Chuck Woolery

The following is a story of several things that I'm not proud of... as well as a few things I am proud of. Hating will be welcomed. This is a story of the roller coaster ride of the past couple of months, and how that roller coaster finally went off hte tracks... It really started on December 23rd, when I got truly liquored up for the first time and fucked a fat chick. But we'll skip over that. Skipping ahead to New Year's Eve. I went to a party that night, but I had somewhere else that I needed to be by midnight. I was already fairly well gone, but four of us needed to leave and we needed to take two cars. One of us, Tom, managed to keep from drinking the whole night, and he took his car. Anthony, who was already schmickered, rode with Tom in the hopes that he would be a sobering influence. This left me and the fourth, Billy. This was an interesting conundrum. On the one hand, I didn't have a driver's license (in fact, at this point I wasn't even sixteen). On the other hand, one look at Billy would tell you that I was going to be the safer driver, age be damned. Finally, the driver's side headlight on Billy's car was out, and seeing as that was what we were taking, if we got pulled over for it it wasn't going to be a good time. Billy looked at me. "Dude, can you drive?" "I suppose." We got into the car and began driving off. It's normally a ten minute drive to where we were going, but on this night it took thirty -- I was trying to make sure that I wasn't going to do something retarded to get pulled over. So we're chugging along nicely, Billy yelling to me drunkenly to "go fucking faster!", but it's looking fine as we make the last turn... And look, there's blues in my rearview. Fuck. I look at Billy. Billy looks at me. My mind is racing, trying to think of what I'm going to say to this cop, but Billy is already taking action. "Dude, we've gotta switch spots." This is a '99 Pontiac Grand Am, and there's no way in hell we're both going to be able to move the necessary five feet in the thirty seconds that it'll take for the officer to get to our car. So Billy, thinking quickly, opens his door and gets out of the car. The officer, caught off-guard, whirls around and shines his flashlight in Billy's face. Upon realizing that Billy's not, like, packing heat or anything, the cop says, "Uh, you can sit down, son." Billy gets back in his car, looking like an ass. The officer walks up to my window, taps on it. I go to put the window down... and nothing happens. The fuck? "Dude, the window doesn't work, you'll have to open the door." Fucking great. I open the door, and the cop looks at me odd. "Sorry, sir, the window doesn't work." "Okay... license and registration?" "I kinda left my license at home, this isn't my car, I'll get you the registration though..." Billy gets the registration out of his glove compartment, I give it to the officer, and he starts taking my information. "Name?" "Joseph Peters... H. Peters." "Birthday?" My birthday is January 13th, 1989. "January 13th, nineteen eighty ni... eight." The cop doesn't seem to notice my stutter and takes down the rest of my info, before going back to his car to punch it all in. I breathe for the first time in this whole incident, Billy and me are getting kinda cocky as the cop comes back... "Joseph, are you from New Hampshire? Your name didn't..." "No, I'm from Vermont, I'm just in town for New Year's..." "Oh, okay, that's fine... I'm just going to give you a warning, your front headlight was out, other than that you guys are fine." That incident is called the Act of God, and made me an instant celebrity within the school. For a few weeks I was riding high. Fast forward to Martin Luther King weekend. That Thursday was my birthday, and Friday night I celebrated by partying. Sunday night, I went over to Anthony's house to watch the Pats game, when Evan walked up to me. "Dude, what are you doing tonight?" "I don't know." "You want to come up to Stark with me and some guys?" "...sure. Where's Stark?" "Oh, like an hour from here." Awesome. Pats win, and me, Chris, Andrew and Tireef piled into Andrew's mom's car to make the drive to Stark. Andrew, driving his mother's car, had to be back in town by 5:45 the next morning. Tireef, ever the intellectual, offered to drive his car so we wouldn't have to worry about it, but Andrew and Chris insisted that it was no big deal. I told Tireef that I was planning on staying at Stark that night, and he said that was cool. We went to Stark and I got completely smashed, had sex with another fat chick, and had my last memory be that of throwing up in the snow. After that I blacked out. While blacked out, apparently, Chris and Andrew decided to leave -- and me being drunk and out on my feet, they decided to take me with them. As we were leaving, Tireef (who hadn't been drinking) offered to drive the three of us (all of whom had been drinking) home, but Chris and Andrew again insisted that it was no big deal. So we began driving home. Note that it was a heavy snowstorm that night, and the lines on the road were difficult to see. It seems that I was vomiting in the back seat, and it got so bad that Chris tried to pull off the road and put his fourways on. However, instead of pulling off the road, he pulled into the fucking lane. Me after finding out what happened: "Dude, you could've made me puke out the window." So, our luck, a cop drives by and sees our car pulled over, with me hanging out the backseat puking. He taps on the driver's side door and asks Chris for license and registration -- but Chris, bastion of intelligence, has left his license at home. In a moment of pure genius, he hands the cop Andrew's license. I was told the exchange went like this: "What is this?" "My license." "Step out of the car, son." Fucking great. It was around this time that I came to, and I remember being shoved against the hood of a police car and patted down. Handcuffs, threw me in the back of the car, and drove off. On the way to the station I blacked out several times, and what I do remember is banging my head on the glass window and asking the cop to turn the radio up. Got to the station, blew a .18... yeah. They held us there for a good four hours before making us call our parents, who promptly came and posted bail. My mum came and picked me up. She cried. Because of me. I'm a man's man. (flame away.)

Don't make me and 'Drea come back and job you all out in tag competition.

Well, I live in NH, but I'm also sixteen, so I am kinda fucked there.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STORM, FEBRUARY 18, 2005, LIVE FROM THE PANARCHY FRATERNITY HOUSE IN HANOVER, NEW HAMPSHIRE (8:00 PM EST; 5:00 PM PST. Check local listings.) Send everything (booking requests, promos, et cetera) to chirs3! So I was thinking, where's the perfect place for the most hardcore show in sports and entertainment, SWF STORM, to eminate from? And then I remembered my ex-girlfriend's current boyfriend. See, he plays in a band. And his band played at a party at one of the Dartmouth fraternities. And that fraternity was Panarchy. And so now, live from the Panarchy Fraternity House on the Dartmouth College campus in Hanover, New Hampshire, the lucky Panarchy members get a surefire match of the year candidate in Sacred/Toxxic! Also on the show... well, here's the card! MAIN EVENT FANS BRING THE WEAPONS for the SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Sacred (SWF World Heavyweight Champion) v. Toxxic -> The fans want it, the people want it, and for god's sake all of us on Creative Control just want to get it over with. Toxxic laid claim to the midterm title shot after defeating Johnny Dangerous, and this match has to be doubly sweet for Toxxic because it's his first chance to get his hands on Sacred since the mysterious Australian first left him. Sacred, meanwhile, has been battling everything from personal demons to Revolution Zero to crazy black men, so what's one faggot British rocker going to make a difference? The SWF: All about the stereotypes, baby! Rules: Falls count anywhere. All weapons are legal, but none will be at ringside besides those supplied by the fans. Remember, we're in a frat house. Word Limit: 6500 Marker: Ace309 HARDCORE MATCH Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix v. "The Icon" Max King -> Wow, doesn't this seem familiar? King and Maddix, old foes, find themselves doing battle again. For Maddix, this may be nothing more than a tune-up match leading into his Intercontinental-Television title defence against Todd Cortez on Lockdown, but for Max King, this match is a way to prove himself, get noticed... and maybe shed some blood, too. Rules: There's only so many creative ways to say 'none'. Word Limit: 5000 Marker: Dace59 HARDCORE TWO-ON-TWO MATCH Wild & Dangerous (Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous) v. Revolution Zero ("The Critic" Scott Pretzler and Sean Davis) -> So, uh, yeah, how many of these guys are available? Johnny is unbookable and Davis is questionable, but alas, we're saving Pretzler/Wildchild for one of the big shows! The Critic has impressed many recently, including his huge win over Spike Jenkins to become Cruiserweight champion -- but to Wildchild, Pretzler is nothing but a paper champ! The paths of Wildchild and Pretzler are bound to cross one-on-one someday, but until then, we're going to make them write tag matches, possibly solo, and they're going to like it! Rules: None. Tags are unnecessary as well. Wild and Dangerous' tag belts are not on the line. Word Limit: 5500 Marker: Chuck Woolery HARDCORE MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins v. Carnage -> Carnage big, tweener. Jenkins little, tweener. Some other stuff happened, but it's easier on me and more entertaining for you if you just read Smarkdown to find out what's going on. Jenkins, after losing at all, starts his quest towards the top of the mountain all over again, and he starts with Carnage. Rules: None. Word Limit: 4000 Marker: chirs3 PANARCHY DEATH MATCH SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP "Urban Legend" Todd Cortez (SWF Hardcore Champion) v. "The Franchise" Mak Francis -> This is your sub-main event, card placement be damned. Alas, this Storm will be the first of several 'house rules' matches for the Hardcore Championship, and since we're coming to you from Panarchy, we're playing by Panarchy's rules! The reigning SWF king of hardcore, Todd Cortez, is probably approaching a record for most successful defences of a belt, but this week he faces an intriguing new challenge in the Franchise, Mak Francis! Both men are fan favorites, and tonight they're going to get bloody, Panarchy-style! Rules: Ever heard of a 40's Challenge? That's what this match is. Both men will have 40oz's duct-taped to both hands, and they are not allowed to remove the bottles until they're empty. Now, you can empty them by drinking them, breaking them over the opponent's head... whatever you see fit. All weapons are legal, pins and submissions count anywhere. Also, both men are wearing toga's. Hey -- house rules. Word Limit: 5500 Marker: Justice (sorry if I put some of you writers in a tough spot, but we're running low on writers right now. If everyone coul dadvertise, somewhere, that'd be greatly appreciated. You guys are awesome, and I don't want the fed to die on you all.)

So yes, it's the same guy.

Yeah, consider this a booking thread. If you've got a desire to defend a belt or somesuch, post about it here, want to set up a feud, post about it here... you get the idea if you haven't already.

Or, you know, me. Also, Landon, I appreciate the thought but I don't think MVS is ever going to be used in the SWF again, whether I want to or not. I was too happy with the last Hollywood Boulevard run to possibly tarnish that by bringing him back.

