Chuck Woolery

Preface: Is Liston even here? He'd fucking better be... --- "Who the FUCK is Jimmy Liston?" The scene flickers to life -- a dimly lit, rent-a-Passat, obviously none to comfortable. In the driver's seat is the cool, steady hand of Todd Cortez, focused intently on the road ahead of him; and next to Cortez is his much more hyperactive tag partner, tonight having tossed some red streaks into his jet-black hair, Mike Van Siclen. The self-proclaimed Spectacle is ranting on, apparently, about the match last night. "Seriously, I haven't even heard of the guy, Todd, and he pinned me." ...Liston braces himself, and with a massive heave he throws Van Siclen off forwards, grabbing the Spectacle’s head and driving it down... ...Down... ...DOWN... ...ONTO THE STEEL CHAIR! “DESCENT!” Comet yells. “Liston just hit his finisher onto a steel chair!” ... ...and Liston hooks Van Siclen’s leg. ONE! TWO! THREE! "He fucking pinned me, Todd? Where the fuck were you, anyway?" Todd looks over at his partner. "I was still smarting from the Caribbean Cutter on the entrance ramp." On the outside, Wildchild squares off against Todd Cortez. Knowing that he can’t match the straight-edger for speed or striking power, Wildchild watches his opponent carefully - then ducks under a roundhouse kick from the Urban Legend and darts behind him. Cortez twists, trying to follow his slippery opponent, and Wildchild boots him in the stomach before nailing him with the Caribbean Cutter! “Caribbean Cutter on the steel entrance ramp!” Comet yells. “That’ll break your head, Citizens!” "Right? Well, I don't remember you getting pinned..." "I got pinned off a Soul Crusher, Mike." Janus is stirring, the huge man still unwilling to stay down. Grimly, Aecas grabs his shoulder and helps his monstrous partner up. Janus staggers over to the far ropes and leans against them, and Aecas grabs Todd Cortez’ legs, turns the straight-edger around so the Black Angel is facing away from the Hell Machine... and tucks one leg under each arm. “Robert, if you’re at all fond of Todd Cortez, I suggest you look away now...” Comet suggests. Grinning out at the crowd, Aecas falls backwards. Cortez flies up and forwards as the Black Angel’s knees act as a fulcrum, catapulting the straight-edger RIGHT INTO A GORE~! FROM JANUS! “SOUL CRUSHER!!” Comet roars as the Hell Machine BLASTS straight into the Urban Legend’s ribcage. “Janus just mutilated Todd Cortez!” All the double-teaming from earlier has weakened the Hell Machine, but not enough to prevent him from completing the job. Grimacing, Janus hooks the leg of Todd Cortez and brings all of his 360lbs to bear on the straight-edger’s shoulders as Sexton Hardcastle drops down to count... ONE! TWO! THREE! Todd lifts up his shirt, and we can see a layer of bandages circling his chest, trying to contain the swelling from the vicious tag move that Cortez felt at the hands of the Trinity. Van Siclen winces, pulling Cortez's shirt back down, and he begins speaking once more. "Okay, dude, so they pretty much gang-beat us." "I wouldn't call it a gang-beating, but very close, yes." "Well, you're from the Streets, jackass. What do you do when you get gang-beat?" "Generally... one gets even." "And how does one do that?" "One generally regains what is lost." In the rearview mirror, we can see Todd grin uncharacteristically. "In your case, what little dignity you had." Van Siclen chuckles himself. "You're picking shit up from me here, Todd. Yeah, I guess so... so I got pinned by Liston for the Hardcore belt. Not that I've ever really wanted the Hardcore belt, but, you know... it'd be nice, something to put on the mantle. Hey, where's that file you keep?" "In my bag, which is in the back seat." "Yo, cameraman! Toss me Todd's bag, would you?" The camera points downward, as whoever the cameraman is (we still haven't seen him!) grabs Todd's bag and hands it to Van Siclen. "Thanks, man, I appreciate it." Van Siclen begins rummaging through Todd's bag, grabbing a thick black binder out of it and opening it up. "Liston... Liston... bingo!" "What are you looking for, anyway?" the Urban Legend asks, seeming genuinely curious. "I'm looking for Liston's file, man. The little fuck embarrassed me, mainly because I still don't know who he is and his punk ass pinned me." At 'punk ass' the cameraman snorts, and Van Siclen flips him off carelessly. "Seriously, Todd, I have a bit of a mantra: when someone humiliates me, I get them back double. And in Liston's case, I'm thinking triple, just because I'm that pissed." The car is silent for a few moments as Van Siclen scans Liston's profile. Finally he lets out a huge sigh, causing Cortez to glance at him. "What?" "This Liston doesn't have enough of a personality for me to find a flaw in it." "Look harder, I remember something about Calvinball." "...what the fuck is Calvinball?" "I looked it up, it's a type of wrestling match in which the wrestlers themselves set the rules." "...oh, because that makes so much sense." "Apparently he won it, something about the Empire State Building? I don't really remember, but then again it's Jimmy Liston, there's nothing too memorable about him." Van Siclen grins. "Man, you're leeching off of me more than you know here. Anyway... I suppose I could challenge this Liston to a Calvinball match for the Hardcore championship. Or even better, go right over his head and ask Zenon for a shot." Todd nods, and Van Siclen continues. "And then, if he says no, I can punch him in the face and make him say differently." This elicits a laugh from the cameraman and a small smile from Cortez, as Van Siclen continues. "And then, after I beat Liston, I suppose you and I can take on the Trinity and beat their asses again. In Crowd, two-time tag champions?" "Mike, about this In Crowd thing..." "Look, Todd, generally I let you barge in, but you're interfering with my plans here, okay?" Todd sighs, but gives in, perhaps thinking that if he lets Mike talk a little longer he'll keel over and die. Van Siclen continues. "And then, I can go on a diet, lose ten pounds or so, come back and beat Johnny Dangerous for the Cruiserweight belt -- hey, he didn't save me from jobbing to this Demon fellow, did he?" Todd shakes his head no, and Van Siclen continues. "And after that, I'm going to face Toxxic for the ICTV belt -- if the goofy fuck can hold onto it for more than three shows this time -- and job him out, too, because he bailed instead of fighting the tag fall. Some man, eh?" "Eh, indeed." "Right... four shows should be enough time to do all this, right, Todd?" Todd nods. "Right. And then, I'll be the first-ever quadruple champion, all the wrongs from the Triple Quadruple match will have been righted, and then... well, I guess I should start now." Van Siclen turns around, staring dead on into the camera. "Hey, Liston? I know you're watching this somewhere, with your Hardcore belt wrapped around your waist. I hope you're enjoying that now, and I hope double that you've got the balls to answer to me, because I'm calling you out right here, right now. SWF Storm, man, I want you, one-on-one, Calvinball rules, for your Hardcore belt." Van Siclen grins. "If you can beat me once you can beat me again, right, Jimmy? If you've got any balls whatsoever, we'll see this Friday." Van Siclen turns around, looking at the road ahead. The In Crowd drives on silently for a few moments, before Van Siclen's voice pierces the silence once again. "Shut that shit off." FADE OUT.

