’s left arm and grabbed his left leg, then hoists up and backwards… “MMMMMIIIIIIIIIIII SSSSSSSLLLLLLAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMM!!” Pete yells despite himself… …but Ejiro slips out of the move and lands behind Johnny! The surprised Secret Agent turns, only to have Fasaki grab his right arm and twist in an armwringer, then lift one leg over the trapped limb and drop down to the canvas! *BANG!* “Fasaki Fuser!” Pete shouts. “Johnny knew it was only a matter of time before Ejiro launched a counter-offensive at that shoulder and tried to put Fasaki away first, but the World Champion was too wily!” Johnny Dangerous tries to tuck his hurt right arm in to protect it but Ejiro is having none of it and readjusts his position to lock a Fujiwara armbar in on the unfortunate secret service operative. Johnny cries out in pain and starts scrabbling on the mat in an attempt to reach the ropes but it looks like the World Champion has got him trapped in the middle of the ring… *WHAM!* …that is, until Toxxic reappears and nearly takes Ejiro’s face off with a kick that would have done any Liverpool penalty taker proud! The exasperated Straight-Edge Sensation glares down at Johnny and audibly barks ‘do I have to do everything myself?’ - before a battered Spike Jenkins reaches into the ring, grabs his enemy’s ankles and pulls, first dumping Toxxic forward onto his face and then hauling him underneath the ropes where the Hollywood Superstar begins pounding him with Shoteis and forearm strikes! “Apparently so,” King answers the British punk. Meanwhile Johnny forces himself upright, right arm cradled close to his body, then boots Ejiro in the gut as the Rule tries to emulate him. With no breath in his lungs Ejiro remains doubled over and Johnny places his right leg over Fasaki’s head in preparation for the Guillotine Face Driver… but Ejiro realises the danger and straightens sharply! Johnny manages to compensate for the counter and completes a backflip before landing on his feet but Ejiro lunges forward and grabs Johnny’s arm again, then brings the Barracuda down… “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “COOOOOOOOOBRA CROSSFACE!” Pete hollers as Ejiro tries to trap Johnny’s arm between his legs, but before the World Champion can hook the crossface portion of the hold in Johnny is already rolling forwards to get his head out of reach, then uses his trapped arm to his advantage as, despite the pain, he rolls Ejiro back onto his shoulders! ONE! TWO!! TTTHHHHHH- -but Ejiro kicks out, and the moment he rolls backwards up to his feet the World Champion reaches out and pokes the advancing Johnny in the eye! “OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “I don’t know how you can cheer for any of this lot, Pete,” King notes. “If Comet was here he’d be having a fit right now.” [unbeknownst to the commentators, wrestlers and most of the fans, at that exact moment a familiar figure in spandex appears in Row Z and opens his mouth… “CYYYYYYYC-” …and is cut off as Bobby Riley wraps his hand around his mouth before hauling the Superhero away, oblivious to his (largely muffled) protests.] Meanwhile in the ring, Ejiro is expecting to be admonished by Red Herrington for his illegal use of the thumb. However, the World Champion quickly realises that the referee is distracted by the ongoing brawl on the outside between Spike and Toxxic - who are currently trying, in defiance of the laws of physics, to throw each other into the steel guardrail at the same time. Seeing this, Ejiro decides that enough is enough and reaches inside his tights… “Uh-oh!” King exclaims in a cartoonish voice, “it’s CHAIN TIME! I guess the bad guys should flee from this righteous CHEATING, right Pete?” “Shut up.” Johnny is rubbing at his face as Fasaki takes one more quick check on the position of the referee as he wraps the chain around his fist, then advances on the Secret Agent and draws back his right hand… …but Johnny still has one eye that works. *CRACK!* “Johnny Kick!” Pete exclaims in amazement as the Barracuda lashes out with a right boot that catches the - momentarily - surprised Ejiro on the point of the chin. “He got him!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With Toxxic outside the ring and a long way from being actively involved in the match it might seem strange that Johnny still gets booed, having just defended himself from a chain-wielding maniac. Nonetheless, the Barracuda isn’t going to waste any time hanging around to justify himself to a bunch of Egyptians so he heads for the nearest turnbuckle and begins to climb as fast as he can with one arm… …on the outside, Spike Yakuza kicks Toxxic clean over the guardrail, then clambers over to follow him… …Red Herrington turns around and sees the chain on the mat near Ejiro’s limp hand. The referee kicks it away… ..and only just gets out of the way of Johnny Dangerous as he comes down with a Shooting Star Press! *BANG!!* “SHOOTING JOHNNY PRESS!” King shouts. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been glad to see that!” ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” *DING-DING-DING!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Unbelievably, a Johnny Dangerous win is met by universal boos as the Barracuda painfully rises off Ejiro, clutching a shoulder hurt yet more by his landing. However, for the moment the crowd reaction doesn’t seem to be bothering the secret agent as he realises what he’s done. He’s pinned the World Champion. Clean. “The Shooting Johnny Press was the move that won Johnny Dangerous the World Title,” Pete reminds viewers, “ironically from his tag team partner tonight, Toxxic! Now that same move has helped him pin the World Champion again, and with 13th Hour only a week away it must be a strong argument to put the Barracuda in the main event!” “Given that Toxxic’s taking on Spike Jenkins, Mak Francis is tied up with roid-monkey Williams and there isn’t really anyone else competent to hold the belt, I’d say it’s as good a choice as any,” King grumbles. In the crowd, a mismatched group of officials and security personnel struggle to separate Toxxic and Spike Jenkins, who are not only still standing but still trying to kill each other. Johnny Dangerous, mid-ring, is standing tall over the prone figure of Ejiro Fasaki... When I was back in seminary school… The crowd immediately bursts into a mixed reaction of cheers and boos as they hear Jim Morrison’s voice over the speakers. There was a person there who put forth the proposition That you can petition the Lord with prayer. Petition the Lord with prayer? Petition the Lord with prayer?! YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER! With that, a blue explosion lights up the stage, and smoke billows everywhere as the opening strains of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” ring out through the Cairo International Arena. The crowd stays mixed – some fans appreciate his purist stance toward wrestling. Some hate that he won’t give them what they want to see. All of them, however, recognize one thing. Regardless of what they think of his booking, the man who is about to step through that curtain will, without a doubt, go down in history as the greatest ever. As he steps onto the stage, Tom Flesher is met with a polite ovation, if one that seems a little strained. He pauses for a moment, adjusting the collar of his light blue shirt, then smoothing the khaki summer suit he wears in the balmy Egyptian air. After another moment of crowd noise, the Smarkdown commissioner raises his hand in the air, and after a few seconds the arena goes quiet enough for him to speak. “I have to tell you, gentlemen, I’m not pleased.” Flesher has rarely been known to pull punches on the mic, but for some reason he seems even more blunt than usual tonight. “If you’ll pardon the venue,” he says in clipped tones, “I thought that there were some things I needed to say to the lot of you that really couldn’t wait.” “As you know, we’ll be traveling just across the Mediterranean Sea this week. We’re going to end up in the Vatican City, where we’ve been able to secure St. Peter’s Square for our pay-per-view event, 13th Hour.” Flesher pauses for a moment, letting the crowd pop, and then continues. “Frankly, gentlemen, we’re on a world tour. This is serious, serious business. We’re carting you around, taking you through South America, showing you Australia… we took you to Japan. We put you on display in front of the greatest fans in the world, and then we took you to an island resort. All we asked was that you put on a good show, wrestle with heart.” He stops, shaking his head and attempting to collect his thoughts. “Frankly, I expected better.” “Ejiro Fasaki, you should be ashamed of yourself. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you lately, but you are not carrying yourself like a World Champion. You get a match with Lil’ Buck, because Sean Combs is a fan of his… and you barely eke that out. After seeing the performance you put on, I was half tempted to pull that belt off you and put it up for a tournament. You dethroned Toxxic, Jir. For god’s sake, you took the strap off of ME. Well, I’ll tell you something, Ejiro. You beat Buck, but you didn’t do it convincingly… and Sean Combs isn’t his only fan. I don’t care what happened between then and now, I care about what happens when the two of YOU are in the ring together.” Flesher takes a deep breath, but catches himself before he continues his rant. “Ejiro, you’re defending against Buck next Sunday. If you beat him convincingly, maybe I’ll take you seriously as the athlete I know you can be and as the man I used to travel with and respect. Otherwise, frankly, I’m going to keep thinking of you as a shell of the person I knew.” Flesher turns toward Spike Jenkins, and the commissioner’s blue eyes turn to a steely gaze. “And you, Spike Jenkins… do you have any idea what kind of position you’ve put me in? You of all people should know what kind of a danger it is to put something in someone’s drink. You of all people should be able to respect Toxxic’s choice not to participate in some of life’s greatest pleasures.” “You of all people should know that this is MY show, and you don’t f**k with Tom Flesher’s show.” “Spike, there will be consequences. I promise, there will be consequences. It doesn’t matter if I have to go through Peters, if I have to call the whole committee together, or if I have to raise half the dead in the world to do it. You will pay for what you did to Toxxic, not because I have any special affinity for the whiney limey but because you decided you could f**k with me.” Flesher takes a deep breath. He collects himself for a moment, and then continues. “So, in short, I have to say that the two of you have presented a problem for me. The three of you, actually… Johnny Dangerous, just consider everything I said to Ejiro and remove the parts where I discussed his success. Sure, you pinned him tonight... but he would have gone down for the count if Melissa looked at him funny. You’re as listless as he is, but with half the potential. Start bringing it, or consider yourself on the chopping block.” “But I digress.” “Ejiro, it’s true that traditionally the World Champion wrestles in the main event of the pay-per-view. On the other hand, it’s true that traditionally the World Champion is at the top of his game. You are not,” says Flesher matter-of-factly, “so you will not.” Flesher pauses. The crowd gasps collectively; as he expected, some of them boo. Once again, he raises his hand. This time, the crowd isn’t silenced, but he does manage to get them down to a dull roar so he can continue. “That naturally leaves,” he continues, “the highly-anticipated grudge match to fill the main event slot. Obviously, the logical choice is to put Toxxic versus ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins in the top slot. It’ll draw, as they say in the back. The kids want to see it.” “Spike, I told you there would be consequences. This is just the beginning. I hope you enjoyed main-eventing tonight. It’s the last one you’ll ever be in, as far as I’m concerned. Toxxic, I’d say that I’m sorry you won’t be headlining 13th Hour, but frankly, if you’re willing to drink something that an emptyheaded bimbo handed to you, you’re too stupid to be the SWF’s standard-bearer.” Flesher pauses once again. This time, having offended nearly everyone in the crowd, he accepts a hearty round of boos. “Come on, guys,” he says. “All I’m doing is rewarding good behavior… and punishing bad.” He looks around at the signs being held up, and at the faces of the fans. Nearly every sign involves one of the four wrestlers in the ring. “So, with the ‘natural’ choices out of the way,” he continues, “I had to really think. I want to reward good behavior. It’s true. And… frankly… who’s been putting on a better face for the fans than…” He pauses for effect, unable to keep a small smirk from crossing his face. “Wildchild and Scott Pretzler.” The crowd, shocked, is finally silent. “Admit it. You were on your feet tonight. So were the fans in the Seychelles who had the distinct pleasure of seeing that submission match live. At St. Peter’s Square, everyone – everyone – will be on their feet when they see the final match in the series… especially when the match is main-eventing the show. There’s only one more bridge to cross.” “Wildchild got the advantage tonight. Pretzler had it in match one. Who gets it in match three?” Flesher once again pauses, and once again smirks. “Neither of you. And this isn’t going to end with a fluke… oh no. One of you is going to come out on top, and you’re going to do it decisively.” “30 minutes, gentlemen. Iron Man.” With that, Tom Flesher turns crisply on his heel and walks back behind the curtain. With the crowd and the wrestlers in stunned silence, the SWF Smarkdown telecast fades to black. === SWF Smarkdown, June 6, 2005. © Superiority Complex Promotions. All rights reserved. The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation: “Raising workrate by typing faster.”

Earlier today… “Is Mr. Flesher in?” Scott Pretzler stands in front of the desk, manned as always by the attractive blonde secretary. Dressed in a sharp navy-blue suit that seems to channel his ring attire – classic and conservative – Pretzler quietly slips her the business card that bears the confirmation of his appointment. “Just a moment, Mr. Pretzel.” “Pretzler.” “Oh,” giggles the nameless and clueless secretary, “you’re lucky I was even that close. Mr. Flesher’s always calling you ‘Pocky.’” Pretzler raises an eyebrow. He decides not to question her, though, as she knocks on the door. “Mr. Flesher, there’s a Mr. Pretzler here to see you.” “Send him in,” comes the reply from behind the door. “Tell him to watch out for Allison.” “I don’t want to know,” sighs Scott. “Shake it,” Flesher says, the sound muffled behind the door. “Harder!” “Ugh,” Pretzler grunts, disgustedly. He opens the door, only to see Allison Onita, Flesher’s personal assistant, furiously agitating a silver martini shaker. She sits next to Flesher, and Pretzler is thus able to take the seat directly opposite the Smarkdown commissioner. “Mr. Flesher,” he says, “it’s a pleasure to see you.” “Mr. Pretzler, the feeling is more than mutual.” Flesher adjusts the two martini glasses in front of him, each garnished with a cocktail onion. “Care to join me? Bombay Sapphire gibsons, up.” “Dry?” “As a Johnny Dangerous promo.” Pretzler smirks. “Of course I’ll take one.” As he watches Allison pour out the two drinks, it occurs to Scott that this meeting is markedly different from the first time he met with the man he had watched as he was working up through the indy circuit. When he opened Ring of Respect shows, Flesher was the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, and their first meeting reinforced that dynamic. Flesher had treated him as a total afterthought then; now, Allison was pouring the two of them matching signature drinks. What’s more, Flesher had requested the meeting. As Allison finishes the pour, Flesher and Pretzler each take a glass. Flesher smirks and says, “Cheers,” before gently clinking his glass against Pretzler’s. Each man sips from his glass, and Pretzler’s demeanor softens slightly. “So, Mr. Flesher… may I ask…?” “Scott, you and I both know how I feel about your ringwork… and you and I also know how I feel about Wildchild. The problem is that, damn it, Dominic is a model employee. I’d love to be able to hold him down and forget about him forever – that spot-monkey style, the inability to work the mic at all – but he’s just so well-behaved, and for some reason the fans seem to like watching his flip-floppery.” Pretzler nods. “I believe I coined the phrase to describe – ” “No need for stroking, Scott. I’m familiar with your workrate reports. You and I are on the same page about Mr. LeCroix. I just want you to know that, while I value him as a commodity, a catalyst for ticket sales, I value you as an athlete and a student of the sport.” “Well, thank you,” says Pretzler with a small smile. “I’m serious, Scott. I’m very, very pleased with the way you’ve developed over the past few months, especially considering that Ring of Respect’s style is so radically different from ours. I was a fan of your work, but I didn’t think you’d adjust so easily to wrestling with our more diverse roster. When you get used to fighting strongstylists, sometimes you get complacent, and a guy like Wildchild can gum up the works. I’m impressed with your versatility.” Pretzler simply smirks and continues sipping his gibson. “Now, let’s make this clear right off the bat. You’re not going to receive any special treatment from the referees. I don’t want any confusion on that matter,” Flesher says, quite seriously. “This is a sport, and I’m not going to interfere with that at all. However, be assured that this office, unofficially, is pulling for you.” Flesher extends his hand and rises. Pretzler smiles, shakes his hand, and stands as well. He starts to back away, sensing that the meeting is complete. Flesher, looking thoughtful, raises an eyebrow. He starts to speak, and then bites his tongue and simply says, “Good luck tonight, Scott.” Pretzler nods and starts for the door. “Oh, and Scott?” Flesher says, apparently deciding to say something after all. “I consider you a go-to man. If for whatever reason I needed to rely on you, I feel comfortable doing so. Are you okay with that.” Slightly confused, Pretzler nods. “Of course, Mr. Flesher. Why?” “No reason, Scott. No reason at all.”

“Bloodlust of the Human Condition” kicks up on the archaic speakers inside of the Cairo International Stadium. Egyptians and other SWF fans leap to their feet in frenzy. They treat the new SWF International Champion as if he were a Pharaoh. Arch Griffon walks out from behind the curtain, newly won title belt draped over his right shoulder. He dresses in a pair of cargo shorts and new “A Day’s Killing” SWF t-shirt. He begins his long trek to the squared circle, where Funyon stands. After clearly his throat, Funyon introduces the big man. “Please welcome the NEW SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION….ARCH GRIFFON!” “A tremendous ovation for the champ! Griffon is in high spirits tonight. He looks rested and confident,” says Longdogger Pete. “Of course he is in good spirits. He won a title he knows he doesn’t deserve,” says King. “Will you let it go, King? He outlasted Jay Hawke. He defeated him after Jay Hawke did himself in. He is more than deserving of that belt over his shoulder!” “He is not in action tonight. He wasn’t in action on Lockdown. What kind of a Champion is he?” asks King. “He is a human champion. He had three title matches on three straight shows. The constant high profile matches can make a man need a break,” Pete responds. “When I was wrestling, I would be out there every damned night. I made it on the road,” says King, gloating. “Yeah, with the help of your little friends,” cracks Pete. “What was that?” asks King. Meanwhile, Griffon has made his way into the ring. He strides to the other side of the ring. He raises his championship belt high over his head as he advances towards a technician holding a microphone through the ropes. Griffon accepts it, nods to the balding man with the headset, and heads back to the middle of the ring. “For those of you who do not know English, I have finally got around to the men in the back to translate for you. Enjoy,” says the big man. A camera shoots over the Smarktron, where bright subtitles sit below Griffon after he speaks. “I am going to make this short and sweet,” says Arch. Griffon takes his belt off of his shoulder and raises it towards the fans in front of him. “I deserve this. You don’t have to agree with me.” “No you don’t,” mutters King. “But realize I know that I am worth this title. This leather strap weighed down by gold has ties to some legends and unsung heroes. This belt goes back to the good old days. This belt has roots in the United States Championship, the Intercontinental Television Championship, and the Junior League Championship. It is my honor to hold on to it as long as I can.” The fans packing the stadium break into polite applause. Arch puts the belt over his shoulder. “Moving on … Jay Hawke.” Hisses and boos spray from the seats. “Sean Combs did not take this title away from you. I took it away from you when I nearly broke your god damned neck on that island. Sean Combs gave me a rematch against you, and it meant nothing to him. He doesn’t care about this title we bleed for.” The fans buzz in response. “He is not your enemy. I am. “RAAAAHHHHH!” “I understand you want a rematch, and you are indeed entitled to it. I got a second chance, and you deserve one as well. However, this match is going to happen on my terms. I want you to prove to me you are ‘The Dean’. All you have proved to me is that you have a rear chinlock tighter than a lid on a pickle jar.” Scattered fans across the stadium cackle with laughter. “This Sunday, we will do battle for the International Title. However, you will not be able to slow me down, and I will not be able to slow you down. Rear chinlocks, chokeholds, and everything else that you can think of that would slow us down will not be allowed in this match. The referee will be the one to decide what a resthold is. When he sees a resthold, he will tell an organist ringside to slam on the keys of his organ. This is the signal to let go of the hold. Two seconds later, a second blaring of the organ will take place. At this point, the match ends on a disqualification. This gets rid of a five count. Attacks pointed towards the arms and legs are legal. And all other normal rules apply to this match. In other words…” “To get this belt back, you have to give me a wrestling lesson I will never forget! And there’s not a damned thing you can do about it!” Griffon throws the microphone out the ring, and quickly slides under the bottom rope. “Bloodlust of the Human Condition” cues up in the stadium as Griffon quickly walks back up the aisle. The fans cheer him on from the entranceway as he leaves. “At the Pay-Per-View, it’s going to be Archie Griffon versus Jay Hawke for the International Championship again. Their world war continues!”