“It’s main event time from the Nassau Colosseum!” Longdogger Pete shouts. “Two former World Champions, a man who beat the reigning World Champion to within an inch of his life at the Clusterfuck, and a big angry man from Florida!” “The grace,” King comments dryly, “the subtlety, the-” ‘PREPARE… FOR… LANDON!’ *waaaaaaaaaaah…* *DUM-DUM!* “-complete lack of common courtesy,” the Gambling Man finishes sourly as Long Island erupts as ‘Megalomaniac’ kicks up, and the curtain is thrown aside by Landon Maddix striding through with Megan Skye at his side. “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is our MAIN EVENT~, and is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms. “Introducing first, from Huron, South Dakota; he is accompanied to the ring by ‘The Perfect 10’ Megan Skye and is a member of Martial Law; he weighs in at 218lbs and is the SWF ICTV Champion… LANDON… ‘LA CUCARACHAAAAAAA’… MAAAAAAAAD-DIIIIIIIIIIIXXXXX!!” “LET’S GO LAN-DON!” “LET’S GO LAN-DON!” Landon Maddix spreads his arms in the ‘Shakespeare says’ pose as he walk down the ramp, the silvery gleam of his one remaining belt around his waist. The fans reach out to slap hands with the Cockroach, who flashes them a grin as he does so before rolling under the ropes into the ring just as… ‘So do you wanna be a Franchise?… and live large… a big house… five cars…’ “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” ‘The rent charge… comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody…gotta look over your shoulder, constantly!’ Mak Francis strides out onto the soundstage complete with his trenchcoat and ice-blue Oakleys, and the volume if anything increases in the Colosseum! The self-proclaimed Franchise looks over his shades at the fans… ‘I remember the days, when I was a young kid growin’ up… lookin’ in the mirror, dreamin’ about blowin’ up! *BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM!!* The blasts of green pyro seem to fire Francis into action as he readjusts his Oakleys and sets off down the ramp to where his tag partner for the night is standing. Maddix meanwhile looks unimpressed at the Franchise’s entrance, and makes sure to remove his title belt in full view. “And his partner, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” Funyon continues, “he weighs in at 240lbs; this is ‘The Franchise’… MAAAAAAK… FRRRRRAAAAAAN-CIIIIIISSSSSS!!” Mak steps up to the ring apron and wipes his feet before waving to the crowd and stepping through the ropes. He goes to mount the turnbuckle as usual, but finds Landon Maddix already standing there. The two men share a cool glance for a second before Landon casually steps to one side and allows the Franchise to salute the fans. “There seems to be some contention here,” Pete notes with a little surprise, “the partners not overly pleased at being on the same team!” “Both men want the World Title,” King replies, “plus the fact that they’re egotistical and just obnoxious.” “And you’re supporting Toxxic in this match?” “He’s just healthily self-confident.” Mak steps back down from the buckle and turns around… only to find Landon, seemingly unintentionally, in his way once more. Francis tilts his head to one side as he shrugs his trenchcoat off and seems to be asking La Cucaracha if there is a problem, a query that Landon denies as he casually throws the ICTV belt over his shoulder before turning to hand it to referee David Elleray. Mak looks at his back for a moment, then shrugs and turns back to their corner, moments before the Smarktron whites out and every light in the arena hits full… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” For a few seconds, all that can be heard inside the Nassau Colosseum is the faint *skritch-skritch* of a needle on vinyl. Then: ‘WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!’ The scratching of the bass voice instantly gives way to the brutal guitars of ‘Battle Ready’ by Otep, and as the drums kick in- *BOOOM!!* -lightning spears down from the ceiling, igniting a massive blast of gold and red pyro around the soundstage! Before the smoke has time to clear two familiar shapes stride out; the massive, muscular frame of Sean Davis and the wiry, spiky-haired form of Toxxic. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Behind them come Marcus Washington and Jet, but this time there is no duplicity in the pair’s progress to the ring. This time everyone knows their targets. “And their opponents!” Funyon bellows, trying his best to be heard over the crowd, “at a combined weight of 493lbs, the team of ‘The Perfect Storm’ Sean Davis and ‘The Straight-Edge Sensation’ Toxxic… RRRRREVOLUUUUUUTION… ZEEEERRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOO!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The Long Island crowd are shitting all over the two men who earlier on the in the evening destroyed Spike Jenkins and forcibly exited him from their stable, but Toxxic and Davis blatantly don’t care about the feelings of the fans in attendance. Toxxic strips off his ‘World Champion Tour 2004’ T-shirt and they enter the ring together, clearly ready for an early attack by Francis and Maddix. The Franchisable Cockroaches hang back in accordance with referee Elleray’s instructions however, and Toxxic and Davis have a moment to talk about who will start the match. “An interesting match-up here, and no mistake,” Pete says. “You’d have to pick both Francis and Maddix to beat Sean Davis in a one-on-one situation and Landon has that World Title win over Toxxic, but Davis and Toxxic are former Tag Champions and successfully defended the belts against Maddix’s stablemates, Todd Cortez and Alan Clark. Will teamwork win the day, or will the combined force of two World Title contenders be too much to contend with?” “If Maddix and Francis are going to win they’d better decide who’s going to start the match,” King notes wryly. “Although, given that they’re having to face Davis at the off, I can’t say that I blame them for arguing.” In fact the heated discussion between Maddix and Francis appears to be more along the lines of them both wanting to start the match, but finally Mak capitulates and steps out through the ropes… *DING-DING-DING!* *smak!* …only to immediately tag himself in the moment the bell goes! Maddix looks around in surprise that quickly turns to annoyance, but David Elleray enforces the tag and the fuming La Cucaracha has to leave the ring as Francis re-enters the ring, smirking his head off. “Not a good start,” King laughs quietly. “Well Mak, you had a nice little technical encounter against Dace and some revenge against Sacred - now let’s see how you weather the Perfect Storm!” Francis and Davis circle the ring, neither seeming to want to commit himself too soon. Finally Mak starts to edge in towards his larger opponent, the cocky grin on his face showing his belief that he can quickly calm the Storm that faces him. Davis adjusts his stance and waits, and Mak makes his move by ducking low and shooting for the legs. He hooks his arms behind Davis’ right knee and lifts, evidently hoping to get the bigger man off his feet and onto the mat where his strength will be less of a factor, but Davis simply starts to hammer down with clubbing forearms into the Franchise’s back! Mak must have been expecting this but it seems that he underestimated the force Sean could put into the blows, and he is forced to release his grip as the Perfect Storm drives the air from his lungs. For his part, Davis doesn’t give the Franchise a chance to reset himself and try again as he grabs the doubled-over Mak and twists him around to haul him up into a Full Nelson. “LET’S GET FRAN-CHISED!” Davis hoists upwards, hoping to hit his opponent with the Full Nelson atomic drop, but Mak manages to wrap both his legs around Sean’s to block the lift. The momentarily-balked Davis lowers Francis to try again, but this allows Mak to kick backwards hard with his boot and connect with Davis’ knee, causing the big man to grunt in pain. Mak kicks again, then takes advantage of the brief relaxation of the Full Nelson to twist his right arm free and continues his rotation to get a firm grip on Sean’s left arm and start trying to force the bigger man down in a Fujiwara armbar! “LET’S GET FRAN-CHISED!” Francis gets Davis down to one knee but the Perfect Storm braces himself against the mat with his right hand and stubbornly refuses to budge any further! Mak decides to make the best of a bad lot and quickly straddles the arm, wrenching upwards to try and hyperextend his opponent’s elbow whilst also looking to force Davis downwards. David Elleray is quick to jump in and check on Sean who informs the official that no, he doesn’t feel like quitting just yet; Davis then starts to reach out backwards with his leg, looking to hook the bottom rope and force a break. “LET’S GET FRAN-CHISED!” Mak becomes aware that his opponent is trying something, so he peers back over his shoulder to see what. Realising that Davis is only a couple of inches away from safety the Franchise wrenches the arm a bit harder to discourage any further escape attempts, then swings his leg back over and applies a two-handed knucklelock that twists Sean’s wrist around and removes all thoughts of reaching the ropes. Gritting his teeth, Davis manages to make it back to his feet as Mak keeps his grip applied… but then the Franchise lashes out with a boot, and catches his opponent right on the elbow! “Vintage work from Mak Francis here,” Longdogger Pete asserts, “using his opponent’s arm to get control in the early going.” “You’re going to have to do a lot of damage to Sean Davis’ arm before he stops being able to hit you with it,” Suicide King replies. “I was going to say I hope Mak realises that, but then I decided that it’s really rather more fun if he doesn’t.” Sean Davis is visibly hurt by Mak’s blow to the trapped limb so the Franchise lashes out again and receives another grunt of pain as a reward. However, Landon Maddix doesn’t seem to be so enamoured by his partner’s tactics and makes his position clear from the apron. “Go for the head!” the former World Champion shouts, jabbing a finger into his own temple to make his point. Francis looks around at his partner and just smirks, inaudibly informing Maddix that he’ll wrestle this match how he chooses, thank you… but he takes his attention away from Sean Davis, and before the Franchise realises what’s going on Sean manages to set himself, then reel the startled Francis in for a devastating short-arm clothesline! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Sean shakes his left arm out, clearly in pain from Mak’s early offence but also clearly determined to make sure the Franchise pays for it. The big man grabs Mak to help him back to his feet, then rears back and just waffles the Philadelphian with a massive right hand! Francis staggers but is able to retain his feet and comes back with a right hand of his own, but Davis shrugs it off and lets fly with another haymaker that knocks Mak down to one knee. Francis shakes his head to try and clear it, then rises back to his feet and lashes out with a knife-edge chop- *CRACK!I “WHOOO!” -but although it causes Sean to grit his teeth, Davis is able to take it without much effort. “Francis can’t win a war of attrition with Sean Davis,” Pete says in some concern, “he needs to change tactics!” “Sorry Pete, his ego’s too big,” King laughs nastily. Davis looks at the woozy Franchise standing in front of him and tells him to ‘try again’, and Mak winds up for another right hand… but Sean blocks it with his left arm- “Argh!” -which is not actually a good idea, as that’s the arm that Mak has just been working over! The punch doesn’t connect with Davis’ jaw but the renewed pain in his arm prevents the Perfect Storm from firing back, and now Mak has the chance to make a real impact as he unloads with right hand after right hand on his opponent! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GET FRAN-CHISED!” Davis is staggered but it’s going to take more than a few punches to put him down, so with the big man reeling Mak turns and hits the ropes, building momentum for- *BANG!* -a Sean Davis spinebuster that stops the Franchise’s comeback in its tracks! “DAV-IS SUCKS!” “DAV-IS SUCKS!” Sean has ended up on his knees from that move and now it is the big man’s turn to shake his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from Mak’s onslaught. This gives Francis a valuable few seconds to catch his breath, and as Davis starts to stand again Mak is able to swivel around on the mat and scissors his ankles, then take the Perfect Storm down with a drop toehold. Realising that he could do with a breather, Francis heads for his corner - stepping on the back of Davis as he goes - and reaches out to tag in Landon Maddix… …but Maddix pulls his hand away at the last moment! “What in the hell…?” Pete asks in astonishment. But it seems Maddix was merely winding his partner up, because as Francis staggers into the corner Landon reaches around and tags himself in off the Franchise’s back, then hops over the ropes to enter the ring! Sean Davis is on one knee again as he pushes himself back up from the drop toehold and Landon sets off at full speed, vaulting off Davis’ knee for a trademark Shining Wizard… “Urk!” …but Sean’s right hand clamps around Maddix’s throat to stop him dead, before the big man rears up to his full height and drives La Cucaracha down with a monstrous chokeslam! *WHAM!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “We haven’t seen that sort of counter to a Shining Wizard since the days of ‘The Notorious’ John Duran,” Pete exclaims as the Long Island crowd start to jeer at the big man. “A true and worthy World Champion, unlike the scrawny specimen currently writhing on the mat,” King replies. Sean Davis seems to be about to visit some more hurt upon the surprised Cockroach in front of him, but he is pulled up by a voice shouting his name from behind him. Turning around, the big man sees Toxxic leaning over the top rope and reaching out for the tag, demanding to be let in to face Maddix. Shrugging, Davis grabs Landon by his girly, floppy hair and drags the ICTV Champion over to the Rev-0 corner, then places him in a gutwrench position. *smak!* Toxxic tags himself in off Davis’ shoulder, then Sean gutwrenches Maddix up before dropping him over one knee and Toxxic vaults to the top rope and somersaults off to guillotine it across La Cucaracha’s throat! “And that’s the Gutwrenching Hangover!” King cries in delight as Maddix flops to the mat. Toxxic immediately makes a cover and David Elleray drops to count… ONE! TW- -but Maddix kicks out just before two. Toxxic doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by this as he just grabs Landon in a rear headlock and hauls La Cucaracha up to his feet, then drops to one knee and drives the other up into Maddix’s neck. Before Landon can do anything except squirm in pain Toxxic hauls him back up again, then falls all the way backwards with a reverse DDT to complete the Detoxx. The Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t go for a cover this time however, instead heading directly for the turnbuckles and vaulting to the top rope before diving back with a fistdrop that connects square with Landon’s forehead! “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Ignoring the chants of the crowd, Toxxic runs to the corner once more and vaults up, then comes back with another fistdrop that again connects with his opponent’s skull. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Toxxic not letting up for a second here,” Pete notes as Toxxic rises to his feet again, “he certainly seems to have learned his lesson from his match against Landon at Slay Ride.” “If you’d lost to Landon, wouldn’t you want to make sure it didn’t happen again?” King sniffs. “There’s no shame in losing to an athlete with the talent of Landon Maddix,” LDP replies. “Remind me again why you were never World Champion, Pete?” Toxxic’s hand seems to be hurting from the fistdrops that have been connecting solidly with bone but the Straight-Edge Sensation is going for one more, and he approaches the turnbuckle again. Once more he vaults up to the top rope and once more he comes off with his fist aimed at Landon’s skull… but this time Maddix has summoned the wherewithal to roll out of the way, and Toxxic merely drives his fist into the canvas! It seems that this last impact has actually hurt the straight-edger’s right hand, but without the corresponding blow to Maddix’s skull as a payoff it leaves the Brit vulnerable as he nurses his fingers and curses to himself. With Toxxic on his knees Landon struggles to his feet behind him, then runs forward and somersaults over the straight-edger’s head, grabbing Toxxic on his way past and pulling his skull down into the mat with the Throwback! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO MAD-DIX!” “LET’S GO MAD-DIX!” The disorientation of the move doesn’t seem to have done Maddix’s hurting head any favours, so La Cucaracha decides that for his next trick he’ll be doing something a bit less extravagant. Toxxic is on his back clutching his face, and it is the work of a moment for Maddix to bounce off the ropes and then drive his knee into the Brit’s forehead with the Dangerous Kneedrop. The roll through is rather more relaxed on this move and Landon comes up to his feet with no apparent ill-effects as the crowd keep cheering. “Go for the hand!” Francis shouts from the apron, pointing to the right hand of the grounded Straight-Edge Sensation. Maddix looks back at his partner, but shakes his head and taps it, signalling his intended target. Francis looks disgusted at Maddix’s refusal to take his advice but Landon ignores the Franchise and backs off to a neutral corner, then ostentatiously raises his right boot and begins stomping on the mat. *BANG!* “Oh please,” King sighs, “if he really wanted to surprise Toxxic, is this the way to go about it?” *BANG!* “Some Sweet Cuca Music coming up,” Pete informs the fans at home. *BANG!* “Wait a minute,” King says in the tones of someone working something out as Toxxic begins to rise to his feet, “‘La Cucaracha’ means ‘The Cockroach’, right?” *BANG!* “Right.” *BANG!* “So this move is called ‘Sweet Cock Music’? What’s that, a porno soundtrack?” Regardless of King’s translation abilities, Landon sizes Toxxic up as the Straight-Edge Sensation gets back to a vertical base and darts sideways, lashing with his right boot directed straight at the Brit’s jaw… …but Toxxic ducks, and Landon’s foot sails harmlessly overhead! The unbalanced La Cucaracha turns in an attempt to keep track of his opponent, but the near-miss has started Toxxic’s adrenalin pumping and the Brit beats him to the punch- *WHAM!* -or more accurately, to the European Uppercut! The blow rocks Landon and Toxxic follows up with another… *WHAM!* …then as the blows start to jar his wrist and hand, he rears his head back and drives it forward into Landon’s face! *CRACK!* Unfortunately for the Straight-Edge Sensation the headbutt affects him just as much as it does Landon, and the two men reel away from each other for a couple of seconds. However, Toxxic manages to measure Landon as the half-Spaniard approaches him again, and leaps up to hit home with an enzuigiri! *CRUNCH!* “Ouch!” Pete shouts in sympathy, “I think Toxxic caught Landon in the back of the neck with that!” Sure enough, Landon is clutching the back of his neck rather than his head as he lies on the mat, and the lopsided grin that has spread over Toxxic’s face indicates that the change of target was probably deliberate. Without waiting to see exactly how badly Landon has been affected by it Toxxic grabs him by his hair and hauls him up, then double-underhooks La Cucaracha’s arms and hoists him UP… …AROUND… …AND… …Landon manages to brace his feet back on the canvas, blocking the Toxxic Shock Syndrome! Surprise flickers over Toxxic’s face at this, but before the Brit can try again Landon starts to push upwards in an attempt to backdrop his way out of the move. Unfortunately his hurt neck doesn’t allow him to do much more than get Toxxic’s feet momentarily off the ground before a shooting pain stops him, but this is enough for the straight-edger to relax his grip in alarm. Landon seizes this opportunity to squirm his arms free, then hook behind both of Toxxic’s knees to take the straight-edger down and jacknife forwards into a pin! ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out! However, as Landon gets up he finds that there is no longer an opponent between him and Mak Francis and he runs forward, looking to make the tag… …but now it is Francis’ turn to pull his hand away, and Landon hits the turnbuckle of his own corner without managing to get the Franchise into the ring! “Come on, get it together!” Pete shouts angrily. “Is personal pride worth this?” “Personal pride can be all you have in the wrestling business,” King replies, completely serious, “and if these two can’t put it aside to work together then their chances of winning this match are slim!” Landon turns to shout at Mak, but the man from Philly drops off the apron to the arena floor! Maddix’s eyes widen, but at that moment he becomes aware of someone approaching fast from behind… *CRACK!* …and he instinctively lashes out, driving his boot into the jaw of the onrushing Toxxic with the Sweet Cuca Music! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Landon turns around, ready to continue this match on his own if he has to, but at that moment- *smak!* -Mak Francis’ hand slaps him on the back of the head, tagging himself back into the ring as the Franchise returns to the apron! Landon rounds on his partner, not only smarting from the slap but also clearly furious at Mak’s lack of team spirit; unfortunately Francis ignores him, and as David Elleray demands that Maddix leaves the ring the Franchise slingshots himself in to land backfirst on the floored Toxxic. “LET’S GET FRAN-CHISED!” “LET’S GET FRAN-CHISED!” Francis reaches sideways and hooks Toxxic’s leg for an arrogant cover that Elleray drops to make the count for… ONE! TWO!! …but the Straight-Edge Sensation escapes just after two, the lack of a proper cover leaving his kickout relatively unhindered. Francis seems unbothered by this, instead going straight to Toxxic’s right hand and applying another double-handed knucklelock. Toxxic yells in pain as the Franchise targets the bodypart that he had previously directed Landon to - Maddix doesn’t seem too impressed, however. “The head!” he yells at Francis, loud enough for the ring mics to pick it up. “How’m I meant to work the arm?” Mak just grins cockily back, the lipreaders in the home audience picking up the words ‘I don’t need you to,’ from the Franchise. As if to prove his point Mak abruptly twists Toxxic’s wrist, the force taking the straight-edger clean over in a somersault to land on his back. However, Francis seems totally unprepared for what happens next as Toxxic reaches back with his right leg and kicks to break the grip of Mak’s left hand, then kips back up to his feet and applies an armwringer to the right arm of the startled Franchise! “…what the hell was that?” Pete asks in amazement as Mak grabs his right arm, clearly wondering where that came from. “I think we may be seeing the first fruits of Toxxic’s time training with Chris Card,” Suicide King muses. “He still won’t be a match for Mak in terms of pure skill, but Francis certainly wasn’t expecting that sort of counter from the Straight-Edge Sensation!” Toxxic is trying to tow Mak over to the Rev-0 corner so he can tag Davis back in, but Francis is having none of it. Instead the Franchise rolls forward to release the pressure on his arm, then as he comes back up to his feet he twists Toxxic’s arm around the straight-edger’s own throat, locks his hands to apply a Cobra Clutch and- *BANG!* -dumps the Brit on his head with a patented Million Dollar-plex! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” This time Mak makes sure to hook the leg on the cover as Elleray hits the mat… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Sean Davis breaks up the pin with a boot to the head! Elleray immediately springs to his feet and orders the big man out of the ring, but the Perfect Storm’s interjection hasn’t slowed Mak for long. Francis grabs Toxxic’s head and pulls the straight-edger up, then applies a bulldog headlock and leaps into the air before driving the Brit’s head back into the mat. Toxxic rolls over onto his back from the impact and Francis bounces off the ropes… …struts… …PELVIC THRUST~!… …and drops his fist right between Toxxic’s eyes! “The Truth Hurts!” Pete shouts at the Nassau Colosseum rises to its collective feet in salutation of the Franchise’s embarrassing of the leader of Revolution Zero. Meanwhile Landon is shouting at Francis to stop playing around and get on with it, but Francis merely turns to his own corner and places his finger to his lips! “OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH…” “Well, Mak did start working on the head,” Pete comments, “he might start following some more of Landon’s advice…” “I wouldn’t bet on it,” King snorts, “Mak changed tactics because he found out that Toxxic wasn’t quite as inept at actual wrestling as he thought, not because of anything that spot-monkey was shouting.” Mak grabs Toxxic around the waist and hauls the straight-edger up into a rear waistlock, Toxxic now clearly groggy. Landon is shouting a warning but Mak ignores him again, popping his hips to send Toxxic flying overhead in the Filthy German™ and come crashing down on the back of his neck- *whump* -but Francis should have paid attention to his partner, as Toxxic flips out of the move as he has so many times before and lands on his feet! Mak hears the noise and scrambles up and around, but he’s simply too slow and as he turns to face his opponent Toxxic is already moving- *CRACK!* -driving both feet into Mak’s left knee with a half-soccer tackle, half-basement dropkick! Francis flips forward, face contorted in agony as his old injury is attacked, but he doesn’t have a chance to recover as Toxxic grabs him by the neck and hoists him up, then boots him in the stomach and double-underhooks his arms. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The crowd are jeering for all they’re worth, but that isn’t going to stop Toxxic from hoisting Mak Francis UP… …AROUND… …AND… …DOWN! *BANG!* “Toxxic Shock Syndrome!” Pete shouts as the Long Island crowd groans in dismay and Toxxic rolls Mak over for the cover, “this could be it!” ONE! TWO!! THHRRR- -but Francis kicks out! “It’s going to take more than that to put Mak Francis away!” Pete declares as Toxxic pushes himself up from the cover, arguing with David Elleray as he does so. “But did you notice that unlike Sean Davis, Landon Maddix didn’t enter the ring to break the pin?” King asks eagerly. “You can’t trust a Cockroach!” “I’m sure he just knew Francis would be OK,” Pete replies… but he doesn’t sound so sure anymore. Toxxic grabs Mak’s leg and drags the Franchise to the Rev-0 corner, then reaches over and tags Sean Davis in. The Perfect Storm is well-rested up now and wastes no time in laying into the prone Franchise with stomps until Elleray is forced to intervene. Maddix is protesting from the far corner - but not that much. “LET’S GET FRAN-CHISED!” The fans start to try and rally behind Mak, but the Franchise doesn’t seem to be in any position to justify their faith in him. Davis brushes Elleray out of the way and hoists Mak back to his feet, then hooks him up for a suplex; however, the moment Francis becomes vertical in the air, Davis drops right down to spike him with a brainbuster! *WHAM!* Davis rolls Mak onto his back to make the pin and Elleray drops to count again… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHRRRRREEEEEEEEE- -but Mak still kicks out… and once again, Maddix doesn’t stir from his corner! “What is Landon Maddix thinking?” Pete shouts, seemingly angry at the Franchisable Cockroaches’ lack of team spirit. “He could have lost the match there!” “I think Landon is thinking that it wouldn’t be him losing the match…” King replies, stroking his chin with a grin on his face. Sean Davis seems unimpressed with the Franchise’s continued fight, so this time when he hauls Mak up his bellow of “It’s all over!” carries a fairly ominous certainty with it. The Perfect Storm places Francis into a Full Nelson, but instead of going for the atomic drop again he forces Mak forwards and over until he is sitting on the Franchise’s back with the Avalanche applied! “The Avalanche locked in, and Mak could be in real trouble!” Pete states rather redundantly. “If Landon Maddix is ever going to help his partner, now is the time!” Davis grins ferociously as he puts as much force as possible into the hold, wrenching away at Mak’s weakened neck to try and get the former ICTV Champion to submit. Mak isn’t giving up yet, although he is clearly in a lot of pain… …but then Landon Maddix shoots past Davis, hits the ropes and rebounds to vault off Mak Francis’ head and nail Davis with a Shining Wizard! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Why did Landon do that?” Pete asks in astonishment as Davis falls back and Mak clutches his neck. “Surely he could have broken the hold without treading on his own partner’s head!” “I’m sure he could,” King nods in agreement while Landon flees the ring as David Elleray advances on him, “I guess he wanted to, huh?” Toxxic is furious at Landon’s intervention and actually enters the ring himself to protest with the referee, but the official is having none of it and blocks Toxxic’s path before ordering him back to the corner. So great is the straight-edger’s ire that he continues to argue, but this allows Mak Francis to get his bearings and, as he locates the slowly-rising Sean Davis- *CHING!* -slam his forearm up into the Perfect Storm’s happy-happy-joy-joy area! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Needless to say the low blow sends Toxxic even more ballistic, but as Davis starts to collapse again Mak pokes him in the eye for good measure, then turns towards his corner. Now Landon has his arm outstretched and is waiting for the tag with an earnest desire to legally enter the match writ large upon his face. Seeing the way things are going Toxxic wisely desists his argument with Elleray and steps out of the ring himself, reaching out and calling for Sean to make the tag… …Francis crawls a bit further and reaches out, but Landon’s hand is still a couple of feet away… …Sean Davis, relatively close to his own corner, hears Toxxic’s voice invade his own private world of hurt and starts to painfully shuffle towards his leader… …Mak Francis looks up at Landon Maddix, silently daring him to pull his hand away this time… *smak* *smak* “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “It’s Maddix! It’s Toxxic! It’s breaking down!” Pete shouts as the two former World Champions simultaneously vault over the top rope and into the ring. Landon received his tag just before his opponent however, and has enough of a headstart to leap into the air and drop Toxxic with a flying forearm! “LET’S GO MAD-DIX!” Toxxic scrambles back to his feet, but Landon has hit the far ropes and rebounds to hit him with a second that takes the straight-edger off his feet again! “LET’S GO MAD-DIX!” This time when Toxxic gets back up Landon is there waiting for him, and La Cucaracha hoists the Straight-Edge Sensation onto his shoulder and begins an Airplane Spin. However, after a few rotations Maddix sees Sean Davis slumped in the Rev-0 corner but evidently regrouping, and the ICTV Champion sets the dizzy Toxic down and charges at the Perfect Storm, vaulting off the second rope and nailing him with another Shining Wizard! With the big man seemingly out of commission Maddix turns back to the stumbling Toxxic, scoops him up, turns him upside down… …AND DROPS HIM HEADFIRST WITH A TOMBSTONE! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Landon hooks Toxxic’s far leg and rolls into the cover, stacking all his weight onto the Brit’s shoulders in an effort to keep him down… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! NO! TWO! “THAT WAS THREE! THAT WAS THREE!” “He kicked out!” Pete shouts in disbelief as Toxxic just squeezes a shoulder off the mat. “Perhaps if Mak had started working on Toxxic’s head sooner then Landon’s Tombstone would have been enough…” Landon Maddix can’t believe it either, and he makes this very clear to David Elleray. The referee argues back, brandishing the damning two fingers, so Maddix bends down to place Toxxic in a reverse headlock… …and turns him over into the Land of Nod! “YOU’VE GOTTA TAP!” “YOU’VE GOTTA TAP!” “This is it!” Pete shouts. “Toxxic is trapped in the same submission that won Maddix the World Title at Slay Ride!” But at Slay Ride, Toxxic didn’t have the 275lb Sean Davis in the ring with him, and it is Davis’ boot to the back of the head that breaks the submission up. Landon staggers forwards, then rounds on his attacker and leaps up to hit a picture-perfect Dropsault that sends Davis staggering back and also allows him to land neatly on Toxxic with a moonsault splash! Maddiz hooks the leg again, Elleray drops to count… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “Still not enough!” Pete gasps breathlessly. “What is it going to take?” Maddix yells at David Elleray, now clearly convinced that the count was slow. Elleray argues back, but Maddix isn’t content to leave it there and persists in stating his point. Then Mak adds his voice to the furore, shouting at Landon to ‘get on with it!’, an instruction that Maddix doesn’t take kindly to as he mouths back at his battered partner. Frustrated, Francis flips the bird and Landon responds in kind before bending to pick Toxxic up again. La Cucaracha Irish whips Toxxic towards the ropes… but the straight-edger has had a few moments to regain his bearings, reverses the momentum and sends Landon in instead! Toxxic ducks his head as Landon rebounds and flips the ICTV Champion over his head in a baaaaaaaaaaaack bodydrop… *WHAM!!* -and Landon is plucked out of the air and driven down by Sean Davis into a brutal powerbomb! “Zero Hour!” King shouts as the Nassau Colusseum gasps at the sight of Landon Maddix nearly broken in half. “I don’t know if Toxxic even knew Sean was back up behind him, but that’s the Zero Hour!” Toxxic looks around in dazed surprise to see Landon nearly motionless on the canvas, but it only takes a moment for the straight-edger to see his chance. Quickly Toxxic rolls Maddix onto his front, then laces the Cockroach’s legs together and reaches forward to apply a ¾ Nelson facelock… “He’s going for the Regal Stretch!” Pete shouts. “This won Toxxic the World Title against Johnny Dangerous!” Mak Francis sees the danger too as Landon weakly tries to fight his tormentor off. Toxxic drives a hard right hand into the back of his opponent’s skull, then another, and then finally manages to get the hold applied. Mak steps into the ring and starts towards his trapped partner, but only runs into the solid wall of Sean Davis as the Perfect Storm takes him down with a shoulder block and then begins to hammer him with stomps. David Elleray is checking on Maddix, but despite his pain Landon’s eyes aren’t fixed on the unobtainable ropes, but on Mak Francis. The Franchise tries to fight up but Sean Davis is merciless, and finally Mak is driven clean out of the ring. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” And with his only hope of rescue gone and three of his limbs trapped… “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” …Landon Maddix has nowhere to go. “PLEASE DON’T TAP!” “PLEASE DON’T-” *TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP* *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “here are your winners, the team of Toxxic and Sean Davis… RRRRREVOLUUUUUTION… ZEEEEERRRRRROOOOOOOO!!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” David Elleray starts yelling at Toxxic to release his hold, but it takes several seconds for the Straight-Edge sensation to let go of Landon Maddix and get back to his feet. The familiar, sinister lopsided grin spreads over the Brit’s face as he looks down at his fallen opponent while Landon clutches his neck and Mak Francis picks himself up on the outside; then Toxxic and Davis slap hands as Jet and Marcus Washington climb into the ring. Spike Jenkins may be gone, but the Revolution is as strong as ever. “Landon Maddix and Mak Francis came so close, but in the end it was teamwork that won the day,” Longdogger Pete declares unhappily. “If Maddix and Francis had been able to work together a bit more then they could have had this match in the bag, but I think their egos overshadowed their in-ring abilities tonight!” “It’s a classic story,” King remarks. “Both men want the World Title, both men want Sacred, and neither man wants Toxxic to get there first… but they both wanted to make it clear who was the better man, while Toxxic and Davis knew the objective of the team was most important.” “…is that it?” “-and, of course,” King continues, “Mak and Landon are completely inferior to either Toxxic or Sean Davis.” Toxxic and Sean Davis raise their hands together as Long Island shits all over them, but on the outside of the ring Mak Francis stares at Landon Maddix, unable to believe that his partner tapped out. Landon stares straight back, the look in his eyes clearly asking his partner where he was. “That’s all for now SWF fans, but don’t forget to tune into Storm on Friday when we continue the road to From The Fire,” Pete pimps. “Until then, this is Suicide King and the Longdogger signing out - PEEEEAAAACCCEEEE!” “Peace…?” FADE OUT ©2005 Smartmarks Wrestling Federation ‘Raising workrate by showing’

Tom Flesher is sitting in his office, a cup of coffee beside him, looking down at the newspaper on his desk. It is a copy of the New York Times Arts section, and he holds a pen in his hand. The door opens, and Tom glances up. Scott Pretzler is standing in the doorway. “Ah, Mr. Pretzler, it's a pleasure. I’d been wondering how long it would be before we finally met.” He studies Pretzler non-judgmentally, as if sizing him up. “Mr. Flesher, may I sit down? “Knock yourself out.” “Mr. Flesher – would you prefer that I called you Mr. Flesher or Tom?” “Yes, of course,” says Flesher, scribbling letters into a few of the boxes in the crossword puzzle. “Well, which one?” “What was the question?” “Should I call you Mr. Flesher or Tom?” “My acquaintances call me Taamo.” “Anyway, Ta- Mr. Flesher… you are one of the few people left in this business who truly cares about the wrestling aspect. It’s so rare these days to see a performer actually go out there and try to put on a real scientific match, but you’re one of those exceptions. It’s an honor, it really is.” He stands up. “Now, I’ve got a Cruiserweight Title match to go prepare for, but I just wanted to let you know how deep my respect for you runs.” He offers his hand to Flesher. Flesher, still pounding out the Monday puzzle, raises his head and laughs. “I- I’m sorry. I got a little spaced out there for a minute. Did you just say you have the runs?” Pretzler’s face turns red; whether with anger or humiliation, it’s impossible to tell. “Are you listening to me, Mr. Flesher?” “Not in particular, no. Frankly, the puzzle's a little harder than usual.” Pretzler seems heartbroken. He rescinds the handshake offer. “I thought that you of all people would appreciate what I do. I thought you would be grateful for all the credit I’ve given you in my interviews. You really did inspire me, Tom. As much as I dislike the sensibilities of the SWF, you’re one of the reasons I’m here today. Why do you have to shit on me like this? Some day, when you’re lying on a stained rotten mattress with the springs hanging out, heroin syringes crunching under your cheesy thighs as you grind your hips back and forth against those of some jailbait hooker, and I’m on top of the w–” Tom stands up, places a hand on Pretzler’s shoulder. He assumes a fatherly tone. “Look, Scott. You’re a nice guy. I do respect you. I respect you a lot, if you care to know. You have heart and you have a mission, and I can see that you’re not just here to win gold. Plus, you can write. But, honestly, I’m tired. We both have a long night ahead of us. See that coffee? It’s seven-eighths full. That means my mind is only one-eighth full. Know what I mean? Here, why don’t you have a sip yourself?” He picks up the mug, careful not to spill any, and hands it to the newcomer. Pretzler, reluctantly takes a sip, his eyes still blazing. Tom continues. “Feels better, doesn’t it? Now, if you really want people to respect you, you’ve got to do things. You’ve got to accomplish things. You have a great vocabulary, but boasting will only get you this far. I mean, being better than everyone else only carries you so far unless you are.” Pretzler is starting to calm down. He is still unsure of whether Flesher is being serious. “Why don’t you start, Scotty, by winning your match tonight? Go take your shower, do a few push-ups, and start thinking about how you’re going to beat Spike. Go pick up one of the ring rats if it'll help. Carnage has some new Russian bondage porn you might be interested in if that's your bag, but he probably won’t feel like lending you any. Since, you know, you just beat him. Only thing I'd advise against is Irishing up the coffee... I don't know if you've heard, but... Ash...” Flesher coughs. "Seriously, though..." Not knowing if he should take this as an encouragement, Pretzler puts the mug down and heads for the door. “Well… I’m glad we were able to talk, Mr. Flesher.” “Yes, so am I.” Tom holds out his hand, and Pretzler shakes it. “Relax, Scott. Maybe you just need a few friends." Pretzler nods, exiting the office. He looks around the hallway -- it’s certainly bigger than any of the arenas he competed in during his stint in Ring of Respect, but he’s adjusting quickly. So quickly in fact, that he has a Championship match in only his third show with the company. A smug grin spreading across his face, he heads for the dressing rooms. *********************************************** The sign on the door says ‘SCOTT PRETZLER’, it must be his. *click* Pretzler opens the door of his changing room and walks in, impressed despite himself that even someone as new as him should have one to himself, and a large one as well. Evidently the SWF is keen to keep hold of its top talent. What he doesn’t see is that outside the door, someone is peeling off the sticky vinyl namesign to reveal another beneath. ‘REVOLUTION ZERO’ *click* Pretzler turns, mouth open to bark at the person interrupting him without knocking… but even the Critic’s ego subsides somewhat when he sees the two men entering the room. The huge, imposing figure of ‘The Perfect Storm’ Sean Davis, and beside him, the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’ Toxxic. “Mr. Pretzler,” Toxxic nods in greeting, his expression neutral as he pushes the door shut behind him. “Spike can’t be here at the minute - a delay in traffic I believe - but Sean and I very much wanted to have a word with you.” Pretzler swiftly reaches into his bag for his mobile phone, but with surprising speed Sean Davis has crossed the room and clamped his massive hand around the Critic’s wrist. Scott looks up into two deep brown eyes, wonders briefly about shouting for help, and then decides against it. “Alone,” Toxxic adds, slipping on a pair of brass knuckles... FADE OUT