Hey, it's better than our eleven and a half thousand. Actually, it probably isn't, and I don't quite know why I'm trying to make you feel better after you jobbed us out last show. ... well, good luck!

Janus, Janus works because we all know you wish you were tall.

whoo, North-South all-star team! Now, to turn around the Vasectomy's season... I can only pray.

This would all be so much cooler if Vancouver wasn't in dead last.

This seems like the type of promo that went over a lot of people's heads, mostly the newer guys, because they haven't been around for the whole Kibagami saga. I, on the other hand, have. And I love it. Keep up the good work, man.

WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE BOUT SINGLES MATCH Charlie "Grappler" Matthews© vs "The Notorious" John Duran -> Charlie. Grappler DOES NOT LOSE. LADDER MATCH Ann "Ichiban" Onita vs "The Superior One" Tom Flesher -> Tom, because much like Grap, Tom DOES NOT LOSE. LAST MAN STANDING MATCH Nathaniel Kibagami vs Alex Zenon -> Obviously some sort of worked finish, probably involving the return of Silent to kill Zenon, only to have Z be saved by a returning Edwin MacPhisto, leading to the co-main event of Genesis V. Oh right, spoiler. ICTV/TAG TEAM/HARDCORE TITLE BOUT TRIPLE QUADRUPLE MATCH Wild & Dangerous© vs The In Crowd vs Aecas and Janus© vs Toxxic© and Liston -> I win all four belts for myself and feud with Zack over all four of them for the next two years. USJL TITLE BOUT SINGLES MATCH Coy "Wild" West© vs Todd Royal -> "Wild" West? I'm lovin' it. Todd. EMPTY ARENA MATCH Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix vs Alan Clark -> I'm a Maddix mark, so we'll say he wins. SINGLES MATCH Edward James vs Crow -> Crow, if he is to write. SINGLES MATCH "La Sensation Senegalaise" Said vs Tryst -> Sy-EED motherfuckers. SINGLES MATCH Stryke vs "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins -> Spike wins in 2k and demands a world title match. Squashes ensue. HARDCORE MATCH Austin Sly vs Insane Luchadore -> who is driving omgz austin sly is driving to victoree.

Explode? Shit, this kind of match is right up my alley. My only concern is whether or not I should make myself a triple champ, or spread some of the gold around.

All of us with intelligence, anyway. I have a douchebag friend who is trying to convince me that the Celtics are winning the next four games. Ah well. Fucking Bruins, we'll get 'em... next yeeear...

I actually know a kid who has an N-Gage and thinks it's cool shit and flaunts it to everyone he knows. Not surprisingly, everyone else thinks he's a douche bag.

Breadsticks at Pizza Hut, like fifteen minutes ago.

Well, it is a t-shirt cannon. I'd believe it. I have to second "Homer Visits NYC" as the best episode. Loved every bit of it.

The last one, mang.