FADE IN “Welcome back to Smarkdown,” says Longdogger Pete. “And King, Wildchild is already a match in the hole in this Best-of-Three series, but if he’s going to get back into this thing, he’s definitely got a great chance tonight, as he lured Scott Pretzler into his trap earlier in the program, getting him to agree to a No Gravity match!” “Wildchild is a devious little man,” spits the Suicide King. “He tricked Scott Pretzler earlier, because he knew that he couldn’t beat him in an earlier match, so he had to name the one stipulation where Pretzler’s technical superiority could possibly work against him!” “Most definitely,” agrees Pete. “Pretzler is the type of wrestler who likes to keep the match on the canvas, but a No Gravity match requires you to be able to generate some offense from the top rope… and nobody in the business is better at doing that than the Wildchild!” “Pretzler needs to try and slow him down as much as possible,” says King. “It’s imperative that Pretzler keep him off those ropes; Wildchild has not shown that he can consistently win if he’s not able to get to those ropes and build up momentum for his speed maneuvers, even if the rest of his high-flying game is going.” “I’ll have to agree with you on that, King,” concedes Pete. “Wildchild is not very physically strong, and he relies on those ropes to facilitate his velocity, so that he can wear down his opponent with high-impact maneuvers!” “That’s right!” agrees King. “And that’s why it’s imperative for wrestlers who depend on that kind of offense to wear their opponents down, but Wildchild has neither the strength nor the technical background to be able to wear down his opponent without running off of those ropes, which is exactly why I said earlier that Pretzler needs to keep him in the center of the ring!” “That’s going to be tough for Pretzler to do in this match though, King,” counters Pete, “because he needs to try and incorporate the top rope into HIS offense if he wants to win. As you know, King, this isn’t a typical match: pinfalls don’t matter. Submissions don’t, either. Pretzler’s going to have to hit Wildchild with five moves from either the top rope or the top turnbuckle… I don’t know if Pretzler’s FAST enough to do that, King!” “It doesn’t take speed, MacDougal; it just takes a plan,” King replies confidently. “Believe you me, Pretzler has a strategy in mind to win this match; Wildchild’s experience in No Gravity matches is not going to help him here!” With that, the camera shifts to the center of the ring, where Funyon stands, his trusty microphone in hand. Upon receiving his cue, he lifts the microphone to his lips and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is the second of the Best-of-Three series to determine the Number One Contender to the World Cruiserweight Championship! And, it will be… “A NO GRAVITY MATCH!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! Suddenly, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony begins to play, heralding the arrival of Scott Pretzler. The fans begin booing in earnest as the Critic steps out onto the stage. “Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “leading the Best-of-Three series one to nothing, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… the ‘Critic,’ SCOTT PUUUUH-RETZLER!” Pretzler stands at the head of the aisle; he stops and stands with his hands at his hips, looking down at the fans with disdain. “This is disgraceful,” spits King. “I can’t believe how unappreciative these fans are of a great wrestler like Scott Pretzler! We should never come back to this country again!” “Will you stop?” barks Pete, as Pretzler’s theme fades out. “These fans have the right to cheer or boo for whoever they want…” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “And, as you can hear, they’re going crazy for the Wildchild!” “His opponent,” Funyon shouts over the roar of the crowd, “from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” is pumping at full blast as the Bahama Bomber bounces out onto the stage. “Wildchild is in the midst of the biggest slump since his return,” says Pete, “perhaps even the biggest slump of his career! But he looks as ready as ever in this match tonight!” “He’d better be ready,” replies King, “because Scott Pretzler’s confidence has to be at an all-time high!” Wildchild trots down the ramp before suddenly breaking into a dead run, somersaulting into the ring and immediately rolling to his feet… WHAM! … And tackling Pretzler to the mat with a spear! DING! DING! DING! “Let’s Get Dirty” is abruptly cut off, and referee Red Herrington immediately signals the timekeeper to ring the bell, as Wildchild assumes a mounted position atop the Critic and begins to hammer him with hard right hands! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! “Wildchild is on fire,” shouts Pete. “He’s taken the fight right to Pretzler!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet, only to grab him by the back of the head and take him back down to the canvas with a snapmare takeover! Wildchild then quickly runs to the edge of the ring and leaps onto the second rope, swinging his leg sharply through the air as he bounces back into the ring… CRACK! … And blasting the Critic with a flying gamengiri! “He used the shin guard!” roars King. “He just used that shin guard to enhance the impact of that gamengiri; that’s illegal! He should be disqualified for that!” “King, this is a No Gravity match,” replies Pete. “The only rule in this match is that you have to hit five top rope moves on your opponent to get the win. Everything else is fair game; hell, you should be grateful that that second-rope springboard doesn’t count towards the score!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and whips him across the ring, diving feet-first towards the Critic’s legs and dropping him to his knees with a basement dropkick! The Human Hurricane scrambles to his feet and races to the ropes before Pretzler can recover, leaping off the canvas as he rebounds and snaring Pretzler by the head as he flips through the air… WHAM! … Driving Scott into the mat with a flipping neck snap! “Wildchild scoring with the Whiplash,” says Pete, as Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet. “Wildchild’s set the pace early in this match, King; if Scott Pretzler’s strategy was to keep him off the ropes, he’s gonna have to go with Plan B, in a hurry!” Wildchild looks out to the Cairo crowd and points down to his legs, before bending over to adjust his right shin guard. “Now look,” barks King. “He just reversed that shin guard; he’s PLANNING to do something illegal!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into the corner. He races to the ropes as Pretzler crashes into the turnbuckles, and leaps to the top rope as the Critic staggers backwards out of the corner, springing backwards into the ring and swinging his leg sharply through the air… WHACK! … And leveling him with a reverse leg lariat! Scott flounders on the canvas like a trout, clutching his throat in pain! Wildchild, on the other hand, nips up to his feet and holds one finger in the air, pointing towards the SmarkTron as, for the first time, the score in the match is displayed: ------- WC: 1 Pretzler: 0 -------- “That’s terrible, MacDougal!” shouts King. “Wildchild just hit Pretzler in the throat with an illegal foreign object! He could have crushed Pretzler’s larynx!” Wildchild pulls the Critic to his feet and whips him back into the corner, running to the ropes as Pretzler slams into the turnbuckles and leaping onto the middle rope as he staggers backwards out of the corner… WHAM! … Knocking Scott off his feet with a springboard dropkick! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Wildchild has taken control of this match!” shouts Pete. “He’s got Scott Pretzler reeling! Boy King, Pretzler had better thank his lucky stars that Wildchild is going to the second rope instead of the top rope so many times; this one could be almost over right now!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler back to his feet, only for the Critic to stun him with a knee to the midsection. Scott slams a series of clubbing forearms into Wildchild’s back before pulling him away from the ropes, grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring. Wildchild ducks a clothesline attempt as he bounces off the ropes, and leaps to the top rope as he approaches the edge of the ring, curling into a ball as he springs off… WHAM! … And slamming into Pretzler’s chest with his patented Pinball attack, knocking him down to the canvas! “Pinball!” exclaims LDP. “Wildchild has taken a quick two-to-none lead over Scott Pretzler! And he’s made it look easy!” ------- WC: 2 Pretzler: 0 -------- Wildchild pulls Pretzler back to his feet and traps him in a front waistlock, pushing him backwards into the corner. The Bahama Bomber drives his shoulder into Scott’s midsection several times before climbing up to the middle ropes, straddling Pretzler as he holds his clenched fist in the air, signaling a ten-count punch to the crowd: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! RAAAAAAAAAAH! Wildchild grins out at the raucous Egyptian crowd, cheering his actions, when Scott Pretzler suddenly wraps his arms around the Bahaman’s legs and carries him out of the corner, dropping down to one knee… WHAM! … And lowering Wildchild onto his outstretched thigh, compressing his spine with an inverted atomic drop! Pretzler remains kneeling, breathing heavily, as the Caribbean Cruiser holds his lower back in pain. “Excellent ring awareness by Scott Pretzler,” cheers King. Pretzler scrambles to his feet and pulls Wildchild off the canvas, shoving him back forcefully into the corner. He clubs Wildchild over the back of the neck with sledgehammer-like forearms that drop the Bahaman to his knees, clutching his neck in pain. Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and grabs him firmly by the back of the head… WHAM! … Slamming the back of Wildchild’s head forcefully into the top turnbuckle! WHAM! And again! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Pretzler repeatedly bashes the back of Wildchild’s head into the top turnbuckle, before he finally relents, only to lead him over to the edge of the ring and heave him over the top rope! Wildchild’s face bounces off the ring apron with a resounding “CRACK,” as he falls out to the arena floor! “What a brutal outburst by Scott Pretzler, as he tries to capture the momentum in this match!” cries LDP. “There you go, Scott!” cheers King, as Pretzler climbs up to the top turnbuckle. “Put this chump’s lights out!” Pretzler steadies himself on the top turnbuckle and measures Wildchild as he gets back to his feet, before leaping down to the floor… WHAM! … And slamming into the back of Wildchild’ neck with a flying double axe-handle! ------- WC: 2 Pretzler: 1 -------- Out on the arena floor, the Critic continues his assault, pulling him to his feet and trapping him in a front waistlock, as he rams Wildchild repeatedly into the edge of the ring apron! He then grabs Wildchild by the back of the head and pushes him towards the corner… WHACK! … Slamming his head against the solid steel post! The Bahama Bomber leans heavily against the ringpost to keep from collapsing to the arena floor. Pretzler picks Wildchild up off the floor, holding him in his arms… WHACK! … And then ramming him back-first into the ringpost! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Pretzler continues his vicious assault on Wildchild’s back until finally rolling him back into the ring, and then climbs back onto the ring apron. Looking into the ring at the unmoving Wildchild, Pretzler decides to take a chance as he heads towards the corner and climbs to the top turnbuckle. “Pretzler’s going to the top!” shouts King. “This match is about to be tied!” Pretzler leaps from the top rope and dives down into the ring, his leg outstretched to deliver a legdrop… CRASH! … But Wildchild rolls out of the way, causing Pretzler to crash into the canvas! Scott clutches the small of his back in pain as Wildchild crawls towards the center of the ring. “Nobody home!” shots Pete. “Scott Pretzler thought he had Wildchild compromised enough for that guillotine legdrop, but the Bahaman had a little bit left over!” Wildchild crawls back towards Pretzler as the Critic pulls himself to a kneeling position, and pops him in the face with a quick right hand! The two combatants exchange punches as they get back to their feet, with Scott taking control, shifting out of a collar-and-elbow tie-up into a three-quarter nelson, and pulling Wildchild forward with a snapmare… WHAM! … Following through with a single fluid motion with a dropkick to the back of the head! Pretzler pulls Wildchild back to his feet and uses a deft series of right hands to force him back against the ropes, before grabbing him by the arm and whipping him to the opposite side of the ring. Scott instinctively steps back out of Wildchild’s Pinball range, and then bends down as he bounces off the far ropes, launching him through the air with a high back body drop! … But the former circus star lands on the top rope behind Pretzler. Without hesitating, the Human Hurricane flips backwards off the ropes and lands in a seated position on Scott’s shoulders, locking his legs around Pretzler’s neck and arching backwards, snatching him off the mat and pulling him through the air with an amazing flying headscissors! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Beautiful backdrop counter by the Bahama Bomber!” shouts LDP. “And Wildchild has just taken a commanding lead in this match!” Once again, the raucous Cairo fans squeal excitedly as Wildchild holds his hands aloft, this time with three fingers extended on his left hand, compared to only one on his right. ------- WC: 3 Pretzler: 1 -------- Wildchild charges Scott and stuns him with a kick to the midsection. He grabs Pretzler’s arm and whips him towards the corner, but the Critic reverses, sending him in instead. Wildchild leaps high into the air as he nears the corner, landing perched on the top rope. Anticipating a top rope attack, Scott drops down, flattening himself against the canvas… WHAM! … But instead of leaping off the top turnbuckle, the Bahama Bomber performs a backflip straight into the air, and lands on the second turnbuckle, springing back off without pause and smashing into Scott’s back with a picture-perfect moonsault! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “That was vintage Wildchild right there!” cries LDP. “He totally faked Pretzler out with that backflip!” “Yeah,” counters King, “But it doesn’t count towards his score! He didn’t jump from the top rope to hit the move, he jumped from the middle rope!” Unfazed his inability to talk the referee into giving him another point, Wildchild runs back to the corner and vaults up to the top turnbuckle. He confidently holds four fingers in the air as he waits for Scott to get back to his feet, and then explodes off the top turnbuckle, body extended as he plummets into the ring to crush Pretzler with a flying cross body! WHAM! … But the Critic snatches him out of the air as he swings his body around, grinding the Bahama Bomber into the mat with a tremendous powerslam! “Big time powerslam!” shouts King. “Excellent counter by Scott Pretzler!” Pretzler rolls Wildchild onto his stomach before rising to his feet, raising his bicep to eye level and measuring Wildchild before dropping back down towards the canvas… WHAM! … Slamming a heavy elbowdrop into the back of Wildchild’s neck! The Critic quickly scrambles to his feet and begins stomping the back of the Bahaman’s neck brutally. “What an assault by Scott Pretzler,” cries Pete. “He’s absolutely livid, King!” “Well, obviously Scott Pretzler has been pushed beyond his threshold by Wildchild,” says King. “And, I’ll admit, he might be feeling a little desperate, too; I mean, a three-to-one deficit can be difficult to overcome, so perhaps he’s feeling the pressure a little bit!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him fiercely into the turnbuckles! And, as the Bahama Bomber staggers backwards out of the corner, Scott swoops in behind him, trapping him in an inverted front facelock and hooking the leg as he lifts Wildchild up… WHAM! … And drives him down to the canvas with the dreaded Tildebang Driver! “Tildebang!” crows King. “Wildchild’s gotta be out cold!” “Yeah,” says LDP, as the Critic rolls to his feet, “but Pretzler can’t win this match on a knockout, King!” “He doesn’t have to,” replies King, as Pretzler steps out onto the ring apron, “You think Clown-boy’s going to be able to move out of the way of a top rope move after that?” Pretzler walks deliberately to the corner and climbs to the top turnbuckle. He looks out to the crowd with a sneer before leaping into the ring… WHAM! … And drives his thigh across Wildchild’s throat with a guillotine legdrop! “There’s the guillotine legdrop!” praises King. “And just like I said, Drain-Clogger, Wildchild couldn’t move out of the way THAT time!” ------- WC: 3 Pretzler: 2 -------- Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and bends him over at the waist, so that their upper bodies are perpendicular. He hooks his left leg over the back of the Wildchild’s head while grapevining his right leg with Wildchild’s left, and then wrenches the Bahaman’s right arm back in his own direction, as he cinches in the Octopus Hold. “This is great!” proclaims King. “An Octopus Hold in the center of the ring; I love it! Scott Pretzler is showing that, even in a No Gravity match, he can use wrestling to his advantage!” “Well King, I have to give you some credit here,” concedes LDP. “You said before the match started that Pretzler needed to keep Wildchild in the center of the ring and away from the ropes, and it looks like Pretzler’s decided to do exactly that, to tremendous results!” “Well, of course it was successful!” snaps King. “And I’ll tell you something else: I’ve always liked this hold, but especially right now. Pretzler’s showing great strategy here; not only does this hold keep Wildchild immobile, but it continues to work the areas that Pretzler has been concentrating on which, by the way, lead perfectly into the Snowflake!” “King, the submission match was last week,” says Pete, as Pretzler finally releases the Octopus hold. “What good is it going to do to trap Wildchild in the Snowflake Clutch? He can’t win the match with it!” “It’s going to do the same good that the Tildebang did, MacDougal,” counters King, as Pretzler exits to the ring apron. “It’ll take Wildchild’s speed advantage out of the equation; Wildchild’s not going to be able to move out of the way if he’s not conscious!” The Critic takes his time climbing to the top turnbuckle, taunting the Egyptian faithful as he dives off the top, his arm drawn back, and his fist curled into a ball… WHAM! … As he drives a flying fistdrop between the Bahaman’s eyes! Pretzler rises slowly to his feet, holding three fingers up on each hand, as the Cairo fans let them know what they think: BOOOOOOOOOO! ------- WC: 3 Pretzler: 3 -------- “It’s all tied up!” shouts King. “Scott Pretzler survived an early offensive onslaught by Wildchild, and has managed to tie the match at three points apiece, with no signs of Wildchild being able to mount a comeback!” Scott pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the corner, following him in with a tremendous clothesline! The Critic squares himself to Wildchild chest and raises his arm… SMACK! WHOO! … Before slashing it across Wildchild’s chest with a tremendous knife-edge chop! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! Scott pulls Wildchild 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 Brainbuster, but the Bahama Bomber twists around in midair and lands on his back behind Pretzler. Wildchild whips his leg through the air to deliver a roundhouse kick as Scott spins around, but the Critic catches his leg at chest level… CRACK! … Only for the Human Hurricane to immediately spring off the mat with his other leg, whipping it through the air and blasting Pretzler in the face with a gamengiri! “Whoa!” exclaims Pete. “What a big-time counter by the Wildchild! Just when it looked like Scott Pretzler was about to take control of this match, Wildchild scores with a big time gamengiri!” “And he used that shin guard again!” spits King. “I can’t believe that referee Herrington allows him to wear that in the ring!” Wildchild and Pretzler trade punches as they get back to their feet, with Wildchild taking control with a battery of rapid-fire right hands. He backs Scott against the edge of the ring and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, only for the Critic to reverse it, sending him into the ropes instead. Wildchild dives towards the edge of the ring headfirst, planting his hands on the canvas and uses the ropes to propel his body back towards the center of the ring, over Scott’s head, as he performs a handspring backflip! The Critic races in front of him to the ropes, but the Human Hurricane leaps off the canvas as he rebounds, twisting his body through the air… CRACK! … And knocking Pretzler off his feet with flying back elbow! The Bahama Bomber quickly rolls to his feet and runs to the corner. “Wildchild’s going to the top!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild leaps onto the top turnbuckle. “He’s going to try to re-take the lead!” Wildchild leaps fearlessly off the turnbuckle, twisting around in midair to deliver a corkscrew moonsault… CRASH! … But Pretzler rolls out of the way at the last split second! “He didn’t get it!” shouts King. “Wildchild went too quick for that move off the top! He thought he could tie it up quick and, you never know, maybe that’s what he has to do; maybe he doesn’t have much left!” Pretzler crawls to the edge of the ring, using the ropes to pull himself to his feet, and then lifts Wildchild off the canvas, whipping him to the corner, only for the Bahaman to reverse. Pretzler crashes into the turnbuckles and Wildchild charges in right after him, leaping off the canvas and twisting in midair to deliver his patented Blue Crush, only for Pretzler to dive out of the way… But Wildchild lands on the second rope, catching himself from crashing into the turnbuckles, and climbs up to the top rope while Scott’s back is turned! “Look out, Pretzler!” pleads King. “Wildchild’s on the top!” Scott glances back towards the corner just in time to catch Wildchild situating himself on the top turnbuckle, and dives desperately into the corner, pushing Wildchild’s feet out from underneath him and crotching him on the top rope! The Critic climbs up to the top turnbuckle before Wildchild can recover and then leaps up, locking his legs behind Wildchild’s neck as he arches backwards… WHAM! … And flings Wildchild into the ring with a sensational top-rope hurricanrana! “Phenomenal move by Scott Pretzler!” gushes King. “He just gave Wildchild a taste of his own medicine, and has now put a stranglehold on this match! I just can’t see Wildchild getting two straight falls on this man, not in the shape he’s in!” ------- WC: 3 Pretzler: 4 -------- Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the ropes, wrapping his arm around the Bahaman’s throat as he rebounds, trapping him in a sleeper hold! “Sleeper!” crows King. “It’s over! Wildchild’s gonna be at Pretzler’s mercy after this, and you know Pretzler ain’t gonna show no mercy!” The Critic squeezes tighter on Wildchild’s neck, trying to expedite the effects of the sleeper, but Bahama Bomber, in a desperate attempt to get free, plants both feet firmly on the canvas and pushes Scott forcefully back into the corner, slamming his back into the turnbuckles. WHAM! Pretzler continues to hold onto the sleeper, so Wildchild pulls him out of the corner, only to ram him in a second time! A third time! A fourth time, and finally, Pretzler’s grip loosens around Wildchild throat, enabling him to stagger away from the corner. The Critic explodes out of the corner, arm raised to deliver a lariat before Wildchild can mount a comeback… CRACK! … But the Human Hurricane ducks underneath the lariat and his leg thrusts through the air as Scott wheels around, knocking him silly with a devastating superkick! Wildchild collapses to his knees, trying desperately to clear the cobwebs, as the Critic lies flat on his back a few feet from him. RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Wildchild turned the tables on Pretzler with that superkick, but he’d better not waste any time,” warns Pete. “Pretzler still has the lead, and Wildchild can’t afford to make any more mistakes!” Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and grabs him by the wrist whipping him into the ropes, but the Critic reverses, trapping him in a waistlock as he’s sent past and popping his hips as he falls backwards… WHAM! … Driving the back of Wildchild’s head into the canvas with a brutal German suplex! “German!” shouts King. “Pretzler may have knocked him out with that, but it’s obvious that he’s still feeling the effects of that sidekick; don’t take too long to put this guy away, Pretzler!” The Critic slowly gets back to his feet and drags Wildchild over to the corner. Scott lifts him up off the canvas and traps him in a front facelock, grabbing Wildchild’s leg with his free hand as he lifts him up and places him on the top turnbuckle, securing him to the perch before climbing up after him. “Pretzler going for a superplex,” says King, as the Critic pulls Wildchild into a standing position. “If he hits this, it’s all over!” Scott traps Wildchild in a front facelock on the top turnbuckle and reaches down to grab his leg, but the Bahama Bomber fights back for all he’s worth, hammering Pretzler repeatedly in his exposed ribs! “Look at Wildchild!” shouts Pete. “He’s fighting back; this one isn’t over, King!” Wildchild slams his fist into Pretzler’s ribs until he relents on the pressure of his front facelock, and grabs both sides of Scott’s head… CRACK! … Driving his forehead into the bridge of Scott’s nose with a headbutt! CRACK! CRACK! WHAM! A second headbutt, followed by a third, sends Pretzler falling backwards into the ring. Realizing that he doesn’t have even a second to celebrate, the Human Hurricane leaps off the top turnbuckle, flipping twice through the air as he plummets down into the ring… SPLASH! … Crashing into Pretzler’s chest with his patented 720º Vertical Splash! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Falling Star Bomb!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild with the presence of mind to get out of that superplex, and then hits the FSB! It’s all even up!” ------- WC: 4 Pretzler: 4 -------- Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and traps him in a front facelock, quickly lifting him into the air and spinning 270 degrees before falling back towards the mat, slamming Scott down with a corkscrew suplex! “Beautiful corkscrew suplex,” says Pete. “That’s usually the setup for the Andros Drop!” Wildchild steps out onto the ring apron and climbs to the top turnbuckle. He leaps down into the ring, arms extending in a crucifix position as he spins in midair… CRASH! … And crashes into the mat as Pretzler moves out of the way! “He missed!” shouts King. “Pretzler saw it coming!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a standing headscissors, wrapping both hands around his waist as he snatches him up off the canvas to deliver a snap powerbomb! WHAM! … But the Bahama Bomber wriggles out of Scott’s grasp and drapes his leg over the back of the Critic’s neck as he falls, driving him face-first into the canvas with a Caribbean Cutter! Wildchild rolls away from Pretzler and to the edge of the ring, crawling underneath the bottom rope and pulling himself to his feet. He handcuffs both hands above his head and pumps them up and down as he waits for the Critic to stand back up. “Oh my!” exclaims Pete. “Wildchild just gave the sign for Presumed Guilty!” “Scott, look out!” pleads King. “He’s on the outside!” Pretzler stands up, scanning the corners for Wildchild, and before he realizes where he is, Wildchild leaps onto the top rope and springs into the ring, snaring the challenger in a front facelock and swinging around… BANG! … Driving Pretzler’s face into the canvas with Presumed Guilty! ------- WC: 5 Pretzler: 4 -------- DING! DING! DING! “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play, and the crowd erupts as Red Herrington holds Wildchild’s aloft in victory! “The winner of the match,” booms Funyon, as Wildchild leaps over the top rope out of the ring, “evening the Best-of-Three series at one fall apiece… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “Tremendous win by the Wildchild!” cries Pete. “Give credit to Scott Pretzler for having a great game plan for this match, but in the end, Wildchild’s experience gave him the edge, and now the Best-of-Three is tied at one apiece! They’ll settle it at 13th Hour, and I know I can’t wait! Folks, stick around for more exciting SWF action!” Wildchild retreats backwards up the ramp, nodding in acknowledgement at the still-unconscious Pretzler… As we: FADE OUT