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” The Long Island crowd are making their feelings felt in no uncertain terms as Toxxic, Sean Davis and Scott Pretzler stand over the semi-conscious body of Spike Jenkins. The Straight-Edge Sensation irritably turns and beckons to Funyon for a microphone, then snatches it from the veteran ring announcer. “Shut up.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Toxxic looks around with clearly strained patience as the crowd continue to boo and jeer, then raises the microphone and tries again. “I suppose you’re all wondering why we just pasted Spike, right?” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Well, I’m certainly wondering that,” Longdogger Pete admits at the commentary table. “What on earth possessed Toxxic to end one of the most impressive title runs of all time, and one that belonged to his own stablemate at that?” “Perhaps if you and the rest of these morons were quiet, he might tell us,” King snaps back. Sean Davis prods at Spike’s head with his boot, apparently seeing how much life or fight Hollywood might still have left in him. The answer seems to be ‘not a lot’, as Spike does little more than weakly try and cover his face with a hand. “Back in last summer, just after 13th Hour, Spike and I had a little chat,” Toxxic begins. “He came to me and told me that he was fed up with being cheered but losing all the time, that he wanted to know how I kept winning in spite of being universally despised. So I took Spike under my wing, and together we started up the stable that became known as Revolution Zero. We recruited Sean Davis,” Toxxic gestures to the Perfect Storm standing to his right, “and together we became the most dominant force in this industry since the days of the Magnificent Seven. So; why kick out one of the founder-members? “Quite simply, I’ve learned a lesson that Spike himself taught me.” “What?” Pete asks incredulously as a mutter passes around the Nassau Colusseum after Toxxic’s words. “I know Revolution Zero don’t always play by the rules when it comes to their opponents, but what sort of ‘lesson’ would involve beating down a friend and teammate?” Toxxic rolls Spike Jenkins over onto his back - not too gently either - and sits down on the former Cruiserweight Champion’s chest. It’s plain that Spike is having trouble breathing, but it’s equally plain that Toxxic doesn’t care. “I made a mistake when I brought Sacred into Revolution Zero,” Toxxic admits to the man beneath him. “You told me I couldn’t trust him, and you were right. He was with us for his own ends, and after he won the title he turned his back on us without a second thought. But I’m a smart man Spike, and I don’t make the same mistake twice. It’s been clear for a couple of months that you’re not happy with how things are with Revolution Zero. You know, if you’d been a little more welcoming then maybe Sacred would have stayed, who knows?” The Straight-Edge Sensation shrugs as if to say that it’s not really important, then continues. “But, you’ve been bitching about everything since then. You complain about your position on the card; you brag about defeating all of Martial Law, Sacred, Mak Francis, as if more than one of those victories occurred in the last six months. You whined endlessly about Sean eliminating you from the Clusterfuck, even though anyone with a brain could see that it was accidental… not to mention the fact that you’d have dumped him on purpose if it came down to it.” Toxxic looks up at Davis, who nods his head grimly. Both men know that Jenkins’ desire for a World Title shot would have made a mockery of any stable loyalty. “So you see Spike,” Toxxic continues, looking back down at the battered Californian, “I’m just cutting my losses. Before you decide to turn on us like Sacred did, we’re setting you adrift. You can do what you want now; you answer to no-one. We’ve even taken this deadweight of a Cruiserweight Title off you. If you can get a shot at the World Title, good luck to you… just bear in mind who’s going to be holding it by the time you get there.” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” The British straight-edger stands up again, allowing Jenkins to suck in air, then turns to the blonde-haired form of Scott Pretzler. Grinning his trademark lopsided grin, Toxxic raises the microphone to his lips once more. “Ladies and gentlem, please welcome the newest member of Revolution Zero and your NEW SWF Cruiserweight Champion… SCOTT PRETZLER!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “WHAT!?” Pete yelps as the two men shake hands again. “The Critic is the newest Rev-0 member?” “Are you deaf or stupid?” King asks, clearly pleased. “Well-” “Don’t answer that.” Scott Pretzler takes the opportunity to show the title belt to all four corners of the Nassau Colusseum as the boos rise in volume, then sketches a small, mocking bow and takes the microphone from his new leader. The Long Island fans don’t seem very interested in hearing what Pretzler has to say, but the Canadian simply raises his voice and talks over them. “Thank you, thank you,” he begins, throwing his new championship over one shoulder. “I’d just like to point out what a suitable occurrence this is, given that people on various internet news sites have compared me to the man standing in front of you all now. It’s a great honour to be called ‘The New Toxxic’-” [“I remember when that was Austin Sly,” Pete muses. “Yeah, what happened to him?” King asks with not-quite complete indifference.] “-although hopefully with a slightly better grasp of the technical basics,” Pretzler continues with a grin. Toxxic looks like he’s about to argue for a moment, then shrugs and concedes the point. Scott extends his hand to the British straight-edger, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm by the remark. “I have been watching the SWF for some time, and I was always very impressed by your attitude,” he informs Toxxic. “In spite of the fact that the so-called ‘fans’ of this company seem to universally despise you, you haven’t fallen into the trap of taking the easy road. I have never once seen you break a rule, and for that I salute you. Unlike some of the people you once associated with,” Pretzler continues, wiping his boot on Spike’s face with an expression of disgust, “I can tell you that, like you, I am capable of getting the job done without resorting to cheap trick and illegal tactics.” “Interference to win the Cruiserweight Title doesn’t count, I suppose?” LDP asks sarcastically. “Pete, leave wit to those that have the brains to use it properly,” King informs his commentary partner. “I do have my own agenda in the SWF, but this is not one that will conflict with your interests,” Scott Pretzler tells Toxxic and Davis. “Quite simply, I intend to bring back the tradition of superb, technical wrestling devoid of any pretension or gimmick. In the process, I should be able to help you and Revolution Zero achieve the prominence you so recently enjoyed. I also thank you for your invitation for me to join you, since this task is so great that I don’t think I could do it alone.” “YOU ALL SUCK!” “YOU ALL SUCK!” As Long Island continues its jeering Toxxic, Sean Davis and Scott Pretzler shake hands one more time, then as ‘Battle Ready’ by Otep kicks up then turn and head for the back. “Folks, we’ll be seeing Toxxic and Sean Davis again in a minute when they take on Landon Maddix and Mak Francis in tag team action,” Pete says, still shocked but not quite shocked enough to forget about pimping the main event. “We’ve already seen Revolution Zero take a win in an unexpected way; what surprises, if any, do they have in store for La Cucaracha and the Franchise?” “The only surprise for me will be if they break a sweat doing it,” King replies lazily. “Isn’t it time for commercials yet?” “Well, actually-” FADE OUT

ALL YOU BITCHES! “And it is now time, ladies and gents, for our almost-main event of the evening!” announces Pete. ALL YOU NIGGAZ! “Spike Jenkins has held on to the Cruiserweight Championship longer than anyone in SWF history. But tonight…” TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE. “…he will go one-on-one with the SWF’s only undefeated superstar. Not only that, the match will be officiated by possibly the best cruiserweight wrestler in the world today!” TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKER! As Wildchild runs down the aisle to the sounds of Redman’s Let’s Get Dirty, Funyon’s voice booms through the arena. “Ladies and gentleman… the following contest in scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, from the Bahamas, he is the special guest referee and one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions… WIIIIIILDCHILD!” Resplendent in his referee’s uniform, the Bahama Bomber leaps nimbly onto the apron, springboards to the top rope, and executes a front flip into the ring. He lands on his feet and appeals to the crowd, and is met with much applause. The crowd begins to chant for him. DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “He’s the referee, for Chrissakes!” King sounds frustrated. “Couldn’t they save their applause for, you know, the actual competitors?” “I’m sure Spike will get plenty of cheers here in Long Island. Pretzler… well, the guy’s as tough as a two-dollar steak and has almost as much personality.” The audience’s sentiment suddenly shifts as Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony begins to play, signaling the arrival of none other than… “The challenger, from Toronto, Ontario, weighing two hundred twenty six pounds… ‘THE CRITIC’ SCOTT PREEEETZLEEER!’” BOOOOOOOOO! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! “No, actually he doesn’t,” King says flatly. As usual, Pretzler takes his time getting to the ring. He soaks up the jeers and insults like they empower him. From time to time, he stops to shake the hand of an audience member, only to have that person swing a punch or spit in his direction. When this happens, he feigns being hurt and then laughs to himself, amused by their ignorance. He climbs the steps into the ring and shoots Wildchild a nasty glare before turning back to regard the entryway. “And HIS OPPONENT… from Hollywood, California, weighing two hundred twenty five pounds, being accompanied to the ring by JET, he is the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION… ‘HOLLYWOOD’ SPIKE JEEENKIIIIINS!!!” Lamb of God’s Black Label begins to play, the loud opening chords electrifying the crowd as the champion strides confidently into view. He is wearing his trademark hoodie and the Cruiserweight Championship is firmly around his waist, though this time it appears to be fastened more tightly than usual. White lights flash as Randy Blythe’s high-pitched scream rattles the speaker system; at the sound of it, Pretzler covers his ears and grimaces. The champion drops to one knee and takes in the cheers of the audience while Jet poses behind him. The tension between Spike and his valet can be clearly felt. “It’s not often that the fans support anything Revolution Zero is involved with, but here in Long Island Spike seems to be a fan favorite,” Pete points out. “Didn’t you just say that?” Spike makes his way completely around the ring, throwing up the “sXe” hand signal numerous times. He then rolls carefully under the bottom rope and continues to roll all the way toward the center of the ring. Not willing to wait for the entrance to conclude, Pretzler shoves Wildchild aside and clamps a front headlock on Spike! * DING DING DING! * WC grabs Pretzler and pulls him away, and Jet, too runs into the ring to break up the hold. Pretzler is immediately forced to let go and is restrained by the ‘Child while Jet helps Spike remove his belt and hoodie. As soon as they are off, Spike explodes at Pretzler, whacking him with a closed-fisted punch to the face! “What the hell is Spike doing?” exclaims King. “The bell hasn’t even rung yet!” “No comment,” says Pete. As Jet rolls out of the ring and Wildchild steps aside, Spike grabs Pretzler’s head and hammers away, nailing four more violent punches before Pretzler grasps the bottom rope and pushes himself out of the ring. Spike is familiar with Pretzler’s tactics, though, and immediately follows him out of the ring. Before the Critic can reach the ramp’s relative safety, Spike runs up behind him and drills him with another punch. Pretzler stumbles but does not go down – so Spike backs up and snaps off a superkick! “What impact!” shouts Pete as Pretzler topples comically to the floor. With the enemy down, Spike zeroes in on the head, tenaciously attacking his temple with low martial arts kicks. In the ring, Wildchild has already begun the twenty-count that will disqualify both men. He makes the signals with both hands and shouts out the numbers in his distinctive Creole accent, the crowd counting along with him. THREE! FOUR! Seeing no reason to alter his strategy, Spike continues the pummeling kicks. But all of a sudden, Pretzler reaches out and grabs Spike’s leg, then trips him by flinging in upward. Spike falls. His head misses the metal of the ramp by mere inches. Pretzler is on him in an instant, pounding his face with elbows then locking on a reverse crossface, Spike’s head pulled toward his armpit. SEVEN! “Never mind the pain,” says Pete. “Imagine how that must smell!” Pretzler wrenches back on the hold, but the hasty application left Spike with much room for escape. He wriggles free and kicks Pretzler in the back, then drags him back toward the ring. But instead of rolling him under the ropes, Spike takes hold of his tights and shoulder and chucks him at the steps like a harpoon! BONK! “Despite what some of my contemporaries have said, those steps do not weigh six thousand pounds. Nonetheless, you’ve got to think Pretzler will be reaching for the aspirin tonight!” While King tries his hardest to be witty, Pretzler clutches his skull and Wildchild reaches the halfway point in his count. TEN! After he does this, he performs a standing back handspring to the delight of the fans. Spike, meanwhile, drags Pretzler to his feet and finally shoves under the bottom rope and into the ring. SMACK! Out of nowhere, the seemingly-prone Pretzler spins sideways and kicks Spike in the face, then slides back out to the arena floor! Spike is knocked over and lands once again on his rear end. ELEVEN! But while Spike may not have been ready for Pretzler, somebody else is. With no warning, Jet sprints toward the steps, bounds off them and lands on Pretzler’s shoulders, then takes him down with a flying hurricanrana! YEEEEEAAAAHHHH! Though not entirely in support of Jet, the crowd erupts at the sight of this spectacular move. Wildchild quickly exits the ring and yells at Jet, ordering her not to interfere. She seems to agree. Pretzler pulls himself to his feet, followed by Spike. As Jet walks off toward the announce table, she stops. Looks at Pretzler. She rears back with her right leg and delivers a blatant low blow to Pretzler’s gonads! His face contorts into an expression that would make Jim Carrey proud. He crumples. THIRTEEN! GET IN THE RING! Wildchild is growing frustrated with such shenanigans. He violently wrenches Pretzler’s arm and pulls him to his feet, then shouts again and points toward the ring. Spike rolls in, followed by Pretzler and then the referee himself. The Champion is already up as Pretzler rises to his knees, and when the moment is right he fires off the first two kicks of his favorite combination. WHAM! WHAM! Twice, the black boot of Spike Jenkins collides with Pretzler’s chest. A red mark is left each time. Spike backs away and lunges at Pretzler’s head with the final kick… but Pretzler evades it by simply dropping flat on the mat. WHOOSH! “Oh, what a miss!” jeers King. Spike’s foot slices the air as it sails over Pretzler’s head, carrying the straight-edger’s body around in full 360º rotation. He ends up facing Pretzler again and tries to hit him with another kick from the opposite foot. This time, Pretzler shoots forward and tackles him by the legs, then moves up and applies a grounded front headlock. Spike’s body is twisted to the side as the hold settles. Pretzler tightens his arms, cranking Spike’s neck, and pulls him slowly around to his knees as he does so. Spike struggles while he plans his counter, expecting Pretzler to maintain the hold – but he does not. Instead, the Canadian releases one arm and drives his elbow down in the back of Spike’s neck! Spike is now trapped in a standing headscissors. “Is it Wildbomb time?” King is excited. Pretzler locks his arms around Spike’s gut, and that move is clearly in the front of his mind. Spike fights it, though, wrapping his own arms tightly around Pretzler’s thighs with the intent of making the powerbomb impossible. Another driving elbow weakens the grip, but Spike holds fast. Digging his heels into the mat, he gradually uses his leverage to lift Pretzler into the air and onto his back. The back body drop is nearly complete when Pretzler slips out of Spike’s control, sliding down and pulling the straight-edger with him into a sunset flip! ONE! TWO!! NO!!! There just wasn’t enough force behind Pretzler’s cover to make it an effective match-ender. Spike pushes off from Pretzler’s chest, escaping the pin and rolling up to his feet. Thinking fast, he leaps over the still-seated Pretzler, bounces off the ropes, and delivers a brutal shin kick to the back of his neck! Pretzler moans and falls back. Now Spike makes the cover. ONE! TWO! NO!! It appears that Pretzler kicked out well before the three, but Spike is not satisfied. He gets up, frustrated, and berates the special referee. “That was a slow count! I beat him! That was a goddamn slow count!” Wildchild raises his hands in defense, then shakes his head and points at himself, as if declaring his own authority. Jenkins, still upset, continues arguing, and is therefore unaware that the challenger has risen behind him. Pretzler hooks an arm between Spike’s legs and drags him to the mat in a schoolboy! ONE! TWO!! NO!!! The flash pin almost, but not quite, succeeds in ending the match for Pretzler. As Spike gets quickly to his feet, Pretzler rises as well and meets him with a dropkick. Hoping to protect his neck, he rotates at a less extreme angle than usual. Spike stumbles back and is supported by the ropes; as Pretzler prepares to dropkick him again, he charges forward with a yakuza kick! WHUMP! Pretzler goes down as the bottom of Spike’s boot slams into his chest, beet-red from the earlier kicks. Spike throws a glance at Wildchild and covers. ONE! TWO!! NO!!! This is the closest fall that Spike has gotten so far. He tries to turn Pretzler over onto his stomach, but the challenger knows what Spike is thinking and slaps him away, then rolls over completely and scrambles up to a crouch. He pats his right arm twice, signaling for a lariat – as Spike does the same thing! “Uh-oh,” says Pete. “This doesn’t look goo-“ SMACK! At the exact same time, the two competitors explode at one another with equally vicious lariats. Pretzler’s head snaps forward. So does Spike’s. They go down as one, each ending up pinned beneath the other’s arm, and Wildchild drops to the mat and counts the double pin. “This could be it!” Pete exclaims. ONE! TWO!! MYGODTHATWASCLOSE!!! OOOOOOOOOHH! In unison, both men jerk one shoulder off the mat and prevent the draw. Although they are no longer pinned, both have taken a great deal of damage from the double lariat, and neither one is moving. Wildchild begins counting to ten. ONE! TWO! Spike is the first one to stir. He sits up, reaches over, and plants his hands on the side of Pretzler’s head. Pulls him to his feet. Now Pretzler is the one in a standing headscissors. He tries Spike’s escape tactic and attempts to flip the champion over using his neck strength, but his neck has been weakened by the kicks and he is unable to do so. Spike reaches down across the heaving stomach of Pretzler. He locks his arms together and pulls. Pretzler’s feet rise a few inches above the canvas, but he’s able to bring them back down and gain a deeper foothold. Spike tugs again. Pretzler rises further this time before coming back down. He tries to drop down to his knees, but Spike’s grip is too tight. HOL-LY-WOOD! HOL-LY-WOOD! HOL-LY-WOOD! The fans loudly chant Spike’s nickname, trying to encourage him. With the damage that Pretzler’s neck has taken, everyone knows the Ratings Crash will put an end to his suffering. Pretzler now reaches down and tries to manually unclasp Spike’s hands and break the gutwrench. He tugs, fumbles. A sheen of sweat glistens on the face of Spike Jenkins as he tries to hold on. In spite of his strength, Pretzler’s position will not allow him to break Spike’s grip, so he decides to take a different strategic route. In a sudden burst of energy, he kicks his legs directly out behind him – the startled Spike is carried down to the mat by his own reflexive handgrip. He lands on top of Pretzler, but without enough force to drive the wind from him. “Spike had better look out,” says King gleefully. “He’s down on the mat now – in other words, he’s in Pretzlerville!” Indeed. Pushing off with one foot, Pretzler is quickly able to reverse their position and ends up on top of Spike, facing the opposite direction, his back to Spike’s face. Spike still maintains his grip and attempts to bridge out of it. They rise ever-so-slightly off the canvas. Now that he is essentially upright, Pretzler has a much easier time breaking the handhold. Just as the bridge reaches its apex, Spike’s hands slip apart, and he goes crashing to the mat with Pretzler’s weight following him down! Spike’s shoulders hit the mat and stay there. ONE! TWO!! SHOULDERUP! Spike shifts his weight to the side and is able to escape the jaws of defeat. Flipping over, Pretzler tries to lock on a grounded rear facelock, but Spike cleverly brings a knee up and smashes it into his face. Gasping, he rolls out from under Pretzler and gets to his feet. Having no time to gather his senses, he dives at Pretzler with the only move he can think of: THE LARIAT! Pretzler is ready this time, and he ducks the move while at the same time seizing Spike’s forearm. Spike’s momentum carries him down into a fujiwara armbar. Pretzler throws his whole body into the hold. Spike’s arm bends back at a sickening angle. “Do you give up?” Wildchild demands, his accent serving only to annoy both men. “No… shit… ah… no…” “What do you expect?” Pete asks. “Pretzler hasn’t worked Spike’s arm at all during the match. You think he’s going to submit on a whim?” “It was a desperation move. Should Pretzler have stood there and taken the lariat like a lobotomy patient? He had to do something. And maybe Spike will submit.” Spike is nearing the ropes, reaching out with his free arm as he gasps for oxygen. Pretzler leans in further. King continues: “Speaking of stupid, what does Spike think he’ll gain by getting in the referee’s face? Wildchild is an active wrestler and one of the greatest athletes in the world. If Spike talks back to him again, he just might find himself playing a losing game of pinball, if you catch my drift.” Spike is almost at the ropes. Just a few more inches… “Well, King, we can’t forget the kind words Mr. Pretzler had for the Bahama Bomber. I believed he made a very direct statement indicating that if Wildchild interfered in any way, he would end up as two-thirds of the SWF Tag Team Champions. If you catch my drift.” The crowd breathes a sigh of relief as Spike reaches the shelter of the ropes. After several heated words from Wildchild, Pretzler releases the hold, then pulls Spike into the center of the ring by his ankles and applies it again! Lady Luck is not with him, though, and before he can secure it again Spike rolls forward onto his back, reaches up, and pokes Pretzler in the eyes! Pretzler recoils. Spike flips his legs up and backward, hooking them under Pretzler’s shoulders, then rocks forward and brings Pretzler down into a surprise rollup! ONE! TWO!! NO!!! Caught off guard, the challenger just managed to power out of the prawn hold. His attempts at slowing Spike down have all been thwarted, and he now realizes that he is the one who is in the most danger. The match must end as soon as possible. The powerbomb… “Both men must be incredibly tired from all these speed moves,” Pete says. “The next fall could very well be the deciding one.” And though both are able to make it to their feet, the recovery time has slowed very noticeably. Pretzler strikes first with a knife-edged chop. WOOOOOOOOOOO! SMACK! WOOOOOOOOOOO! SMACK! WOOOOOOOOOOO! With each one, Spike is driven closer and closer to the corner. He finally reaches it and slumps against the post – Pretzler takes advantage of the opportunity and climbs to the first rope, pummeling the straight-edger with elbows to the side of the head. Borrowing a page from the Book of Lyger, Spike fights back with an open-palm uppercut to Pretzler’s jaw, causing the Canadian to back off. Spike now charges with a flashy rolling elbow, but Pretzler ducks and wraps his arms around the champion’s belly in a rear waistlock. He tugs, but Spike won’t budge. The second attempt is more successful. Spike goes flying over Pretzler’s head in a release German suplex! He hits the mat hard. Lands on his shoulder blades and slumps back down. Pretzler, too, is flat on his back. ONE! TWO! Pretzler crawls across the ring. THREE! FOUR! He drapes an arm across Spike’s heaving chest. ONE! TWO!! KICKOUT!!! SO CLOSE! So close, but it wasn’t enough. Had Pretzler been able to hold a bridge, there’s no doubt that a new champion would have been crowned. The time between the move and the cover, though, was just too great. Still, as King points out… there can’t be much left. In either man. Pretzler places his arms under the shoulders of Spike and tries to haul him to his feet. Spike is completely limp, though, almost unconscious, and it will take a great deal of effort to move him. When Pretzler realizes this, he simply lets go and pins Spike again. ONE! TWO!! NO!!! “Has that ever worked?” Pete asks rhetorically. Probably not, and another such pin would likely yield the same result. So Pretzler gathers all of his might and pulls Spike to his knees. To his feet. He bends Spike over and steps over his head. “Spike is a fiery competitor, Pete, there’s no doubt about it. But his flame is about to be extinguished!” By now, Spike is too weak to resist. He has nothing left in the way of strength. Even a headbutt to the groin is beyond him. Pretzler heaves him into the air, pausing as Spike’s body reaches the highest point of its arc, and then whips that body down toward the mat at lightning speed. “POOOOWWWWEEEERBBBOOOOOMMMB!” The impact is sickening. Spike’s head and shoulders bounces off the mat and are quickly pinned down again as Pretzler folds him up for the seemingly inescapable cover. ONE! TWO!! THR- 2.9999999999!!! “WHAT? WHAT?” Somehow, Spike was able to reach into his deepest reserve and pull out just one more escape. Because whatever the critics say, he does care about his title. At this moment, he cares about it more than anything else in the world. That’s true. It really is. But right now, there’s nothing he can do alone that will win him the match. So he will do what he should have done at the beginning. Time for some serious cheating. The incredulous Pretzler bends over and starts to lift up Spike for what looks like another powerbomb. From that same reserve, Spike reaches up and gives Pretzler a low blow. It’s not as brutal as the one Jet gave him earlier, but it stops Pretzler in his tracks, allowing Spike to pull himself upright. He takes careful note of where Wildchild is and Irish-whips Pretzler in an apparently random direction. Pretzler, of course, slams right into the Bahama Bomber, the elbow he holds up to protect himself colliding conveniently with Wildchild’s jaw. Wildchild staggers back and falls through the ropes to the floor. Horrified at what Spike has just made him do, Pretzler turns around. Spike stumbles out of the corner and punches him in the face. Then he does it again. And again. Pretzler falls. Spike glances around, as if waiting for something, but sees only Jet screaming for him. He turns back to Pretzler and leans over him. Pretzler reaches up, attaches himself to Spike, and carries him down in a small package hold! … There is, of course, nobody there to count the fall. Frustrated, Pretzler lets go and Spike sags to the mat. In a seated position. Pretzler slowly moves behind him, reaches over, and grabs the wrists. But Spike is able to turn himself around and is now facing Pretzler, their arms tied together. He stands. Wildchild is stirring. They begin a test of strength. One which Spike is destined to lose. If Pretzler can twist Spike’s arms behind him again, the Snowflake Clutch will be secure and no ref bumps will be able to save the champion. “Pretzler won, by the way. I mean, Spike’s shoulders were down for three seconds. The referee didn’t make the count, but that means nothing. This is all superfluous.” “Anyway,” says Pete, “Spike Jenkins has just made an unbelievable comeback. I thought he was dead after that powerbomb, but somehow he’s still in there fighting.” The test of strength continues. Pretzler forces Spike to his knees. The crowd suddenly begins to buzz, a strongly negative reaction that soon becomes more mixed. OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!!! Pretzler feels a presence behind him. Slowly, he rotates his head around and stares. Toxxic is standing in the ring behind him. Pretzler does a double-take. The Straight-Edge Sensation is wearing a pair of brass knuckles. “The great equalizer has arrived,” says Pete. “I personally can’t stand Toxxic’s guts, but it should be GREAT to see Pretzler eat the brass!” Toxxic grabs Pretzler firmly by the shoulder and pulls him away. He stands there and looks at Pretzler, then back at the kneeling Cruiserweight Champion. Spike grins with relief. King is confused, as are many who are watching. “Hit him, Scott! What are you waiting for?” WHAM!!! Spike’s grin evaporates as Toxxic’s brass knuckles bury themselves in his forehead! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Spike falls over. Slumps against the ropes. Toxxic nods at Pretzler and rolls out of the ring as Wildchild comes to his senses. Pretzler goes over to Spike and stands between him and the ropes. He fastens on a rear facelock, yanks Spike up to his feet, and drags his supine cadaver into the center of the ring. “What is this?” Pete asks. “What is Pretzler doing now?” “I KNOW WHAT THIS IS!” Scott Pretzler lifts Spike into the air as if to deliver a reverse brainbuster. But when Spike’s body reaches a right angle, his momentum shifts. With a grunt, Pretzler whips the champion down and forward and drops himself into a seated position at the same time. The last wind is driven out of Spike as he lands between Pretzler’s legs. ”TIIIIIILLLDEEEEBAAAANNNGGG!!! The Bahama Bomber rolls into the ring. He has no idea what has just happened, nor does he care. All he knows is that Scott Pretzler is lying on top of Spike Jenkins, and that Spike’s shoulders are touching the mat. ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! * DING DING DING! * “Here is your winner… and NNNEEEEEEEEEEWWW SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION…. “’THE CRITIC’ SCOTT PRETZLER!!!” Wildchild asks for the title belt, and the timekeeper hands it to him. He helps Pretzler to his feet and drapes the belt across the shoulder of the new champion. Pretzler looks down at the belt, then stares out proudly as if posing for a photograph. “And after one hundred and twenty days, the longest Cruiserweight Championship reign in SWF history has come to an end,” King says dramatically. “Let’s hear it for the new champ!” Pete, like everyone else, is more concerned with another issue. “Did you see what Toxxic just did, King? Spike Jenkins has been betrayed. And – there he is again! That bastard!” Sure enough, Toxxic has climbed back over the guardrail; with him is Sean Davis. He plants a kiss on Jet, who is beaming, and he and Davis roll into the ring. At once they turn toward Wildchild, and Toxxic clocks him with the brass knuckles! BOOOOOOOOO! Together, Toxxic and Davis pound away at the Bahaman native. Pretzler watches, expressionless. “Where is Johnny Dangerous?” cries Pete. The beating continues. Finally, Johnny Dangerous sprints down the ramp and slides into the ring. Davis immediately begins stomping on him, and the Revolution Zero members quickly overpower him. It is now a two-on-three beatdown against the tag team champs and Spike, which becomes three-on-three as Jet enters the ring and joins in. BOOOOOOOOO!!! Toxxic picks up Wildchild, runs up the turnbuckle, and drops him in the Intoxxication. Davis hands him Johnny, and he does the same. Spike is out cold. Toxxic turns toward Pretzler. Offers his hand. Pretzler accepts. He then turns to Wildchild, lifts him up, and hammers him with a gruesome snap powerbomb. Toxxic, Sean, and Jet surround Pretzler, and the Straight-Edge Sensation raises the young Canadian’s hand in victory. It is not completely evident what is happening, but everybody seems to have a fairly clear idea. Their sentiments are echoed by Longdogger Pete, who exclaims frankly: “Has Scott Pretzler joined Revolution Zero?”