Because the white Ruth was really affected by segregation. In all seriousness... like someone else said, I couldn't care less at this point about Barry Bonds, I'm much more interested in my team (the Sox, bitch). When he comes around here, I'll be more excited, but because I want to see Pedro/Schilling/Lowe/Wakefield strike his ass out. Bonds is a great player, sure, and he hits a ton of homers, but until he's within striking distance of Aaron (I'm talking five homers or so), I don't care one way or another about it. He could die tomorrow, you know, and forever be nearly a hundred runs behind Aaron. Wait until he's really close, then we'll talk seriously.

Memphis/Minnesota in the conference finals. Bet on it.

::Will giggle when you're all crowing about the two AngleMania III main eventers being the new SWF Tag Team champs.::

I have to second Pedro spiking Don Zimmer. That moment never gets old.

"Who the FUCK is Todd Cortez, Scott?" Snap-fade in on Mike Van Siclen, angrily exiting his car and slamming the door behind him. "No, Scott, does it sound like I'm fucking kidding? Who is Todd Cortez, and what the fuck happened to you?" Our camera apparently has a revelation, as a voice on the other end of the line can be heard. "I told you, Mike, I went out to play rugby with some friends of mine and wound up dislocating my shoulder. You can't hold me accountable for that!" "Oh, I can't? I can't hold you accountable for that? I can abso-fucking-lutely hold you accountable for this! We get a tag title shot and you..." Mike sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "dislocate your shoulder playing rugby." "I'm sorry, Mike, but look -- I got you a replacement." "Great, Scott. Should I be excited? This was supposed to be us winning the belts, man. The cool kids. The In Crowd." "Mike..." "Scott, I'd arranged all our pyros. I'd gotten the rights to our music. Hell, I even got us matching tights." "Mike..." "I hope this guy wears your fucking size, Scott, or I'm going to be pissed off." "Mike..." "Moreso than I am right now, and let me tell you Scott, I am pretty fucking pissed. What kind of American plays rugby, anyway?" "MIKE, for God's sake, shut up for a second. This guy's going to be phenomenal." "Phenomenal, Scott? You know what'd be really phenomenal? Scott Thompson and Mike Van Siclen." "Yeah, well, that's not going to happen. Look, I faxed you all this guy's information -- check him out before you write off this tag title match." "Fine, Scott, but if he fucks up, I am holding you personally accountable." "Fine." Mike snaps his phone shut, stepping into his apartment building. He rides the elevator to his floor and gets out, entering his modest studio apartment. He grabs a sheet of paper from his fax machine, reading it aloud. "URBAN LEGEND TODD CORTEZ... urban legend? That can't end well. HEIGHT, SIX FEET. WEIGHT, 226 POUNDS... well, he's got more muscle mass than Scott did. HOMETOWN, THE STREETS. AGE, 20. Sounds like Tim Dillon would if he was from Harlem. FINISHING MANEUVER, MIRACLE ECSTASY BOMB A.K.A. "URBAN ASSAULT"... not bad, not bad at all. BIOGRAPHY..." Mike reads silently to himself, looking over the story of Todd Cortez. At moments he murmurs key phrases. "Todd Cortez is a young man who has seen all too much in his short life... vowed to never resort to the "low road" of drugs and alcohol... focused on growing up to be the keeper of his family, protected them at all costs... took part in his high school wrestling team, winning the State Championship for his division... some view Todd as too cocky for his own good, and as having a chip on his shoulder... Todd feels his straight edge lifestyle proves he's better than most people out there... Todd can back up his boasts whether in the ring or on the street." Mike crumples the paper up, throwing it away casually. "Sounds like a nice enough kid... and under the guidance of Mike Van Siclen, he's going to become a winner. Janus and Aecas, Tom and Annie, be warned... Mike Van Siclen's still coming for you, and Todd Cortez is going to assist me in kicking your ass. You're looking at the new tag champion, baby..." Mike grins. "Now get that camera the fuck out of here."

Cue me saying "Obviously, they want that blockbuster Terri/Goldilocks feud." Why else would they sign her?

Can somebody else confirm for me that Montreal/Bruins tickets at the Bell are, indeed, not on sale? I can't find them for sale anywhere, but I'm hoping that I'm not inept and that they really aren't on sale yet.

I can't believe nobody's brought up Orlando's astounding luck in getting Penny Hardaway with the third pick after finishing something like 17th in the league as an example of rigging the lottery. So I did.

May as well get in on this. I'm hoping I get picked by the Glory Holes and can lead them to first place.. First Name: Mike Last Name: Van Siclen Nickname: Love Connection Number: 23 Origin: Canadian (Vancouver) Birth date: 1/13 Age to start: 19 Height: 6'2 Weight: 215 Bats: Switch Throws: Right Position: 3rd Baseman Defense +1 Speed +2 Batting Average +1 LHP +2 RHP Homeruns +1 LHP +1 RHP Avoiding Strikeouts +1 LHP

Clever marketing for The Prince and Me.

...dammit, Caboose, I am not Thunderkid. You can try to jab at me with your "lowest drawing OAOAST champion" lines, but I will not be affected!

In the interest of fairness, Zack Malibu and myself will NOT pimp the shit out of our potential Match of the Year, but allow everyone else to do that for their matches. Thank you, and good day.