“Dominic?” The Bahaman superstar’s head swivels. The voice isn’t one of the ones that usually speaks his full first name. He looks and sees Tom Flesher, clad in a khaki summer suit, standing back and to the left. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt your warm-up.” “C’n I help you?” asks the Wildchild coldly. “There’s no need for hostility. Trust me. I just wanted to let you know face-to-face that I met with Scott earlier tonight, but… well, I hope that you trust that there’s nothing funny going on.” Wildchild scowls at Flesher and continues stretching out for his match against Pretzler later in the evening. “I’m not sure if you’re willing to believe me or not, but there were perfectly legitimate reasons for that meeting. Frankly, I would have invited you, but I didn’t think it was a good idea to have you and Scott in the same room.” The Bahama Bomber continues warming up. “It’s no secret that I don’t like you personally, Dominic.” “Thanks for stoppin’ by ta let me know,” he shoots back. “But,” Flesher says, “you’re valuable to the SWF, and the fact that we’ve had our differences in the past… over the Cruiserweight Championship… has no bearing on how you’ll be booked.” “Why’s it seem like you’re up ta somethin’, Tom?” Wildchild stares at Flesher suspiciously. “Trust me, Dominic.” Flesher shudders, clearly uncomfortable with addressing his foe by his given name but remembering how he had referred to Pretzler. “I just wanted to make sure that… you’re comfortable with the fact that you’re a draw.” Wildchild raises an eyebrow and nods slowly. Flesher shifts uncomfortably. “Dominic, there’s no funny business tonight. I’m just aware of the very real possibility that your series with Scott is going to a third match, and I need to make sure that the 13th Hour card is malleable enough to reflect that.” “What?” “You’ll understand later.” Flesher grimaces, and chokes out a, “Good luck, Dominic.” With that, he turns around and steps out of the room, shaking his head as he leaves, and the screen goes to blue... and our camera pulls back from a conveniently placed television monitor to reveal Scott Pretzler and Ben Hardy, standing in front of an SWF banner. “With me at this time,” says Ben Hardy, “the Critic, Scott Pretzler. Mister Pretzler, last week on Lockdown, you were able to pick up a victory over Wildchild to take a one-fall-to-none lead in the Best-of-Three series to determine the Number One Contender to the World Cruiserweight Championship, giving you your first singles victory over Wildchild. Do you have any thoughts as you head into your match tonight?” “Yes, Hardy,” as a matter of fact, I do have a few thoughts. I think that I’m going to secure a sweep here tonight on Smarkdown, which will leave me free to regain MY World Cruiserweight Championship. You see, I’ve finally figured out Wildchild; I know how he thinks, and I know how he competes in the ring. There isn’t any way that he can get the better of me!” “Is dat right?” Ben and Scott both spin around as Wildchild makes his way into the interview center, pushing a rotisserie basket. “So you t’ink dat you can beat me no matter what?” "Damn, he really is quick," whispers Hardy. “That’s right,” replies Pretzler. “I’ve figured you out, Wildchild. I solved your riddle, and now I can beat you anytime, anywhere. And in any style of match, I might add!” Wildchild’s face breaks into his trademark grin. “Any kind of match, you say? Well, Mistah Big Mouth, if you’re so confident, why don’ you put your money where your mouth is?” Pretzler blinks at Wildchild in a mixture of annoyance, confusion, and disbelief. “Excuse me?” Wildchild points to the basket. “Inside of dis basket, I got a whole bunch of capsules, an’ inside o’ de capsules are papers dat have all of de different stipulations for all de matches we have here in de SWF. If you’re so confident dat you can beat me in any kind of match, I challenge you to face me tonight in a stipulation dat’s in this basket!” “Any stipulation in this basket?” asks Pretzler. “Oui,” replies Wildchild. “An’ I’ll even let you pick de stip out yourself.” Pretzler smiles maliciously. “I like that… shows trust. All right, then; you’re on. And after I pick out the stipulation, I don’t want to hear any excuses!” Wildchild’s grin grows even wider, a feat most people wouldn’t have thought possible. “I’ll remember you said that, monsieur.” Pretzler spins the basket around a few times before opening up the hasp, and reaching in to retrieve a capsule. He cracks it open and looks at the paper inside, his eyes widening as he sees what’s inside. Wildchild leans over to peer into the Critic’s hands, the grin now threatening to consume his whole face. “What was it?” asks Hardy, as he looks at the scrap of paper. “My goodness! Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like the second match in the Best-of-Three series tonight will be… a NO GRAVITY MATCH!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Oui. A No Gravity match; an’ remember, monsieur, you gave your word to accept whatever stipulation you picked. I’m sure dat you’ll do jus’ fine… Good luck, monsieur!” Pretzler glares at Wildchild as he strolls off, whistling Beethoven’s Ninth. “Mr. Pretzler,” asks Hardy, “could we get your reaction to finding out the stipulation for tonight’s match?” “I think it’s unbelievable,” replies Pretzler, as he rummages through the basket. “That kid must have a charmed life; I can’t believe that he’d luck out and happen to draw a No Gravity match when he could have just as easily been forced into a… “NO GRAVITY MATCH?” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Wait a damned minute!” Pretzler tips the rotisserie basket over on its side, dumping all the capsules on the floor. He bends down and grabs a handful, ripping them open as he looks at the contents. “No Gravity… No Gravity… No Gravity? That sneaky little…” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Alright Wildchild,” he roars. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Well, it’s not going to help you! I’m going to beat you at your own game tonight, and go on to win back MY belt at 13th Hour!” The Critic slams the capsules on the floor and storms away from the interview center… As we: FADE OUT

"PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!" ...WAAAAAHHHHH... *DUM DUM* "YYYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" The crowd in the Cairo International Stadium go wild, as we return to Smarkdown, just in time as "Megalomaniac" suddenly hits...and Megan Skye leads the way for one half of the World Tag Team Champions. Sporting a noticeable bandaid on his forehead, Landon Maddix is in no mood to play to his cheering fans tonight apparantly, striding straight down the ramp and towards the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, this following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye. From Huron, South Dakota...he weighs two hundred, twenty pounds...one half of the SWF WORLD Tag Team Champions... LLLAAAANNDDOOOOOOONN... 'LA CUCARACHA'... MMMMAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXX!!!!" Maddix continues his stride down the aisle, all but ignoring the pop for his introduction. "You can clearly see there, the stitches required by Landon Maddix after his match on Lockdown." points out Pete. "Or, rather, Johnny Dangerous' quite frankly undefendable actions after the match." "Mm-mmmf-fmmfm." "Wha...what have you got there King?" "Huh...oh, sorry. I was just enjoying the new offer from Danny Williams Strong Style Ribs. It's the new 'Racks Bomber' meal. You get two racks of Strong Style Ribs, a tray of Hollywood Hot Wings and '1000% Guapo-molé' dip." "Sounds...interesting." Sliding into the ring, Maddix removes his Tag Team Title belt and hands it to assigned official Sexton Hardcastle. Meanwhile, Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck” begins to thump throughout the massive stadium, bringing the crowd to their feet once more for another rather popular SWF star. Namely, Lil' Buck, the crowd knuckin' and buckin' (!?!) as he makes his entrance. Pimp cup in hand, Buck pops the collar on his Pete Maravich throwback before walking on down the aisle. "And his opponent...from Lanett, Alabama. Weighing in at two hundred and seventy pounds. He is 'SUGARHILL'S FINEST'... LLLIIIIIIIIIIIILLLL'... BBBBUUUUUUUUUUUUCCKK!!!!" Removing his jacket and handing up his pimp cup to Hardcastle, Buck pulls himself onto the apron and stares across the ring. Megan and Maddix exchange a slightly anxious look, Megan quickly exiting the ring and leaving her charge to eye up his larger opponent. "What the hell is a pimp cup anyway?" asks old man King. "I honestly have no idea." Pete replies, sounding equally in need of a pipe and slippers. "Is it, like, a cup you have to pay if you want to use a 'ho cup'? Can it play rap music? Does it have any spinners? Does it dress in fur and wear lots of jewellery?" "It's...I don't know...it's a cup." Having fired up the crowd behind him, Buck enters the ring. The size difference is already clear, raising the eyebrows of The Next Generation as Buck is checked over for concealed weaponry. "A cup of what? Tea? Coffee? Coke? Diet Coke? Cocaine?" "Can we concentrate on the match, please?" sighs Pete. "This is, of course, an important match in the World Title chase...Lil' Buck is coming off a loss to the World Champion himself, whilst Maddix is coming off of a loss to Johnny Dangerous. So both these men need a win tonight to keep themselves in the running for a title shot." *DING DING DING!* Back to action, the bell rings to start the match. Cautiously, Maddix steps into the centre of the ring, looking Buck up and down...and offering Sugarhill's Finest a handshake. Buck is understandably wary, but Maddix re-affirms the offer. And, having no actual beef to grind with Maddix, Buck shrugs his shoulders and tags hands with Maddix in a show of respect. "Well, that's good to see." smiles Pete. "Some friendly competition for a change." "Eh, it won't last." Maddix nods in approvement, before the two back up and finally go to lock-up. Which turns out to be the last thing on Landon's mind, as he ducks behind Buck's lunge forward and charges the ropes. Buck turns on his heel and swings at the sprinting Maddix. But Maddix ducks underneath a clothesline...and then ducks under a back elbow. As his opponent continues running, Buck turns to meet him, launching off his feet and looking for a leaping clothesline. Seeing the 270 pound gangsta hurtling to meet him, Maddix turns evasive, hitting the deck and baseball sliding between Buck's legs. As he lands though, Buck suddenly hits the ropes himself. Maddix is ready, leapfrogging Buck on his return, mugging for the cameras as he lands but still with enough time to turn and catch Buck with a flying forearm!! Buck skids across the mat, quickly using the ropes to pull himself back up, as Maddix comes to a halt and holds his hands to the side with a sneer. "YEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH!" Getting to his feet, Buck glares at Maddix, as The Next Generation once again offers a hand. Buck resists the urge to punch Landon's lights out and gracefully tags hands again. "Maddix using his speed to his advantage there." comments Pete. "And that may be his only hope tonight." "So long as Buck is being Mr Nice Guy at least. What's with him anyway? Shaking hands? He's suppose'be gangsta, foo'!" "I think Buck's here for good competition rather than a fight, King. Hey, this is Smarkdown after all." The two combatants back off again, before coming together for the lock-up. Again Maddix goes to weave behind Buck, but this time Buck is expecting the move, catching Maddix by his side and just throwing him backwards. Maddix rolls through to his feet and quickly charges Buck, taking a boot to the gut and getting whipped towards the corner. Buck is right behind Maddix, but the Tag Champion is the quicker of the two and reaches the corner early enough, pushing himself skywards by the ropes. Following in, Buck ducks and comes to a stop, while Maddix rotates in mid-air, hooking Buck on the way down with a sunset flip... "NICE MOVE!" cries Pete. ONE! ...but Buck is out very quickly. But Maddix again beats him to his feet, ducking under a southpaw swing and schoolboying Buck over... ONE! ...again, Maddix can't keep the fresh Buck down. Both men get to their feet, Maddix looking for an irish whip. Buck digs his feet in to prevent it though, his size advantage allowing him to reverse and send Maddix into the ropes. Latching his arms, Buck swings with a Polish Hammer style double axehandle, just missing the top of the ducking Maddix's head. Approaching the ropes again, this time, Maddix leaps to the middle rope and springboards off. Buck is a little far away for Maddix to strike, but he does extend an arm, latching Buck's and using leverage to lever Buck over, modified armdrag style. "Wow...I'm not Mike Quackenbush, so I don't know what to call that. Let's just call it a lucha libré armdrag." Rolling to his feet, Buck rolls his eyes as Maddix is again left standing. With a smirk, Maddix cocks his hands into gun shapes, blowing imaginary smoke from the tips. A seemingly innocuous taunt. But one that causes Buck to start FUMING~! "Uh oh...that may not have been well advised!" "This kid doesn't know how screwed he is." smirks King. Looking down at his hands, Maddix slooooowly realises how his taunting could be interpreted. Quickly, he stops the 'gun' motions and extends a flat hand to Buck... *WHAM!* "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" ...ONLY TO GET CLOTHESLINED OUT OF HIS BOOTS!! "Buck's gangsta trippin'!!" "And this match has ERUPTED into life!!" Mounting Maddix, Buck has lost it, firing left hand after left hand across the head of Maddix, each one aimed at the bandaid. Which eventually flies off, leaving Maddix' stiched up wound exposed. Hardcastle quickly interjects himself and pulls Buck off of Maddix. Maddix takes the chance to try and roll out of the ring. But Buck scrambles over and grabs a handful of blonde hair to keep Landon from escaping. "This is bad, King! Buck thinks Maddix disrespected his hospitalised tag team partner, Jarrod Banks. And you know what happens when you disrespect a member of a gangster's crew!" "Yeah! White chalk outlines!!" cries King. Fearing for his life, Maddix tries to get away from Buck... ...but he's going nowhere.... ...but DOWN!, as Buck nails a big left hand to the jaw, knocking Maddix flat on his back. The Next Generation meekly holds his hands up and tries to beg off, but Buck swats his hands away, getting space to measure a double axehandle blow, DRIVEN into Landon's sternum! And again! A third time! "LAN - DON!" "LIL' BUCK!" "LAN - DON!" "LIL' BUCK!" "LAN - DON!" "LIL' BUCK!" All sense of friendly competion is gone now as Buck drags Maddix to his feet and hurls him into the corner. This time, Buck waits for Maddix to safely nestle against the buckles before charging...and avalanching him in the corner. 270 pounds drives the air from Maddix lungs, causing him to flop out of the corner. Straight into Buck's arms, Sugarhill's Finest locking on a front facelock...and driving repeated forearms between the shoulder blades, repeated knees up into the torso, just generally beating the crap out of La Cucaracha!! "My god, this is just brutal!" groans Pete. "We knew it would be. So long as Buck caught Maddix, we knew he'd be big enough and bad enough to dominate this mouthy punk. He's not so mouthy now he can't breath though, eh?" Dropping to his knees, Maddix gasps for air. Buck shows him no mercy however, picking him up and pulling him into a leaping short-arm clothesline!! Nonchalantly, Buck decides to try a cover... ONE! TWO! Maddix kicks out...so Buck re-mounts and again throws a flurry of left hands across the head! Maddix covers up as Buck adds in some rights, almost crossfacing with his blows as he swings from side to side. "ONE!" Behind him, referee Hardcastle administers a five count. "TWO!" "THREE!" "FOU..." Buck safely stops pounding on 'four', dragging Maddix up by the hair. "No matter how angry he is right now, Lil' Buck knows a DQ loss tonight does his World Title aspirations no good." points out Longdogger. Already, Maddix looks to be beaten limp as Buck holds him in place. Grabbing an arm, Lil' Buck sends Maddix hurtling across the ring, catching him coming back with a short knee deep in the breadbasket. The already breathless Tag Champion crumbles to the mat, while Buck comes off the ropes and charges through with another knee, this one connecting to the kidneys. Maddix groans as he collapses once more, Buck right on top with a stronger cover than the last... ONE! TWO! ...only two! Undettered by the kickout, Buck waits on his opponent. As Maddix fights to his feet, Buck snares an arm and thrusts him towards the ropes. As he rebounds, Maddix finds himself caught in Buck's arms before getting tilted, whirled...and dropped frontways across a knee! "Ridin Spinners Gutbuster!" calls King. "Lil' Buck seems to have calmed down slightly." Pete reports. "And a strategy seems to be emerging...Buck is trying to hamper La Cucaracha's air supply, which in turn will slow him down." Maddix remains doubled over, while Buck takes his time over slamming a forearm into Landon's kidneys! Followed by a second! Dropping to one knee, Maddix breathlessly crawls on hand and foot in the direction of the ropes, a Buck handful of shorts keeping Maddix tethered in the centre of the ring. Buck measures Maddix for a third forearm, before turning his limp opponent to face him, wrapping his arms around the 220 pounder and... "ARRGH!" ...getting thumbed right in the eye!! "YEEEEAAAAAAHHHH!" Some of the fans cheer Maddix's Cheat 2 Win mentality as referee Hardcastle admonishes Maddix. Meanwhile, Buck drops to his knees clutching his eye, in serious discomfort. "I don't know if that was premeditated or just a desperation move...but Maddix caught Lil' Buck right in the same eye Ejiro Fasaki worked over back in the Seychelles." remembers Pete. "That's a good point." "And if it was planned, it was smart from Maddix." "Of course it was planned! All of Maddix's cheating is planned." As Buck continues to favour his eye, Maddix is taking the opportunity to recover much needed oxygen. Up comes Sugarhill's Finest to his feet, to be met with a forearm strike from Maddix. A second! Third...fourth...fifth and Buck is dazed now, enough for Maddix to hit the ropes. But despite impaired vision, Buck can see enough of the figure darting towards him to wrap and arm around the head, snaring Landon and quickly applying a sleeper. Before just as quickly dropping out, driving some more air out of Maddix and draping an arm over top... ONE! TWO! ...KICKOUT! "Maddix got Bucked Up, from out of nowhere, but managed to shoot a shoulder." "Yeah, Buck'll have to try and hit moves from out of nowhere now. The longer this match goes, the more that eye is going to bother him. Especially after the damage Ejiro did...you should have seen how swollen up it was on the flight out of the Seychelles, Pete." As both men get back to their feet, Buck goes to the gut with a knee before whipping Maddix headlong into the turnbuckles. Somehow, Maddix is able to leap to the middle rope...catching Buck charging with a boot to the jaw. Maddix fires a second boot off for good measure, making sure Buck is neautralised, before giving the signal for the Crash Landon!! "He's going for it early!" The crowd pop, as Maddix snares Buck's head and springs off the ropes... ...but as soon as Maddix starts to rotate, Buck is in control of the move and comes to a stop at 180! Maddix is still hanging off of Buck's body, trying desperatly to force Buck downwards, even throwing left hands to the head. But Sugarhill's Finest won't budge, carrying Maddix out of the corner...and dropping to one knee, SNAPPING Maddix across the other with a backbreaker!! "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Buck was too big and too strong for the Crash Landon!" Shrugging Maddix's frame off of his knee nonchalantly, Buck drops into a lateral press... ONE! TWO! TH... ...ONLY TWO! Piercing through referee Harcastle with a one eyed glare, Buck clambers back to his feet. He then drops a knee directly to the sternum, going back to his previous gameplan. Maddix shoots straight up to his knees gasping for breath, but Buck drags him straight back down and drops a second knee. *CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP!* Suddenly, Buck's head shoots up, as the Egyptian crowd are being rallied by Megan Skye. Ignoring the claps, Buck drags Maddix to his feet and drags him over near the ropes. A scoop from Buck looks to be leading to a hot shot...but Maddix floats over the back, waiting for Buck to turn around... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOO!!" ...before leathering him with a knifedge! *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOO!!" ...and again! *SLA...* *WHAM!* ...but Buck cuts him off with a STIFF clothesline!! Maddix gets turned inside out, rolling lifelessly onto his back and allowing Buck to make the cover... ONE! TWO! ...ONLY TWO!! "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" "Listen to this crowd, solidly behind Landon Maddix!" shouts Pete. "But crowd support isn't gonna fill Maddix's lungs with air! Every time Maddix tries to mount a comeback, he runs out of gas and gets caught. A bunch of cat worshipers ain't gonna change that!" Bringing Maddix up again, Buck stoops low and lifts Maddix onto his shoulder...carrying him across the ring and placing him onto the top turnbuckle. Buck cracks Maddix with a couple of left hands to keep him in place, before climbing from the bottom ropes to the middle.Giving the signal, Buck takes a moment to display his "Dirty South" tattoo... "ARRGGGHHH!!" ...but AGAIN, gets jabbed in his bad eye!! "Come on Hardcastle!" moans King. "That's twice now!" The eyepoke is seemingly enough to save Maddix, as he nails Buck with a forearm! Buck teeters but hangs onto the top rope vehemently...so Maddix nails a second forearm! Another wobble, but still Buck is holding on. Feeling a little steadier, Maddix re-adjusts on the buckles and swipes away one of Buck's hands, leaving him dangling precariously. And leaving him wide-open for a swift knee to the face, sending Buck FLYING backwards and CRASHING to the mat below!! Groaning, Buck begins to roll away from the corner, whilst Maddix pulls himself to his feet on the top rope, waiting for Buck to slow down before launching off the top... ...and CONNECTING with a Frog Splash!! "YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" But the Tag Champion cannot stay atop Buck, rolling off of his opponent, clutching his ribs. "Beautiful Frog Splash, but it may not have been the wisest move in Maddix's condition!" cries Pete. "If not for that eye, Maddix'd be beaten by now." is all King can grumble in response. On the outside, Megan encourages Maddix to hurry up and make the cover, which is easier said than done on her part. Gritting his teeth, Maddix exasperatedly crawls on his stomach, reaching Buck and flopping on top... ONE! TW... POWER~!FUL KICKOUT!! "No way that cover was gonna get it done." King critiques. Rolling to his feet, Buck measures the recovering Maddix and swipes. Maddix ducks the left hand though, quickly firing a dropkick into Buck's kneecap. Leg shooting out behind him, Buck hops on his standin foot until he can regain his balance. Back to his feet, Maddix hits a second dropkick to the knee, this time dropping Buck down to one knee. Spotting an opening, Maddix gets a run-up... "SHINING WIZAAAAAA..." ...NO!! Buck throws his arms over his face and blocks the Shining Wizard with his forearms!! Quickly shaking the pain out of his arms, Buck catches Maddix as he turns back around, booting him in the gut and pulling him into a standing headscissors. Locking up, Buck then looks to haul Maddix up. But the gutsy Galactico wraps his arms around Buck's right leg and clings on for dear-life!! Buck tries once and twice to lift Maddix, getting him up a certain amount before almost toppling over himself. Angrily, Buck SLAMS his forearms into Maddix's spine! And again! With his opponent weakened, Buck now tries again, hauling Maddix up... ...but Buck puts too much energy into the lift, allowing Maddix to float AAAAALL the way over and cradle him into a sunset flip... ONE! TWO! TH... ...ONLY TWO! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!" Kicking out, Buck rolls through to his feet. The Gangsta Of Love moves in towards Maddix, but Maddix tumbles underneath Buck's grasp. Frustrated, Buck goes after Maddix again, the Tag Champion again tumbling out of reach and across the ring. Maddix soon realises he's tiring himself out though. And as Buck advances a third time, Maddix doesn't tumble, instead nailing a right hand. And a second. Buck quickly catches Maddix with a left though, knocking him down. "Maddix shouldn't be trying to exchange strikes with Buck." points out Pete, as Maddix scrambles back up. "He should be using pace." "He can't use pace for long with bad ribs though." Maddix defiantly comes at Buck with a forearm this time. A second, third, fourth, fifth, cupping him behind the head with his free hand to keep a stationary target. Buck pushes Maddix away, but The Next Generation rolls through and fires off a jab, suspiciously close to Buck's bad eye. Instantly, Buck howls and grabs at the eye, while Maddix hits the ropes, hooking Buck down with a bulldog to the approval of Megan on the floor! Head bouncing off the mat, Lil' Buck rolls onto his front to tend to the eye. He gets no favours from Landon though, as he places the flat of his boot across the nose and RAKES upwards, leaving Buck writhing in pain! "YEEEEAAAAAHHHH!" "Latino Eyerake!" cries Pete. "And Maddix can do no wrong at the moment, in the eyes of the crowd at least." As Buck continues to be pre-occupied by his rapidly swelling eye, Maddix hits the ropes and drives in a double stomp...dropping instantly into a back senton!! Maddix favours the ribs, but this time is able to cover straight away... ONE! TWO! THR... ...NO, ONLY TWO! Cursing aloud, Maddix fights to his feet, encouraging Buck up. Which is a mistake, as Buck ducks a wayward forearm, goes to the ribs with a knee and CHIN CHECKS~! Maddix!! "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "BIIIIIIG uppercut...and that certainly changes the momentum!" "Buckin' Hell!!" With Landon seemingly out cold, Lil' Buck has had enough, running his thumb across the throat. The universal sign for 'this match is over'. Handful of hair, Buck pulls Maddix to his knees before rocking him once, twice, thrice with forearms over the back. Buck then turns his back and hooks the arms into chickenwings, turning underneath Maddix in preparation for the Buck-Wild Ride... ...but Maddix has it scouted and desperatly fires his right leg towards his left, sandwiching Buck's head in the process. Five or six times Buck's head gets sandwiched before Maddix can finally adjust... *SMACK!* "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...AND MULE KICK BUCK IN THE FACE~! "A DESPERATE escape from Maddix...he knows what that move's all about." The kick knocks Buck loopy, allowing Maddix to free his arms. And with Buck on his hands and knees, Maddix quickly turns on his heels and steps over Buck's back, grabbing the head for the Land Of Nod!! "YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!" "LAND OF NOD!" cheers Pete. "He's too strong, I'll betcha he's too strong!" Maddix snares the head and starts to pull back... ...but King is dead on the money as Buck shakes out the cobwebs and pushes off his hands and knees, to his feet. Easily lifting the 220 pounds of Maddix onto his shoulder, Buck suddenly breaks into a run across the ring, throwing Maddix off as he gets near the corner... ...only for Maddix to counter the snake eyes, landing on the middle turnbuckle. Setting himself, Maddix springs off the ropes and rotates towards the 360ing Buck, catching his head and DDTing him into the canvas!! "Nice move by Maddix!" Pete applauds. "But not the one he wanted!" King fires back. "He couldn't get the Crash Landon, he couldn't apply the Land Of Nod...what else has he got? I don't think Maddix has a move that can beat Buck, now his finishers didn't work!" "He could always cheat." "Yeah and it's idiots like you that encourage him!" As he gets to his feet, Maddix does look at a loss for what to do next, so he decides to cover Buck... ONE! TWO! TH... ...kickout! Still Lil' Buck won't give up, his entire body pulsating with adrenaline as he begins to fight back to his feet. Clearly worried, Maddix nails a right hand. A right hand Buck doesn't seem to feel. Buck gets to his knees as Maddix swings again, but again he has no effect. Luckily, it seems Landon's been studying his 'Art Of Hulking Up' tapes and stops punching the shaking Buck, instead, hitting the ropes. As he comes back, Buck is up though, charging through Maddix with a shoulder block! Buck comes to a stop straightaway though, having to shake out some more cobwebs before turning to grab Maddix again. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" Buck grabs Landon's right arm and laces it through his legs, trying to Pump It Up...but Maddix quickly shoots back an elbow, connecting with the eye socket more by luck than judgement. As he escape the attempted pumphandle, Maddix hits a second elbow to the eye, this one judgement not luck. Stopping to gasp for breath momentarily, Maddix throws another elbow...only for Buck to weave underneath, waiting for Maddix to spin away from him before GRABBING HIM IN THE FULL NELSON!! "HE'S GOING FOR THE CHAMPION'S REQUIEM!!" Maddix knows what's coming and frantically tries to escape before Buck can lock his hands. Luckily for him, Megan also knows what's coming and jumps to the apron in front of Maddix. Referee Hardcastle takes a moment to notice the flailing female behind him, but when he does, he quickly reprimands her and yells for her to go back to the floor... *CHING!* "YYEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" ...getting sucked right into the plan. "LOWBLOW!" howls King. "And Hardcastle didn't see a thing." "DAMN IT, I knew you shouldn't have given him any ideas!!" As his eyes open to the size of saucers, Buck breathlessly holds his 'area'. Hardcastle turns around and spots it but can't make the call on speculation, no matter how obvious the clues are...simply watching on as Maddix goes to the knee with the dropkick. This time, Buck drops to one knee first time, as Landon hits the ropes in front... "SHINING WIZZAAAAAAARRRRRDD!!!!" ...AND CONNECTS WITH THE SHINING WIZARD, SNATCHING A LEG AS HE FOLLOWS THROUGH INTO A COVER... ONE! TWO! THREEEEEE!!!! "YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" *DING DING DING!* "HE GOT IT!" cheers Pete, over the roaring crowd and blaring sounds of Incubus. "BIG win for Landon Maddix!!" Maddix quickly rolls backwards and out of the ring, into the arms of Megan who helps the breathless Tag Team Champion to stay on his feet. Raising an arm is about all Maddix can do now, Megan continuing to hold him aloft whilst Maddix's Tag Team Title belt is retrieved. "He couldn't get the Land Of Nod, or the Crash Landon...but Maddix managed to pull out the big victory over Lil' Buck. And that certainly does his World Title ranking no harm." "He cheated AGAIN." moans King. "Fair means or foul, it matters not, as Maddix picks up the win." "Try telling that to Buck." Retreating away from ringside with his belt, the victory and all his ribs presumably still intact, Maddix smirks through the pain he's feeling. Watching on from the ring, Buck has just about come around. Hardcastle tries to check on him, but Buck shoves his away, clearly pissed teh fuq off with the manner of his defeat. And, judging from the glare up the rampway at Maddix, pissed at him too. -FADE OUT-