“I’m sick of this!” ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins waves the Cruiserweight title in Toxxic’s face as the leader of Revolution Zero walks into the dressing room. A quick glance to Sean Davis confirms Toxxic’s suspicions - Spike has been ranting for a while now. “What’s the problem, Spike?” the Brit asks, trying to keep his voice cheerful. Jenkins turns back to him, visibly working himself up for another diatribe. “This goddamn company!” Spike spits, flinging his title belt across the room. “I’ve been Cruiserweight champion for how long? Over 100 days, I can hardly keep count anymore! I’ve defended this belt time and time again, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing! NOTHING!” “You mean apart from the belt…?” Toxxic begins, but Spike is in no mood to be reasoned with. “I’m a two-time Tag Champion as well! But you remember what you were talking about with Dace,” Jenkins continues, “about ‘respect’? What ‘respect’ do I have? None!” Angrily, the man from California picks the CW title up and shows it to Toxxic again. “What respect does this belt give me? Nothing! No-one cares that I’m one of the longest-running champions in history! Dammit Toxx, I’ve beaten Mak Francis, I’ve beaten Sacred, I’ve beaten Landon, I’ve beaten Todd Cortez, I’ve beaten Alan Clark! I’ve beaten everyone who’s come up against Revolution Zero! Why aren’t I leading us? Why aren’t I World Champion?!” There is a sudden, stony silence in the dressing room. “I’ve beaten Alan Clark,” Toxxic reminds Spike after a second. “I’ve been part of a team to beat Todd Cortez more times than I can count. Sacred? Never faced him. Mak? Never faced him. Landon… yeah, he beat me. But he’s beaten you more often than he’s beaten me, and trust me sunshine, I’m gonna set my score straight with him tonight.” Sean Davis looks on from the sidelines as the two straight-edgers square up. This isn’t the first time Spike and Toxxic have clashed in recent months, but it seems to be coming to a head now. “The reason you aren’t World Champion is because you’ve never been able to get the job done in big matches,” Toxxic tells Spike through gritted teeth, “and that is the difference between us, no matter how long you’ll hang around with me. The reason you don’t lead Revolution Zero is because I lead Revolution Zero, and when it comes down to it sunshine… I’m better than you.” “One match,” Spike responds, “just like you’ve had against Landon. One match. When’s my chance to ‘set the score straight’, Toxx? Or is it always going to be like Dace said, that you beat someone and then move on?” Neither man says anything for a moment. Sean tenses, ready to interject himself if it comes to blows… but after a few moments Toxxic smiles. A humourless, lopsided smile admittedly, but still a smile. “Soon Spike, soon,” he assures the Cruiserweight Champion. “Until then though, what you’ve really got to worry about is keeping that belt against Pretzler. And I think,” he continues, checking his watch, “that you’re up next.” “Pretzler doesn’t stand a fucking chance,” Spike snorts, shouldering his belt and pushing past his leader out of the door. Toxxic watches him go as Sean Davis comes and stands at his side. “He’s really starting to piss me off,” Toxxic notes quietly as they watch Spike storm off towards the ring area. “Yeah,” Sean agrees. “So… are we still getting involved?” “I guess,” Toxxic says, pulling a pair of brass knuckles out from his black holdall and slipping them into the side pocket of his bulky trousers. “C’mon - let’s go make sure the title stays with Revolution Zero.”

"We're back fans, ready to get you back to the action in just a few moments with a match that will determine the number one contender to Landon Maddix's ICTV Championship." "A match that could prove to be the breaking point for those wanna-be SWF superheroes, Martial Law." "I know what you're getting at King, and you're right. Obviously there is a conflict of interest if Todd Cortez, already the SWF Hardcore Champion, gets the duke tonight. That will lead him to a match with the former World Champion, a man who stands by his side as they attempt to help the SWF rise above Revolution Zero. But what..." "Your attention please!" "Hang on Pete, we're missing the good stuff!" The good stuff King refers to is the one and only Kelly Connelly, who is in the ring, taking Funyon's place on announce duties, at least for the introduction of her man. "This next contest is to determine the number one contender to the SWF ICTV Championship...and without further adeu, I give you the man who will lay claim to that contendership tonight..." "Superstar" by Saliva hits, and the smug superstar known as "The Icon" makes his way out, his arrogant attitude having done him no favors as far as earning fans goes. "Approaching the ring at this time, he weighs in at two hundred of fifty pounds of pure talent! From Philladelphia, PA, he is "The Icon", MAAAAAX KING!" Max nods approvingly at Kelly's announcing job, while the beautiful vixen drops the mic and scurries over to the ropes to hold them for her man's entrance. King steps through the ropes and into the ring, waving his arms and doing a twirl as his smile beams as bright as the arena spotlights. Kelly drapes herself over her man's shoulders, giving him a little rub down and a kiss on the cheek, much to the disgust of the crowd. "Look at them. They're like a high school couple!" "Yeah, young love is great, ain't it?" "Not what I meant." Kelly exits the ring, waving to the crowd, acting oblivious to their dislike of her. That dislike transforms into immense approval though, as the lights drop and a familiar beat comes up. "Here he comes...one of the fastest rising stars that this company has ever seen!" As "Breathe" plays through the opening chorus, the SWF Hardcore Champion powerwalks through the curtain and through the sparkling pyro on the entrance ramp, hesitating for a moment to look out into the sea of fans who have taken him into their hearts. Funyon now has his mic back, and does his job, introducing the other participant in this match. "Making his way to the ring, hailing from Hollywood Boulevard, he weighs in at two hundred and twenty six pounds. He is the SWF Hardcore Champion, this is the Urban Legend, TODDDD CORRRRTEZZZZ!" Cortez throws his arms up, then kisses his cross before leaping up onto the apron...where Max King attempts to sucker punch him! Cortez blocks the shot and nails King with one of his own, quickly unstrapping his Hardcore Title and letting it drop to the ground before he leaps up and sends King packing with a springboard dropkick! "Apparently these guys don't want to waste any time tonight!" The SWF's very own ref with a gambling problem, Joseph Stephenpick (remember him?) is the third man in the ring tonight, calling for the bell but holding Cortez back as King recuperates from the early shot from Cortez with the aid of his valet. King scowls at Cortez, who is playing to his fans in the ring, and then gets onto the apron, entering slowly to do battle with the Urban Legend. Cortez waves him on, and the two men lock horns, tying up in center ring and jockeying for position. King quickly grabs a headlock, but Cortez pushes him to the ropes, only to be downed with a shoulderblock as King rebounds. King hits the ropes again, but Cortez rolls onto his stomach, watching King hop over him, then gets to his feet and leapfrogs over the rebound. Cortez spins around, looking to catch King as he bounces off a third time, but King holds on, preventing himself from running into an attack from the Hardcore Champion. King then struts away from the ropes, pointing to his head as if it was a genius manuever...and Cortez slaps the taste right out of his mouth! King reels from the shot, and Cortez backs him into the ropes, sending him in and then hip tossing him over! King gets up and retreats into the corner, begging off, but Cortez runs at him and leaps up primed for a monkey flip, only to get shoved down! Cortez rolls backwards with the fall, getting right back to his feet and running at King, who bounds out of the corner with a running lariat...DUCKED...Cortez leaps up onto the ropes and dives back, twisting his body so that he crashes onto King with a flying bodypress! ONE! That's all it gets, as King pushes Cortez off of him, but the Urban Legend doesn't go far, waiting on his foe and then putting him down as soon as he gets up with a standing dropkick! Todd then pulls King up and whips him into the corner, but eats boot as he charges after "The Icon", and then finds himself pulled up for a back sup...NO! Cortez floats over King's back and spins him around, but King is ready and plants a boot into his stomach, then carries him over with a snap suplex! "Quick start to this one, and Max King is showing that he's ready for any surprises Cortez might throw at him!" King pulls Todd up, then sends him back stepping after a pair of European uppercuts, but Cortez fights back with one of his own, knocking The Icon off his game! King replies with a blistering chop to the chest of Cortez, only to find his chest pummelled by a similar blow from the Urban Legend! Tired of the trade-off, the two men lock up again, pushing each other around the ring before Cortez drops to his knees and uses a fireman's carry to take King to the canvas, and then gets up to run the ropes, stopping short of a follow-up as King rolls out of the way, towards the ropes...and gets dumped to the outside as Cortez runs at him and clotheslines him to the floor! "He's trying to take it outside...this isn't a hardcore match!" "Maybe not, but if he can take King out of his element even for a few moments, it might be enough to break his strategy. Smart move by the Hardcore Champion." King picks himself up quickly, but Cortez ducks out of the ring and comes after him, causing The Icon to run away! Cortez gives chase as King rounds the corner and ducks behind Kelly, leaving the Urban Legend to lock eyes with the lovely Kelly, who pleads for him to leave her out of this! King whispers in Kelly's ear and then shoves her forward, giving her a heads up that he's got to use her as a distraction...but Cortez catches her and lifts her up, rolling her into the ring! Max King backs up, pleading his case as an irate Cortez stalks him with Kelly out of the way, ultimately rolling into the ring himself...and then backing out of the far side as Cortez enters after him! King pulls Kelly out under the bottom rope and checks on her, making sure she's unharmed...leaving him prone to the baseball slide that sends him into the guardrail! Kelly shrieks as she jumps back, getting out of the way just in time as Cortez slingshots himself down onto King with a pescado! “The Urban Legend takes to the sky, knocking The Icon back on his BUTT!” The crowd approves of this, and let’s Todd know it, as he gets back to his feet and flicks the beads of sweat off of his forehead. Kelly makes an attempt to come and check on her beau, but Todd spies her out of the corner of his eye and turns to stare her down, forcing her to retreat with a simple glare. Cortez then takes King and rolls him back into the ring, but he doesn’t follow, instead choosing to remain on the apron and enter via slingshotting himself in and dropping a leg across the throat of Max King! ONE! T-NO! “Another attempt, another kickout. Cortez is going to have to work this man over some more. He’s not called the Superior Talent for nothing.” “The only person who calls him that is himself!” “…and Kelly.” Cortez reaches down for King, but finds himself dumped on his back, as King uses a fireman’s carry to take Cortez down. King gets up, and Cortez is quickly back up on his feet, so the two men begin trading blows in the middle of the ring. King and Coretz fire off forearm shots, going through a whole give and take, as for each shot received, one is dished out. Finally Cortez gets a flurry off, staggering King and bringing him near the ropes so that Cortez can whip him to the far side, however it’s countered in mid-whip, with Cortez being the one to get sent in! King tucks his head, and Cortez rolls over his back, landing on his feet behind him and then getting a rear waistlock, trying for a German, but King elbows his way out of it and spins out with a rear waistlock of his own, which is then countered in similar fashion by Cortez! King wriggles to get free, finally reaching back and taking Cortez by the head and snapmaring him over, then cracking him between the shoulder blades with a soccer kick as he sits on the canvas! The crowd “oooooh’s” upon hearing the impact, and King follows up by smacking Cortez across the back of the head with an open hand, , drawing another ‘ooooh’ from the crowd, this one more along the lines of “he’s going to kill you now”. “I hope King knows what he’s doing here.” Cortez starts to come up, but King gets him and drives a knee into his ribs, then takes his head and just launches Cortez backwards, slamming him back to the canvas! King then stands over the body of Cortez as the Hardcore Champion holds his head, reaching down and paintbrushing him while proclaiming “I’m better than hardcore!” King gloats, as Kelly cheerleads from the floor, and reaches down for Cortez…WHO CRADLES HIM WITH A SMALL PACKAGE! ONE! TW-KING ROLLS THROUGH INTO A PIN OF HIS OWN! ONE! TWO-KICKOUT! “How about that! That’s what he gets!” “But did you see how prepared King was? He followed right through with a pin of his own! Cortez may have met his match here tonight!” Both men are up on their feet again, coming up to one another and staring each other down, with neither one backing away. King shoves Cortez back, and dares him to come at him, but Todd doesn’t lose his cool, and instead moves back towards King slowly, getting right up in his face and staring him down, remaining silent the whole time. King shoves him again, but for the second time, Cortez remains calm, not allowing his temper to take over. By this point King’s had enough, and as Cortez moves towards him again he unloads with a haymaker, but Cortez ducks, hooking King in a full nelson before pushing him away, into the ropes and catching him with an inverted atomic drop to stagger him, and then bounces off the ropes himself to gain more momentum that enables him to take King down with a swinging neckbreaker! Kelly slams the apron in disgust, while the crowd claps away as Cortez bounces off the ropes and drops an elbow into the sternum of his rival, then leads him to his feet and hooks his waist, yanking him up for a back sup…NO! King floats over and spins Cortez around, drilling him with a boot and then hooking both his arms and carrying him over with a butterfly suplex! “Beautiful execution by Max King!” King doesn’t waste any time, taking Cortez while he’s dazed and leading him to the corner, driving his face into the top turnbuckle to stun him, and then propping him against the turnbuckles so that Cortez is wide open for a King assault. The Icon puts the boots to him, kicking his ribs in repeatedly and then turning away, showing off to the crowd before turning around and running into the corner, bringing his knee up and driving it into the ribcage of Cortez! Todd nearly falls on his face, but he’s caught by King and lifted up onto the top rope. “What’s he going for here? Could we see that patented Superb Plex of his?” King goes up the ropes, and hooks a front facelock, but as he lifts his rival, Cortez locks his legs around the ropes, not allowing himself to be carried over. King tries again, pulling back but not getting anywhere, as Cortez remains perched. The Urban Legend fights back, slamming his fists into King’s sides, and finally pushing King off of him down to the canvas! Cortez starts to get up, but King rolls over and pushes up off the canvas, running up the ropes and grabbing Cortez’s head again, intent on taking him down the hard way…but Cortez pushes him off again, this time down onto the top rope! “Oh my!” King’s jaw hangs low as he straddles the top rope, his cocky demeanor now replaced with an agonized look. Cortez then stands up on the top rope, measuring his foe, and leaps off ONTO HIS SHOULDERS, SNAPPING HIM OFF THE ROPES WITH A RANA THAT PUTS BOTH MEN ON THE FLOOR OUTSIDE THE RING! “HOLY…” “Don’t say it King, let the fans do it!” Holy shit indeed. The chant comes up, and Kelly is quickly over to tend to Max, while Cortez lay on the cold concrete floor. Stephenpick begins the ten count, as the fans wait to see who will be the first one to their feet. ONE! TWO! THREE! Desperately, Kelly tugs on Max’s arm, trying to bring him up, but King just flops back to the floor, putting Kelly in more of a panic! FOUR! FIVE! Thinking on her feet, Kelly rolls King onto his back and leans down, patting his cheek lightly and trying to get him to come to. Meanwhile, Cortez has started to push up on all fours, but is holding his head. SIX! SEVEN! King is getting up with the help of Kelly, who is using all the strength in her little body to keep him standing. She leans King against the apron, while Cortez has pulled himself up with the aid of the guardrail. EIGHT! NINE! As if a signal went off in their heads, both men dart under the bottom rope at the last possible instance, stopping themselves from losing the contendership via countout. King comes at Cortez, but the Urban Legend quickly ducks and swings his leg around to take King off his feet with a sweep kick, then stands up and bounces up off the canvas, rotating his body so that he crashes down with his back landing across King’s upper body…NO! King rolls out of the way and gets up, dropping a knee into the throat…NO! Cortez rolls out of the way of that, and pulls King up, only to get his eyes raked as The Icon is led to his feet! Cortez turns away, but King pulls him back, wrapping his arm over his head and holding it in place as he drives it into the canvas with a DDT! King sits up, looking over to Kelly and blowing a kiss as she bounces up and down gleefully, and watches on along with the capacity crowd here on Long Island as King lines Cortez up near the ropes and ducks out to the apron, climbing the turnbuckles. King stands atop the corner post and raises his arms up in triumph, despite not having done anything yet, then leaps off, soaring high into the air with arms extended, coming down onto Todd Cortez with a graceful top rope splash… …THAT HITS KNEE! “Somehow I don’t think that landing went as well as he’d planned!” King does a somersault style bump off of Cortez’s kneecaps, as the velocity he came down with worked against him. Cortez rolls over and crawls onto King’s back, sitting atop his shoulders and trying to pin them down as he reaches for his legs at the same time, but King quickly slithers out from under him and grabs the ropes to prevent any submissions from happening! “Cortez was looking for the Hook Up there, and Max King is running scared now!” Cortez gets up and comes over to the ropes, and King rolls to the floor once again, however once Cortez exits the ring, King slides right back into it! Cortez chases him back into the ring, sliding back in, but as he comes up to his feet Max charges and leaps up, bringing his leg around and cracking Todd in the back of the head with an enzugiri! Cortez flops to the mat, and King quickly rolls him over and lays across him, keeping him down on his back! ONE! TWO! SHOULDER UP! Rather than pout, Max hoists Cortez right up off the mat, and then drops him down across his knees ribs first, knocking the wind right out of him! Cortez lands on all fours, coughing and gagging, and finds himself pulled up onto his feet by King and shoved into the corner, his body crashing against the turnbuckles before stumbling back right into a back suplex that dumps Todd on his head! King covers once again, as Stephenpick comes in for the count… ONE! TWO! NO! “Perseverance is what Todd Cortez is all about. I hope King didn’t think that because he was out of the hardcore element that he’d be a cakewalk.” Frustrated with the two close falls, King pulls Cortez up by the straps on his wifebeater and drags him to the ropes, HURLING HIM OVER TO THE FLOOR…AND DOESN’T SEE TODD CORTEZ HOLDING ON AND SKINNING THE CAT! “The agility of this man is amazing!” The fans roar as they witness Cortez catch himself, but King thinks it’s for him, as his back is turned. Kelly is pointing frantically behind King, but Max thinks she’s pointing to him in a sign of affection, so he’s completely oblivious when he turns around… CRACK! RIGHT INTO A SUPERKICK! ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! “Max King’s ego almost cost him the contendership right there!” Kelly breathes a heavy sigh of relief, knowing that a shot at the ICTV Title means a shot at more money and fame for her and her charge. Cortez pulls King up, and quickly puts him back on the mat again with a Russian legsweep, rolling through to his feet and then hitting the ropes, coming off with a flip senton that hits this time, and as he comes up to his feet he leaps backwards, crushing King with a standing moonsault! King rolls around on the mat, and with his foe in that state, Cortez ducks out to the ring apron, raising an arm up to signal to his fans that he’s going to be ending this soon, as he springs up to the top rope…AND GETS HIMSELF PULLED DOWN TO THE APRON BY KELLY CONNELLY! “What is she doing? Get her back on the floor!” Stephenpick comes rushing over immediately, but Cortez knows this game all too well, and spins him right back around so that he can see if King is up to anything…then shoves Kelly off the apron to the floor! The crowd pops loudly as Cortez takes King’s favorite distraction tactic out of the game, and leaps up onto the top rope, following through with a springboard kneedrop that spikes King’s forehead! Cortez rolls through and leaps up to the middle rope, executing a quebrada, and hits!…but now his sore ribs come into play, as two moonsaults have taken some energy out of him as well! “Cortez is still sore, and although King is reeling, it means nothing if he can’t capitalize!” “Serves him right for hitting a woman!” “He didn’t hit her!” “He pushed her right off the apron!” “She tried to stop him from going after King!” “It’s Valentine’s Day, you think she wants to go out with her boyfriend wrapped in bandages?” Bruised ribs and all, Cortez crawls over to King, hooking a leg and pinning him after hitting him with part of his high impact arsenal, hoping it’s not too late to get one in the win column… ONE! TWO! THR-KICKOUT! “So close, Cortez, but you’re still very far away!” Cortez gets up, and leads King up as well, but Max fires a knee up out of desperation, doubling Cortez over. King follows up by clubbing him across the back with a couple of forearm shots, then brings his knee up a second time before pulling Cortez into a headscissors…AND SPIKING HIM OFF THE CANVAS WITH A PILEDRIVER! King rolls onto Cortez, pulling up on his leg to keep him down for a three count… ONE! TWO! THR-NO! NO! …but can’t do it! King slaps the mat in disgust, then starts arguing with the referee about the count. Stephenpick pleads innocence, telling him he counted as fast as regulations call for, but King doesn’t want to hear it, and stops paying attention to the ref and turns back to his opponent. He brings Cortez up again in a headscissors, but Cortez falls back to the mat, his body not able to support itself. King chuckles, and reaches down for him again…BUT CORTEZ SURPRISES HIM WITH A SMALL PACKAGE! ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! King gets right up, and is infuriated, pulling Cortez off the mat and sending him into the corner before charging in with a corner splash that sucks the wind out of Todd’s body and drops him to the mat! King then starts driving his boot into the side of Todd’s face as he sits up against the bottom rope, raking the sole of his boot across his face before pulling him up and lifting him onto his shoulders, dropping him onto the top rope with a hotsh…NO! Cortez grabs the top rope, and uses it to pull himself off of King’s shoulders and out onto the apron! King swings with a lariat, but Todd ducks, and jogs across the apron, leaping up to the top rope and backflipping in, landing behind King! Todd spins him around and grabs him by the throat…URBAN ASSAULT…NO! King elbows his way out of it, and then grabs Todd’s head, hooking an inverted facelock…LIFTING FOR THE KING BUSTER…BUT TODD SHIFTS HIS WEIGHT TO LAND ON KING FOR A PIN! ONE! TWO! NO! “ANOTHER close call! After seeing what these men will do for a shot at the ICTV Title, I shudder to think of what they’ll do to win it!” King pushes Cortez up off of him and gets up, hitting Todd with a stiff clothesline as Cortez moves in for him! King brings him up, but Todd knocks his hand away and fires off chop after chop after chop, each one drawing the requisite “WHOO!” call from the crowd that has packed the Nassau Coliseum here tonight for Smarkdown! King staggers, and has nowhere to go once Todd has him backed into the ropes. Irish whip time, and King reverses…REVERSED A SECOND TIME BY CORTEZ…and the Urban Legend runs over to the side ropes, meeting his foe at mid-ring like two trains colliding as he hits the HOLLOW POINT~! “CORTEZ CONNECTS!” King moans in pain, and Kelly is about to start yanking her hair out at the sight of her main man rolling around on the mat, defeat inevitable. Cortez gets up, tearing the wifebeater off and drawing a response from the females in attendance before pretending to wipe his ass with the shirt, and then tossing it down to Kelly! Ms. Connelly catches it, but after realizing what Todd just did with it she drops it and freaks out, not even paying attention to see Todd picking Max up and putting him in a headscissors, ready to leap over his back…NO! Max pushes Todd off him, into the ropes, but the weary King is too slow in coming up with a follow-up, so he winds up cracked in the face with a YAKUZA KICK~! that sends spatters of spit and blood flying from his mouth! King is back up as soon as he falls, courtesy of Todd, who is now ready to end it once and for all. King is set up in the headscissors, and Todd hooks his waist, as the Nassau Coliseum fills with a chant for the first time. “R-A-P!” “R-A-P!” “They’re calling for it, and he could hit it right here!” “If he does, Pete, it’s over, even I’m not about to sugarcoat anything!” Cortez hooks the waist and takes a deep breath before pushing up off the canvas, floating over King’s back as he keeps him held in place… …AND MAX KING BECOMES THE LATEST VICTIM OF THE RIOT ACT PLUS! “HE GOT IT! HIT THE SHOWERS KELLY CONNELLY!” “Mind if I join her? I mean, you can handle it, right?” Although King’s not going anywhere, Cortez still hooks the leg, nodding his head along with Stephenpick’s three slaps of the mat. ONE! TWO! THREE! DING DING DING! “The Urban Legend chalks up another one here on Smarkdown, a big win that’s going to lead him straight to an ICTV Title match!” “Against who else but his own partner, Landon Maddix! Martial Law is a group still in their infancy, and already there’s trouble in paradise!” “Don’t go stirring the pot just yet King. We’ll see how it all unfolds in due time.” “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, and now the Number One Contender to the ICTV Championship…the URBAN LEGEND, TODDDD CORRRRTEZZZZ!” Funyon bellows the words everyone wants to hear, as “Breathe” comes up. Cortez stands to have his arm raised, weak in the knees and still feeling the effects of this hard fought fight. As the fans applaud Cortez’s win, another wave of applause comes up as Landon Maddix, Cortez’s friend and partner in Martial Law…and also the reigning ICTV Champion comes out and raises Todd’s hand! “There, you see King? Nothing wrong as far as I can see.” Maddix, in action later in our main event, embraces his stablemate and then makes the “you and me” motion. He and Cortez lock eyes for a moment, and then the two men shake hands, knowing that while the road may lead to them hooking up in the near future, it’ll be welcomed as friendly competition. “There you have it. Two members of Martial Law standing tall in the ring, each one doing an SWF Title proud, and soon to do battle over another sixteen pounds of gold!” “Now how do you know that?” “That they’re going to do battle? Well Cortez did just earn…” “No, smartass, I’m talking about the sixteen pounds of gold. What do you do, root through their bags and weigh the belts? You have some sick title fetish you want to share with the world?” “King?” “Out with it, Peter.” “I think now’s a good time for a commercial.” “Taking the easy way out, eh? Sicko.” Amidst the banter, Todd Cortez and Landon Maddix have exited the ring, with Cortez claiming his Hardcore belt from Funyon and throwing it over his shoulder as he heads up the aisle. Max King is assisted out of the ring by referee Stephenpick and Kelly. “King better hope for a concussion, because when he comes to his senses, this won’t be something he’ll want to remember. Todd Cortez is victorious tonight, and we’ll be back with high flying goodness when Spike Jenkins defends the SWF Cruiserweight belt against newcomer Scott Pretzler…With Wildchild as the referee! It’s a recipe for action, a recipe for disaster, and most importantly, it’s next!”