FADE IN… “Johnny?” Wildchild calls for his tag team partner as he enters the locker room backstage. He looks around momentarily before finally spotting the Barracuda doing some stretches by the sinks. “Johnny!” Wildchild shouts again, this time grabbing his partner’s attention. Dangerous returns to a normal stance and turns towards his best friend. “Hey, Nic; what’s up?” “I jus’ wanted to talk with you before dis’ match you have tonight,” says Wildchild. “You’re teaming with Toxxic and I saw dat’ you had a few words with him already.” “Yeah, I did,” Johnny replies. “But I didn’t make this match. Believe me I would have never chosen him as a partner on my own, but since he is my partner for tonight’s match I have to make it work… I have to!” “Alright,” Wildchild finally responds after a moments thought. “Jus’ ta’ let you know though; I know you want a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship. Hell it’s been on your mind constantly for six months now, but jus’ be careful.” “What do you mean be careful?” Johnny asks, somewhat taken back by the notion. “I can handle myself just fine. Just because I have to team with Toxxic doesn’t mean I have to like it and I know none of the fans are going to like it either, but I have to do what I have to do, Nic! I’ve been here for months on end waiting for my chance as people like Todd Cortez, Mak Francis, Ejiro Fasaki and Lil’ Buck all take their shot, and quite frankly… I’m a little bit tired of being an afterthought. Tonight, I’m going to make a statement--I’m going to pin Fasaki’s shoulders to the mat for three--and when that’s done, nobody will be able to deny me a chance at that title!” “Ya’ know, Johnny,” says Wildchild , the sadness in his voice easily detected. “I can certainly understand your frustrations, but even if you can beat Ejiro tonight dat’ doesn’t guarantee you a chance at da’ World Title and you know it. Don’ let Toxxic fool you into dinkin’ dat’, and please, for da’ love of God, don’t let this desire at’ be da’ Champion consume your every waking moment! I need you when we finally get our rematch for the Tag Team Championship and I need you… cause you‘re the only man I can trust around here! I don‘t want ta’ loose my friends!” Johnny just looks at his Bahaman friend then finally replies; “If there is one thing that will always be a constant around here, Nic, that’s Wild and Dangerous! No matter what happens between me and the World Title I will never turn my back on you and that’s a damn promise! Forever Wild,” he says, holding his fist out towards Wildchild. Looking up at Johnny’s extended hand, Wildchild knows that all he can do is trust the man he’s trusted for years now. With a nod of his head he bumps Johnny’s fist back and says; “...Forever Dangerous.” “Good,” says Johnny, smiling for the first time this evening. “Now lets go kick some ass!” FADE OUT.

Pete: “Welcome back to Smarkdown, and do we have a treat for our SWF faithful here.” King: “Cruiserweight action featuring the champion, Insane Luchador, and the challenger, Jay Hawke. All I want to know is why this match isn’t for the championship.” Pete: “Well, Hawke has his sights set on regaining the International Championship, so I don’t really think he’s concerned with the championship not being on the line tonight.” King: “Well, title or no title, I can’t wait to see Jay Hawke stretch this guy like he’s Stretch Armstrong in Willy Wonka’s taffy pulling machine.” Pete: “Let’s go up to Funyon for the opening introductions.” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit, and it will be contested under cruiserweight rules!” The familiar strains of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” come on the PA as the lights dim. Funyon: “Introducing first … from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio … weighing in at 215 pounds … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWKE!” A spotlight shines on Jay Hawke as he emerges from the curtain, and he heads to the ring wearing his trademark black and purple robe. As the crowd gets into its familiar chant… “HAWKE SUCKS! HAWKE SUCKS! HAWKE SUCKS!” …Jay Hawke slowly turns his head toward the crowd and sneers at the people who love to hate him. Hawke heads to the ring, taking off his robe and folding it before handing it to the ring attendant. He then turns toward the aisle, staring at the entryway with an ice cold stare. Funyon: “And his opponent…” “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains plays as the opening guitars grind into the audience’s heads. Funyon: “From Easton, Pennsylvania … weighing in at 201 pounds … he is the SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion … AND he is also the SWF Cruiserweight Champion … INSAAAAAAAAAANE LUCHADORRRRRRRRRRR!” Once the song kicks up, pyro of black and red burst from the top of the ramp, and Andrew Rickman walks out. He milks the cheers before throwing his arms into the air energetically before sprinting down to the ring. Pete: “You could tell from the reactions of both of these men that they’re ready for action, King.” King: “That may be, MacDougal, but look at it this way. Hawke took his time and walked to the ring. Insane Luchador sprinted down to the ring. Luchador might be wearing himself down before he ever gets started.” Pete: “And before this one gets underway, remember that this is under cruiserweight rules. You have a 20-count on the floor instead of the normal 10-count, and you’re automatically disqualified if you throw your opponent over the top rope to the arena floor.” King: “Everybody knows the rules, Pete. Can we just get to the match already?” *DING DING DING!* King: “Thank you!” Pete: “The bell has gone, we are officially underway. One fall with a 20 minute time limit.” King: “And if any two guys are capable of going the distance, it’s these two.” The two combatants lock up collar-and-elbow in the center of the ring, and Insane Luchador is quick to grab the left wrist and twist the arm. Jay Hawke wastes no time rolling forward to alleviate the pressure of the hold, quickly grabbing Insane Luchador by the head and snap maring him over. The cruiserweight champion is to his feet immediately, but the Dean of Professional Wrestling takes him over with a hiptoss. He extends his arms and bows to the crowd, as they go back into their familiar refrain: “HAWKE SUCKS! HAWKE SUCKS! HAWKE SUCKS!” Jay Hawke pulls Luchador to his feet and locks in a weak front facelock. Just as he grabs IL’s free arm to go for the suplex, the champion spins out of it and peppers his opponent with a series of right hands. He attempts to whip Hawke across the ring, but Hawke reverses it. Hawke leapfrogs over his opponent, but Luchador stops in his tracks and takes the Dean over with a lightning fast arm drag takedown. Hawke is to his feet quickly… “OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …and he’s back down just as quickly thanks to a spinning back fist. Pete: “A tremendous series of quick moves and countermoves here, and I’m not sure Hawke was ready for the speed of Andrew Rickmen.” King: “Oh, he was ready for the speed, but it’s so hard to counter it that he’s been thrown completely off-balance.” As Hawke gets to his feet, Insane Luchador leaps onto the top rope and springboards off it… “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …only to be caught coming down with an uppercut to the chin. King: “But as hard as it is to counter the speed of Insane Luchador, the Dean of Professional Wrestling just proved that it isn’t impossible by any means.” Referee Scott Ryder warns Jay Hawke about the closed fist, but Hawke ignores the warning and runs past the referee to stomp the Luchador in the head. Hawke pulls his opponent to his feet, levels him with a forearm to the face, then whips him into the ropes. He catches the champion coming in, spinning him around and dropping him back first onto the knee. Pete: “Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker by the former International Champion.” Jay Hawke does the infamous “I want the belt pantomime” as the crowd voices its disapproval. Pete: “But he seems more focused on regaining the International Championship than he is about his opponent.” King: “Trust me, Pete, Hawke wants the win here too. A win over the cruiserweight champion in a non-title match is sure to put him in line for a future title shot, and I don’t think any title is safe with Jay Hawke around.” The cruiserweight champion has made his way to a seated position, which ends up being the perfect setup for Jay Hawke to lock in a dragon sleeper. Pete: “Dragon sleeper applied here, and let’s be honest here, King. Over the first two to three minutes of this contest, Jay Hawke’s looked to be the better of the two.” King: “Because he is the better of the two.” Pete: “You realize that any wrestler can beat any other wrestler on any given night, right?” King: “Even a blind squirrel can find an acorn once in a while, but the squirrel with sight is the one who isn’t going to starve to death.” Pete: “Um…yeah…OK.” Insane Luchador makes his way to his feet and begins throwing weak elbows into the midsection, but Jay Hawke trips him up with a legsweep to send him crashing back down to the mat. The Dean of Wrestling once again celebrates to rile the crowd up before unleashing a series of stiff boots to the side of his fallen challenger’s head. Insane Luchador crawls to the ropes, using them to pull himself to his feet. Hawke is right there, driving a series of knees to the ribs of his opponent to double him over. Hawke grabs Luchador’s left arm, locks it into a hammerlock, then spins Insane Luchador around before throwing him shoulder-first into the ringpost. Pete: “And the Insane Luchador just hit that turnbuckle hard!” King: “And he hit shoulder first, which is always the most important setup to the Wing Span.” Hawke moves in, but upon hearing a heckler in the crowd, he turns toward the fans and flips the vast majority of section 109 off. Pete: “But look at Jay Hawke. He’s still playing to the crowd, which is very uncharacteristic of him!” King: “All he’s trying to do is show these people what true greatness looks like!” This time taunting to the crowd costs him. Insane Luchador gets six punches into the midsection, then comes upstairs for some forearm smashes to the face. With Hawke reeling, Luchador bounds off the ropes and leaves his feet, sending Hawke crashing to the mat with a flying clothesline. Hawke is to his feet almost instantly, but Insane Luchador is right there waiting with a picture-perfect dropkick. Pete: “All that showboating has cost Hawke the advantage here, and look at Insane Luchador keep Hawke off-balance!” King: “Has either man gone for a cover yet?” Pete: “I don’t think so.” King: “And Andrew Rickmen’s probably got a perfect opportunity to at least try to win it right here. This could cost him.” Hawke is once again to his feet, and the Insane Luchador leaps up, wraps his legs around Hawke’s head, and backflips him over with a headscissors, cradling Hawke as the shoulders hit the mat. Pete: “Huracanrana! This could do it!” ONE! TWO! T -- kickout. Pete: “Only two!” King: “He should have gone for the pin off of that dropkick and then gone for the huracanrana if it didn’t work!” Luchador runs off the ropes again and catches Hawke coming in with a running knee strike. Hawke staggers backwards, leaning against the ropes to keep to his feet. Luchador charges, but Hawke lifts the knee at the last second to catch his opponent underneath the chin and spin him around. Jay Hawke immediately tries to lock in a sleeper hold, but IL quickly drops to his BUTT and, at the same time, drops Hawke’s chin onto the top of his head. Funyon: “Five minutes have gone by, 15 minutes remain.” Pete: “Wow! Five minutes into this one already, and I can‘t believe the pace they’ve been keeping thus far!” King: “The pace is too quick here! Hawke needs to slow it down and use his superior technical ability to wear his opponent down!” Luchador celebrates as the crowd voices its approval. Sensing he has things well in hand, the champion is up to the top rope. He leaps, but he gets caught coming in with a leg lariat to the face. King: “And just like that, Hawke once again turns the tide!” Pete: “Back and forth this one goes, and neither man can get any sort of extended advantage going before their opponent regains control!” Jay Hawke has decided that he’s done fooling around. Taking advantage of Insane Luchador’s prone position, he immediately tries to lock in a crossface chickenwing. He has the chickenwing locked and has the head bent to the side, but Luchador twists his body to prevent Hawke from locking the fingers. Pete: “Jay Hawke is going for the Wing Span in the early going here, but Insane Luchador is simply too wiry to have that hold locked in!” King: “That might be true thus far, but somehow I doubt that will be the case five minutes from now!” Frustrated, Hawke gives up trying to lock the hold in and simply begins punching and elbowing the left shoulder of the SWF’s resident double champion. Grabbing hold of the arm, Jay Hawke puts all his weight onto the shoulder, driving Insane Luchador down to the mat and pulling back on the arm. Pete: “Fujiwara armbar!” King: “All the pressure on the left arm and shoulder, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think Jay Hawke was trying to rip the arm out of the socket here!” Pete: “What do you think he’s doing, massaging him?” King: “Leave the humor to the professionals, Pete.” Insane Luchador crawls over to the ropes, using his free hand to grab hold of the bottom rope. Hawke maintains pressure of the hold until Scott Ryder reaches the count of four, but Hawke gets a stomp to the shoulder for good measure as he releases the hold. Pete: “Look at that disgusting display. Just stomping on the arm after breaking the hold.” King: “Hey, the referee’s warning him about it, and he did it before the five count. Just relax and stop playing favorites out here!” Pete: “Like you do every week?” King: “Shut up.” As Insane Luchador makes his way to his feet, Jay Hawke immediately traps the left arm into a hammerlock. As IL tries to grab a hold of the Dean to find a way out of the hold, Jay simply shoves him forward. Luchador’s shoulder hits the top turnbuckle hard, and Hawke goes right back into the hammerlock. He holds it for a few seconds, but he quickly shoves his opponent forward to again force the shoulder to hit the top turnbuckle. Pete: “Jay Hawke continues to work the shoulder of his opponent.” King: “And how is Insane Luchador going to be able to get the proper grip on the Evenflow DDT if he has no feeling in that arm?” Pete: “That’s an excellent question, King.” King: “Of course it is. Think about who thought of it!” Jay Hawke snap mares Insane Luchador over and grabs a chinlock, but he makes sure to also grab a hold of the arm and trap it behind Luchador’s head. King: “And here’s the thing. Andrew Rickmen has had problems with that right shoulder over the years. Hawke’s working the stronger left shoulder!” Pete: “Good point. I hadn’t even thought of that!” King: “What happens if Hawke completely incapacitates the good shoulder?” Pete: “There’s no way the cruiserweight champion could properly defend himself!” King: “Exactly.” Jay Hawke releases the hold, but he drives a couple of knees into the small of Rickmen’s back, then follows that up with a series of elbows to the back of the neck. Jay Hawke adds a kick to the back for good measure, then throws Luchador’s back to the mat and covers: ONE! TWO! Kickout. With the cruiserweight and hardcore champion still prone on the canvas, Jay Hawke grabs the arm and extends it, then drops a leg across the upper part of the arm. Hawke maintains his positioning, bending the arm over and bringing the other leg over top of it, scissoring it and holding on tight. Pete: “Short arm scissors, and Jay Hawke has been relentless on the left arm of Insane Luchador over the last few minutes.” Briefly forgetting where he is, Insane Luchador allows the right shoulder to fall to the mat: ONE! TWO! Shoulder up. With the pain etched on the champion’s face, the shoulder again falls to the mat: ONE! TWO! Shoulder up. King: “If Rickmen’s not careful, he’s going to end up getting pinned here, and what kind of momentum will he have going into 13th Hour then?” Insane Luchador begins to crawl to the ropes. Jay Hawke tightens the grip, attempting to keep Luchador right where he is, but the double champion is able to get his foot over the bottom rope. Scott Ryder asks for the break, and Hawke releases the hold at the count of four. Hawke gets to his feet, runs into the ropes on the other side of the ring, and baseball slides Insane Luchador, who falls to the concrete floor. Pete: “Down to the floor goes Insane Luchador, and here’s something uncharacteristic from the Dean of Professional Wrestling! He’s going right out after him!” King: “This is all part of his master plan to break his opponent down once and for all.” ONE! Jay Hawke picks up Insane Luchador, apparently preparing to body slam him on the floor. Instead, he walks over to the guardrail and drives his opponent back first onto the steel. “OHHHHHHHHHHHH!” And again. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” And again. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Hawke then maneuvers Insane Luchador so his stomach is on Hawke’s shoulder, then he once again drops Luchador, this time throat first onto the guardrail. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” FIVE! Pete: “And now you’re seeing disgusting tactics from Jay Hawke. There is absolutely no call for using the guardrail outside the ring in that manner.” Jay Hawke picks Insane Luchador up and onto his shoulder again. This time he runs toward the ringpost, using the champion’s shoulder as a battering ram into the steel. EIGHT! Jay Hawke drags Insane Luchador back over to the guardrail, then begins to choke Insane Luchador by draping his throat over the steel. Funyon: “Ten minutes have gone by, ten minutes remain in the time limit.” He holds it for a few seconds, then releases the hold and steps onto the ring apron. With the champion’s throat still over the guardrail, Hawke leaps off the apron, coming down with a elbow to the back of the head that puts the full brunt of the throat onto the guardrail. ELEVEN! Pete: “Come on, this is uncalled for!” King: “Hey. The shoulder’s incapacitated, and now it’s got to be hard for Insane Luchador to breathe! This is absolutely brilliant strategy from the Dean of Professional Wrestling!” Jay Hawke rolls back into the ring, confident that Insane Luchador isn’t going to be beating any twenty count back into the ring. FIFTEEN! SIXTEEN! SEVENTEEN! EIGHTEEN! NINETEEN! Insane Luchador just barely rolls back into the ring, only to be met by a knee drop to the side of the head upon his return to the ring. Pete: “Somehow Insane Luchador made his way back into the ring before the twenty count!” King: “I still don’t understand that rule in regards to these cruiserweight matches. Where the hell did they come up with that? Dallas?” Jay Hawke rolls Insane Lucahdor onto his back and once again continues to drive the knees into the small of the back of his opponent. He then grabs the chin and sits back, making sure his opponent’s arms are over his knees. Pete: “And into the camel clutch. After the beating Hawke just gave him on the floor a couple of minutes ago, I’m not sure how much more of this Luchador can take.” King: “He might not be able to take very much of this one at all. I certainly hope not.” Jay Hawke continues to pull back on the chin. Insane Luchador’s eyes begin rolling back into his head as his arms begin to go limp. The crowd begins to implore the champion to find a way out of the hold, but his arms are hanging over the side of Hawke’s knees, and there is no response from the double champion. Scott Ryder has no choice. He lifts Luchador’s arm… …it falls. Scott Ryder lifts the arm again… …it falls. King: “That’s two, MacDougal! One more and it’s all over!” Scott Ryder lifts the arm again… “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” …it stays up. Pete: “It’s not over yet! Insane Luchador still has some fight left in him!” King: “But does he have enough fight in him to actually get out of this hold?” Insane Luchador is getting a rush of adrenaline, thanks in large part to the reaction of the crowd. With his arm shaking, he is able to get it off of Hawke’s knees and onto the mat to alleviate the pressure. Hawke yanks back just a little bit harder on the hold, but the Luchador gets the other arm off of Hawke’s knees. With both arms on the mat, he uses them to push himself up, then grabs Hawke’s legs and lifts him off this feet. With the crowd buzzing, Luchador falls backwards, and he drives Hawke into the mat below. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Pete: “What a tremendous counter by the cruiserweight champion right there! That move right there might be the turning point!” King: “I don’t know, Pete! I think it’s going to take more than that to keep Jay Hawke down!” Despite King’s comments, neither man has moved an inch since the impact from the makeshift fall away slam, which has forced Scott Ryder to begin a ten count. FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! Insane Luchador rolls over, draping an arm over Jay Hawke’s chest: ONE! TWO! T -- shoulder up! PETE: “NO! Great presence of mind from Andrew Rickmen on that one, but he only got the count of two!” King: “He might have knocked the wind out of Jay Hawke when he broke the camel clutch, but otherwise he wasn’t really hurt!” Both competitors pull themselves to their feet. Insane Luchador moves in for a forearm, but Jay Hawke stops him short with a knee to the midsection that doubles him over. Hawke locks in a front facelock, then sets up the other arm for a suplex. Hawke attempts to lift Luchador, but Luchador wraps his leg behind Hawke’s to block it. Another lift attempt, but another block. This time it’s Luchador lifting Jay Hawke, and he holds him vertical for a few seconds before dropping his opponent straight down onto the top of his head. Pete: “Brain buster! Insane Luchador hit that brain buster seemingly out of nowhere, and that’s the turning point!” King: “No way, Pete! There’s no way this one’s over just like that!” Insane Luchador pulls Jay Hawke up to his feet. He begins to go into a fast flurry of forearm and palm strikes, ending the sequence by taking the Dean of Professional Wrestling off his feet with a flying head scissors. Insane Luchador is immediately down for the cover: ONE! TWO! THR -- kickout. Luchador doesn’t hesitate. Sensing victory, he body slams Jay Hawke down hard to the canvas, then heads to the corner as quickly as his battered body can take him. He climbs up to the top rope and leaps, backflipping down on his opponent with a picture-perfect moonsault press: ONE! TWO! THR -- shoulder up. Pete: “You could hear the crowd counting along! They thought it was over right there!” Insane Luchador grabs Hawke by the head and repeatedly slams the back of his head into the mat. King: “It might be after that series of headslams!” Insane Luchador once again makes his way to the corner, then up to the top turnbuckle. With Hawke still prone on the canvas, he leaps, and he crashes down on Hawke with a beautiful frog splash. He stays on his opponent and grapevines the far leg: ONE! TWO! THRE -- kickout. “YAAAAAAAAA--BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Pete: “He didn’t get him! How did Jay Hawke kick out of that frog splash, King?” King: “Honestly, it might have been instinct, Pete!” Funyon: “Fifteen minutes have gone by, five minutes remain to time limit!” King: “I honestly have no idea how he kicked out of that one, and I have even less of an idea as to whether he can last another five minutes!” Insane Luchador’s face shows a look of frustration, as he obviously felt he’d gotten the winning three count. Undaunted, the Insane Luchador once again makes his way to the top turnbuckle. Jay Hawke pulls himself to his feet, and Insane Luchador leaps off the turnbuckle, going for a flying cross body press. Hawke dives forward just before impact to avoid the blow, and Insane Luchador crashes hard to the canvas. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With all the air driven out of the lungs of the cruiserweight champion, he’s finding it hard to get back to his feet. He eventually does pull himself to his feet, and Jay Hawke is right there to spin his doubled-over opponent down to the mat. Pete: “Tremendous swinging neck breaker, and after Insane Luchador had the wind taken out of him from the missed flying body press, all Hawke needs to do is cover him for the win.” Jay Hawke drags his opponent over to the ropes, then slides out of the ring. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he drags Insane Luchador out with him. King: “But he doesn’t want the win. What exactly is he doing?” Funyon: “Four minutes remain in the time limit, four minutes.” Pete: “You’d think he’d want to keep it in the ring with just four minutes to go.” THREE! Jay Hawke locks Insane Luchador into a front facelock, then glares at the crowd with an evil grin. Suddenly the grin fades off of his face, and Hawke takes Luchador down with another swinging neck breaker, this one bouncing the back of Luchador’s head onto the hard concrete floor. FIVE! Pete: “Oh my God!” King: “Hawke’s going for the end of the match, alright! He might be going for the end of Insane Luchador’s career!” Jay Hawke struggles to pick Insane Luchador up to his feet, but he eventually lifts what’s essentially dead weight and locks in another front facelock. Again, Hawke gives an evil grin, and when the grin fades… THUD! “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Pete: “DDT! My God, Hawke just dropped Insane Luchador down into the concrete with that DDT!” ELEVEN! King: “And this time, I doubt Luchador’s getting back in the ring!” Jay Hawke looks down at the fallen carcass of his opponent, then slides back into the ring, awaiting the end of Scott Ryder’s twenty count. THIRTEEN! FOURTEEN! Funyon: “Three minutes remain in the time limit, three minutes!” FIFTEEN! SIXTEEN! SEVENTEEN! EIGHTEEN! NINETEEN! TWENTY! *DING DING DING!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, in 17 minutes 8 seconds, the winner of this contest, as a result of a countout … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!” The crowd boos the winner vehemently as Hawke just glares at his fallen opponent. Pete: “I can’t believe this. I hope Andrew Rickmen isn’t seriously injured.” King: “But Jay Hawke just proved that, right now, he’s willing to do anything he needs to do to win a match. Arch Griffon, if this man gets his rematch for that International Championship, you might want to kiss that title goodbye.” Pete: “We have plenty more action still to come after the commercial break. Don’t go away.”

Deep inside the Cairo International Stadium... “You know,” Toxxic says. “I’ve never really liked you. But,” the Brit continues before taking a sip of his refreshing Cherry Coke®, “I’m sure the feeling is a mutual one, so that don't really matter.” “I think it pretty much goes without saying,” Johnny Dangerous agrees with an overbearing sarcastic tone as a lopsided grin crawls onto the Straight-Edged Sensation’s face. So many times before the Barracuda would have sooner slapped that grin off the Brit’s face, but tonight he just looks back at his partner for the evening stone-faced, with his arms folded. “Alright,” Toxxic finally says. He sets his drink down on the coffee table next to the sofa and leans forward in the seat. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” “Let’s.” “Good; and you know, Johnny, I think it’s good that we can be this close to each other without getting into hostilities,” Toxxic says, “and who would have ever thought that you’d see the two men who were the main event of Genesis Five tagging together in a match. It’s good though, real good; tonight we have to be on the same page despite everything that has happened between us in the past.” “Don’t get your hopes up,” replies Johnny. “I can certainly do what needs to be done to get through this match, but that’s all this is. Least you forget, my tag team partner is wrestling your stablemate in match two of the best of three series between them so don’t think for an instant that I’ll hesitate to get myself involved if you and your crew so much as stick your nose in that.” “Hey, what happens between Scott and Wildchild happens – I’ve got plenty of problems on my own without getting involved with that,” Toxxic says. “Problems like Spike – the little ungrateful bastard! You know I took him under my wing and trained him, showed him how to be a Champion, and what kind of thanks do I get? The bloody fool spikes my drink with LSD!” “Look, I can certainly understand that you got issues with Jenkins, but I’m not here to help you take him out. You created the monster; you can slay it on your own! I’ll see you in the ring,” says Johnny, turning towards the door. “Alright, look, let’s cut the bullshit,” Toxxic says in a more serious tone as he stands up, stopping Johnny from leaving the Revolution Zero locker room. “You and I both know that tonight we both need each other! Spike’s been a pain in the arse for months now, while Ejiro… well, he's got all sorts of unresolved shit with his sister and seems to be taking it out on me," the Straight-Edge Sensation grins. "He’s taken my World Heavyweight Championship – the very same belt you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to get a chance at while everyone but you has had their shot. He’s right here, Johnny, and all you have to do is show the World why you’re better than him! Show them why you, Johnny Dangerous, should get to face him for that belt and nobody else!” Stepping away from the door, Johnny turns back towards the Brit. “I’ve already beaten Ejiro in a tag match with Lil’ Buck and I got nothing!” snarls Dangerous, “But why do you care, Toxxic?” “I won’t lie,” replies Toxxic with another grin. “I really don’t care if you ever get a shot or not, but you do, Johnny... you do. I want Spike, and you know that you want Fasaki. Our chance is tonight – the chance to get even – and all you have to do is tell me what to do.” “You’re asking for my advice?” Johnny asks, rather taken back by the notion. Still, it intrigues him. “One hundred and thirty-three days as Tag Team Champion,” Toxxic continues. “That says something right there. For over six months you and Wildchild have yet to be pinned in any kind of a tag team match. Hell, me and Sean couldn’t even beat you two in a tag match and honestly, Martial Law didn’t beat you either – you were robbed! They stripped you guys of the belts and they didn’t even have to beat you. You and the Bahaman are either the luckiest sons of bitches I’ve ever met, or you two know what the hell you’re doing - I don’t care which. Just tell me what to do cause I want to know… I want to win!” “Very well, Toxxic,” Johnny finally replies, nodding, after a moments thought. He takes a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lights it before finally continuing. “very well…” "Put that bloody thing out, you wanker..." FADE OUT.

“We have a hell of a card tonight in Cairo, I say we get right to it.” LDP lets his feelings be known as “A Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams Jr plays. The fans start to boo as the hated southern frat boy Martin “Big Country” Hunt makes his way down to the ring. Along the way he brags about his fraternity letters and verbally abuses those in the front row. He even goes on to steal a fans beverage and gulps it down right in front of him as if challenging the fan to do something. “Yeah he’s a big man, please.” “Hey he was just a little thirsty.” King answers to LDP’s sarcastic comment. Before reaching the ring the country boy dusts off his boots. Upon entering the ring Martin Hunt taunts the crowd and even Funyon the ring announcer who goes on to announce the first competitor. “In the ring hailing from Boone, North Carolina…Martin “Big Country” Hunt!!! The announcement is met with jeers and comments that would not be suitable for your common controversial late night talk show. Martin continues to make fun of the 75,750 in attendance as the lights dim in the stadium and the words… “I’m Born…” “I’m Alive…” “I Breathe…” Appear on the Smarktron and alternate randomly. Suddenly “Vitamin” by Incubus blares and out walks a mysterious rookie dressed in Khaki shorts and a black shirt. On the black shirt is a red “Z”…and the Zorro comparisons could already be starting. The fans though “pop” for the youngster who runs down to the ring and slides under the ropes and glides a little way across the ring as Funyon makes another announcement. “In the ring hailing from Elkhart, Indiana…Zyon!!!” The fans cheer as the chorus of “Vitamin” plays… You stare at me like I'm a vitamin. On the surface you hate, but you know you need me. I'll come dressed as any pill you deem fit. Whatever helps you swallow truth all the more easily. The one known as Zyon pumps the crowd up a little bit by performing a minor head bang followed by him raising his arms into the air to cheers from the crowd. The lights in the stadium turn back on, as the match is about to be underway. “King, I’ve heard a little bit about this Zyon and I guess he likes to take to the high risk district.” “Oh great another spot monkey.” LDP explains while King ponders. The fans are still pumped as the ref signals for the bell… Ding, Ding, Ding!!!! Zyon quickly rushes out of his corner as Martin Hunt steps up and both men go into your standard lock up position. Zyon though quickly breaks it with a right forearm following that up with a kick to the gut and the attempt at an arm drag that is successful. “The rookie coming out strong.” LDP appreciates as Martin is already up and a little ticked he just got showed up a little there. Zyon charges again, but this time “Big Country” is ready and goes for a BIG boot, but Zyon is to quick and slides under his opponent. Zyon then pops up and goes for a backdrop, but Martin elbows his way out and then turns with a wild discus clothesline that misses by a good mile. After ducking the on coming shot Zyon leaps into the air for a dropkick, but Martin just swats him to the ground. Hunt then gives Zyon no time to get to his feet by driving his elbow into the back of his head… CRUNCH!!! Zyon clutches his head as Martin grabs the new comer up and goes to deliver a scoop slam, but the energetic youth slides down Martin’s back and then leaps on to his shoulders and performs a stunning victory roll… ONE… Quick kickout. “No cheap victories here.” King basically taunts the rookie as both men rise to their feet. Zyon goes for a forearm, but Martin ducks and powers the lightweight down with a backdrop. Once again Zyon clutches the back of his head as Martin arrogantly taunts the crowd. “BOOO!!” The crowd explodes in unison. “Big Country” then slowly lifts Zyon from the mat and then whips him into the ropes ONLY to be surprised with Zyon springboarding off the middle rope and twisting in the air and goes for a cross body, but the stronger Hunt catches the youth and in one motion drops him HARD with a fall away slam. The slam’s power causes Zyon to roll under the ropes and all the way to the outside. “Well that looked painful.” “Well duh…” LDP and King let their feelings known on the move as Martin gets on the ring apron and taunts Zyon. Zyon slowly gets to his feet and does not allow Martin to dive on to him by punching him in the gut. Zyon then GOES OUT OF HIS MIND and attempts a hurricarana on Martin Hunt who is doubling over. The crowd goes insane until they realize that Martin was able to keep his balance and Zyon found himself upside down in the clutches of “Big Country” who then powers Zyon up into a powerbomb position and looks to commit murder by powerbombing him down to the floor from the apron, but Zyon grabs the top rope. “Zyon gripping the rope like his life depends on it.” “Well Pete I’d say it does.” Both LDP and King make good observations as Zyon places an elbow right between the eyes of Martin as the fans are on the edge of their seats for some huge spot. Martins grip on the youth loosens and Zyon maneuvers himself over the ropes and into the ring and even is able to drop Hunt across the top rope with a guillotine. “Oh boy Martin is the one teetering now.” LDP notes as Zyon places rights and lefts across the face of Martin who continues to hold on to the top rope. Martins grip on his right hand though loosens and lets go. Zyon sees this and wines up and goes for an elbow smash, but Martin is able to beat Zyon to the punch with a stunning right hand. Martin then grabs Zyon who pushes Martin away and then grabs the top rope himself!! “What is he…OH MY GOD!!!” King basically freaks out, as are the fans. The reason for the minor pandemonium…Zyon used the top rope to launch himself over “Big Country” and take him down to the floor with a modified neckbreaker. Both men are down as the ref starts the count… One Two Three Four Zyon is to his feet and grabs Martin up and rolls him back inside the ring obviously not wanting the match to finish in count out. “Big Country” though hurries to his feet and shows the rookie the error of his ways by downing him with a knee to the gut. Martin clutches the back of his head showing the effects of the previous huge move. Zyon is on the ground clutching his gut as the menacing Martin Hunt lifts Zyon up and goes to whip him into the ropes, but Zyon counters the whip into one of his own and goes for a hip toss…that Hunt blocks and then goes for a clothesline that has to be illegal in at least five countries…good thing it misses. Zyon finds himself behind Martin and goes for a Russian leg sweep, but Martin counters with a surprising side slam. “Great counter, show the rookie how it’s done.” “Yes that was King.” Martin stays on the offensive and lifts Zyon up and drives him to the mat with a Russian leg sweep of his own as he continues to focus on the back of his opponent’s head. Hunt then picks Zyon up and locks him in a double under hook and lifts him up into the air and pauses… which gives Zyon adequate time to force himself back on to his feet and counter with a back drop. Zyon uses this minor opening to grab his opponent up and lifts him up into a fall away slam position, but instead of falling backward Zyon pushes his knee forward and drops Martin gut first across it driving the air out of his opponent. Zyon then quickly runs forward and springboards off the middle rope and performs a dazzling “Half Moon” moonsault…that connects on to the knees of Martin Hunt. “One step forward, two steps back.” King comments as Zyon clutches his ribs as the southerner rises to his feet and forces Zyon back to his. Then out of complete anger Martin throws Zyon shoulder between the middle rope and top rope causing impact on to the steel post. “Booo!!” The crowd boos as Martin gets a smile across his face as he puts his hands into a certain position as the crowd gets negatively excited since they know what could be coming. “Oh no Martin seems to be ready to lock on the Black Out” LDP says as Zyon slowly pulls himself from the post as fans in the front row try to warn him, but their warnings fall on deaf ears as the rookie staggers back into the deadly arms of Martin “Big Country” Hunt… “Yes!” King expresses as Zyon struggles desperately while Martin continues to pressure him with the “Black Out.” Zyon’s arms are just a few feet too short to reach the ropes as Zyon starts to become weary and his actions go into slow motion. “Big Country” is feeling the victory, but the fans still believe… “Let’s Go Zyon” The chant breaks out for the relatively unknown rookie who inches closer to the ropes, but they are still too far way, but then the rookie shows flashes of a veteran and with one last gasp of defense leaps into the air and kicks off the turnbuckle causing him and Martin Hunt to fall backward. Zyon now has Martin Hunt in that historic pin as the crowd is on their feet and counting along… ONE!!!! TWO!!!! “He’s got him!!!” THREE!!! NO!!! Somehow Martin Hunt cheats history as he kicks out of the pin attempt that was caused by his own finisher. Martin quickly goes back to the offensive, but finds himself on the defensive as Zyon who is on his feet charges and dives into the air and clotheslines Martin down to the mat. Zyon stretches that right shoulder out a bit cause of the damage from the steel post earlier. Zyon then waits for Hunt to reach is feet and then explodes on to him with a couple lightning fast forearms followed by whipping him into the ropes and placing him in what looks to be a hip toss, but then as Martin is vertical Zyon slips his arm behind his neck and performs what is known as the “Disconnect.” “Whoa!!” LDP lets out as Zyon goes for the cover. ONE!! TWO!! Kick out!! “Oh man that was too close.” King says as Zyon lifts his opponent up and goes for a side suplex, but Martin counters with his roughneck style by just elbowing the crap out of Zyon’s back. Martin then grabs Zyon by his right injured shoulder and forces him into his own shoulder causing Zyon to cringe in pain as he grips the hurt shoulder. Martin then whips Zyon into the ropes and places a BIG boot into the shoulder of Zyon who goes down to the mat clutching the hurt shoulder. “King it seems Martin has found a weakness.” “Yes and he better exploit the hell out of it.” LDP starts and King finishes. Martin seems to have heard King as leaps into the air and brings down both knees into the shoulder of Zyon. The fans only watch as Martin begins to get a grip on how much he is in control at this point. Zyon rises to his feet only to be forced back into the turnbuckle by a couple closed fists from “Big Country.” The crazy southerner then grabs the youth by his right arm as he slowly exits to the outside apron. Everybody in attendance seems to know what is coming next…including Zyon. Before Martin can do anything damaging Zyon pulls his arm away from Martin and then grabs him by the head and forces him into the top turnbuckle… Again… Again… And again… Finally Martin falls off the apron and to the floor landing on his feet though. Zyon shows fire though by not taking the chance to stretch his shoulder out, but instead runs against the opposite ropes and then sprints toward the ropes where Martin is waiting and then leaps over the top rope performing a flip in mid air to the amazement of the crowd. Too bad though Martin wasn’t too amazed as he uses his strength advantage and catches Zyon on his shoulder and then throws Zyon shoulder first into the STEEL POST… “OUCH!!!” A few fans in the front row seem to share the same sentiments as Zyon at this point whose face is just grimacing in pain as he clutches his shoulder. Martin shows that he isn’t completely insane by lifting Zyon up and rolling him back into the ring. Martin then hurries into the ring and lifts the battered Zyon up and scoops him over his shoulder and looks to be going for a shoulder breaker. “Martin is looking to hurt this new comer.” LDP shows his concern, but Zyon shows some fight by sliding down the back of Martin Hunt and turning him around in the process. Kick to the gut and Zyon seems to be ready to hit Martin with “Final Hour” cradle piledriver, but Zyon quickly finds out that he can’t lift his opponent up cause of the weakness in his shoulder… Shit… That is exactly what Zyon and 99.9% of the audience is thinking as Martin counters easily by lifting Zyon up by his legs and then snapping him forward causing the back of Zyon’s head to bounce off the mat causing possible whiplash. The fans are stunned since the counter really took a lot out of them as well as it did Zyon who seemed to have the match all, but won. “This is bad…” “Pete, you know it matters what perspective you are speaking on.” The announcers…well announce as Martin lifts Zyon from the mat the same way you scrape road kill from the highway. “Big Country” then Irish whips the glossy eyed youth into the ropes and comes at him with a “100% Proof” flying knee to the shoulder of the rookie. Martin goes for the cover after taunting the crowd a little bit. ONE!! TWO!!! “Kick Out!!” The fans yell in unison. THREE!!!! NO!!!! Zyon kicks out with about a blink of an eye remaining before the three as the fans along with the fallen youth are back in the match. Martin shows signs of anger by cursing out the ref and those sitting at home can clearly hear “That was a fucking slow count.” “That language is not appropriate.” “Oh they can’t understand it anyway.” LDP just shakes his head as Martin lifts Zyon up… SMACK!!! The sound of a European uppercut performed by the rookie echoes across the stadium causing the fans to starting cheering again. Hunt staggers backward as Zyon grabs Martin and places his left foot across Martin’s right and forces him down to the mat with a precise reverse Russian leg sweep known as the “Decline.” Zyon gets to his feet and calmly waits for the shocked Martin Hunt to get back to his feet. “Zy~On” A chant rains out as Martin gets to his feet. Zyon runs toward the turnbuckle closest to his opponent and skips up them via leaping to the second and then to the third. The high flyer has his back to his opponent, but not for long as he dives off with his patted corkscrew body attack…that misses!! “Zyon misses what he calls the “No Regard.” “Way to keep us up to date on your spot machines there Pete. Zyon clutches his back as Martin sees an opening he ABSOLUTELY HAS TO TAKE! “Big Country” lifts Zyon up and places him back into a shoulder breaker position and this time he performs it causing pain to come across the crowd’s emotional faces. Zyon grunts in agony, as Martin looks pleased with himself. Martin then wants to show everyone he can fly as well by going to the top rope. “Now the Donkey Punch is real man’s high risk move.” King announces, as that is exactly what Martin is getting ready for. But before he brings the death from above “Big Country” shoots off his attitude at a couple fans in the first three rows…who can only smile after seeing Martin crotched across the top rope as Zyon was able to get to his feet. “What!!” King yells as Zyon maneuvers Martin in an angle and then lifts him off the turnbuckle and uses every bit of strength he has to simply HOLD not LIFT Martin in the air. Zyon then spikes Martin down with the “Final Hour!!!!!” “Oh no…” King mutters as the “spot monkey” uses this last opportunity to climb to the top rope. Zyon then with the crowd fully behind him leaps off the ropes like a phoenix rising from the ashes and comes down on “Big Country” with the “Final Flash” swanton bomb. “YEAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH” The crowd cheers as Zyon goes for the cover… ONE!!! TWO!!! THREE!!!!! “He did it!!!” LDP announces as “Vitamin” plays across the stadium… “Your winner…ZYON~!!” Zyon’s theme continues to play as the crowd cheers for what could be a new fan favorite. Zyon raises his arms in victory before exiting the ring and walking down the aisle knowing he just won a hard fought contest in his first match in the SWF. Not a bad start…not bad at all.

I've been avoiding booking a multi-man because I thought all you guys hated them. Shit, if you want one I'll give it to you...

Where do you live, Ejiro? The black Yankees cap is fairly gangsta, but it's not really crunk... crunk would be a Braves cap, although I've seen Trick Daddy wearing a Marlins cap so I guess the Marlins are crunk too. Basically: P. Diddy, Jay-Z, 50 Cent fans: Yankees Lil' Jon, Trick Daddy, T.I. fans: Braves Eminem fans: Tigers

I'm feeling a road trip to Philadelphia.

You're now facing Ebony, with the incomparable Janus as marker, and a 500 word limit. Bring it, you bitch.

TWO marker changes, one of which only a real "change" because I had PMed them something different from what you see on the card (sorry, Chris).