The SmarkTron lights up, showing Ben Hardy behind a mock news desk, looking slightly peeved. He calls off stage as the crowd mumbles a bit in confusion. "Hey, when are we going to start? I need to get a drin-We're on NOW?" He quickly turns towards the camera, putting on an obviously forced smile. "Welcome, all you loyal SWF fans, to SWF Joker's Wild, a brand new program which will be airing every program to showcase some of the SWF's best matches and moments. For tonight's inaugural episode, we'll be paying homage to the namesake of the show. Why? Because it was part of his final contract." The camera switches left, and Ben turns right before quickly correcting himself. "December 23rd, 2001. The IGNWF had only been around a scant year, but boy was it ever a year. Perhaps one of the biggest events of the year, indeed, Federation history, occurred when the King of Hearts turned on his Carnival friends and became self-serving egotist, the Suicide King. A running feud went on between King and his former stablemates until Chris Raynor challenged him to a special two falls match to end it all." The camera returns to center, and Ben moves with it. "The stipulation was interesting: Two falls. The first one would decide who would be at risk – If Chris was pinned, he would have to retire. If King was pinned, he would have to leave the IGNWO. The second pin would decide if it would happen. If the pins were split, the match would end in a draw. But with hatred boiling over, there was little doubt that one man would have to go, no matter what. The match was set for the final PPV of the year: The IGNWF No-Sells Christmas. At the PPV, though, King officially left the IGNWO, giving him a match where he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. With no time to change the terms, Chris Raynor would have to put his future at risk for nothing, but to him, getting a shot at his former friend was worth anything, even a shortened career. After that… it’s SWF History…” We begin to fade to black, with a soft but audible "God damn Camera guys!" coming out of the disappearing Ben Hardy. **** 12/23/01 **** **** Suicide King vs. Chris Raynor: 2 Falls Match **** And we are back from the last video package! It's time to immediately leap into the action as "Electra Made Me Blind" is already playing over the loudspeakers, pumping all the fans to a fever pitch! Curry: Hello everyone! No Sells Christmas continues as a feud for the ages winds up for good or ill, as Chris Raynor and the Suicide King tangle for everything under the tree! NTD: An inflatable Nervous Sheep? Curry: (shivers) Anyway, Raynor is already on the way down to the ring so we have no time to waste! Funyon is already in his spiel as we cut back to his audio... Funyon: ...is a two falls special stipulation match! The winner of the first fall determines what stipulation will be attached to the second fall! The winner of the second fall, which will be fought under streetfight rules, gets his stipulation provided he won the first match! Introducing first, from Baton Rouge Louisiana- Chris Raynor appears under the IGNtron to a tremendous explosion of crowd approval that quickly turns to horror as the Suicide King bursts out of the curtains immediatrely behind him! King plows over the bigger man with a firm forearm to the back, knocking the Rayn-Man down the entry ramp... Funyon and company immediately get the hell out of Dodge, leaving referee Eddy Long alone... King fires another forearm, then another, neither doing serious damage but they are jsut enough to keep the larger man off balance and heading toward the ring!!! King throws one last forearm aginst the back of Raynor, but this time he is ready, grabbing that arm and whipping King into the ring apron! King recoils from the shock and Raynor grabs a handful of hair, throwing him under the bottom rope and sliding after him, only to have the referee step between them, surprisingly, doing his job. Once the King has enough time to scamper away to the other side of the ring and regain his vertical base, the ref helps Chris up and signals for the bell, prompting another explosion of cheers from every Quebecois in the house!!! Curry: King tried to get the jump on Raynor, but to no avail! *DING DING DING* Curry: And the match is underway! Raynor’s career against the IGNWO’s existence - IT’S ON! NTD: Just shows you how stupid Raynor is - if I were in his position, my stipulation would have been “If I win, the King will teach me everything he knows so I can become a better wrestler and human being!” There’s a loud buzz in the crowd as the stare down continues, and both men move slowly to the center of the ring. The referee begins preaching his “I want a good clean fight”, but his voice slowly drifts off as he realizes that neither man is listening. Raynor, with a four-inch advantage, stares down at the King, who smiles innocently back… … and extends a hand… NTD: See? A real sportsman! Curry: Give me a break! Does he really think Raynor will buy this? The fans fill the arena with boos as the Gambling Man’s hand rests firmly between the two… Raynor slowly looks to the King’s hand… quick as lightning, he throws up his arm and slaps it away! The King’s arm is throws back, but the rest of him stays perfectly still… Curry: What’d I tell ya? NTD: Hooligan! The King’s smile disappears… … he looks at Raynor… … then down at his hand… … and he fires a quick right punch! It catches Raynor off guard, and a second, third, fourth, fifth in rapid succession back the bigger man into the corner! Raynor is getting buried deeper and deeper into the corner, and the King steps to the side, winding up for a chop- -Raynor steps out and ducks! The King whirls around and ends up backed into the very same corner, and now it’s Raynor’s turn for rapid fire! NTD: Closed fists! DQ! King wins round one! Curry: Eh heh… me think not. NTD: SMASH! A “RAY-NOR! RAY-NOR!” chant begins to swell as the number of punches rises past a dozen, thirteen, fourteen, and a huge fifteen brings the King crashing down into the bottom ropes! Raynor then switches to kicks - again, he goes well above a dozen before he finally allows himself to be pulled away by the ref, and the crowd is absolutely loving it! Curry: I don’t expect much of a scientific wrestling match on this man’s part, though Lord knows King will try. NTD: SMASH! The King, gasping for breath, gets to his feet and leans back in the corner. He drops his head for just a moment, just a single moment… he picks it back up just in time to see his opponent charging full speed from across the ring! With the split second he has he tries to escape, but Raynor is too fast, and the Gambling man is crushed in the turnbuckle! Curry: Ow. Raynor kindly removes his knee from the King’s face and heads back again to the other side of the ring. The King immediately covers his face, fearing the worst, as he slowly climbs to his feet again. Once up, Raynor grabs him by the arm and drags him out to the middle of the ring - that’s where the King spots his opening, and he punches Raynor in the gut. Chris wasn’t expecting it and it doubles him over, and the King runs for the ropes and comes catapulting back… but Raynor steps forward and grabs the King’s legs, then launches him up for the highest back body drop this side of the Mississippi! Curry: Good lord, look at that ele- *CRASH* Curry: -vation! The King immediately sits up, clutching his back and howling in pain, and the crowd is eating this up! Raynor assumes a ready stance, waiting for just the right moment - and at that moment he charges! The King is using the ropes for support when suddenly he’s clotheslined over them to the outside! NTD: This isn’t how you retire people, King! You’re doing it wrooooong! Curry: No no, keep it up! NTD: Hey! You’re supposed to be objective! The Suicide King scoots back away from the ring, eyes wide and nostrils flaring, while Raynor just smiles innocently back. King slowly gets to his feet, favoring his back, and then begins to pace around the ring, while the referee administers a slow ten count - it barely reaches three before the King slides back in. He immediately jumps to his feet and assumes a ready stance to keep Raynor away, and once he regains his senses completely, the two begin slowly circling… NTD: Dun dun… dun dun… dun dun dun dun dun dun- Curry: No Jaws! The Rayn-Man lunges forward, but this time the King is ready! He ducks the attempted grapple, then as Raynor turns around the King pulls his arm back then fires a vicious shotei!!!! NTD: HEARTBREAKER!!!!! Raynor staggers back, temporarily stunned - then he charges again! Another shotei sends Raynor stumbling back into the turnbuckle, and this time he stays there long enough for the King to follow up with a series of knife-edge chops! *CRACK* WHOOOO! *CRACK* WHOOOO! *CRACK* WHOOOO! After the hat trick, the King grabs Raynor’s hand and yanks him out of the corner, knees him in the gut, and then runs for the ropes. Raynor is just starting to stand when the King comes back and jumps, leveling his foe with a cross body! The King keeps rolling and ends up going under the ropes to the outside, where he takes a bit of rest, while Raynor slowly crawls to his feet in the ring. After catching his breath, the Gambling Man slides back in behind Raynor, grabs him around the head from behind, and drops him with a reverse DD-Knee! Raynor rolls onto his stomach, favoring his back, as well as opening it to attack. The King begins dropping double-axe-handles, one after another after another, and soon Raynor is left lying still as the King hops onto the nearest post and begins mocking his opponent! Raynor lays motionless in front of the Gambling Man as he takes a long second to size up his opponent… before leaping off and dropping the point of his elbow right in Chris Raynor’s upper vertebrae!!! Kings quickly rolls back to his feet as Raynor remains on the mat, clutching his upper back with awkwardly bent arms… Curry: Not exactly a scientific match thus far, as both men seem to be running on pure adrenaline and a desire to cause real, tangible pain to their opponent!! NTD: Not that that’s a bad thing. The Suicide King breaks character for a moment and does NOT take the opportunity to gloat and/or strut before the crowd, instead choosing to continue the lightning assault on Raynor… lifting Chris up by a handful of hair, the King quickly doubles him over with a firm knee lift. Chris gasps doubly, once from the shock of pain in his gut and again from the current of pain in his back from bending over to fast! The King wastes no time however, grabbing his adversary’s left arm and spinning in place, wringing the holy hell out of it! Chris slaps his shoulder weakly from the pain, but the King merely grins a sadistic grin before wrenching the arm down HARD!! Chris goes to one knee from the pain but struggles through the haze of pain upright again, buoyed by the cheers of thousands of fans who don’t want to see their hero lose, let alone be forced into retirement by this chucklehead!!! King looks around in obvious distaste at the arena audience before again wrenching Raynor’s arm down HARD!! Raynor is driven to both knees this time as the ache in his shoulder grows to a roar in his mind… gritting his teeth, the Rayn-Man again staggers back to his feet, the only sign betraying any pain being the scowl on his face… the Suicide King looks surprised for a moment, then very, very angry. In a move nearly too fast to see the King jerks Raynor’s arm down hard, moments before lifting his own leg high into the air and slamming his heel down on Raynor’s shoulder!!! Curry: (wincing) Ax kick to Raynor’s shoulder! NTD: Rip his arm off Kingy!! Raynor again falls to his knees in pain, but the King quickly steps over his trapped arm and falls backward, taking Raynor along for the ride into a crucifix armbar!!! King pulls back on Chris’s fully extended arm, seeking to pull it right out of the socket… Raynor cries aloud in pain, his free hand desperately trying to free its trapped comrade! The ref hovers in Raynor’s face like an annoying mosquito, asking him if he wants to quit as Raynor’s face grows increasingly red and the fire in his shoulder begins to burn out of control… Curry: King will HAVE to rip Raynor’s arm off to get him to submit!! There is no way in hell that Chris would ever submit to this slimeball, much less when he stands to lose so much!! But outside the ring, a single solitary voice begins the chant before soon being picked up by thousands more… an entire arena stands united, knowing that now more than ever their hero needs them. RAY-NOR!! RAY-NOR!! RAY-NOR!! RAY-NOR!! RAY-NOR!! King looks around wildly, his rapidly moving mouth betraying his sentiments at the fans’ voices… the ref drops to the mat to make sure that Raynor hasn’t let both shoulders fall and thus created a pinning situation, but the zebra rises again, satisfied. Chris Raynor’s free hand balls up into a fist, full of frenetic energy as the chant continues… RAY-NOR!! RAY-NOR!! RAY-NOR!! Chris’s fist begins to beat the canvas next to him in time with the fans’ chanting, as the Suicide King sits bolt upright and falls back, seeking to totally hyper-extend Raynor’s arm!!! Curry: (softly) C’mon, Raynor… Raynor’s fist rises slowly, rises then turns, facing the nearest ropes! So close, and yet so far, as his hand hovers only a foot and a half away! The King rolls up then throws himself down, causing a tremendous howl of pain, but still Raynor hangs on! His arm stretches out, his fingers stretch out, and slowly, slowly but surely he inches to the ropes! Curry: Raynor’s getting there! He’s getting closer! NTD: No he’s not! It’s an optical illusion! Again the King sits up, then practically slams himself down against the mat, wrenching the shoulder back farther than ever before, but Raynor won’t tap! He continues to reach, while rolling himself and his attacker over slowly, and he gets closer… … closer… … closer… The veins in Raynor’s head are bulging as he grits his teeth and shoves his free arm out as far as it can go! His fingers reach, and manage to feel the rope! He feverishly works at it, scraping them across the covering of the ropes, scratching at it until he finally hooks a single finger around the bottom rope! He pulls then, and manages to hook a second, a third, and his entire hand soon encompasses the rope! Curry: Raynor makes it to the ropes, escaping the crucifix armbar! The referee motions for King to break the hold and, knowing what’s at stake, the King actually complies. He releases the hold and quickly gets to his feet, then stands tall above his fallen foe and bares his pearly whites. Raynor still holds the ropes as he turns himself over, and as he does he sees the smiling visage of the King above him - and gives it a swift kick! The toe of Raynor’s foot goes directly into the King’s nose, sending the Gambling Man stumbling away yelping in pain! NTD: That’s not legal! Curry: It’s not illegal! The King ends up in the ropes across the ring, holding his nose and cursing the hell spawn that bore such a beast who would kick him in the nose. On the other side, Raynor is up to his knees, using his free hand to use the ropes for support while tenderly favoring the recently crucified one. Curry: This is the break Raynor needs - if he can do without that arm for just a little while- The Gambling Man looks up, over to Raynor, and he most certainly doesn’t look happy. He snarls, then stalks over with both arms out, ready to grab a handful of hair, but Raynor lets go of the ropes with his free hand and pounds the King in the gut! Raynor ends up falling to one knee, but even from that vantage point, he manages to fire off a second, and a third, and just as the King tries to launch his attack, Raynor dives forward and tackles the King to the mat! The ref almost starts to count it as a pin, but Raynor instead mounts his foe and begins firing rights and lefts, seemingly oblivious to the condition of his injured arm! The arena explodes for the umpteenth time tonight as the King’s face is mushed into… mush… NTD: This isn’t the street fight just yet, ref! Come on! Curry: As long as he opens the fists, Raynor can do this til the cows come home! Fortunately for those who paid good money for tickets, Raynor doesn’t spend much longer pummeling the Kingster’s poor face - he instead gets to his feet, with a little bit of difficulty, then climbs through the ropes at the nearest turnbuckle, and begins slowly climbing the post. NTD: Why didn’t he cover? Curry: You know what’s at stake here, N! There’s no way these guys are covering until they KNOW they can get the three! And remember, there’s still a second fall, where all the marbles are at stake!!! Nobody is even gonna think about covering until that knockout blow has been thrown! NTD: But that means Raynor won’t ever pin him… Raynor reaches the top, and backed by the cheers of the crowd, he springs off the top rope and leaps across the better part of the ring before bring his extended elbow crashing across the chest of the King! He jumps to his feet and raises his fists to the crowd… then heads for the ropes again?! Curry: He’s going for two in a row! Raynor moves faster now, scaling the turnbuckle with relative ease, and he pauses at the top for just a moment before again leaping more than half the ring’s length before smashing into the King! This second elbow hits a little off target, hitting more towards the abdomen, and the King shouts and doubles over, covering his midsection! Raynor is up and mobile near instantly, the crowd’s cheering and adrenaline fueling him beyond any pain he may be feeling! With surprising agility the big man runs to the corner one more time… NTD: Now this is just excessive. And sails off once more, landing that murderous elbow right in the King’s throat!!! The Gambling Man’s hands quickly clutch his throat as Raynor rolls off… Curry: HA! That was for Edwin MacPhisto, you sick sonuva- NTD: MANNERS! Curry: (snorts) Raynor has got the momentum going now!!! King is hurtin’ for certain! The Rayn-Man leaps up to the middle turnbuckle, not to leap off with homicidal intention (this time anyway) but instead to stoke the capacity crowd to an even more fevered pitch! Hopping off spryly he raises the near-dead Heartbreaker up with a handful of blonde locks… grabbing one extended arm Raynor prepares to fire the Suicide King into the corner turnbuckle at breakneck speed, but is suddenly reversed by the Gambling Man into a whip of his own!! Raynor plows into the corner turnbuckle but just as quickly springs out of the corner, leveling the desperate and still groggy approaching King with a massive clothesline!!! Curry: Oh no… Raynor ain’t letting you off the hook that easy, bucko! Again Raynor lifts up the King and tries to whip him into the corner, this time succeeding rather easily at throwing the rag doll formerly known as the Suicide King… King’s chest eats the insufficiently padded turnbuckles hard, leaving him sagging weakly against them. They prove to be no comfort to him as Raynor again runs in with the rage and speed of stampeding buffalo, clotheslining the back of King’s head and driving his face into the turnbuckle yet again! Raynor is on fire; quickly grabbing the King in a side headlock with his already outstretched arm, Raynor spins King around and runs out of the corner before planting the Gambling Man face first into the canvas with a bulldog for the ages!!! NTD: (just whimpers) Raynor rises, spinning on one foot from the momentum of his arms whipping upward, raised in triumph toward the crowd!! Behind him, King rises like an unsteady wraith though, full of an unholy purpose… the crowd’s mood suddenly changes, but Raynor gives no outward sign of having noticed. King cocks his leg back, waiting for Raynor to turn… Ranyor obliges, and the King lashes out with a jaw-shattering super kick, almost surely the last bit of energy left in him at this point!!!!! RAYNOR CATCHES THE FOOT!!!! Curry: Raynor had him scouted! King’s up the proverbial creek now… and look at him!! I think he might cry! The Gambling Man looks absolutely horrified as he hops bout on one foot, waving both hands frantically and begging Raynor not to give in to his baser desires! Raynor looks to one side, then the other, seeing the cheering and approving people on each end… the Rayn-Man smiles a grin of his own at the King, whose face suddenly drains of color. NTD: Don’t do it! King’s too handsome to die! Raynor throws the King’s leg to the side, spinning the King in place like a tornado! But Raynor is waiting as King comes around again, and the bigger man catches him under the arms before lifting him into a reverse crucifix position… the crowd comes to life, anticipating a little justice finally distributed to the Suicide King as Raynor readies to plant the traitor with the Acid Rayn!!! King shakes, wriggles, and convulses like a dying man, anything to escape that deathly grip… and finally succeeds, sliding down Raynor’s back and pushing him into the ropes! Raynor bounces back, oblivious to the onrushing King… King throws out a last ditch clothesline to regain some control of this match, but Raynor merely ducks it, grabbing the King around the waist and falling backwards, snapping the Gambling Man’s neck off of the ropes!!! The King bounces back and staggers about like a drunkard as Raynor again gets to his feet… a quick boot to the gut is all it takes to distract the winded and weary King long enough for Raynor to again grab him in the reverse crucifix position and prepare to bring him to his long-deserved doom!!! King lacks the energy to shake or shimmy this time, laying there limply as Raynor turns to all four corners of the ring to approving cheers… Chris backs up, preparing to run and drive King’s head through the mat if he can! Chris raises his arms high, ready to finish this off… AND BRING HIS ARMS DOWN WITH MURDEROUS ACCELERATION WITHOUT THE KING!!!! Curry: WHAT? NTD: King wrapped his legs around the ropes!!! He wasn’t going anywhere!! The man is an evil genius! Raynor’s arms keep going forward as the King disengages his legs from the ropes and slides down Raynor’s back again, but this time he catches up Raynor’s right arm in an impromptu half-nelson… NTD: YES!!!! BEFORE SWEEPING HIM FORWARD FACE FIRST INTO THE MAT, SENDING RAYNOR STRAIGHT TO LA-LA LAND!!!! Curry: JOKERS WILD! JOKERS WILD! NTD: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE HAAAAVE A WINNAH! The Suicide King rolls onto his back and lies motionless, out of breath and out of energy. The crowd tries desperately to rally Raynor back up, but he too is completely out of it. NTD: COVER HIM! COVER HIM, YOU BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL MAN! Almost as if he heard the pantless man’s plea, The King rolls over onto his stomach, and begins feverishly working at rolling his opponent over. With a tremendous pull he manages to tip Raynor onto his back, and he drapes an arm across his chest! ONE! NTD: YES! TWO! Curry: And it looks like fall one goes to the Ki- T H R E E . . Curry: ng- OH MY GOD, RAYNOR KICKED OUT! RAYNOR JUST KICKED OUT OF THE JOKERS WILD! NTD: WHYYY?! Why must you torture me, God?!?!? Not a single fan is sitting, and the entire arena explodes with cheers! The King slowly pulls himself up to glare at the referee, and he begins slapping the mat in frustration while screaming “THREE! THREE GODDAMMIT, THREE!” Curry: Few men have kicked out of the Jokers Wild, and Raynor has just joined the elite! The King is up to his feet, and in a fit of rage he shoves the referee back into the ropes! The ref comes back and points the “Disqualifying finger of doom!” in King’s face, and the Gambling Man reluctantly contains himself. Curry: If King’s not careful, he’s gonna- ROLLUP! ROLLUP FROM BEHIND! ONE! TWO! T H R E E- NO! King kicks out like an epileptic kangaroo! NTD: Heart… attack… *cough cough* Help… The Suicide King immediately jumps to his feet and runs a knee into the face of his foe, disheartening the crowd. Raynor again drops to the mat and stays there, and the King begins pacing around the ring… the referee bends down to check on Raynor… Curry: Wait a minute - the King just took something out of his tights! NTD: Wouldn’t you know it, there’s something in my eye… Curry: He’s got a canister of some kind - what is that?! The crowd is all over the King, booing and shouting like crazy and trying to warn the referee, but they fail! The zebra gets back to his feet and begins circling the two again, and the King wraps his fist around the canister… With his free hand he grabs Raynor by the hair and throws him back into the corner… Raynor fires a right hand, stunning him! The King tries to counter, but the Rayn-man blocks it and shoots a second! A third! A fourth! The crowd and momentum begin to build as Raynor fires faster and faster, a rapid-fire succession of- -the King gets his right hand up and- PSSSSH! Raynor screams and begins swiping at his eyes, and the King quickly drops something from his hand and nudges it out of the ring with his foot! Curry: N, that - that was MACE! The king just used Mace! The referee sees Raynor’s condition and eyes the King suspiciously, who responds by making an eye-rake gesture! King then grabs Raynor and stands him up, with some difficulty, then locks in the half nelson… Curry: Oh no, no no NO! … and sweeps his opponent forward again, for a SECOND JOKERS WILD! NTD: Hallelujah! Curry: Damnit, this isn’t right! He’s covering him! NO! ONE! Curry: NOOO! TWO! NTD: Please dear God… T H R E E . . . THREE! NTD: YEEEES!! Curry: I don’t believe this! The Suicide King just shafted Raynor out of the first fall, and now… now Raynor’s very career is on the line! The King rises to his feet, staggering a little, then takes a deep dramatic bow… before dropping to his knees, and placing a single finger on Raynor’s chest. Curry: Oh come on! ONE! TWO! THR- The King lifts his finger up! He then grabs Raynor by the hair and drags him to his feet! Curry: Looks like King is going to keep this going for punishment’s sake! He could have ended it right there! NTD: Then he would have disappointed all those Kingsters out there! Curry: … Kingsters? The King holds Raynor up by his hair, for it seems obvious Raynor can’t stand otherwise - and gives him a slap right across the face! Raynor falls back into the corner, and the King steps forward and does it again! Curry: The arrogance of this man makes me nauseous! He just robbed the first fall of this match, and maybe Raynor’s career, with a shot of Mace, and now he’s just toying with him! A third slap, and this time the King steps back and takes time to strike a mocking pose - and Raynor rockets out of the corner, leveling the King with a horrendous clothesline! He drops to the mat after connecting, but the vibe of the crowd and a second wind bring him back to his feet quickly, and he immediately drops the King with a second! A third! The King ducks a fourth, but as he turns around he gets throttled around the neck and powered into the corner! The referee stands idly by, since it’s the second fall and anything goes! Raynor begins slamming the King’s head back into the corner, over and over, still choking him, and it’s not until the Gambling Man turns a light shade of purple that Raynor lets go! Curry: This second fall is a streetfight, and I’ll be damned if Raynor does anything less than beat the King within an inch of his life! Raynor grabs the King’s hand and whips him into the ropes. The King bounces off and returns in a daze, and the fact that Raynor spears the holy hell out of him doesn’t help! Curry: GORE! GORE! GORE! NTD: … Curry: You get to do it! Raynor leaps to his feet and yells to the crowd, getting a few “YEA!”’s and “SMASH!”’s in response. He then drops to the mat and rolls under the ropes in front of the announce tables. Rayn-o-mac stumbles over to the table and swipes NTD’s water bottle, then splashes some H2O in his eyes to relieve the mace. NTD: Thief! Hoodlum! Scallywag! He then turns back to the ring, but instead of climbing in, he lifts up the apron and begins digging around… Curry: I hope the King gets what’s comin’ to ‘im! NTD: Blasphemer! Raynor’s being very picky - he tosses aside a chair, two chairs, even a ladder! Three chairs, a garbage can… he pauses for a moment, then smiles a wild smile as he thrusts his weapon of choice in the air - a shovel. Curry: HA! The Ace of Spades! I love it! NTD: Then marry it and get it away from that lunatic! Raynor tosses the shovel over the ropes into the ring (almost hitting the ref), then climbs in after it. The Ace lands directly next to the King’s head, and when he slowly opens his eyes the first thing he sees is the blunt metal end not an inch from his face… exactly two seconds later, he’s rolling for the ropes with Raynor and the Ace in hot pursuit! Curry: King’s running like a scalded dog! NTD: Dude! Curry: I mean, uh… King’s running… like… a burned canine! The King stumbles up the ramp, tripping over his own feet, scrambling, scraping, clawing desperately to get away - Raynor swings! *CLANG* The shovel lands just inches from where the King’s legs just were! The Gambling Man continues his trip up, and he turns for just a second- Raynor swings again! *WHOOSH* The King’s head drops down and avoids the blow, the shovel nicking the very tip of his hair! Raynor catches his balance and once more stalks his prey; The King finally gets to his feet, he begins backing away while holding his hands up, trying to plead with Raynor - he swings again! *WHOOSH* That second whoosh was the breath of the King leaving in a hurry, as Raynor smashes him in the stomach with the Ace of Spades! The Gambling Man turns to flee, doubled over, and unexpectedly falls off the edge of the ramp, taking a three-foot plunge to the concrete floor below! NTD: OH MAH GAWD! OH MAH GAWD! THE KING MUST BE BROKEN IN HAYALF! Actually, the King lands on his feet then tumbles over and rolls away, while Raynor stands triumphant on the ramp! He raises his shovel and shouts to the crowd, then jumps off the ramp and swings down- *CLANG* The King blocks it! He had just enough time to pull up- NTD: The Ace of Clubs! Curry: It’s a duel! Raynor pushes down with all his might, but the King manages to resist, and slowly but surely he gets back to his feet, while the weapons are pressed hard together. The two men bring their faces in close, each glaring into the others eyes, nothing but pure hatred brewing between the two… Curry: Does anybody else suddenly have images of Star Wars and that annoying “Duel of the Fates” music running through their head? NTD: What, you mean like Obi-Wan Kingobi and Darth Raynor? Curry: (pauses) You have absolutely no comprehension of who the good and bad guys are, do you? NTD: (cheerfully) None whatsoever! Raynor and King continues pressing against each others weapons in a sloppy corps-a-corps, before Raynor breaks the standoff with a headbutt to the bridge of King’s nose! King staggers backwards, eyes watering and tripping over a length of electrical wire! Raynor swings the Ace of Spades like a man chopping firewood, but King just barely manages to roll out of the way as the blade of the shovel splits two layers of the wires! Raynor swings again, but this time the King raises his bat and catches the shot low on the shaft, knocking it to the side just long enough to thrust the head of the bat deep into Raynor’s ribs! Chris doubles over with a loud oomph, but doesn’t let go of the shovel of doom… this gives King enough time to bring the Ace of Clubs down again like an executioner’s ax to the back of Raynor’s neck, sprawling him across the entry ramp! King yells at the ref to get in position as he turns Raynor over, placing the bat over his throat and making the pinning predicament a very nasty chokehold besides! ONE! TWO!! Raynor’s right arm springs up, shovel in hand, and nails the King right between his legs!!!! The King’s face drains of color once more as the Ace of Spades turns his nether regions into a caleidoscope of pain… Curry; All’s fair in a streetfight!! Raynor quickly rolls the rather distracted King over into a pinning situation of his own! ONE! TWO!! T H King just barely squeaks a shoulder out, the other hand still very much busy consoling his wounded… pride. Curry: Bit of a slow count there by ref Eddy Long. NTD: Boy, you just can’t give King a single break can you? Curry: (indignantly) Well, it was! Raynor lets out a roar of frustration, the months of humiliation and betrayal evident in his eyes as he again reaches down with both hands and wraps them around the King’s scrawny little throat!!! The Gambling Man’s eyes bug out, but this new threat manages to tear him away from his previous distraction, prompting the King to wrap his own hands around the larger next of his foe as well! The two men grunt and strain, each trying to choke the life out of the other… King twists his body weight, moving on top of Raynor to let gravity help him strangle the bigger man, but Raynor merely twists in the same direction and is back on top… well, for a second anyway, as the two men begin to roll down the entry ramp toward the ring, neither willing to let go of their mutual death clinch for even a moment!!! They roll, roll… finally coming to a halt a foot or two from the ring apron and a world away from the respective weapons on the ramp… King finally ends up on top and breaks one of his hands free of the chokehold, reaching out and grabbing the lid from the trash can that Raynor retrieved from under the ring earlier! KA-PWANG!!! Unsurprisingly Chris releases the choke, instead choosing to clutch his face and roll away. King gets to his feet unsteadily, with a wracking cough left over from Raynor’s delicate ministrations. Taking several moments to steady himself King leans against the ring apron… Raynor manages to raise himself on one knee, only to be clocked in the head once more by that trash can lid! Then again, and again as King falls into a pattern of pure sadism! Eight, nine, ten shots ring out before the King finally decides enough is enough, and moves to cover! ONE! TWO!! T H R E No!!! Raynor bolts near-upright, though is eyes seem to indicate there is no higher brain activity going on right now. King slams the mat in frustration, eying the ref with less than merciful intentions. Curry: Don’t know why King is upset; if anything that was a fast count! NTD: Quiet you! This count is too fast, this count is too slow! Who are you, the three bears? The Gambling Man rises and places a few well-aimed stomps at Raynor’s midsection, just enough to make sure he isn’t going anywhere. Quickly leaning over to rifle through the mess of foreign object Chris revealed earlier, the Suicide King’s hands momentarily rest on the ladder… and the crowd goes wild! King looks up in distaste, sneering at the fanboys in attendance before tossing the ladder well out of the way and prompting a boo of extreme disappointment from every Canadian in the building. King just laughs quietly to himself… his eyes light up as he sees a leftover steel chair right there. Quickly opening it, the King slides Raynor’s neck in between the joints and closes it tightly, slamming him in the face a few more times with the trash can lid just to make sure there won’t be any last minute heroics this time! Hopping up to the apron and then the top turnbuckle in two easy leaps, the King raises both arms high into the air and flashes “I Love You” in sign language… below him Raynor’s exhausted arms try to remove the bear trap of a chair from around his neck, but so far, no luck… Curry: Is he trying to kill him?!??!? A suicide splash on Raynor in this condition might break his neck!! NTD: He’s gonna retire Raynor the hard way!!! YEAH!!! King leaps off, sailing through the air and… Curry: No, NO! CONNECTING 100% WITH THE SUICIDE SUPERFLY SPLASH ONTO THE STEEL CHAIR AND THE UNFORTUNATE RAYNOR’S HEAD!!! KING BOUNCES OFF LIKE HE’S BEEN SHOT IN THE GUT AS HE CLUTCHES HIS VITALS IN AGONY…. BUT RAYNOR DOESN’T MOVE AN INCH… Curry: Get the paramedics out here NOW!! NTD: YES!! King might be hurt! King writhes around the ground like a snake, taking the long way around to Raynor before finally, by sheer luck, ending up close enough to throw an arm weakly over the chair. The ref drops to make the count… ONE! TWO!! T H R E NO!!! RAYNOR KICKS OUT!! RAYNOR KICKS OUT!!! THE ENTIRE MOLSON CENTRE EXPLODES AS CHRIS RAYNOR SOMEHOW THRUSTS A SHOULDER UPWARD BEFORE AGAIN COLLAPSING WEAKLY TO THE GROUND! NTD: GAH!!! He should be dead!! Curry: Raynor’s got heart, NTD! He knows what’s at stake, and he isn’t going to let a worm like King beat him, not this time!!! NTD: (pouts in disappointment) Whatever. Still, at least you have to admit that was a nice even count! King is in too bad of a way to express his displeasure at recent events verbally, but the glare at ref Eddy Long as he holds his ribs communicates enough venom to kill 30 men! The crowd beings to clap rhythmically, hoping that their combined efforts can rouse their hero… but it is the Suicide King who stands first, Raynor still laying motionless on the ground with the chair around his neck. King stands, one hand still idly cradling his ribs. Finding and retrieving the trash can lid, King raises it again and prepares to smash Chris’s face into applesauce… WHEN RAYNOR’S LEGS LASH OUT AND GRAB KING AROUND THE ANKLES, SENDING HIM DOWNWARD IN A DROP TOE HOLD! King’s face impacts off of the ladder he had cast aside mere moments ago before dropping like a sack of wet clothes on to the ground, motionless. Curry: See! Do you see NTD? You can’t beat heart!! It’ll keep you going after your legs are broken and your mind crushed!! Raynor is too strong, too honest-to-God GOOD of a person to fall to King at his darkest hour! NTD: (makes patronizing little yappety yap motions with his hands) Raynor slowly pulls the chair off from around his neck before rolling to his stomach… he tries to get to his knees once, fails, and tries again, this time succeeding! The crowd begins to chant his name again as the King stirs, shaking his head and clearing out the cobwebs… Raynor actually manages to balance on one knee, albeit with severe wobbling as King stands upright… King reaches one hand up to his forehead and bring sit down again, staring in shock at the sight of his own blood coloring his hand a crimson red… a thin trickle trails down along one lock of sweaty hair, making it for all the world appear that the King has cried a single tear of blood from the corner of his eye… NTD: Oh, Raynor is gonna pay for marring the King’s beautiful, beautiful face!!! The King snarls, uncharacteristic rage clouding his usually intelligent eyes as he charges in at Raynor AND IS ROCKED BACK BY A POWERFUL RIGHT HAND FROM THE KNEELING MAN!!! King takes a step back, more shocked than hurt as he steps in again and is again knocked backwards by a powerful blow! King steps in once more, his own right arm cocked back and ready to deliver a hammer blow but Raynor stands abruptly firing another Howitzer of a right and knocking the King down to one knee! The fans burst into cheers as Raynor stands fully upright, gazing down at the man who has done so much to hurt him and his friends… Curry: Kill him! Raynor fires blow after blow, each staggering the King back further up the ramp! The ref follows, clearing the ramp of the shovel and kicking the bat with one foot up the stage! The time for scientific wrestling is past and Raynor just beats the holy hell out of the King, each shot knocking him back two or three paces until the King is backed again the IGNtron support beam, but that provides no respite either!!! One two, one two, the shots keep coming until King sinks to the ground, his back against the post and blood dripping from his mouth as well as his forehead, the proverbial crimson mask blocking the pretty boy’s features! Raynor roars out loud, not seeking the crowd’s approval this time (though he has it) but instead seeking a release of all the anger and hatred he has felt for this man who now lies broken in front of him!! Wasting no time, Raynor lifts up the fallen King who for all the world looks like a puppet whose strings have been cut… raising him high into the reverse crucifix position RAYNOR LIFTS HIM SKYWARD, BEFORE BRINGING HIM CRASHING DOWN FACE FIRST ON TO THE STAGE!!!!! The King doesn’t even bounce, but just lays there, dead. Raynor wastes no time… and lifts the King up again? Raising him high once more the Rayn-Man brings the Suicide King crashing into the metal with another earth-shattering Acid Rayn!!!!! NTD: NO!!! Leave my Kingy alone!!! Curry: Your Kingy? Anyway, it’s no more than that bastard deserves!! Raynor lays down on the utterly defeated Gambling Man, and the ref lays down to count, nudging the Ace of Clubs that he kicked up here aside… ONE! TWO!! AND REFEREE EDDY LONG STOPS COUNTING! Curry: WHAT?!?!??! Raynor looks up confusedly at the ref, who just backs away and shrugs his shoulders. Every Canadian in the building is irate, throwing whatever is available and some even starting a “HEB-NER” chant!!! Raynor stands upright, clearly asking the ref what is going on and expecting a reasonable reply… Long just shrugs his shoulders again, looking the much taller man in the face. NTD: That’s who King was talking to!! It was the ref, Eddy Long!!! Curry: LONG!! You snake!!! WHY? WHY DAMMIT?! Raynor clearly doesn’t like the answer Long is giving him as a snarl crosses his features… before it occurs to him that a streetfight is no DQ, AND SENDING LONG SAILING WITH A HUGE SHOVE ACROSS THE STAGE!!! Long looks up frightenedly as Raynor stands above him, and you don’t need to be a lip reader to figure out that he’s saying, “YOU DAMNED WELL BETTER COUNT THE PIN!!!” Long sits there, terrified beyond belief as he shakes his head no frantically… Raynor lifts the smaller ref up by the lapels, screaming into his face. The Gambling Man, behind and blissfully oblivious to what is going on has made it to his hands and knees behind Raynor. Curry: Look out Raynor!!! The King isn’t dead yet! But clearly the King is the last thing on Raynor’s mind right now… he again lifts the referee up, promising a very short lifespan of extreme pain if he doesn’t count the pin… Long, panicked beyond mortal comprehension feels his fight or flight instincts triggered…. AND HE SHOVES CHRIS RAYNOR BACK!!! RAYNOR LOOKS ON IN SHOCK AS THIS LITTLE PUNK OF A REF GIVES HIM A PUSH, THEN STEPS IN TO DELIVER ANOTHER!! Raynor is only slightly staggered but that last shove just barely knocked him off balance… taking a large unwieldy step backwards he tries to recover… AND INSTEAD TRIPS OVER THE KNEELING KING!!! RAYNOR FALLS BACKWARDS, FALLS, FALLS… RIGHT OFF OF THE STAGE!!!!! King looks up then over, not understanding what has happened as the crowd generates enough heat to melt the icecaps!!!! Curry: No!! Raynor!!!! “Referee” Eddy Long helps the Gambling Man upright, telling him with bold gestures what just happened. The King is still functioning on little to no higher activity, prompting some blank-faced nods. The two men stagger over to the side and the camera follows them, as they prepare to witness the carnage below… AND INSTEAD SEE CHRIS RAYNOR JUST VARELY HOLDING ON TO THE LIP OF THE STAGE, TRYING TO PULL HIMSELF BACK UPRIGHT!!!! THE CROWD EXPLODES ONCE MORE, SEEING THEIR HERO EVADE DEATH ONE MORE TIME! NTD: He’s like a cockroach!!! Why won’t he die!??!?! Long looks like he’s just seen a ghost, whereas King lacks the neural activity to do anything about it right now. The referee looks back, his memory suddenly returning as Raynor pulls himself up to his elbows and prepares to swing up a leg… Long dives to the side of the stage, grabbing something and throwing it toward the Suicide King… The Ace of Clubs. Curry: Aw ****!!!!! The Ace thumps against the King’s chest, one hands cradling it to prevent it from falling. Well-honed instincts take over as the Gambling Man raises it high, BRINGING IT CRASHING DOWN LIKE ZEUS’S THUNDERBOLT ON THE HEAD OF CHRIS RAYNOR!!! THE ACE OF CLUBS EXPLODES INTO WOODEN FRAGMENTS AND SPLINTERS, FLYING IN EVERY WHICH WAY! RAYNOR’S HANDS RELEASE THEIR TENUOUS HOLD ON THE STAGE, LEAVING HIM TO FALL, FALL, FALL THE LONG DISTANCE TO THE FLOOR…AND THE CRACK OF HIS HEAD AGAINST THE STONE AND THE LOLL OF HIS NECK MAKES IT CLEAR TO ALL THAT CHRIS RAYNOR HAS LOST CONSCIOUSNESS!!! Eddy Long nudges the King, telling him to get down there fast! King just looks downward at his one-time friend, the blood from the recently inflicted head wound pooling to the right of his head! King slowly, weakly lowers himself down to Chris’s level. Long scurries after, as King stands over Raynor amidst the boos and flying debris, and places one foot on his foe’s chest. Long is in position faster than light… 123!!!!!!!!!!! The ref’s hands hardly leave the ground they slap the floor so fast, and Long signals for the bell!!! DING DING DING!!!! Long swiftly stands upright, dodging a thrown Coke as he raises the Suicide King’s hand in this final and most important victory… Funyon sounds out from a long way away… “The winner of the second fall and the winner of the stipulation, THE SUICIDE KINNNNGGGG!!!!!!” Curry: No!!! NO NO NO!!!!! Not like this!! Raynor doesn’t deserve to go out like this!!! He’s a hero, a champion!!! King is just another cheater!!! NTD: (squealing gleefully) Cheater or not, he’s winner tonight!! King did what he set out to do, and he has forever removed the thorn of Chris Raynor from his side!!!!! But wait… OH BOY!!! King’s going to talk!!!! Someone indeed has passed the King a microphone as he stills stands posed on the chest of his fallen enemy… KoH: (gasping for breath in between words) First things… first. Eddy… King reaches into his tights and pulls out a stack of bills, throwing it toward the corrupt official. Long catches it with a greedy grin, his eyes alight with dollar signs. KoH: Merry Christmas. You did the right thing. Go get your wife something pretty. The boos somehow intensify as Long scurries off with his ill-gotten gains, leaving King and Raynor alone. King grins a weak, tired grin as he kneels atop Raynor… KoH: Chris, Chris, Chris… you should never have bet more than you could afford to lose. I held all the cards, but I knew your stupid, stupid pride would get in the way. And now where are you? Nowhere. And thank goodness, but that nowhere will forever be far, far away from me… King rises again, reaching into his tights once more. Curry: What does he have in there? There tights! They don’t hold that much! KoH: But I’m not heartless Chris… I’m just better than you. So here you go man… and Merry Christmas. King drops a single, solitary hundred-dollar bill on Raynor’s chest as the crowd begins the initial stages of a riot. KoH: Here’s bus fare home. Now, you sad sack of ****, GET THE **** OUT OF MY LIFE!!! With a last disdainful kick to the face, the Suicide King raises both arms high into the air, taking the shattered remnants of the Ace of Clubs backstage with him to celebrate his ”victory,” and leaving silence in his wake. Raynor lays alone, unconscious, unable to give the fans the goodbye or the closure that they so desperately need right now in their moment of sorrow… the paramedics begin to appear to tend to Chris as the fans all rise as one, appreciatively, clapping their hearts out at their fallen, and forever, HERO. The camera cuts back to the announce desk and the two teary-eyed announcers who can scarcely be head over the roar of applause as the unconscious Raynor is lifted up and away… Curry: (genuinely sorrowful) And we never got to say goodbye… good luck to you, Chris Raynor, in whatever you do. Both men lapse into silence as the next video package begins to play. For once, no words would ever be enough.