“Attention all you pimps and hoes,” calls out Flava Funyon. “This next throw down is East Side versus West Side for the biggest bling in all the land! This is for the Smarks Wrestling Federation Heavyweight Championship of the ENTIRE HOOD!” The rappers and their assorted security personal all rise up to their feet knowing that once again the television cameras are running. But they only get so many gang symbols onto the telecast before the view flashes back to Grand Master Funyon as he continues to rant to the people in P Diddy’s private crib. “Introducing first… let me direct your attention to the DJ station and MICHAEL FIVE THOUSAND WAAAAAAAATTS!” The main spinner in the Swisha House shouts out the microphone, “YO BITCHES! WHAAAAT? I do by call out my main man… He is from the Dirty South in Lanett, Alabama and is the baddest man you ever did see! Put your GOD DAMNED hands together for LIL’ BUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Spinning the disk, Watts starts the music up right for the challenger tonight as Lil’ Buck bumps from the outside in as he hefts the pimp cup up into the air. Saddling up to the cages where dancing women seem to be kept, Buck gyrates in front of the ladies as the private island cliental holler at their boy. Leaving the legs behind, Buck moves past the island elite as he clinks pimp juice with other men carrying goblets for no real reason. Slapping hands with some other gangstas, Buck pulls the other men close for back slapping before going down the rest of the way to the ring. Taking off his pure black Yankees hat off his head, Buck twirls the hat into the third row as he makes his way up the ringside steps. Then pulling his jersey off his shoulders, Lil’ Buck tosses the shirt away to show all the peeps just how jacked he really is. Finally stepping through the ropes, Buck immediately hops to the middle turnbuckles and brushes the dirt from his shoulders as the crowd continues to beat with Michael Watts as the DJ finishes the mix just in time for… POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP! Not quite as hardcore as Lil’ Buck, Ejiro Fasaki does not get the same sort of reaction as his challenger as he comes through the portal. Not even bothering to holster the gold around his waist, Ejiro holds the title limply before simply dropping it on the entrance ramp as Buck looks out of the ring and points at the belt demanding that Ejiro pick up his property. Not impressed by threats a man several yards away, Ejiro instead picks up the microphone he had in his hand and pulls it up to his mouth. “You know something Buck,” calls out the World Champion, “I look out here amongst the people that would claim you as one of their own and I really have got to say. IT MAKES ME SICK!” “BITCH!” “MUTHA!” “WHERE’S MY STRAP Y’ALL?” Fasaki continues, “These people standing here are the lowest pieces of human trash I have seen in my entire life. These people have the audacity to call themselves human in the face of all the contrasting evidence. These people bring down the entire freaking country!” Longdogger Pete calls out, “Now that’s just uncalled for! What kind of racist…” Ejiro interrupts, “A bunch of MUSIC executives… oh pardon me, RAP MUSIC executives!” Pete corrects himself, “Oh…” “You all are nothing but a bunch of phony tough and crazy brave morons who do nothing but pretend they still have some sort of street credit while living on their own PRIVATE Island. Oh I am sure all the people you grew up with are all welcome Sean, if they can pay their own way and if they can pass through all your security. Let us face the fact that the only way any of you come in contact with an actual poor person is if you would buy one as a pet! The only people less street than you bunch of new wave yuppies is all the dumb ass kids that want to be you! Why actually do any work or go to class or learn to read when you can put some rhymes about bitches over some real musician’s work?” “I’M GONNA MAKE YOU MY BITCH!” “I’ll sue!” “I’M PULLING OUT MY NINE!” Ejiro ignores the threats, “You boys. You all want to measure the size of your penises but their isn’t one of you with actual BALLS. Keep hiding behind your security you bunch of sellouts! If Snoop had some actual principles he wouldn’t be in Racing Stripes! Hey Combs, have a Pepsi! Hey Buck…” WHAM! Having enough of the whole monologue, Buck runs down the aisle towards the World Champion and runs him down with a running clothesline on the side of the stage! Grabbing up Rule as he holds onto the back of his head, Buck takes Fasaki under the shoulder and heaves him down the entire aisle with a running hip toss. Rolling with the impact of the toss, Fasaki finds himself up against the side of the ring as the assorted record executives have a good time laying into the champion for his little tirade. Quickly scrambling to his feet, Ejiro Fasaki slides under the bottom rope to the safety of the ring as Buck roars out to the people in the audience as he flashes his tattoos out to the people proclaiming that he is indeed ‘Dirty South’. The Suicide King says, “And Buck is hear standing up for rich music executives AROUND THE WORLD!” “That’s not … well isn’t not exactly…” “Shut up Pete, like they need to apologize for being nice and RICH!” Strutting into the ring and bouncing from one foot to the other, Lil’ Buck stalks the retreating World Champion as he cowers in a corner with a hand up begging for mercy. But Buck is without mercy as he jams a foot right into Ejiro’s face just for the sheer fun of it. Picking Ejiro up and out of the corner, Lil’ Buck pushes Ejiro back against the ropes before tossing across the ring. Extending an arm for a clothesline, Buck fails to make contact as Ejiro ducks under the blow and continues into the ropes. But as he returns into range, Buck lowers a shoulder and sends Fasaki into the sky with a high back body drop! Rebounding from the force of the drop, Ejiro is on his feet for almost a whole second before Buck grabs him by the back of the head and hurls him right over the top rope to the arena floor! “This is MAH HOUSE!” shouts Buck at the top of his lungs as Ejiro continues to get his ass handed to him both physically and verbally by everyone in the immediate vicinity. Moving from one side of the ring to the other, Buck raises both his arms to the people as they call out for more damage to be done to the man on the outside of the ring. Just now getting on his feet, Fasaki leans backward against the apron for a moment in order to get a breath of air. But the air does not last long before two hands reach over the ropes and clamp on Ejiro’s head and pull him up to the apron! Pulling Ejiro’s towards him, Buck lands a left-handed soup bone to the side of the head and knocks the Champion right back down to the apron. Rolling under the bottom rope and back inside the squared circle, Ejiro does not get a chance to react before Lil’ Buck grabs him by both legs into position for a slingshot. Using his power to move Ejiro under the bottom rope, Buck falls backward to the canvas and guillotines the World Champion across the strand! “WHO IS MY BITCH!” shouts Buck to the crowd. “HE IS!” shouts the crowd in response as they all seem to point at Ejiro in unison. “DAMN RIGHT!” Pulling Ejiro up, Buck easily clamps onto the World Champion with a front facelock and holds him in the middle of the ring as Fasaki flails about trying to get away only to get hammered in the back with a hard forearm that knocks Ejiro to his knees. Pulling up on the facelock again, Buck gets Ejiro vertical again only to once again crush him with a hard forearm to the back. Driving a knee up from underneath seals the deal as it sends Rule flat on his back as Buck continues to be completely physically dominated here in the presence of the rap industry. Grabbing Ejiro by the hair once again, Buck lowers his center of gravity once more and takes Ejiro up high with a military press over his head. Holding all 223 pounds of the World Champion above his head like it was nothing, Buck walks to one side of the ring and calls out to see if they want to maybe play catcher for an Asian football. Turning to the other side of the ring, Buck gets a running start to the other side of the ring in order to clear the second row only to have Fasaki drop out of his grip and land behind the challenger. Suddenly unsure as to where Ejiro might be for the moment, Lil’ Buck turns right into an elbow as Fasaki jams an elbow into his eye. BAM! Bouncing backward from the ropes from the blow, Buck has no defense as Ejiro jabs him with another elbow to the side of the face and knocks the bigger man to the canvas for the first time in the contest. Leaning into the ropes himself, Ejiro takes a moment to catch his breath as Lil’ Buck shakes his head in order to wave through the elbow strikes. But just as Buck gets to his hands and knees, Ejiro jams a knee into the side of his head and knocks the bigger man once again to the canvas. Grabbing Buck by the back of the head, Ejiro forces his opponent on the middle ropes and starts to choke him against the strand as referee Matthew Kivell calls for a break. Leaving Buck gasping for air on the ropes, Ejiro quickly runs from one side of the ring to the other before crashing down on his opponent with all of his weight. Moving out to the apron, Ejiro lines up his opponent and starts towards him… KERACK! Only to have Buck spring up and knock Ejiro down with a lariat! “We’ve seen Ejiro come off with a punting kick out of that occasion many a time,” reports Longdogger Pete. “But obviously so has Lil’ Buck since he was able to effect a counter.” “By clubbing the other guy in the face?” questions the Suicide King as Ejiro rolls to the arena floor once again after the impact. “Clubbing works!” reports LDP as Buck shakes his head in order to get rid of the minimal damage caused by Ejiro’s strikes. “FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK!” Moving his head back and forth for a moment before taking the time to brush the dirt off his shoulder, Lil’ Buck enjoys playing to the crowd as Ejiro continues to try and get his brain back in order after all the pounding. But he does not have forever as Buck casually drops to the outside and punches Ejiro down to the concrete with the southpaw left once again. Picking Ejiro up, Buck once again presses the challenger over his head for a second before tossing Ejiro through the middle ropes and back inside the ring. “What a strong man that Buck is,” says LDP in awe as Buck looks into the crowd once again and slaps hands with a man in the front row. “But he’s also wasting a whole lot of time in there,” replies The Suicide King. “Maybe having this match in front of everyone he’s ever wanted to meet was a bad idea. Just like in the NBA when someone ends up in their hometown, their performance can suffer as a result of the pressure. They loose focus and that is what Lil’ Buck is doing right now.” Actually to the contrary, Lil’ Buck continues his dominance as he heads back inside the ring after his opponent. Taking Ejiro by the back of the head, Buck slams his face into the top turnbuckle and once again scrambles his brain from one ear to the other. Turning toward Buck on impact, Ejiro stands there in a haze, as Buck is able to lean in with a fishhook elbow to the side of the ear. Grabbing Ejiro by the wrist, Buck leans into the corner for a moment before heaving him across the ring with an Irish whip. Rushing ahead with an axe handle overhead, Buck looks to mash Ejiro once again only to get a boot put squarely in his mouth as Buck is knocked flat on his back. Shaking his head and trying to get his wits together, Ejiro barely has the energy required to flip off the music people in the audience before he boots Buck across the face once again as the big man gets to a seated position on the canvas. Nudging Buck’s head to one side with the toe of his boot, Ejiro hops into the air and jams a knee into the side of his head. Staying on his knees, Fasaki jabs away at Buck’s head with a number of short right hands. “FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK!” Picking Buck up by the neck, Ejiro puts his challenger in position for a moment before taking the 270-pounder with a great deal of effort with a snap suplex. Floating over with the throw, Ejiro mounts his adversary in an instant and once again starts to pepper his opponent in the head with a flurry of right hands as Buck tries to cover up under the pummeling. Keeping the bulk of the attack away from his face, Buck only takes a minor bruising out of the impacts as Ejiro quickly realizes that his punching is not having the desired effect. And as such Fasaki leaves Buck on the canvas and instead uses a whole lot more power from his lower limbs as Ejiro stomps away on his challenger. Perhaps accomplishing whatever he was trying to do, and perhaps not, Ejiro hauls his opponent up and starts to wind up his off right hand with a wristlock. But even as Ejiro turns, Buck hammers him in the face with the left and knocks Rule right back down to the canvas. “Ejiro has to know that he cannot use strikes as his primary source of offense,” calls out Longdogger Pete. “He simply is not large enough or strong enough to get over on Buck in that regard.” The Suicide King responds, “That may be true but you have to get your opponent down so you can start working him over with holds. Its not like Buck is going to trade armbars with anyone.” Knocking the dust from his shoulder onto his opponent, Buck grabs Ejiro around the head and pulls him to his feet. Quickly locking in the front facelock for the second time in the match, Buck refrains from clubbing Fasaki in order to lift him skyward for what looks to be a delayed vertical suplex. But as he is at the apex, Ejiro begins to kick his legs in order to get his feet back down on the canvas. Quickly turning into Buck, Ejiro tries to lock on… “COOOOOOOOOOOBRA CROSSFACE!” Although the call is a bit premature as Ejiro is unable to push his opponent all the way down to the canvas even as Fasaki locks down on Buck’s head with the actual crossface. Wrenching back as hard as he can, Ejiro still does not have the canvas or his weight to add against the hold as Buck keeps from being driven down to the mat. Reaching across his own body, Buck is able to link his hands together and force his body off his knees! Now actually carrying Ejiro on his shoulder as the World Champion continues to stay his the hold, Buck takes a step towards the ropes… AND DUMPS EJIRO RIGHT OVER THE TOP! Shrugging his mighty shoulders, Lil’ Buck shows off why his name is a misnomer as Ejiro goes backward right to the floor. Barely able to use his legs to break the fall, Fasaki takes a full ride to the outside as Buck drops to a knee for a moment and rubs the minor discomfort out of the shoulder as the crowd continues to call for Ejiro’s blood. Landing in a heap, Ejiro crumbles into a fetal position as Buck rises up with both hands in the air as the crowd calls out in appreciation. Rolling to the outside, Lil’ Buck grabs the World Champion and sends him right back inside the ring where Buck can actually win the bling. Sliding on top of his foe, Buck hooks a leg as Kivell counts… ONNNNNNNNNNNNEEE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREGODNOOOOOOOO! “COME ON REFEREE!” shouts Buck as Ejiro’s shoulder barely comes off the canvas in time to save his World Title for the time being. Plucking Ejiro off the canvas, Buck pulls his opponent to his feet and hammers him again with the southpaw left hand that has served him so well in this contest. Scrambling into a corner, Fasaki tries to get out of the path of impending doom as Buck ignores the referee’s call to stop using the closed fist. Turning to the official, Buck gives the man a little static only to feel a shove from behind as Fasaki springs out of the corner. Bumbling into the official, Buck knocks Kivell down for a second before turning towards Ejiro with an expression on his face that clearly shows he has no idea what is about to occur. BOOOOOOOOOOOOM! Bashing Buck across the face with a right hand, the big man falls strait backward to the canvas in a heap as Ejiro falls in the opposite direction and drops a small metal object to the floor. “He had the DAMN chain again! What the devil has this man come to?” calls out Longdogger Pete as Ejiro hides the evidence of his misdeed. The King of Hearts says, “He is doing what he HAS to in order to stay on top! He knew he was coming into a hostile environment and all he did was bring a little insurance.” “But how is this any better than what Toxxic used to be?” “He never said he was better than anyone… on a moral basis.” Catching Buck just above the eye with the chain, Ejiro opened a cut on his opponent’s eyebrow as the big man now lies on the canvas barely stuttering toward coherence with the red stuff now flowing down his face. But he does not have a moment to sit there and bleed before Fasaki is on top once again and hammering away with a number of short elbows that are all aimed right at the eye that is now swelling up in a rather ugly manner. But he might be close to getting that tended to as Ejiro makes a cover for… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THRRRENOBITCHESSSSS! Almost thankful that he didn’t take the chain in the middle of the forehead, Buck is able to kick off the canvas and stay alive in the contest despite any blood loss. Rolling over onto his chest to avoid any more attempts to make a cover, Buck puts a hand to his eye as blood continues to flow now into the eye itself. But he does not have a great deal of time to set up a triage as Ejiro sits on his back and claws into the flesh above the eye as Buck calls out in pain as the swelling starts to blur his vision entirely. “FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK! FUCK ‘EM UP BUCK!” But Lil’ Buck does not seem to have a whole lot of opportunity to do such a thing as Ejiro breaks off the gouge at the behest of the referee. Pushing his opponent into a corner, Fasaki measures his opponent and drives the point of his elbow into the eye of his opponent once again as Buck tries to cover up his point of wounding. But Ejiro does not give him a whole lot of a chance as he grabs the top rope and stomps at the midsection of his opponent time and again with all he has as the man from the Dirty South fades in the corner. Taking advantage of his wilting opponent, Ejiro takes the knotted head of his challenger and rakes his bloody spot with the laces from his boots as the referee continues to reprimand this dreadful behavior. “This is just reprehensible,” says Longdogger Pete as Ejiro once again punches his opponent above the eye. “Ejiro Fasaki is going to try and put out that eye if he gets the chance and you know it King.” “Well yeah,” replies The Suicide King, “Ejiro is no Saint and never was no matter what his sister might have had us believe. But its not like Buck would not do the same damn thing if he had a mind to do so or was that low blow to Todd Cortez a pure accident last week?” Taking Lil’ Buck off the canvas, Ejiro snaps his opponent to the canvas with a mare in order to set his challenger where he wants him. Then, bounding off the ropes, Ejiro comes trotting back before dropping a measured knee into the eye of his now half blinded opponent. With blood gushing out of his wound, Lil’ Buck barely feels it as Fasaki hooks a far leg for… ONNNNNNNNNNNE! TWONAWWWWWW! Kicking out just before the referee’s hand hits the canvas for the second time, Buck proves that although he might be blind in one eye that he is not going to be put down with a damn knee drop. But as he sits up, Ejiro is able to place a knee in the small of his challenger’s back and latches onto his jaw with a chinlock. Fasaki does not hold that for long though before driving his nails into the top of Lil’ Buck’s eye and starts to draw back with it as even more blood starts to weep down his face and dyes his eye red. Leaving the challenger on the canvas, Ejiro steps away from his foe as a blinded Buck tries to pull his body off the canvas using the ropes for leverage. Holding onto his eye as he staggers up to his feet, Buck tries to vainly figure out where Ejiro is as the champion circles to his blind spot. Finally feeling his moment at hand, Fasaki rushes ahead and knocks Buck to the canvas once again with a running elbow to the side of the head. Immediately dropping on Buck, Ejiro hooks a leg for… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWWWWWWOOOOOOOOO! THREEENAHOOOOOOOOO! “Ejiro is going to keep on that side of his opponent all match long from here on,” calls out Longdogger Pete. “If Buck cannot find his opponent he really cannot fight with him either. He needs to keep Ejiro close if he wants to salvage this attempt at winning the World title.” But Ejiro is not giving his opponent a chance to close in on him as he measures his foe and stomps down right on his face with the heel of his boot. Stunned by the impact, the challenger rolls over to his stomach once again to protect from getting pinned as Ejiro smiles to the crowd as they continue jeering the competition for their boy. One upping the competition for the sheer joy of it, Ejiro wipes the flat of his boot across the back of his opponent as several men in the audience jump to their feet and look to perhaps jump in the ring only to have the security officials block his path. Smiling at the paper tigers in the crowd, Ejiro grabs his opponent off the canvas and sends him to the canvas with a body slam. Blowing a kiss to the crowd, Ejiro steps out to the apron and takes all the time in the world as he starts to head up to the top turnbuckle as Buck starts to move. Just as Fasaki perches himself on the top rope, Buck lurches forward and leans on the top rope… DING! And Ejiro crotches himself on the top! Grabbing onto his jimmies as he lands on the top turnbuckle, Ejiro’s eyes cross as the crowd shouts in joy as Buck continues to stagger about not really knowing exactly where he might be. Finally catching sight of his prey with his good eye, Buck hammers his opponent in the side of the face with a left hand before climbing up after the World Champion. Heading up after his opponent, Lil’ Buck gets to the middle turnbuckle before once again hammering Ejiro across the head with the left hand. Hooking Ejiro in a double under hook, Buck looks out to the crowd with a bloody eye before falling backward to the canvas! FALLING! FALLING! LANDING! BOOOOOOOOOOOM! “DIRTY SOUTH THANG!” calls out Longdogger Pete as Buck tosses his opponent across the ring. ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWWWWOOOOOOOOOO! THREEENOAHHHHHHHH! “He really didn’t get the point of impact where he wanted it,” says The Suicide King. “He usually tries to turn that more into the DDT but in this case, it was more of a butterfly suplex.” Getting to their feet at just about the same time, Buck and Ejiro share a look for a moment before Buck hammers his foe in the face with a left hand that sends the World Champion staggering backward into the ropes before he bounces back into Buck who is more than happy to do it again and send Ejiro down to the canvas with the left. But as Ejiro gets to his feet he lunges into Buck and sticks the nails of his fingers right into the wound of his challenger and drives him to the canvas in the process. Staying on the eye, Ejiro continues to gouge away despite any protests from the crowd or the referee until he finally breaks off with Buck still in agony over the swollen eye. Getting back on the attack, Ejiro punches back on the eye, as Buck is unable this time to get up some defense as Fasaki gets one free shot after another. Pulling Buck up to his feet, Ejiro boots his opponent in the chest in order to double him over and pull him in position for a piledriver. And he holds Buck up… And up… And up… “Oh man,” says LDP, “he is letting all the blood rush to head before…” BOOOOOOM! “SPIKING HIM WITH THE PILEDRIVAHHHHHHHHHH!” ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEANDAHALFFFFFFF! Rolling a shoulder off the canvas just in time, Buck is able to keep his hopes alive for the World Championship as he gets a shoulder off the canvas. But he does not have long to enjoy the pleasure of keeping alive in the contest before Ejiro gets him off the canvas and turns Buck over for a reverse neckbreaker. But instead of just dropping to his seat, Ejiro reaches over the top and grabs a hold of Buck by a bloody handle before dropping to the canvas with the neckbreaker in order to silence the screaming. Holding onto the eye as he lands, Buck seems to be trying to actually push the blood back into his eye as Ejiro climbs to his feet and once again heads outside to the apron. This time wasting absolutely no time to allow Lil’ Buck to recover, Ejiro finds himself on the top rope a whole lot faster and himself in a whole lot better position to dive off the top… BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! “OHHHH YEAHHHH! SNAP INTO IT!” calls out LDP as Ejiro drops an elbow right into the face of his battered and bloody opponent. “Oh shut the hell up.” ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEANDAQUARTERRRRR! “DON’T PUNK OUT! DON’T PUNK OUT! DON’T PUNK OUT!” calls out the crowd as Buck continues to get all the support a bunch of music executives would be willing to give a wrestler they’ve probably never heard of. Shaking from the support Buck starts to kick against the canvas with the heel of his boot as Fasaki looks out to the people he called out at the beginning of the contest. Rolling his eyes at the gangstas, Ejiro picks Lil’ Buck up off the canvas and to a staggered vertical base as Ejiro remembers that crowd support never really did a damn thing for him as he cocks back a right hand… DING! AND GETS KICK SQUARE IN THE NUTS! His foot right in the middle of Ejiro’s groin, Buck falls strait backward to the canvas, as Ejiro is soon to follow. Coughing in a fit on the mat, Ejiro continues to wonder why he didn’t bother to wear a cup this evening as the referee questions the now downed Buck as to what the hell he was just doing… “BUCK! What was that?” “Can’t see… Did I hit him?” chokes back Buck as he looks at the referee with his good eye. “What a LOOOOOAD,” laughs the Suicide King as he figures correctly that there is no way that Buck managed so ruthless a move just by luck. Knowing just what a disqualification would mean in a match of this magnitude, Kivell allows the match to continue as the fans in attendance laugh at the problems the World Champion is currently having. But throughout the jokes about what Buck could have hit, Buck himself has a problem as he staggers up with still a great deal of visibility stolen from his bloody eye. But he still seems to be a great sight better off at this particular second as Ejiro Fasaki can seemingly barely stand as he seemingly needs to hold onto the ropes as he gets up to his feet. Turning into Lil’ Buck, Ejiro manages to get turned around just in time to get cut right the hell back down with a leaping left handed clothesline. Not letting Ejiro get away or get on his blind side, Buck kicks his opponent in the chest and bends Ejiro over at the waist. Quickly reaching around Ejiro and clamping on both his arms as they cross over his chest, Buck lifts the World Champion up into the air… But not for long… BOOOOOOOOOOOM! “PRYAMID DRIVAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Not holding onto Ejiro to make a cover, Buck tosses his opponent’s legs to one side as he looks out to his people and wipes the blood from his eye. Flicking the liquid onto his opponent, Lil’ Buck wipes his foot off on the World Champion’s back in order to return the favor from earlier in the contest. Suffice to say, the approval rating for Lil’ Buck is a little bit greater. “HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH!” Nodding his head at the crowd, Lil’ Buck knows that he’s got things going his way despite the blood that he has lost and the vision that has been restricted. Grabbing Ejiro off the canvas, Buck hammers him across the head with left hand after left hand after left hand until Ejiro seems to be completely out on his feet. Finally just letting Ejiro’s hair loose, Buck walks across the ring as Ejiro simply does a facial into the center of the ring. Leaning backward into the ropes, Buck bounces off the strands before dropping down on his opponent with a 270-pound leg drop to the back of the head. Pushing Ejiro over onto his back, Buck hooks a leg for… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEEEEENAHOOOOO! Shaking his head at the two count, Lil’ Buck hauls Ejiro from the canvas and tosses him across the ring. Catching him on the rebound, Buck twirls Ejiro around as though he weighed only feathers before planting him under with a power slam! Immediately popping to his feet, Lil’ Buck starts to shake with pleasure as he points around the ring with a smile. Shouting loudly with something that is probably not actually in the human language, the man from the Dirty South calls to the peoples that he has just about enough of this contest. Stalking the rising Ejiro from behind, Buck snaps down on his back with a double chicken wing and lowers his head. “BUCK WILD RRRRRRRRRIDE!” “NO!” Kicking backward as he is lifted into the air, Ejiro manages to force his bodyweight over the top and land behind Buck. Quickly trying to catch Buck unawares, Ejiro puts a foot in his chest only to get caught in the middle of the stream and held there as Buck gloats over the momentary advantage. Flinging Ejiro’s foot to one side, Lil’ Buck braces to punch Ejiro once again… He should have been bracing for something else… KEEEEERACK! “DRAGON WHIPAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEEEEEMYGODNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “He kicked out! He KICKED out! HE KICKED OUT! Buck couldn’t see the dragon whip coming out of that eye and got kicked right in the side of the head! But still he managed to get his shoulder off the canvas,” reports an exhausted Longdogger. “Ejiro needs to put this thing away now! He needs to call this thing and go home. Whenever someone kicks out of your move you need to do something to get out of there with your hide.” Mounting Buck the moment his opponent kicked out, Ejiro starts to punch Buck right in the eye again as the referee vainly tries to get the World Champion off his opponent. Getting off his foe before he can be disqualified, Ejiro looks at the official and then the rest of the people on the private island with a dangerous sneer as Buck simply refuses to stay the hell down. Dipping into one of the tricks that won him the World Heavyweight title, Ejiro clamps on Buck as the challenger gets to his knee with a cravat and pulls him forward towards a turnbuckle for the Ejirocution… BOOOM! He’s had better ideas. Shucking off Ejiro at the last moment, Lil’ Buck cracks Fasaki’s skull off the top turnbuckle. Quickly hooking Ejiro around the back with a pump handle, Buck quickly hauls Ejiro up and over with a suplex that ends up dropping his opponent right on the small of his back. Rolling over with the impact, Ejiro makes two full rolls before ending up on his back in the center of the ring. Getting to his feet, Buck slides the blood off his eye and applies some pressure to the wound to try and reduce some of the swelling but it seems like the crowd just wants him to go about murdering his opponent. “HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH! HE YOUR BITCH!” Once again shaking from the adrenaline, Buck grabs Ejiro up and into a standing position for just a second before locking him around the waist. Taking a little hop to get some momentum, Ejiro is taken into the air with the tight waist before jamming his opponent back into the canvas with a belly-to-belly suplex! Immediately hooking a leg, Buck tries to pull the World Championship away from his opponent… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THRENOTONMYWATCHHHHHHHHHHH! Stumbling up to his feet, Buck leans against the top turnbuckle on one side as Ejiro writhes on the canvas holding onto his chest. Barely up to his knees, Ejiro once again gets hooked from behind with a double chicken wing in preparation for the Buck Wild Ride. This time using just enough lift to get his opponent over, Buck holds Ejiro up above his head as Ejiro once again tries to force his way over the top. But this time Buck refuses to let Ejiro go no matter how far Ejiro pushes his legs. So when he starts to bend backward, Buck finds himself now with Fasaki behind him… and latched onto his biceps. Immediately turning Lil’ Buck around so the big man is now facing the canvas, Ejiro drops to the canvas… WHAMMMMMMMMMMMM! “TOMIKAZI!” calls out LDP as Ejiro drives Buck’s face into the canvas. “Ejiro has simply wrestled WildChild so many times that he knows all the counters to the Vertebreaker by heart,” calls out The Suicide King. “Hell he has known that since Johnny Dangerous and Fugue feuded in the SJL!” Leaving a bloody spot on the canvas as Ejiro pushes him over to the back so he can hook the leg for … ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEEEEEEEOHNOOOOOOO! Kicking out of the cover just a minute second before the hand comes down for the third time, Buck manages to keep the slim hopes of keeping in this match. Rolling over onto his stomach once again in order to keep from getting another cover… Buck hopes that he can defend himself for a moment in order to get a moment to get his head back together… He doesn’t… He hopes that he can cover up in order to keep the match going… He can’t… He hopes that isn’t Ejiro clamping onto his back and hooking up his arm… He is. “COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBRA CROSSFACE!” Latching onto his opponent, Ejiro pulls back on Buck’s head with his pet submission maneuver. Keeping his base wide as he grinds on the hold, Ejiro roars widely as he continues to pry on the hold. Putting his hand in the air and just above the canvas, Lil’ Buck knows that he can’t give in… He can’t quit… He can’t tap… He can’t be the bitch… He can’t… DAMN IT! TAP! TAP! TAP! Finally tapping the canvas, Buck signals his defeat as Ejiro let’s his opponent loose from the hold. Rolling to one side, Ejiro collects his wits on the canvas as he gets to his knees as the World title is returned to his grasp. Wiping the sweat through his hair, Ejiro raises an eyebrow as Funyon calls through the microphone. “The winner of this contest and STILL SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… EJIROOOOOOOOO FASAKEEEEEEEEE!” Slapping the World Title to his shoulder, Ejiro struggles backstage as a bleeding Lil’ Buck just barely is able to get up to his feet inside the ring. Shaking his head and splattering blood in the process, Buck gets to his feet as the crowd; despite their hard exterior know when they see effort. But getting a nice round of applause is nothing compared to the thrill of actually winning the world title… … And Lil’ Buck will have his damn day. He will have his DAMN DAY. *** FADE TO BLACK ***

The camera focuses on Longdogger Pete and Suicide King, sitting at the announce table “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Pete, “last Monday on Smarkdown you were promised an SWF Cruiserweight Championship match between Scott Pretzler and the Insane Luchador. Unfortunately, due to technical difficulties and the absolutely STACKED nature of that show, that match was unable to be shown on television. However, one thing the SWF has never done is let our fans down. Therefore, that match will be shown from start to finish right here on Storm.” “I’ve gotta say,” King adds, “that while it’s hardly epic in terms of length, this is one of the best matches I’ve seen in quite some time. Sure, the Luchador is dead weight, but Pretzler’s work here is simply fabulous. Some of the smartest wrestling you’ll find anywhere.” “And it’s matched move-for-move by the hardcore sensibilities of the Insane Luchador. Both men are at the top of their game here. In any event, here’s what happened!” “The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL!” booms the rich baritone voice of Funyon. “And it is for the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!” Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony begins to play. Scott Pretzler steps out from behind the curtain and poses proudly on the entryway as hateful boos rain down upon him. “Introducing the challenger… from Toronto, Ontario, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… SCOTT PRRREEETZZZLEEERRR!” He smiles and nods, then walks down the ramp with his nose turned up, acting as the audience does not exist. Mounting the ring stairs and stepping onto the apron, he cracks his knuckles dramatically and enters the ring. He grabs the ropes and leans back, testing their flexibility. He stares out across the ramp, waiting for his opponent to emerge. “And his opponent… from Easton, Pennsylvania, weighing two hundred and one pounds, he is the SWF Cruiserweight Champion… THE INSAAANE LUUUUCHADOOOOR!” YEEEEAAAAHHHH! Members of the crowd rise to their feet as the grinding chords of “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains blast over the speaker system. When the song kicks up, streams of red and black pyro shoot into the air and the champion runs out onto the stage. He throws his hands up, drawing an even noisier reaction, and sprints toward the ring. Wasting no time, he slides right under the bottom rope to meet his adversary. *DING DING DING!* As soon as the Luchador enters the ring, Pretzler is on the offensive. He drops down to the mat before his opponent can stand and aggressively clamps on a front headlock. Luchador shoves him away, but Pretzler moves in again and aims a boot at his forehead, then reapplies the headlock. Wrapping his legs tightly around Rickmen’s slender abdomen, he adds a body scissors to the hold and squeezes. The strategy fails immediately, however, as the Luchador hammers away at his sides using his unrestrained fists. Unable to withstand the punishment, Pretzler releases the hold and performs a backward roll to distance himself from further attacks. Insane Luchador stands and grins maliciously. “From the beginning, Pretzler is attempting to keep the Insane Luchador on the mat,” King notes, “because he knows that is where the man’s greatest weakness lies.” “And already,” says Pete, “the Luchador’s brawling skills have proven to be too much for him to handle.” Pretzler and Luchador circle one another cautiously. Taking a tentative step forward, Pretzler attempts to initiate a grapple, but Luchador shoves him away violently and slugs him in the jaw. He reels and is driven back to the corner, where his opponent uses the assistance of the ropes to deliver a series of hard stomps. Satisfied that Pretzler is sufficiently dazed, Luchador whips him into the opposite corner. He bounds back out of it… and is caught with a spear! WHUMP! Pretzler smacks the mat and rolls over, grabbing his neck, while Luchador pumps his fist triumphantly. When the Canadian stands, he is taken down with another lariat, and Luchador steps onto the apron. He leans back before pulling himself over the top rope and throwing his arms out to the sides, and comes crashing down on Pretzler with a reckless slingshot headbutt! Pretzler thrashes, now in even more pain, and the crowd’s support of Luchador builds. The former champion rolls out of the ring to regain his senses. “Bad idea…” Pete says with foreboding. And it is much to the delight of Luchador. He slides out of the ring and grabs hold of Pretzler’s head, then carries him over to the announce table. He whips his opponent’s head downward and toward the surface of the table… but is suddenly stopped by a stiff kick to the shin. Free from the Luchador’s grasp, Pretzler grabs the right arm that was holding him, locks it into a Fujiwara armbar-like position, and drops down, bringing the shoulder into contact with the edge of the table. Luchador curses audibly as the pain in his wounded joint is suddenly reawakened. He stumbles back as Pretzler wrenches the arm again and drives an elbow into it. The Critic shoves him onto the apron and back into the ring. “Scott Pretzler is taking no risks here,” King explains. “There is no place as dangerous for him as the ringside area, so he will remain there only as long as he can inflict pain on his opponent.” He slides in after Luchador and goes after the arm. Luchador rolls over onto his back and kicks upward at his face, halting his advance. He locks Pretzler’s ankle between his legs and drags him down to the mat, then jumps onto his back and pounds away at his head. Pretzler manages to flip over so he is on his back and facing Luchador, and locks in a modified ¾ nelson that allows him to heave Luchador off his stomach and to the side. He immediately rolls over again and drives a knee into the champion’s side. “It should be noted that this match is only occurring because of Pretzler’s interference in Wildchild’s last title defense,” Pete says bitterly. If the man had minded his own business, Wildchild would still be champion right now.” “Yes, but Pretzler saw an opportunity and he seized it. How can you blame him? It’s the central philosophy of this business.” Pretzler throws himself into a cover. ONE! TWO! No! He drags the Luchador to his feet and places him in a front headscissors, pausing for a minute to knee him in the head. Lifting him up onto his shoulders, he whips him down in a powerbomb… …countered into a snap hurracanrana by Luchador! YEEEAAAHHH! As Pretzler staggers to his feet, Luchador runs at him and drives a superkick into his jaw. He crumples near the turnbuckle. Luchador bends over and straightens him out so his body is aligned in a triangular position relative to the ropes. He mounts the turnbuckle, ascending to the second rope and springing off with a moonsault! ONE! TWO! Kickout! Undaunted, Luchador simply stands up and heads to the top rope. Pretzler, however, has recovered, and he drives an elbow into his opponent’s back before the second moonsault can be performed. “That’s one of the unwritten rules of wrestling,” says King. “If a move fails, especially an aerial move, do not attempt it a second time!” Pretzler again elbows him stiffly in the spine, then steps onto the apron and seizes his right arm. He jumps off the apron and to the floor, still holding the wrist, causing the arm to be guillotined on the top rope and nearly torn out of its socket. Luchador flops on the mat like a beached flounder. Pretzler rolls in and applies an armbar. Luchador turns inward and tries to break Pretzler’s grip with his hands, but Pretzler pushes him away and cranks back on the hold. Luchador struggles. The ropes are just inches away. He reaches out with his left arm as far as it will stretch… LET’S GO I-L! LET’S GO I-L! …and makes the ropes! YEEEAAAHHH! Frustrated, Pretzler releases the hold and picks Luchador up, then whips him into the corner. He flexes his wrist, pulls his arm back, and unloads with a penetrating knife-edged chop. SMACK! WOOOOOO! He follows it up with another! SMACK! WOOOOOO! And a third! SMACK! WOOOOOO! Luchador sags forward, his chest beet-red. Pretzler lifts up and sits him on the top rope, then heads up after him – but Luchador stops him in his tracks with a punch to the gut! Another one collides with his face and he falls off the second rope. As he starts to back away, Luchador reaches out and hooks a front facelock. He pushes off and spins around in midair, dropping Pretzler on his head with a Tornado DDT! WHUMP! He makes the cover. ONE! TWO! No! Pretzler musters the fighting spirit to kick out of the pin attempt. Luchador stands up and drops a knee on his forehead, making him writhe in pain. He hits a second one for good measure and drags Pretzler to his feet. The Canadian is dazed. Luchador signals to the audience, boots him in the gut, and slaps on another front facelock, looking to finish Pretzler with the Evenflow DDT! But as soon as Pretzler realizes what is about to happen, he braces himself and wraps his arms around Luchador’s midsection. Throwing his weight backward, he flips the champion over his head in a Northern Lights Suplex and bridges into a pin! ONE! TWO! Kickout! Luchador’s momentum is still building, and he kicks out forcefully. Pretzler has the momentary advantage, however, and he intends to capitalize. He stands up and pulls Luchador to his feet, then ducks behind him and clamps on a rear waistlock. In a sudden burst of energy, he fires off a high-angle release German suplex! CRUNCH! Landing hard on his shoulder blades, Luchador appears finished. But to Pretzler’s horror, he stands back up within seconds of the impact. “And Pretzler can’t believe it!” Pete shouts. “The Cruiserweight Champion is truly deserving of his nickname.” As he stands, Pretzler moves in behind him and again places him in a rear waistlock. His muscles tense and he throws the Luchador overhead in a second release German. WHUMP! This time, he turns a full flip and lands face-first on the mat. And just like before, he stands right back up with a demented grin plastered across his face. His patience exhausted, Pretzler charges at warp speed and takes his head off with a lariat worthy of Texas. WHAM! Pretzler falls down beside his victim. Slowly, he stands. He ducks into a crouch, waiting for Insane Luchador to recover from the devastating strike. “This is it!” King squeals. “Tildebang time!” Luchador is finally able to rise to one knee, and that is enough for Pretzler. The challenger takes three steps forward and reaches down, locking on a rear facelock. He picks Luchador all the way up, so he is standing, and pulls him into the center of the ring. BOOOOOO! With a surge of energy, he braces his left arm against Luchador’s back and lifts him into the air. When the champion’s body reaches a position of one hundred eighty degrees… …he flips over Pretzler’s head and lands behind him! The Tildebang Driver is effectively reversed. Before Pretzler can make another move, Luchador knees him in the kidney and turns so they are back-to-back. He reaches behind him and hooks his right arm around Pretzler’s neck, then holds the other one out in a cross. The Evenflow DDT having failed, Luchador has no choice but to go for the Destruction! YEEEAAAHHH! But as he struggles to bend forward and elevate Pretzler, the Canadian plants his feet firmly on the mat. He snaps his arm inward and free of the cross position, then reaches back and locks it around Luchador’s throat. With his other hand, he grabs the right wrist of his opponent and wrenches the arm. He drops down to the mat. CRUNCH! “Arm-wrench neckbreaker from Pretzler!” King shouts. “Great counter!” Keeping the right arm in his grasp, Pretzler stands and turns around. He takes Luchador’s left arm and pulls them both into a cross position, then twists the champion so he is on his stomach. Pretzler straddles him. In the middle of the ring, the Snowflake Clutch is locked in! “Everyone who has ever been caught in this hold has tapped out! Luchador’s got to do something…” But there’s nothing he can do. Nowhere to turn. Pretzler pulls back, cutting off the flow of blood to Luchador’s brain. “Do you submit?” “No…” His face turns a dark red color. “Do you submit?” “No…” Luchador struggles to hold on. “Do you submit?” … WHAM! “What the hell?!” Wildchild’s springboard dropkick hits its mark in the middle of Pretzler’s face! *DING DING DING!* Pretzler’s head snaps back and he rolls off Luchador. Wildchild stands up and begins stomping on his head. He rolls out of the ring to escape. “My God, what impact!” bellows Pete. “Dammit! Wildchild has no right to become involved in this!” King is furious. Outside the ring, Funyon makes his announcement. “Here is your winner, as a result of a disqualification… SCOTT PRETZLER! However, the Insane Luchador is STILL your SWF Cruiserweight Champion!” Insane Luchador looks up at Wildchild. The Bahama Bomber helps him to his feet and hands him his title belt. He glares and rubs his neck. “Wildchild has returned the favor to Pretzler… with a vengeance!” “This is terrible. Pretzler. Wildchild had no right to be involved in this. No right!” Pretzler backs away from the ring, holding his head in pain, a look of pure hatred on his face. He points at Wildchild and mutters something, then staggers up the ramp and through the entryway.

FADE IN… Standing amid two cage girls and a tiki torch arrangement, Ben Hardy stands ready to conduct an interview with the man at his side, Johnny Dangerous as Storm returns from commercial break. “Johnny,” begins Hardy. “Last week on Smarkdown you were a part of the winning team that defeated Todd Cortez and Ejiro Fasaki; our new World Heavyweight Champion-” “That’s right,” the Barracuda agrees with a firm nod of his head, cutting Hardy off in mid-sentence. “I was one of two men to help capture that win – a solo win by any man it wasn’t.” “Which brings me to my first question,” continues Hardy. “During that match you engaged in some rather odd behavior, up to and including towards the end where you tried to come into the ring with a steel chair!” “Well, Ben, it’s not exactly illegal unless you actually hit someone with it,” replies Johnny, shaking his head in annoyance as if Hardy of anyone should know that. “Regardless, what happened on Storm was the fact that I saved my team from the jaws of defeat. It doesn’t matter what I had to do to pull it off - If it weren’t for me the match wouldn’t have turned out the same and Lil’ Buck would have likely tapped out! Instead, Lil’ Buck gets rewarded for his big victory with a shot against Ejiro Fasaki for the World Title!” “Some would say that Lil’ Buck has earned his chance at the title,” Hardy counters. “Are you saying that I haven’t?” the Barracuda questions as he furrows his brow at Hardy. “It’s been well over six months since I returned to action in the SWF and since that time I have lost a total of three matches! Three matches, Ben! I really don’t care what some would say, or what this Sean Combs thinks, the fact of the matter is that the only one around this place that has earned a shot at that belt is me!” “Well, but-” However, before the ace interviewer of the SWF can spit another word out, Johnny snatches the microphone away from him and shoves Hardy out of the way. The only thing in the cameras view now is one Agent Dangerous… one irate Agent Dangerous. “There are no buts, anymore,” says Johnny. “Let me give a message to all you idiots trying to come up with who should be facing who in the SWF. Joseph Peters; whoever the hell you are, or whoever the hell else is out there, let it be known that I am damn tired of watching all these people who haven’t earned a God damned thing suddenly get shots at the World Heavyweight Championship while I sit here and wait. While I sit here and kick the crap out of Landon Maddix for the twentieth time straight only to face him the next night as Ejiro Fasaki is suddenly given a shot at something he never earned, or Lil’ gang banging Buck is trying to get his sluggish ass through a match for the belt.” “Well,” he continues after a slight pause, “I’m tired of waiting, and I refuse to stand idly while you continue to screw me around! You have given me choice… its time that I take matters into my own hands!” …FADE OUT.