No opening pyro tonight, as the camera come up and focus on Funyon, in the center of the ring. A wide shot gives a nice view of the filled to capacity arena. Tonight there’s no need for pyro because they’re opening with a bang! “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Funyon starts, “please welcome… MAK FRANCIS!” “SO DO YOU WANNA BE A FRANCHISE!” “AND LIVE LARGE!” ”YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” “A BIG HOUSE—FIVE CARS—THE RENT CHARGE…” The SmarkTron explodes to life with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ‘The Franchise’ in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat. “Comin up in the world—don't trust nobody—gotta look over your shoulder constantly!" As the opening lyrics from Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill, slightly altered of course, blare over the PA system and as the self proclaimed franchise makes his way through the curtain the crowd raises its’ cheering to a new level! The lights come back up and Francis nods his head to the beat, ice blue Oakley’s reflecting the multi-colored explosion of lights. The Franchise’s trench coat billows behind him as he comes down the walkway, sliding under the bottom rope and popping to his feet, a serious smirk across his face as he thrusts both fists into the air, walking around with a swagger that only the Franchise can. “FRAN – CHISE! FRAN – CHISE! FRAN – CHISE! FRAN – CHISE!” Slowly the crowd calms down as Mak pulls his hands down, circling the ring once more and going over to a ring attendant. Francis gets a mic and looks out at his audience, bringing it to his lips. “At the Pay-per-view,” Francis starts, “I proved that I belong in the Main Event. I may not have won the title, but ask me if I’d change anything. Had I have it to do all over again. I’d probably tell you I wouldn’t change much. I did do what I said I would, though. I always do what I say I will.” “But there is one thing I’d change for sure.” Mak adds quickly. “Now, while my memory of the events that transpired with you guys and Sacred isn’t great for some reason. I do remember one thing. Crystal clear, in fact!” Francis snarls, beginning to pace again. “I remember getting pasted in the head with a steel chair. I’d change that.” Mak pauses and lean son the ropes facing the entranceway. “I guess, Toxx, that you took exception to me saying, and I quote: ‘I’d slap you back across the pond’, if you had a problem with me getting the shot at Sacred. Well I can understand that, but you and your underlings—I’m sorry, I mean Rev0 stable-mates, coming after me with a chair, after I just had a grueling match and finished beating the snot out of your now former member… that I can’t understand. That issue was between me and him, until you decided to join in on the festivities.” “MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK!” "And the Revolution executed one of the most shocking attacks all year in the process." LDP adds, over the audiences chants. "Well, Sacred was a turn coat and Toxxic gave him fair warning." King rebutts, backing Rev0's decision, as Mak gets ready to speak again. “Toxx, I’ve been where you were. Trying to prove them all wrong!” Francis finishes with a flourish, hands up in the air mockingly. “With a commissioner on your back and a belief that you’re head and shoulders above the rest. But see, what you don’t yet realize is… that commissioner was right. And if you really were a real World Champion—not just some kid holding the belt—which hell, you aren’t even doing right now. Then—then you’d understand that.” “MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK!” Mak gives the crowd a few seconds to finish chanting and gets back to business. “I’ve been where you’re going too, mate. In fact, I did it better once upon a time.” Francis pauses, a smile playing upon his lips. “You have a stable, full of Florida State Criminals with untapped potential, longest reigning Cruiserweight champions and other bullsh[beep] like that.” The audience is quite split over that comment, but Mak soldiers on, undeterred by the Spike supporters in the audience. “I had a stable, which was if I remember correctly, was called the sWo! It’s been awhile, but I think mine was better than yours will ever be! Hell, you even recruited one of my old members... but at least when he was in my stable, he wasn’t spouting out ridiculous factoids like I’m the GREATEST CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMP EVER!!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Mak rolls his eyes and continues, as the Long Island crowd is partial to their hometown boy. “Spike is good; I wouldn’t have picked him for the sWo otherwise, but I’ll be damned if you haven’t let his ego get way outta’ hand.” Francis backs away from the ropes and shakes his head; the crowd has turned on him slightly, but he doesn’t care. “He needs a reality check and so do all of you, if you think I’d just let him, you and Davis get away with jumping me…” Mixed reaction, that time, he notices. “But I digress. Toxx, if you wanted to be my mini-me, I’m sure we could have worked something out. You’re some matching shades and a better smirk away from being me all those years ago.” “MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK!” And back on the bandwagon again. “But see, that's the problem. That was the Junior Leagues. That’s where I left that behind. And honestly, if you can’t do the same, maybe, just maybe, we should resurrect the JL so you can get all this out of your system.” "OOOOOHHHHHHH!" "Did he just actually say that?" King mumbles, as parts of crowd mock Toxxic with a 'Junior Leaguer' chant. “So, big next generation superstar, if you got something to say this time, I’ll be in the ring for the Main Event. I’m prepared to be proved wrong. But I don’t need to prove to you, that anybody in that ring, next generation or not, is the Franchise of this company, but me.” “FRAN – CHISE! FRAN – CHISE! FRAN – CHISE! FRAN – CHISE!” “FRAN – CHISE! FRAN – CHISE! FRAN – CHISE! FRAN – CHISE!” The crowd continues to chant as Mak drops the microphone and rolls under the ropes. “Well, those are some interestingly in-depth and controversial statements from Mak Francis, King.” Pete states, while Francis makes his way to the back. “Controversial?” King questions, “How can you say that, Pete? He basically said that a two time SWF WORLD champion should be in the Junior Leagues, when he hasn’t even won ONE! Then he called the longest reigning Cruiserweight champion of ALL TIME, what basically amounts to a big headed, egomaniac!” King seethes. “Those are outright lies and you know it!” “Well, King,” LDP responds, “you have to admit that Spike does have a bit of an ego… well more like a whole lot of an ego. And he did bring up some valid points about his history when comparing it to Toxxic. In my opinion…” “Shut up, and get ready to call the opening match. Your opinions don’t mean jack! That’s why I’m the color man and you’re play by play!” “Yeah,” LDP says, a little affronted, “I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that you own part of the company either… anyway, we’ll be back after this commercial break.” And SWF Smarkdown fades to the break...