SWF Storm comes back to air. The surroundings for the show are a bit different than usually seen. The ring and a scant thousand seats are surrounded by Sean Comb’s private island in The Seychelles. Water and sand is everywhere. “Come With Me” from the “Godzilla” soundtrack echoes throughout the island, as the few fans in attendance holds up signs for their favorite personalities and talent. Signs like, “Fuvolution 4EVER”, “Jay Hawke has no Pecker”, and of course the usual, “Toxxic Sucks”, litter the stands. “Huh huh, yeah Huh huh, yeah Huh, huh huh, yeah Huh, huh huh, yeah Huh, huh huh, yeah Huh, huh huh, yeah, yeah!” The song loops around to another verse. “I wanna to fight you, I'll fuckin' bite you!! Can't stand nobody like you!” Finally, with the song droning on in the background, we get a glimpse of the announcer’s table, where King and Suicide King sit, both wearing official SWF Hawaiian shirts. “I have to say, Pete, the Mike Tyson reference in that song is brilliant!” yells King. “Of course, it is still an INJUSTICE that Puff Daddy, the worst dancer in musical recording history, is able to make important decisions involving the company!” Beside King, Longdogger Pete just shakes his head, agreeing with King, but suppressing his true thoughts with a vague gesture. Pete snaps out of it, and looks into the camera. “Welcome back to Storm folks. Speaking of storms, this island of Sean Combs is destined for destruction tomorrow when Tropical Storms Amos and Andy make landfall,” says Pete, with unusual optimism in his voice. “However, we will be long gone and can put this whole ‘Puff Daddy’ thing behind us. Meanwhile, he can pick up the pieces and build an Arc while he is at it for all I care,” says King. A mosquito lands on King’s cheek. It sucks some blood away from his face and dies a split second later, as the former SWF Champion gets revenge. “God damned mosquitoes,” King rants. The Storm anthem for the night, “Come With Me” fades out, and is immediately replaced by the Unearth anthem of “Bloodlust of the Human Condition.” “RAAAHHHHH!” goes the enthusiastic and perhaps tipsy fans. The lights don’t dim, pyro doesn’t explode from the entrance, but Archie Griffon is present just as the song kicks into verse. The fans explode with adulation for the big man. He quickly walks down the aisle. On this night he wears a black long-sleeved shirt that barely fits around his broad shoulders, and a pair of forest camouflage cargo pants. He still wears his white wrestling boots, however. Funyon clears his throat in the ring. “The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP! Introducing first, from Des Moines, Iowa, and weighing in at three-hundred two pounds….ARCH GRIFFON!” screams the public address announcer. “And here comes the incomparable Arch Griffon,” says Pete. “By incomparable do you mean his repeated title shots? Because if so, I agree,” says King, a smirk nearly audible in his voice. Griffon continues his way to the ring, focused, yet acknowledging the crowd. He slowly nods his head in approval as he reaches the squared circle. “Archie Griffon was flat out robbed on Smarkdown,” says Pete, in a matter of fact tone. “Jay Hawke brought the chair into the ring. Hawke almost broke Funyon’s hip in the process. Jay made the entire nation of Indonesia fall asleep with keeping Griffon grounded like he was Dennis the Menace after breaking Mr. Wilson’s garage door windows,” rambles Pete. “Dennis the Menace? Did you stay up all night coming up with that one?” asks King. “Nah. I got to bed at around two or two-thirty,” says Pete. “But Griffon does not deserve a rematch! There is a thing in professional wrestling called luck. Arch had some bad luck on Smarkdown. However, this happens. Thousands of men have had the same thing happen to them what happened to Griffon. What makes this son of a bitch so special that he deserves another shot,” says King, growing red in the face. Griffon climbs into the ring, and after taking a short look at the referee for the match, Mathew Kivell, he turns around and looks back at the curtain, knuckles white from the fists he makes with his hands. Arch’s theme music slowly fades out, only to be replaced by Pink Floyd’s “Learning To Fly”. “BBOOOOOOOO!” goes the crowd. Without much of a delay, out walks the SWF International Champion. He comes out with title belt raised high above his head. He ignores the incessant baying from the fans surrounding him. He takes a look to the ring, and locks eyes with Archie. A small hint of fear spreads across his face. He dresses in his normal attire, save for his new and possibly first SWF t-shirt, labeled “Class is in Session!” “And his opponent! From the Hall of Fame city of Cleveland, Ohio. He weighs in at 210 pounds…the SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION…JAY HAWKE!” bellows Funyon. “And here is a man that shouldn’t be competing in this match tonight,” says King. “Thanks to that idiot Sean Combs, he is defending his title against a man who won’t be disqualified for slamming him into a chair.” “Jay Hawke rarely defends the International Championship, and if he has to defend it against Arch Griffon again, and risk losing a little blood, so be it,” says Pete. “He should be a fighting Champion.” “However, he shouldn’t be set up for destruction every show,” says King. “The deck is not stacked against Jay. Griffon does not have a .357 Magnum in his pocket, so this is a fair fight,” says Pete. Jay Hawke continues his walk to the ring, but then stops on a dime. Arch Griffon quickly leaves the ring and rushes out to meet the inert Champion. As his foe approaches, Jay raises the title belt high above his head, and takes a step forward. Hawke swings down at Archie with the belt. However, the pride of Des Moines, Iowa goes low, and tackles Jay to the ground. The International Title belt falls harmlessly out of Jay’s hands. Griffon straddles Hawke’s chest, and unleashes a torrent of right hands into Jay’s face. Hawke puts his hands up to block the blows. “YYYEEEEAAHHH!” goes the crowd, not sounding too much unlike tormented rapper Lil’ John. “Before the bell has even ringed, Arch Griffon is taking it to Jay Hawke on the outside!” yells Pete. “A display of terrible sportsmanship from Archie Griffon,” says King. “Weren’t you the guy who paid off a referee to get Chris Raynor retired?” asks Pete. “Shut up,” grumbles King. Griffon continues beating down on Jay. Finally Arch climbs of his adversary, and drags Hawke back to his feet. Hawke, still covering up, is open for Griffon to grab him by the back of the head. With a grunt, Griffon throws Hawke into one of the crowd barriers on the entranceway. The crowd cheers as a loud thud sounds. Hawke grabs the back of his head. Griffon then brings him back to his feet, slams him in the face with a few quick punches, and then throws The Dean into the other barrier. *SLAM!* “Griffon is really pouring on the offense here in the early going,” says King. “He may be even more motivated than he was on Smarkdown.” “Of course he is. He sees his window of opportunity closing,” says King. Griffon wipes some off of forehead, and looks down at his opponent, who clutches the back of his cranium once more. Arch drags Hawke back to his feet, Jay’s hand not leaving the back of his head. Griffon quickly hooks an arm between Hawke’s legs, and lifts. Arch slams the Champion hard into the ground. Hawke contorts his body in pain, clutching his back. Griffon then lays a few stomps into Jay’s exposed stomach. The crowd buzzes in approval. Hawke’s eye’s close in pain as his beautiful, short light brown hair is almost yanked from the ropes. The rap moguls and commoners all groans as Griffon slowly drags Hawke towards the curtain and the cages giving the outdoor venue its beauty. “What a son of a bitch Griffon is!” exclaims King, showing unusually venom towards the master of the Arch Nemesis. “Dragging Hawke down the aisle by the hair! He should be ashamed!” “What an impressive show of strength from the big farm boy,” says Pete after a short delay. Once he reaches his destination, Griffon lets go of Hawke. Jay grabs his scalp in pain. Griffon once again drives a dull white wrestling boot into Hawke’s stomach. As Jay grabs his stomach, Griffon picks him up to his feet. In one swift motion, Griffon grabs Hawke by the arm, and Irish whips him into one of the cages, where a scantily clad young blonde stands in terror. *DOOOOGGGEEE!* Jay falls back to the ground, his arms crossed over his chest. The tall, leggy blond quickly opens up the cage door and scurries out. She quickly disappears behind the curtain. The other cage door opens up and out pops another dancer, a pretty caramel skinned woman, who joins her coworker behind the curtain. Griffon pays more attention to the lovely bodies running away in horror than he does Hawke. “Great! There goes my entertainment for this match,” says King. “There is a Championship match going on, King. Isn’t that enough entertainment for you?” asks Pete. “Not when the match itself is a fraud,” answers back King. “Those Ladies of the Night did not deserve that treatment,” says King. “Those aren’t prostitutes, King. Those young ladies work in our farm system,” says Pete. “Yeah, I know. They’re whores,” says King, with a chuckle. Jay rolls around on the ground, still holding onto his aching chest. Griffon stays on the attack, and drags Hawke to his feet. Jay fights back with a thumb to the eye. Arch grimaces and takes a step back. The move elicits boos from the sea of Griffon well-wishers. Hawke then leaps into the arms of Griffon, trying to bring him to the ground. Griffon is too strong and simple hold Jay up in the air. Blindly, Griffon runs forward – *CRUNCH!* -right into the second dancer’s cage! Jay falls to the ground, grasping at his neck. The Champion rolls into the beautiful beige sand off to the side. Meanwhile, Archie stands nearby, rubbing out the pain in his eyes. Hawke slowly starts to crawl away from Arch. Griffon recovers and advances to Hawke, venturing out into the sand. The Champion thinks quickly, and throws sand in to the eyes of his attacker. Arch yells and then once again clutches at his eyes. “BOOOOO!” “An underhanded tactic by Jay Hawke to gain control of this match which is quickly turning into a one sided beatdown,” says Pete. “Great move by Jay Hawke. He is showing his experience advantage over Archie by using his environment as a weapon,” says King. Hawke regains his bearings as Griffon backs off. He climbs back to his feet and charges at the dazed challenger. Thousands of grains of sand fly up into the stands as Hawke does his best to gain speed. Jay goes airborne and knocks Arch to the ground with a Leg Lariat! Griffon grabs onto his forward as he hits the ground. Hawke then climbs on top of the prone Archie and drives a gripping hand into Archie’s throat. “BOOOOO!” goes the crowd once more, wanting to see blood and not boring stalling. “Mr. Excitement, Jay Hawke follows up one dynamic move with another,” says Pete. “Mr. Excitement? Are you being facetious, Pete?” asks King. “Are you pontificating, King? Hawke is putting this crowd of paying customers asleep, as well as reducing us to arguing,” says Pete. “But hey, no DQ. Hawke can read ‘War and Peace’ while choking Griffon, and the fans would have to deal with it,” King fires back. Hawke is satisfied with the results of his choking, and brings Griffon back to his feet. He puts Griffon in a side headlock, and starts to walk his challenger back to the ring, landing sharp right hands as he walks. Then, Hawke reaches the ring, and with a good measure of effort, throws Griffon into the ring. Jay then enters as well, giving Kivell a reason to call for the bell to start the match. *DINGDINGDING* “And this match is officially underway,” says Pete. Hawke wipes some droplets of sweat from his forehead, and then drags Archie to his feet. He puts the bigger man in another side headlock, and once again gets a thumb down from the fans. Hawke walks Griffon to the middle of the ring. Arch is able to release himself from Hawke’s snatch, as he pushes him off and into the ropes. Jay bounces and comes back. The Dean is taking to mat with an elementary shoulderblock. Griffon stutter-steps, and then heads to the side ropes. Jay rolls to his stomach and waits for Archie to approach. Griffon hops over Hawke and heads to the opposite ropes. Jay gets up to his feet, and as Archie approaches, he leaps up into the air, and leapfrogs Arch. Griffon bounds off the ropes and comes back at Hawke. Jay tucks on an arm into Griffon’s armpit and goes for a hiptoss on the big man. Archie doesn’t budge, and then the challenger comes forward with an angry forearm that lands flush into Jay’s unprotected jaw! “RRRAHHH!” Hawke crumples to the mat, and rolls away and out of the ring. “And the brutal pace of this match continues as Griffon levels Hawke with a forearm that would make Danny Williams proud!” exclaims Pete. “Hawke is doing his best to turn this into a wrestling match, but Griffon is being unprofessional, but fighting in his uncivilized style,” says King. “His style isn’t uncivilized. It’s aggressive. Let us not forget these men are paid to hurt people,” reasons Pete. Hawke slowly rises to his feet, clutching his jaw. Griffon follows him out of the ring. Mathew Kivell just stands back, not being able to stop Archie from going after Jay this time. Griffon stands on the apron above the fouled up Jay. Hawke looks up at Griffon just in time to be floored to the mat with a Double Axe Handle from the apron! Griffon looks out into the crowd in front of him, and flexes to a positive reaction. Jay Hawke gloms his forehead as he lies. Archibald then reaches down and picks up the Cruiserweight. Griffon latches onto Hawke’s wrist, and quickly whips him into the nearby steal stairs. *SLAM!* “RRAAHHH!” Hawke crashes knee first into the steel steps, and goes flipping over them. He lands in a heap next to the announcer’s table. The rattled Jay Hawke reaches over to his left knee and holds on to it, as he slowly tests its mobility. Griffon, taking sharp and deep breaths, approaches the bewildered Champion. Archie pounces on top of Hawke, and straddles his chest. Hawke has his arms pinned by Griffon’s tree trunk-like legs, and can’t cover up. Griffon cradles the back of Hawke’s head in his left hand, and unleashes a savage series of right hands to the vulnerable forehead of The Dean. In a matter of seconds, Griffon lands fourteen punches. Arch finally steps off of Jay, and the Champion clutches his visage, in obvious discomfort. A steady stream of familiar crimson liquid starts to soil Jay’s forehead. The bloodthirsty crowd sees this and the crowd approves. “Funny to think that the Archie only needed one more right hand in his series of blows on Smarkdown to bust Jay Hawke open,” says Pete. “This is because Griffon just threw sportsmanship out of the window, and didn’t give the Champion a chance to defend himself,” says King. “Harder punches equal more damage.” “King, I don’t believe in two wrongs make a right,” says Pete. “However, I am partial to the phrase ‘an eye for an eye’.” Arch Griffon, an evil glint in his hazel eyes, approaches the announcer’s table. He rips the top off of the table and throws it to the floor. The Suicide King and Longdogger Pete get out of the way and head to higher ground. Hawke, rolling around on the floor in pain, is brought back to his feet by Griffon; Archie quickly rolls Hawke on top of the table. The big man then climbs up to join Jay. “I do not approve of this decision by Griffon,” says Pete. “He might be taking this too far now.” “Too far?” asks King. “He’s trying to put the International Champion through our table!” Archie then grabs Jay and brings him up into a standing head scissors. The surrounding fans egg the big man on. Before Archie can lift up Hawke, Jay uses all of his strength to pick up Griffon, and backdrop him off of the table and back down to the floor in front of the table. Hawke then collapses to one knee, grabbing his neck. Arch howls in pain, clutching his back. Jay starts to get back to his feet, blood dripping onto documents on the table. Jay looks down at Griffon, and then jumps off of the table. Jay hits a Diving Headbutt into Griffon’s chest! Hawke grabs his neck in pain, as Griffon clutches his heart and rolls to his side. “Hawke used all of the power he had to lift up Griffon and dump him to the floor,” says Pete, as his microphone makes a ruffling due to him sitting down. “Yeah, he saved my notes from becoming a bloody mess,” says King. “He must have hurt his neck picking up Griffon like that,” says Pete. “Hawke has had a history of neck problems in his career, and pulling all of the muscles in his neck is not going to make it any better,” says King. The first to his fight is Jay Hawke. He ignores the hissing from the fans as he taunts them with a finger to the temple. After bragging about his intelligence, Hawke rolls Griffon into a sitting position, and quickly puts on a rear chinlock. He locks it in with as much energy as he can. “BBBOOOOOO!” “This crowd is not pleased at all with Jay’s tactics,” says Pete. The crowd starts to get behind Griffon, and soon, he powers back to his feet. Hawke however, still holds onto the chinlock. Jay is lifted off of the floor, and now is on top of Griffon’s back. With a burst, Archie rushes to the nearby ring post. He ducks down and lets Hawke slam into the pole face first! He spins off of the pole, and falls to the floor, his face a blood mess. “RRAHHHH!” “A pattern is forming here, King. Every time Hawke tries to slow down this match, Archie is able to counter this and turn this into a brawl,” says Pete. “Of course Griffon is able to counter all of this. He has access to all sorts of rule breaking,” says King. Archie, whilst stroking his sore chin, grabs Jay and hauls him back to his feet. The bigger man throws The Dean back in to the ring, and immediately puts on a lateral press. ONE! TWO!! THRE-NO!!! “And the first pinning attempt of the match results in a near fall for Arch Griffon,” says Pete. Archie Griffon climbs back to his feet. Hawke stay on the mat, still clutching his forehead. The bigger man brings Hawke back to his feet. After a boot to the stomach, Archie latches onto Jay Hawke’s wrist, and tugs him close. Griffon takes him done with a short armed clothesline! Archie holds onto Hawke, and drags him back to his feet. He slams him back to the mat with another clothesline. “And now Jay Hawke has been entangled with Griffon’s Grasp!” exclaims Pete. “Even if I can’t stand his style, Arch is doing a great job working on Hawke’s neck and head,” says King. “Each clothesline puts terrible pressure on the neck.” Griffon continues with the clotheslines. The crowd starts to count along. “THREE!” “FOUR!” “FIVE!” “SIX!” Archie, after completing six clotheslines, lets the bloody Jay Hawke flop to the mat. The Dean lies on the mat, favoring his head and neck. Griffon then slides under the bottom rope and out of the ring. He approaches Funyon, who sits on his chair, and motions for him to get up. Funyon obliges, and Arch tears the chair away from him and takes it back into the ring with him. “What is Griffon doing?” quizzes King. “He is doing what he should have done on Smarkdown, I guess. If he is to inflict damage with a chair, he is going to do it on purpose,” says Pete. “At least he let Funyon have warning before he took the chair.” The challenger throws the chair down in the ring, and quickly drags his opponent to his feet. Griffon puts Jay into a standing head scissors, and then lifts him up for a powerbomb. He snaps Hawke back to the mat with a harsh Mucho Gusto Powerbomb onto the chair! “RAAAAHHH!” “Sweet Jesus, he may have just broken Hawke’s back,” says Pete. “Jay Hawke does not deserve to lose the title this way,” says King. Arch, instead of going for the quick cover, starts to taunt Hawke as the Champion lies in the ring. Jay can just roll around on the mat and put the top of his hand to his back in agony, as Arch unloads a barrage of profanities at him. Mathew Kivell finally tries to step in and calm Griffon down. Arch quickly turns to Kivell and gives him a glare that makes the senior referee back off. After looking down at his adversary for a moment more, Griffon throws on a relax cover, simply putting a hand on Hawke’s chest. ONE! TWO!! THREEEE-NO!!! “I have to give Jay Hawke credit. Not many men would continue to fight after feeling pain like that,” says Pete. “Griffon wasted time there, and Hawke made the stupid lug pay,” says King. “As well, Archie has to forget very quickly about Smarkdown and how Kivell’s terrible decision cost him the match. Kivell is not his enemy. Hawke is,” says Pete. The islanders groan with gusto as Hawke kicks out. Griffon climbs back to his feet, rolls Jay onto his stomach, locks up the Champions arms, and then rolls him over with a Double Chickenwing Cradle. Kivell slides into position. ONE! TWO!! THREEEEEEE-NO!!! “RRRAHHHHBOOOOOOOOOO!” “And Hawke is able to break free of that cradle,” says Pete. With Hawke still writhing in pain on the mat, Griffon exits the ring. He rummages under the ring, and then pulls out a table. He sets it up just parallel with the ring. He then goes back under the ring. As he returns, he holds a bottle of alcohol. The ringside cameraman swoops in, and the viewer discovers that the bottle reads “Everclear”, which is a one-hundred ninety-six proof bottle of grain alcohol. He dumps the majority of the bottle on top of the table, saturating it with makeshift lighter fluid. Griffon leaves the table, and quickly heads back to the curtain. Griffon grabs one of the torches lighting the entranceway, and brings it back to the ring. He brings the torch down onto the table. He has now created a flaming table. “OOOOOOHHHH!” “A flaming table!” yells Pete. “Don’t try this at home,” says King. Griffon then reenters the ring. He corrals Hawke back to his feet, and puts him in another standing head scissors. Archie easily hoists The Dean into the air. The challenger makes a mad dash towards the table. Before Griffon can throw Hawke out of the ring and through a fiery abyss, the Champion counters with a Hurricanrana that takes both men out of the ring, and puts Archie through the burning table! “OH MY GOD!” screams, yells, and exclaims Pete. Griffon goes through table, and immediately starts to roll around on the ground, getting the fire off of him. The flames still rip through his shirt. He scurries to get his long-sleeved shirt off of him, and then throws the smoking remains to the floor. Hawke, avoiding the table, rolls away to safety. SWF staff members quickly run down to the ring with fire extinguishers to put out the fire. Griffon continues to roll around on the floor, screaming obscenities and checking for burns. “ARCHIE’S HARDCORE!” the fans keep chanting. Both men lie on the floor for a long while. The two men slowly wobble to their feet and approach each other. Before Arch can get the upper hand, Jay drops to his knees before his opponent, stick on up between Arch’s legs, giving him a low blow. Griffon tumbles to the floor. “And Hawke continues to scrape for every inch in this match,” says Pete. “He is still trying to slow down this match,” says King. Hawke stays on his knees, dizzy, as blood continues to pour from his forehead. The Dean then climbs back to his feet, and stumbles over to the side of the ring. He approaches a man who sits in the front row. The man is Sean Combs, the booker of this match. Hawke reaches over the wall and grabs a luxurious pimp cane that stands before Puffy. Sean fights over the cane with The Dean, before Jay shoves him away and takes the cane anyways. As Jay walks away, Combs looks down at his mink coat, and notices droplets of blood have ruined it. The fans disapprove. “Jay just stole P Diddy’s cane and ruined his coat at the same time!” yells Pete. “Fur is murder, Puffy!” King yells. “Sample ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ and make it talk about your stolen cane and ruined mink coat, you unoriginal bastard!” says King with obvious venom. Hawke finger the back of his neck as he approaches Griffon, he is slowly climbing back to his feet. Jay pushes Griffon back into the ring, and he quickly follows. Archie starts to crawl back to his feet. Hawke stands behind Griffon, and prepares to strike with the cane. Griffon turns around towards Jay, and sees the attack coming. Hawke swings the cane, by Arch gets his arms up and catches it. Hawke fights with Griffon, but winds up getting his body turned. Arch, behind Hawke, inches the cane until it is against the throat of Hawke, and then puts a leg behind the Champion. Griffon lunges to the mat, bringing Hawke down to the mat with a cane assisted Russian Legsweep! “YEEEAHHH!” “White Russian Legsweep on Jay Hawke! A brilliant counter by Archibald Griffon,’ says Pete. “Jay is now trying to fight Archie’s match!” says King. “A big mistake by Jay Hawke, as he is just taking more punishment to the neck,” says Pete. Both men lie on the mat. Griffon lies exhausted on the mat, his chest and back a pink color after going through the flaming table. Hawke, meanwhile, just holds onto his neck for deal life. Griffon is the first back to his feet. He slowly gets Jay back to his feet. Archie grabs Hawke by the wrist, and whips Jay into the far corner. Hawke slams back first in the corner. After gaining his composure for a moment, Archie charges forward. He lunges as he reaches the corner and shoots off a Yakuza Kick. Jay quickly ducks out of the way! Griffon gets his right foot caught up on the top turnbuckle. Before the challenger can get himself free, Hawke kicks Griffon right in the groin! Arch once again tumbles to his back. The harsh crowd lets their feelings be known of Hawke. “JAY’S A PUSSY!” they chant repeatedly. “This is terrible treatment of our Champion!” yells King. “He put a man through a god damned burning table!” “It’s not about the table, King. It’s about our Champion not fighting like a Champion, and instead running away and hitting Griffon in the groin every two minutes,” says Pete. Hawke climbs back to his feet, still holding his neck. He takes a few steps over the steel chair that was used earlier, and picks it up. His blood soaked hands grip the chair tightly, as he waits for Griffon to rise to his feet. Finally, Archie rises to his feet, just a yard or two away from the corner. Jay charges, and Griffon, feeling the footsteps, turns around. Hawke leaps into the air, and slams Archie in the face with the steel chair!! “OOHHHHH!” the crowd groans. As blood starts to leak out of Griffon’s forehead, Hawke throws the chair down. He looks out into the stands, and yells- “WHO’S A PUSSY NOW?!” “Definitely not Jay Hawke,” says King. “A gargantuan chair shot from the Champion has annihilated Arch!” yells Pete. -the fans bay sharply. Jay then approaches the fallen Griffon. He grabs the challenger by the leg and drags him into the middle of the ring. Hawk puts on a lateral press. ONE! TWO!! THREEEEEEEE-NO!!! “YEEEEAAHHHH!” Fans on the island pop like rabid monkeys on speed. Hawke pops up from the cover, and immediately gets into the face of Mathew Kivell, who stands by his decision. Jay quickly walks over to the cane in the middle of the ring. He leaps on to of Griffon, and shoves the pipe into Arch’s throat. Griffon gasps for breath, as more blood get squeezed out of his forehead. Hawke throws the pimp cane away, and gets off of Griffon. He exits the ring, leaving his opponent gasping for air. Jay goes out to the aisle, and grabs his International Title belt. “Jay Hawke is willing to take every shortcut he can to win this match!” yells Pete. “These aren’t shortcuts, my Floridian friend. These are super cool attacks he is using,” says King. Hawke climbs the steel stairs and then climbs to the top turnbuckle. Back in the ring, Griffon slowly climbs to his feet. Finally taking his hands away from his throat, Griffon turns around. Quickly, Hawke leaps off the top. He holds the title high above his head, as he flies. The big man sees Hawke coming and takes a step forward. Griffon leaps up into the air to meet Jay. Hawke is helpless, and out of range for the belt shot. Arch grabs him in mid air, and spins into a one-hundred eighty degree turn. Griffon plants the Champion to the mat with a Twisting Spinebuster. “RRRAAHHHHH!” “Griffon just drove Jay into the mat with a Spinebuster! Hawke is out cold!” says Pete. “Hawke should have known better than to do that!” yells King. “You never open yourself up like that, no matter how much more athletic you may be!” Both Archie and Jay lie in a heap in the middle of the ring. Hawke lies on his back, looking up to the heavens. Griffon is on his stomach, and he is slowly crawling towards Jay. Archie throws an arm over Hawke and Kivell is right there too much the count. ONE!! TWO!!! THREEEEEEEEEE-NO!!!! “YEEAAHHHOOHHHH!” “And Hawke is just able to kick out!” says Pete. “Archie is going to have knock Jay out to defeat him!” The middle of the ring is littered by droplets of blood. Above the droplets are Hawke and Griffon. Archie slowly rises to his feet. He wipes some fresh blood away from his eyes, and zones in on the fouled up neck and body of Jay. Griffon slowly drags Jay back to his feet. Griffon hits a boot to the stomach, which doubles the Champion over. Hawke nearly falls to the seat of his tights, as he gets a nasty knee to the face that brings blood off of his face like it was sweat. Griffon then puts on a standing head scissors on Jay Hawke. Arch quickly picks up the lighter man, and holds him in the air between his massive legs. Griffon hooks his arms around Hawke’s legs, gaining leverage. Griffon then drives the lifeless Hawke into the mat with the Arch Nemesis! “ARCH NEMESIS!” yells Pete. “RAAAAHHHHHH!” Griffon throws himself on top of Hawke, and Kivell slide into position. ONE!! TWO!!! THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! Kivell calls for the bell. “YEEEEEEAHHH!” *DINGDINGDING* “YOUR WINNER….AND NEEWWWW SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION….ARCH GRIFFON!” yells Funyon “Griffon has done it! Hawke couldn’t slow him down this time!” yells Pete. “This is a damned travesty! The rules of this match didn’t give Jay a chance!” rants King. “Jay Hawke still put up a brilliant fight, even if he took all of the shortcuts that he could! In the end, he just couldn’t fight Griffon’s fight,” says Pete. “Stay tuned folks. Lil’ Buck goes after Ejiro Fasaki’s newly won World Championship!” yells Pete. Back in the ring, “Bloodlust of the Human Condition” booms over the area, as Mathew Kivell awards the SWF International Title belt to Griffon. <FADE OUT>