I laughed at the opening segment. See, cuz I actually remember IFW. They shoulda fuckin' pushed me, man.

I get the feeling that I'm not going to make the Fall of Haim. That's retarded.

I'm just gonna break every one of you motherfuckers in half. Semi-on-topic, we're not getting rid of any titles anytime soon. Spike will have a 1,000 CW title reign before I we think about retiring it.

All of my stuff is sent in. Bastards.

Hey now, I think Adam is cool. ... just not as cool as Phenom.

Is there anything at all more painful than watching Donovan McNabb try to run a two-minute drill? Did they ever, like, practice that? Jesus Christ. ... on the other side, good call on Branch as MVP. Good game, too, but Jesus, haven't the Eagles ever heard of clock management? (didn't read thread, so if this has already been said... sorry)

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STORM, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 4TH, LIVE FROM VIKING HALL IN PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA! (8:00 PM Eastern, 5:00 PM Pacific; check local listings) Send everything to realitycheck! Zed makes his return, for one show only, to post Storm and the Lockdown card! Throwback like whoa! All right, here's the deal with Clusterfuck. Landon, if you haven't already read my PM, send me the rest of your match. Everybody else, we appreciate you showing, but polls are closed. Due to Rumble-related board problems there are several holes in Clusterfuck right now, and as a result I can't even mark said match. Thus, the show will be posted tomorrow night. No, you don't get an extension, you had six days to write. Storm will be a promo-heavy show, and although there will be two matches, neither of these matches will hinge on the results of Clusterfuck. We hope none of you mind the delay too much. With that said... the card! SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP "Urban Legend" Todd Cortez (SWF Hardcore Champion) v. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins -> Well, well, well. Todd Cortez finds himself in an interesting position here, going one-on-one with the man who eliminated him from the Cold Front Classic tournament. These two men have a lot in common -- both are straight-edge, both have nicknames posted in quotation marks, and both currently hold a title in the SWF. Of course, one is from Martial Law and one is from Revolution Zero, and that's enough of a difference to make these two men hated enemies. Spike pulled out the upset once, let's see if he can do it again here. Rules: No rules. Word Limit: 5000 Marker: Dace59 HARDCORE MATCH "The Critic" Scott Pretzler v. Carnage -> Somehow, some way, CC managed to not book Carnage in the Clusterfuck. Yeah, we don't know how we missed him, either. Meanwhile, Scott Pretzler has been talking quite a bit of shit recently, saying that he's some sort of technical mastermind and the wrestlers in the SWF don't know how to technical wrestle or... something like that. Well, regardless, cruel fate has Pretzler's first booking on the SWF's trademark hardcore show, in a hardcore match against a psycho in a mask who loves a small Japanese girl. I love me some irony, yes I do. Rules: No rules. Word Limit: 4500 Marker: Chuck Woolery

PROPS King Cucaracha Nice Guy Adam NY Untouchable Patty O'Green Mystery Eskimo Chuck Woolery Zack Malibu Failed Mascot Phenom The Amazing Rando Tony149 CanadianChick Puerto Rican Guy

COLE Folks, after AnglePalooza, our X-Division Champion Leon Rodez was set to be in action here tonight but we regret to inform you fans that...uhm, well... CABOOSE Let me handle it Cole. It's obvious you'll just sugarcoat it. We've been told by Bill Watts to tell you fans that our X-Division Champion, Leon Rodez, has 'possibly' been found to be in violation of his OAOAST contract and has also been accussed of gross misconduct, pending further investigation. He has apparantly been suspended whilst the OAOAST board of directors discuss a punishment, with that announcement scheduled for next week. And, according to this, we've got a video to show you, explaining it? I guess, we should roll that then... *********** February 1st 2005 An OAOAST houseshow event has finished roughly two hours ago and a large group of fans have congregated at the back of the building, in search of autographs from the OAOAST stars as they leave the show. As the video we're seeing begins, Leon Rodez is just leaving the arena and is starting to sign some autographs, when at the top of the picture, one fan can be seen holding something out towards him. As Rodez calls for security, the object is thrown at him. Security quickly grabs the offending person and drag him away as Rodez takes a look at the object, which DIDN'T hit him...and with one look, he suddenly throws away the pen, gives his autograph back and quickly calls security to escort him to his car. The fans seem a little peeved that Rodez didn't stay long, as meanwhile, the cameraman catching this begins to jostle to where the incident took place. Eventually he gets close enough to get a shot of the object. Which is a video cassette, with Leon Rodez on. Beside two topless women. Both a-stradle giant inflatable bananas. And holding banana shaped 'impliments' in their hands. As the camera gets a last quick shot of the video, a member of security quickly grabs it off the floor and yells at the fan to turn his camera off, which he promptly does... ...which is where the feed ends. *********** Back in the arena, the crowd who have seen this 'get it' and some are cheering and applauding, while others try to take in what they've just seen. Meanwhile, down at Sofa Central, Triple C are dead silent. COLE Uhm, well...I guess you can draw your own conclusions from that. CABOOSE Own conclusion? There can only be one conclusion. COLE Okay...let's just get on with the rest of the sho... CABOOSE Unless that was a government funded advertising video promoting bananas and healty eating, which I highly doubt, then there only one thing that COULD have been. COLE Yes. Like I say, let's just... CABOOSE And I don't think those bananas were your 'conventional' banana. COLE Can we drop it, please? You're awfully quiet Coach. COACH Yeah...sorry, I was just tryin' to remember the name of that chick on Rodez's left before. COLE ... "YOU MAKE ME WANNA LA LA!" HeldDOWN is presented by OAOAST Entertainment. *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* OAOAST HeldDOWN~! Man, Ciara smokes Ashlee Simpson, "Goodies" would've been an excellent theme song...

COLE During the commercial break our own Jackie Gayda caught up with The 70s Dude after his heinous attack on the former OAOAST Champion; Calvin Szechstein *The cameras switch over to a poorly lit parking lot where The 70s Dude can be seen exiting the building and walking at a faster than normal pace. Every so often he takes a quick glance over his shoulder to see if he’s being followed until he reach a 1974 VW van painted all psychedelically. As he goes to unlock the door he’s greeted with a voice from behind.* JACKIE 70s Dude! 70s Dude…please if you would! *Jackie approaches the 70s Dude who’s still looking over his shoulder* JACKIE 70s Dude…what in the world were you thinking when you attacked the former champion just moments ago? 70S DUDE What was I thinking? What was Calvin thinking coming out and interrupting me? His days have long since been over and the Dude is the hip happenin’ thing now. His sponsors knew it when they dropped him and the Dude just got about to speeding up the whole retirement process. Lemme just say that Disco aint dead, but Calvin’s career…well daddy-o, its been long flatlined. Now unless you wanna come party with the Dude, I gotta be heading out. *The 70s Dude flashes a smile to which Jackie responds with a minor shudder and backs away. The Dude ignores it, hops into his van, and on the third attempt of trying to start up the vehicle he gets it running and speeds out of the lot. The cameras then take us back inside the arena and focus on the announce team.* COLE Can you believe the audacity of that man? CABOOSE He’s speaking the truth! Calvin was great…the key word there being “was”. Time finally passed him by and The 70s Dude caught up with him. COACH That’s just ridiculous. I don’t think we’ve heard the last from Calvin Szechstein on this matter at all. Meanwhile in Maui, the arena is crackling with electricity, things feeling a bit like the calm before the storm... and quickly that changes, as the wailing guitars of Getting Away With Murder begin rocking the arena and the lights start flickering in between blood red and scorching yellow. Somewhere beyond happiness and sadness I need to calculate what creates my own madness... ZACK MALIBU, in a black t-shirt with a "Z" in the center of a golden diamond, appears onstage alongside with his girlfriend Candie, still looking a Perfect 10 even though she's being supported by CRUTCHES, thanks to Holly-Wood. COLE What's he doing out here? This isn't on my format sheet. CABOOSE Not on mine either. COACH I can't read my sheet, I stained it with ketchup. COLE How did you do that? COACH I ate a burger. Sometimes I get hungry during the show, you know. COLE What else do you do during the show? COACH I don't think you'd want to know. But let's just say I can't hold my... you know... for long periods of time. As a matter of fact, I'm wet right now. CABOOSE Gee, thanks a lot for that image, Coach. COACH I'm just glad I don't feel like I sat on a pie. I feel irrational so confrontationaaaal To tell the truth I am getting away with murrrder "YOU TAPPED OUT!" "YOU TAPPED OUT!" "YOU TAPPED OUT!" "Yeah, and I tap that ass each and every night," Zack replies, referring to Candie. As the terriffic twosome head to the ring, none other than the original voice of the OAOAST, the Farmer of Champions, Jivin' J.R. appears right behind them. COLE Oh God, he's heading this way. Hey, where the hell are you guys going? The Coach and Caboose flee SOFA CENTRAL, leaving Michael Cole all alone. The fans laugh as Zack jaws with the same balding lardass from Anglepalooza holding a “Hack Malibu” sign that features Alix lopping off Zack’s head with a knife. COLE What the hell do you want? You're not supposed to be out here. Are you trying to hog the spotlight again? It's all about you, isn't it? Zack SMACKS Cole upside the head, knocking off his headset. Michael gives his best big boy face, but Malibu easily shoves the scrawy announcer to the ground. "Beat it," he says. Zack and J.R. take their positions at SOFA CENTRAL~! Zack sits Candie down on his lap, and she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a peck on the lips. Malibu fans himself, laughing at the bald "Hack Malibu" lardass. J.R. Hello again, everybody. Good ol' J.R. -- Jim Ross -- here with the former two-time OAOAST World heavyweight champion, "The Franchise" Zack Malibu. Zack, we got our big main event coming up next, a return match from Anglepalooza -- representing The Original Elite, Black T vs. the new World tag team champions, Chicks Over Dicks. This is gonna be one helluva SLOBBERKNOCKER, SLOBBERKNOCKER, SLOBBERKNOCKER! ZACK Alix and Krista got lucky Sunday night, but they won't be so lucky tonight when they face the elite -- pun intended -- tag team in the business today, the personification of tag team wrestling, Black T. J.R. Black T are the only team to simultaneously hold both the OAOAST and HI-YAH tag team championships. They defeated 3 teams in a one-night tournament back in the Spring of 2004 on HeldDOWN~! to capture the then-vacanted tag team championship. Black T have held the tag titles in some form or another nearly the entire year. C.O.D. will have their work cut out for them, that's for sure. SLOBBERKNOCKER! A thick cloud of smoke rises out of the entranceway as Quiet hits. As Black T emerge through the smoke and make their way to the ring, they are greeted by chants of "C-O-D." When Black T enter the ring, they acknowledge Zack Malibu, who's standing up clapping along with Candie, with a thumbs up sign. ZACK The gold's coming back home to The Original Elite, boys. I know it. Haha! J.R. BLACK T! BLACK T! BLACK T! DAN BLACK! DAN BLACK! DAN BLACK! TONY! TONY! TONY! BLACK T! Dan places his shades inside his trenchcoat and drops it over the top rope to the female attendent outside. Tony removes his sparkling robe and poses, then runs the ropes and does a couple of upper body stretches awaiting his and Dan's opponents, the tag team champions. ZACK Picasso couldn't have made a painting any better than that. Anything but Me by Lindsay Lohan hits, a gorgeous red fountain of pyro shoots up from the rampway, signaling the arrival of the new World tag team champions, Chicks Over Dicks. The titles draped over their shoulders, the beautiful and deadly females from Cali stare down Black T from the rampway. If they were lasers, Dan and Tony would be nothing but melted flesh at this point. ZACK Look at them act tough. They both look like they should be working the corners of a street, not wrestling. Black T's gonna put these skanks in their places tonight. * DING DING DING DING * BUFFER Ladies and gentlemen, our final event of the evening is set for one fall and it is for the professional wrestling tag team championship of the world. It is sanction by the state athletic commission and the OAOAST. When the bell rings your referee in-charge senior official Charles Robinson. Are you ready? Wrestling fans, are you ready? Then for the thousands in attendence and the millions watching around the world. LEEEEET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE! J.R. I'm ready. BUFFER In the ring to my left, the challengers. Hailing from London, England, wearing his trademark black and weighing 240 pounds, "The Ice Heart" DAAAAN BLAAACK! His tag team partner, wearing black with gold trim, originally from San Antonio, Texas, but currently making his residence in Hollywood U.S.A., weighing 292 pounds, he's simply ravishing...TONY BRANNIGAN! BLAAAACK TEEEE! Dan and Tony raise their arms, with Tony blowing a kiss to Alix and Krista, who respond by sticking their index finger in their mouths. Obviously C.O.D. not taking too kind to Tony's gesture of peace and love. ZACK That's how they keep their figure. Maybe you should do that to lose some weight, J.R. J.R. No, thank you. I'm sooner born, sooner bread, and by God, when I die I'll be sooner dead because of a heart attack induced by good ol' J.R.'s BARBECUE SAUCE. BARBECUE SAUCE! BARBECUE SAUCE! BUFFER And their opponents. They are the professional wrestling tag team champions of the world, having dethroning The Original Elite this past Sunday night at Anglepalooza. Introducing first, wearing hippie colors and weighing an undisclosed amount, from Beverly Hills, California, ALIX SPEZIA! Her partner, wearing gold and weighing none of your damn business, from West Hollywood, California, she is a mother, author and fitness guru, KRISTA ISADORA DUNCAN! CHICKS OVER DIIIICKS! Alix and Krista remove the tag title belts from around their waists and hand them over to referee Charles Robinson. Charles walks over to Black T and shows them the belts. Dan and Tony rub the belts for good luck and step back to their corner. Robinson holds the titles high in the air for all to see, the gold plates beaming under the bright lights. ZACK I'm surprised those bitches haven't changed the leather strap from navy blue to pink. J.R. Aren't most strap-on's black? ZACK I don't know. I'd ask Michael Cole if that little prissy was still here, but he isn't. J.R. We're about to get underway. Both teams having last minute strategy sessions in their respective corners. We thank you for joining us on what has been a very newsworthy night. Earlier tonight in the opening round of the Anderson Cup tournament to decide who'll receive a shot at the OAOAST tag team championship at AngleMania IV, we saw Hell's Hitmen defeat the Frankensteiners and the Global Party XChange defeat the Love Doctors, in a match that became very heated. The GPX will face the winner of next week's Saints-Fanboiz matchup... ZACK You might as well pencil The Saints in your brackets. J.R. (CONT'D) ...and Hell's Hitmen will either face their old foes the New New Midnight Express, Black T or Chicks Over Dicks, depending on whoever wins this match. ZACK The relationship between the New New Midnight Express and James E. Cornette seems to be all but dead after what happened tonight. J.R. Yeah, I'd say so. I never thought I'd see the day James E. went against the "Midnight Express" name. For those of you who may have missed it, James E. Cornette blamed Holly for The Saints loss to the NNMX Sunday night, saying she was the one who paid "Beautiful" Bobby Eaton and "Sweet" Stan Lane to run-in and cost The Saints the match, and fired her from J.C.E. As Holly tried to explain herself, Cornette despicably nailed her from behind with the tennis racket. Simon and Ned came out to make the save. What relationship there is between Holly and the New New Midnight Express, if any, we don't know at this time. It was certainly great to see Bobby Eaton and Stan Lane at Anglepalooza, both of whom still look great, especially Stan. ZACK One of the greatest tag teams of all-time, the Midnight Express -- the last tag team dynasty. In an era stacked with awesome tag teams, they dominated. Their matches with the Rock 'n' Roll Express are ones you can put in the time capsule and people from a hundred years from now will still marvel at. J.R. I had the honor of calling many of those great matches. And in this broadcasters humble opinion, Black T are in the same league as the Midnight Express, the Rock 'n' Roll Express, the Road Warriors, the Freebirds, the Hart Foundation, the Andersons, Arn Anderson and Tully Blanchard, Arn Anderson and "Beautiful" Bobby Eaton. That's some company. Tony "T-Bod" Brannigan and Krista Isadora Duncan will start things out for their teams. Collar-and-elbow tieup. Krista backed against the ropes. Tony pinches her left cheek, drawing an "ooh" from the crowd. Tony prances around the ring, going to his corner to high-five Dan on the apron. Brannigan struts up to Duncan, flexing his biceps and jiggling his pecs. J.R. I wish I had pecs like that. You don't know how sad I feel when people chant "Show your titties" at me. I'm a man, BAH GAWD! I don't have titties. I admit, I'm a little big, but it's the fatty tissue around my pecs that give me the appearance of boobs. So all you jackasses at home, think twice when you make fun of a husky person because it damn sure ain't fun to be made fun of. ZACK I can tell you're really passionate about this issue, lard ass. (laughs) Krista takes a few seconds to stretch, then locks backup with Tony. Both jocky for position. The bigger and stronger Tony once again uses his height and weight advantage to back Krista into the corner. All of Brannigan's 292 pounds are pressed against Krista. Referee Charles Robinson asking for a clean break. Tony tells him to watch his back to make sure Krista doesn't try anything funny. Charles obliges, and it's Tony who tries something funny, NIBBLING on Krista's right ear. Brannigan arrogantly steps back, his hands up -- and maybe much more -- to protect his face from any possible cheapshots. Krista touches her ear while sarcastically smiling at Tony, then throws him against the turnbuckles, and unleashes a fury of forearm shots, kicks and knife edge chops. Tony shoves Krista away and puts his hands back up, backing out of the corner, then falls flat on his back. A little delayed reaction there. T-Bod drops to his knees near a netural corner, asking for forgiveness. "Aw, you're sorry?" Krista asks Tony as she nears closer to him. Tony nods his head yes, then gets sprayed in the face with a big wad of SPIT from Krista. ZACK I don't think he had this in mind when he thought about sharing bodily fluids with Krista, or Alix. T-Bod wipes the spit away with his hand, getting kicked in the midsection in the process. Brannigan's hiptossed out of the corner. He gets up and lunges at Krista, who brings him down with an armdrag. Back up is Brannigan, once again lunging at Krista, who takes him down with another armdrag, into an armbar. Tony gets back to a vertical position and sends Krista into the ropes. DAN BLACK hits her from behind with a forearm shot, but it was only a glancing blow, as Krista is quickly able to shake it off and knock Dan off the apron with a forearm shot of her own. This enables Tony to hit Krista in the spine of the back with a RUNNING KNEE, sending her through the ropes and to the floor. ZACK Charles Robinson prevents Tony from going outside, which is exactly what he wanted because Dan Black is out there doing the dirty work, stomping Krista. "Krista, this is the ring apron. Ring apron, this is Krista. And she gives in on the first date," Black jokingly says as he rams Krista facefirst into the apron. J.R. She gave the apron head. ZACK When was the last time someone went down on you, J.R.? J.R. It's been quite a while, 25 years or so. ZACK How do you know it's been 25 years or more? J.R. Because I was in my early 20s the last time I saw my penis. Black waistlocks Krista and rams her into the security railing, then tosses her back into the ring, where a tag is made. Dan's now the legal man. Front facelock applied. FALCON ARROW suplex. One of the many suplexes Dan loves to employ. ZACK Notice how they're keeping Krista isolated from her corner. The key to every sucessful tag match is cutting off the ring. Having been in my fair share of tag matches, let me tell you, J.R., when you start to wear down and you're near your opponents' corner, huh, that other side of the ring looks and feels like a desert! Your mouth is dry, you're under the hot lights of the ring, and it takes everything you've got to make that tag. J.R. Hmm... a ring full of dessert. Sprinkle donuts, oatmeal pies... Oh, God, I can practically feel the orgy in my mouth. Black springboards off the second rope, dropping the knee across the chest, which many have confused with an ironing board. Black drops the knee one more time for good measure. Lateral press, hooks the legs. 1... 2... FOOT ON THE ROPE. Black T with another tag. Dan slams Krista to the mat before exiting. Tony climbs to the second rope and attempts an elbow drop, but Krista moves out of the way, leaving T-Bod to land on nothing but canvas. Krista tries crawling to her corner, but Tony grabs a hold of her leg. She breaks free by kicking Tony in the face and makes a run towards her corner, only to have Alix decked by a punch by Dan Black, who entered the ring to prevent the tag. Krista sent back into the corner, but she absorbs the impact and comes back with a TILT-A-WHIRL HEADSCISSIORS. Krista and Tony rise back to their feet at approximately the same time, only for Tony to go back down once again courtesy of a tilt-a-whirl headscissors. Dan Black comes back into the ring to prevent the tag, but this time he cannot. Alix comes in a little fireplug, hiptossing Dan across the ring. T-Bod tries to take both ladies down with a clothesline, but they duck under and connect with a DOUBLE DROPKICK! J.R. C.O.D. channeling the Rock 'n' Roll Express. ZACK Well, they sure are better lookin' than Ricky and Robert, that's for sure. With Tony down outside the ring, Dan is left all alone. Using the top rope to pull himself back to his feet, "The Ice Heart" doesn't know he's alone with two chicks...who are over dicks. Black turns around and sees Alix and Krista running towards him, and unlike movies that have the man and woman running in slow motion to hug each other, these chicks come full speed ahead and CLOTHESLINE over the top rope. With the crowd firmly behind them, Alix and Krista scale the second rope to jaw with special guest color commentator Zack Malibu. The self-ordained "Franchise" shoves Candie off his lap, and hollers from SOFA CENTRAL~! ZACK (Beep) YOU! Yeah, (Beep) YOU, BITCHES! I'm the franchise, the reason you two cunts are gainfully employed and not turning tricks on the street. I oughta go in there and beat both your asses myself, but I know Dan and Tony have everything under control. AH, SUCK MY DICK, BITCH! J.R. I think that one got past the censors. ZACK Screw the censors. Like I said, I'm the franchise, I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, and there's not a damn person alive who can stop me. Come on, guys! Go in there and kick their pussies! Black T dive back in the ring and exchange blows with Chicks Over Dicks, punching them in the stomach with open fists. C.O.D. with a pair of SINGLE LEG TAKEDOWNS. The crowd goes into a frenzy as Alix and Krista apply STEREO FIGURE-FOUR LEGLOCKS on both Dan and T-Bod. Black T scream in agony, thinking about making an effort to reach the ropes, but knowing they're dead center in the ring, they do the next best thing -- rake their opponents' eyes. Tony reaches across his body and thumbs Alix, while Dan does the same to Krista. With a slight limp, Dan and Tony rise back to their feet and whip Alix and Krista into the ropes. The ladies duck under a double clothesline, and connect with one of their own. Black sent hard into the turnbuckle. BACK BODYDROP. Now Tony is sent into the corner. Krista and Alix BACK BODYDROP TONY ONTO DAN. Krista SPRINGBOARDS a running Alix into the air. BIG SPLASH ONTO BLACK T! ZACK Kickout! 1... 2... BLACK T KICKOUT! ZACK Damn right. Black sent into the far side. Krista with the drop toehold. Alix kicks Black square in the face, then kicks him in the midsection. On all fours, Black doubles over in pain. T-Bod sent into the ropes. Another drop toehold by Krista, with Tony landing behind Dan in a very compromising position. J.R. Oh my. Oh, my! ZACK What Goddamn perverts. Why the hell are these dumbnuts (the fans) cheering? Krista and Alix hit the ropes and DROPKICK Dan and Tony in the HEAD. Black T bail out of the ring, holding their heads. Alix acknowledges the fans' chant of "C-O-D" by encouraging them to become more vocal, and they do so. J.R. BAH GAWD, I have never seen anything like this in my life. Maybe these girls are for real. I have never seen Black T dominated. The one thing they couldn't have happened did -- let the crowd get into it. Many believe, myself included, that the key to victory for C.O.D. is too keep this bout high-tempo. So far, they have done just that. ZACK I tell you what, Jim Ross, as much as it pains me to say it -- these chicks are for real. They're gonna lose, make no mistake about it, but they're obviously gonna go down in a fight. Black T have to slow down the pace of the match. The longer it goes, the more it favors Black T. Outside the ring, Black T huddle, not cuddle. Alix bounces off the ropes and LEAPS over the top, diving onto Black T with a PLANCHA -- but Dan and Tony CATCH HER. Knowing her partner is seconds away from either being slammed on the ground or rammed...into the ringpost, Krista runs the ropes and hits Alix's back with a BASEBALL SLIDE, sending her down on Black T. K.I.D. sends Brannigan back into the ring. Krista shows a great deal of power, scooping up the 292 pound sexy beast known as Tony Brannigan and slamming him to the mat. The crowd shows their appreciation for the tremendous accomplishment. Krista slingshots Alix in from the apron. 450 SPLASH! 1... 2... FOOT ON THE ROPE! J.R. The crowd sighs, they thought that was it, and it very well may have been if it weren't for the ropes. ZACK Charles Robinson has got to get Krista out of the ring. He's been allowing this illegal double-teaming since the start of this match. Come on, Charles. Get in charge! J.R. To be quite honest, I think Charles Robinson is doing a fine job officiating this contest. This is for a major championship, and I love seeing him let these two great teams go at it. Like any sport, the referee should never play an outcome of the game, or match is this case. ZACK You--You have this bi-polar thing, don't you? One minute you're repeating things 3 times, the next you revert back to your NWA/WCW form. J.R. Well, champ, when you've been raped of your dignity like I have over the years, it HAPPENS, HAPPENS, HAPPENS! Irish whip to the corner. Tony slouches against the turnbuckles, clearly exhausted from the beating he's taken. In order to gain further momentum, Krista Irish whips Alix towards Brannigan. SPINNING HEEL KICK. The force sends Alix falling out of the ring, but she safely lands on her feet outside. Krista charges Tony, and instead of landing her feet on his hips for a monkey flip, she lands on Tony's GROIN, then MONKEY FLIPS him over. Now back in the ring, Alix hits a RUNNING SHOOTING STAR PRESS! 1... 2... DAN BREAKS UP THE PIN! ZACK YEEEEAAAH! After Charles Robinson gets both Dan and Krista out of the ring, Alix whips T-Bod to her (C.O.D.s) corner. She climbs up to the second turnbuckle and repeatedly pounds her fist into Tony's forehead, the crowd counting along with every punch thrown. Tony grabs a handful of tights and slams her down, sliding on top of her and placing his feet on the ropes. Unfortunately for him, he's in the wrong part of town. Krista PUNCHES T-Bod in the GROIN. Tony rolls around the ring in pain, holding his balls. J.R. Ouch! Every male in the world felt that, except me. It's so far into me, I might as well be a DOG, DOG, DOG! At least he got a 2 count out of it, I'm barely lucky to get a drop of piss. Tag made by C.O.D. His left hand still holding his groin, Tony charges K.I.D. but is taken down with an armdrag. He gets back up, only to be taken down again, this time with a side headlock. Duncan tightens her grip on the headlock. Tony gets back in a vertical position, giving him some counter options. He throws a couple of elbows into the midsection of K.I.D. and lifts her up for a back suplex, but Krista floats over the top and hits THE SWEETEST THING, a reverse facebuster. She hooks the legs. ZACK No! Get in there Dan! 1... 2... NO! DAN BLACK...SHINING WIZARD (Kick to back of head)! ZACK YEEEEAAAH! J.R. What drama. What drama! ZACK And it isn't even backstage. J.R. Oh, man, I thought that was it. Krista did everything right, Dan just managed to beat the 3 count. Tony finally tags out. Black comes in and is quickly rolled up in a SMALL PACKAGE. 1... 2... Dan reverses it. 1... 2... KICKOUT! Both competitors rise back to their feet. Dan ducks a roundhouse right and go-behind waistlocks Krista. CHIMERA SUPLEX SEQUENCE (DRAGON, GERMAN AND TIGER SUPLEX in succession). 1... 2... ALIX BREAKS IT UP. Dan places Krista in a front facelock, lifts her up in the air and drops her feet across the top rope and drives her mat into the mat with a brainbuster. SLINGSHOT BRAINBUSTER! Only a 2 count. Krista just barely managed to get the left shoulder up. Black rolls K.I.D. on her stomach and applies the INDIAN DEATHLOCK. Krista shouts in pain, as Black yanks back on her legs. He bridges back on his head, wrapping his arms around Krista's neck and cranks back. ZACK Earlier I talked about how Black T needed to slow down the pace of the match, and that's exactly what they've done. Not only is Dan applying pressure to various points in the ankles, knees and neck, he's also giving himself and Tony a much deserved breather. C.O.D. had them working really hard early on, but now this match is firmly under control. J.R. Feeling like he didn't have the hold applied to his liking, Dan releases the Indian Deathlock and tags Tony Brannigan, a.k.a. T-Bod. With Krista still lying flat on her stomach, it leaves her in a position for Tony's liking, as he drives the forearm into the back of the neck. The arrogant challenger stands over Krista, swiveling his hips in those custom-made tights for this very event. ZACK You gotta love the tights. The back of a blonde woman's head in the front, her hands on the back. I love it! J.R. Modified version of the CAMEL CLUTCH applied. Black T have really cut off the ring, basically turning this into a handicap match. ZACK (cackling) That's why Black T were so successful in their matches with the Global Party XChange. Instead of doing what other teams did -- wrestle GPX's style -- Black T made sure to avoid Scotty's and Johnny's high-flying antics, forcing them to keep it to wrestling. And as we saw tonight, GPX aren't exactly known for their wrestling ability. (laughs) J.R. They most certainly were not. The Love Doctors found that out firsthand earlier tonight, losing a very hotly contest match to GPX in the opening round of the Anderson Cup. If Black T and GPX were to meet, it would be in the Finals, as both teams are in different conferences. ZACK I got news for ya, J.R. -- it's gonna be Chicks Over Dicks and GPX in the Finals because C.O.D. will be taking Black T's spot in the Cup after The Original Elite regain the straps. Tony releases the camel clutch in favor of going back to driving the forearm across the neck. T-Bod coolly picks Krista back up and snapmares her back down, and applies a reverse chinlock. J.R. Black T really focusing in on the neck area in the last few minutes. ZACK Again, the brains of Black T being exhibited. It's no secret Black T have an array of maneuvers that focus on the neck -- piledrivers, neckbreakers, etc. Women's necks are smaller than men's, therefore their necks can't sustain as much punishment as a man's. J.R. Much like a man's uterus is smaller than a woman's. That's why women have babies, not men. ZACK Uh...yeah. T-Bod drives the knee into the spine of the back. Krista moans after receiving another knee to the back. The grin on Tony's face says it all. Scoope slam. From out of the corner, Tony drops the knee -- but Krista moves out of the way! Tony lies on his back, holding his right knee. On her stomach, Krista begins crawling to her corner, but she's far away. Tony tags Dan in. Black stands in front of Krista, taunting her as she lies facefirst by his feet. She looks up and sees Dan laughing. "Get up," he says, helping Krista to her knees. She stuns Black with a couple of forearm shots to the midsection, but Dan fends off the attack by ramming his knee into the side of her face, the sweet flying of her hair. J.R. Ever tasted your own sweet before, Zack? It tastes like salted water, like blood. Black throws Krista over the top rope by her hair. Dan walks to C.O.D.s corner and SLAPS Alix. Furious, she enters the ring, allowing Tony to beat Krista outside while Charles Robinson keeps Alix at bay. Brannigan rams her into the ringposts. In the ring, Dan continues to irk Alix, laughing as he mockingly throws girlie punches at her. Meanwhile, on the outside, Tony sends Krista across ringside. She hits chestfirst into the guardrails and falls on ZACK MALIBU'S LAP at SOFA CENTRAL~! ZACK HOW DARE YOU, YOU BITCH! Zack takes off his headset and pummels Krista with vicious right hands. Malibu stomps K.I.D. against the sofa, then removes the protective mat ringside. Malibu whips K.I.D. towards Tony, who POWERSLAMS her on the concrete floor. Krista's almost on the verge of tears, in pain. Zack and Tony pound fists as Krista is tossed back into the ring, and Zack walks back to SOFA CENTRAL laughing his ass off. "Fuck you," he tells the C.O.D. from earlier as he takes his place back at SOFA CENTRAL. He whispers something in Candie's ear, and she proceeds to massage his shoulders. ZACK Don't say nothin', J.R. You saw her physically attack me. I had no choice but to defend myself and Candie. You know them feminist chicks can be hostile. J.R. I wasn't going to say a thing, actually. I think the fans at home would agree you were just in your actions. You can never be too careful nowadays. ZACK (laughing) YEEEEEEEAAH! You're a good man, J.R. J.R. The best play-by-play man in the business, BAH GAWD! Back in the ring, K.I.D. is rammed in the top turnbuckle. "The Ice Heart" Dan Black pounds Duncan with stiff EUROPEAN UPPERCUTTS. Referee Charles Robinson orders him to let Krista out of the corner. Black takes Charles away from the corner, blocking his view as Tony CHOKES Krista with the TAG ROPE. Finally, Dan obliges with the referee's request and let's Krista out of the corner, by throwing a forearm to the face! Black chuckles as Krista lies on the mat. TAG! Tony struts around the fallen Krista, then sets her up for the Attitude Adjustment piledriver. Black enters the ring, and heads to the second rope. The referee starts his 5 count, which is promptly ignored by Black T. ZACK Sit the hell down, Charles. You let them do it. Oh, yeah! One spike piledriver coming up. The sinister laugh of Zack Malibu echos through the television set as Black T hit a SPIKE ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT PILEDRIVER! Instead of making the pin, Tony tags Dan back in. Black climbs to the top. DIVING HEADBUTT! He hooks the leg. 1... 2... ALIX BREAKS THE PIN UP. J.R. THAT WAS THE SLOWEST DAMN COUNT IN HISTORY! ZACK Aren't I supposed to say that? J.R. I'm just as biased as you are. And that was the SLOWEST BAH GAWD COUNT I'VE EVER BAH GAWD SEEN, BAH GAWD! ZACK (standing up, screaming from Sofa Central) That's bullshit, Charles! That was 3. From the ring, referee Charles Robinson says it was a clean count, broken up by Alix. Obviously, Zack isn't buying that. Tony goes after Alix, but she ducks a clothesline and hits T-Bod with one of her own -- clotheslining him over the top to the floor. Black charges Alix, but she moves out of the way and kicks Dan in the back of the hamstring as he bounces back off the ropes. She runs towards him and hits a RUNNING BLOCKBUSTER (sommersault neckbreaker). She returns to her corner and encourages the fans to cheer Krista on, who's still down in the ring. ZACK THAT DAMN BITCH! Charles has let C.O.D. break every Goddamn rule in the book. At least we tried to cover up the fact we were cheating, they're just doin' it right in front of him. J.R. Krista's not exactly really big on fan encouragement, but it appears to be getting her going. She's crawling on her belly. Can she make the tag? I hope not, but can she? Krista DIVES to her corner. The crowd ERUPTS as Krista makes the tag. ZACK SHIT! Come on, guys! J.R. STONE COLD! STONE COLD! STONE COLD! I mean, ALIX! ALIX! ALIX is a 5'5" ball of fire! Quick as a hiccup. SPINNING HEEL KICK. Beautifully executed STANDING DROPKICK. Running clothesline. Oh, Black thumbed her in the eye. Irish wh-- no, she counters the Irish whip attempt. Oh, man, Dan runs right into Tony on the apron. They butted heads like two government mules. SMALL PACKAGE. 1... 2... YES! DAN KICKED OUT! Dan's the first to get back up. Kick to the midsection, BLACKOUT (Stone Cold Stunner)... ZACK Goodnight, bitch! ...NO! Alix sends Black into the ropes. KICK, STUNNER! ZACK GODDAMN BITCH! J.R. Alix hit Dan with his own move -- the Blackout. She hits the ropes. Rolling sommersault splash, a.k.a. ROLLING THUNDER! We hear a brief sound of STATIC. The cover and count. 1... 2... ZACK PULLS CHARLES ROBINSON OUT OF THE RING! J.R. I know some of you at home are upset by Zack's actions, but truth be told, Zack saved Charles Robinson from Casper. And that damn ghost is supposed to be friendly. Friendly my ass. Damn him to hell! Charles chews Zack out for pulling him out of the ring, and the former World heavyweight champion takes it like a man, telling Charles he's right. Zack keeps looking into the ring while he explains himself to Charles Robinson because Tony has slipped back in, with the TAG TITLE in hand. Zack attracts the attention of Alix, who has some unkind words for Mr. Malibu. Tony sneaks behind Alix and BASHES HER ACROSS THE HEAD with the tag title. He places Dan on top of her. Charles is still chewing Zack out on the outside, but Malibu shoves him back into the ring. J.R. Yes! Like this. Win it like this. 1... 2... ALIX KICKS OUT! BIG POP! J.R. WHY, DAMNIT, WHY?! Zack goes BALLISTIC outside. Candie tries to calm him down, but he's having none of that. Zack calls for 3-B -- Black Body Bag. Black T make the tag. Tony Brannigan now the legal man. He whips Alix to the ropes and lifts her up in a bear hug. Dan hits the ropes, the prelude to the RUNNING ROCK BOTTOM, but KRISTA SPEARS Dan out of nowhere! His head smacks hard against the middle turnbuckle. J.R. We got all 4 m-- wo-- two guys, two girls and a wrestling ring. Referee Charles Robinson checks on Dan, who looks out of it. He's lying on the mat, clutching his head tightly. Krista goes over to kick him out of the ring but Charles prevents her from doing so, which allows Tony to cheapshot Krista from behind with a RUNNING FOREARM. Krista crashes into Charles and the two fall outside the ring. J.R. Uh-oh. Tony didn't see Charles Robinson in front of Crystal. And it's easy to see why not, because Krista's very tall for a woman -- 5'9". Zack Malibu, meanwhile, sees this as an opportunity to help his fellow Elite members out. He barks an order to Tony, who holds Alix up from behind. Zack takes a CRUTCH out from under his own unsuspecting girlfriend, CANDIE, who falls to the ground, and enters the ring. He taps the crutch on the mat and cocks it back. "Now," Krista says as Alix lifts her knees up to her chest, just as Zack SWINGS the crutch and Krista KICKS Tony LOW. A fan in the front row stares at himself on the AngleTron while holding up his "She just shattered his sauce!" poster as Tony drops Alix to the mat and has the crutch BROKEN across his back. Zack can't believe what's just happened. J.R. Good God! GOOD GOD! The crowd ERUPTS in mass cheer. THE GLOBAL PARTY XCHANGE run out from the back and pull Zack out of the ring, decking him to the floor after a big right hand from Scotty Static and Johnny "Jam" Jackson. In the ring, Tony struggles to keep himself from falling down, staggering around the ring. Krista stands behind Tony and gesture to Alix, who hits the ropes. They simultaneously hit Tony with a LEGSWEEP/RUNNING ENZURIGI, literally damn near breaking him in half as his body torques in an awkward fashion. J.R. As God is my witness, he's broken in half! Alix with the cover. J.R. Don't let it end like this. No, please! Jesus, Buddah, Allah, Virgin Mary, STONE COLD, give Dan strengh to rise from his pain and make the save. Please! 1... 2... J.R. SPONGEBOB?! 3! * DING DING DING DING * Anything but Me cues up, and an exhausted Alix and Krista embrace in the ring after their first successful title defense. J.R. BLACK T HAVE BEEN SCREWED! DAMN YOU, C.O.D. AND GPX. DAMN YOU TO HELL! I refuse to stand for this injustice. J.R. slams down his headset as we go to Michael Buffer for the official word. BUFFER Ladies and gentlemen, what incredible action we've just been witnessed to. The winners of the match, and STILL OAOAST tag team champions of the world, ALIX SPEZIA, KRISTA ISADORA DUNCAN -- CHICKS OVER DIIICKS! The music stops playing as J.R. powerwalks up the ring steps into the ring, trembing. Alix and Krista just stare at J.R. in awe. Outside the ring, the Global Party XChange grab the tag team titles and watch what's happening in the ring, as does Zack Malibu and Candie, who are helping up Dan and Tony. J.R. continues trembling as he paces around the ring. He stops and points at C.O.D., then removes his tan jacket and reveals a green Incredible Jivin' J.R. tank top complete with ripped back section a la Hulk Hogan t-shirts. With his cowboy hat still on his head, he rips the green shirt off to show his green-painted stomach and back. THE INCREDIBLE JIVIN' J.R.! The Jivester takes a swing and misses, and gets nailed with the same LEGSWEEP/RUNNING ENZURIGI combo Tony did. Zack Malibu exchanges some choice words with C.O.D. as GPX walk-up behind them in the ring. The ladies hear footsteps and whip around and see GPX holding their OAOAST tag team titles. Cautious, both teams keep one eye on each other, and one of The Original Elite. After a tense few seconds, Scotty and Johnny hand Alix and Krista the tag titles, with Scotty telling them to "keep 'em warm for us." Anything but Me cues back up as we FADE TO BLACK...