Angel_Grace_Blue

Okay, once I finish game #20, I'll post some updates, but I wanted to say that Edmonton totally destroyed Carolina, 43 - 1. It was awesome. Z/Belcourt got a hat trick, then a top hat trick (6), and then a fedora trick (9) all in the first period. He finished with 18 goals. Sombrero trick, maybe? Carmen Miranda fruit hat trick? I wanted him to get 20, but, alas. Also, I've been playing Sega Marine Fishing, and I caught the aquatic version of Tom Flesher: A 231lb. hammerhead shark. Yes, I play the video game version of something that's not a sport, and kind of an activity, barely, sort of.

And I told Johnny to send in ours at like four, my time, after he asked if I wanted to stretch it out, so, blorkington.

MAIN EVENT SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP Jay Hawke (SWF International Champion) v. Arch Griffon Archie to the maximundo tubularosity. TAG TEAM MATCH Ejiro Fasaki (SWF World Heavyweight Champion) and "Urban Legend" Todd Cortez v. Lil' Buck and Johnny Dangerous Erm...Deja Vu. SINGLES MATCH Danny Williams v. "The Franchise" Mak Francis Danny Williams with the Strong Style Ribs attack. SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Insane Luchadore (SWF Cruiserweight Champion) v. "The Critic" Scott Pretzler Pretzler's a good kid, but IL amz Fuvoultionary. SINGLES MATCH "The Maniac" Bryan Rodgers v. Manson MANSONOSITY HARDCORE MATCH Toxxic v. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins Hmm. Toxxic, I guess, since I bet he's angerful over the lossosity.

This thread has evoked some nostalgia so powerful in me that I was forced to hook up my Dreamcast again, and start playing the NHL2K2 season I started a while back with the Edmonton Oilers using pretty much a roster of created folk. We've got at left wing, starter and captain, Chris Belcourt, Peter Griffin, and Mak Francis. Left wing, starter and assistaint captain William Hearford, Chris Griffin, and Drew Kelk. Centers are starter Patrick Hannon, Brian Griffin, and assistaint captain Ace Lezaire. Defensemen are starters Tom Flesher and Nathaniel Kibagami, Glenn Quagmire, Stewie Griffin, and Markus Cirrillo and Jamie Drazon. Starting goalie is Charlie Matthews, and other goalie is Joe Swanson. In about 17 games, Belcourt has emerged as the star, totaling 92 points (About 80 something goals), and 120+ penalty minutes, with Kibagami just behind him at about 100+. Flesher has a +/- of 80, and Charlie Matthews has only allowed 7 goals. The Oilers score about 20 or so goals a game. And stuff.

I didn't write the opener. And Scotty wrote the first half of our no-contest, and I didn't care enough to ask him about the late bell (Which came after a pin attempt). Blorky McBlork!

I've got a better one, Franchise: I considered putting copies of it around my school, but I never did because I'm lame.

I was kind of thinking Archie for 3rd. He could basically swallow up any balls hit to the 'hot corner', or they'd just deflect off of him and he'd still be able to make a play. Also, he should crowd the plate as much as possible. Anyone pitching inside would most likely hit him. I hadn't thought about pitchers. Maybe Fasaki could do something interesting with a 'screaming' windup.

He's supposed to be back either by Octember, or maybe Smarch at the latest. Lousy Smarch weather.

Toxxic always did seem like the kind of guy that played with himself. So, we've got Axis, Sacred, Janus, and Crowe playing cricket, Va'aiga playing rugby, and Toxxic playing soccer. I guess it's the SWF Company Calvinball Team.

Shit, once Jarrod Banks gets de-bulleted, the Sugarhill Gang will eat your souls and whatnot.

ANGERFULNESS! Great promoski.

See, I was thinking Danny would be catcher, just to drill someone with an elbow in plays at the plate, but maybe his Popeye arms could translate well to pitching. WC would of course lead off, and I'm thinking maybe he'd play short stop (I mean, he is from an island country and everything), or the outfield. But the middle lineup of Buck, Archie, and Manson (Among others) would be scary, even if every hit of Buck and Archie's would either be a home run or a single, since they're too slow to leg out anything else.

Promo - "Whoa" “Come on, JJ, we’ve got to keep going,” Edward James says, in a far-away voice as if everything is incredibly confusing to him. JJ Johnson, with what appears to be the Nintendo Power Glove and a back pack that weighs at least one hundred pounds on his back, makes a few odd gestures, and digitized speech issues forth. “But JJ tired, Eddie! JJ want stop! JJ want to have ice cream!” “But you already had cookies ten minutes ago! No way, JJ, we’ve got to find Neil Patrick Harris! Once he reads our Doogie Howser fan script, he’ll have to agree to do the episode!” James yells, despite not appearing angry or excited. “JJ like Doogie, Doogie good doctor. Doogie fix JJ so JJ talk?” JJ asks. “We won’t have time for that, JJ, Neil Patrick Harris has to devote all of his time in preparing for this episode once he sees it,” Eddie J replies. The duo continues to trek onward through the harsh desert. The sun rises and sets a handful of times, as nothing eventful occurs for several days. “JJ tired! JJ want water drink fruit!” Johnson moans. “Don’t worry, JJ, it’s not much further,” Edward says, not believing his words for a minute. Eddie and JJ walk onward, and after over an hour, they come across a large cave and Johnson stops in front of it. “JJ want stop in large hole!” “No, JJ! We’ve only just started today, and we can’t stop now!” James yells. “JJ isn’t going any more!” Johnson screams and sits down on the hot sand. Thump Thump Thump RRROOOOOOOAAAAAAAARRR!!!! “What was that? JJ is scared, Eddie!” Johnson screams, trying to get to his feet, but is weighted down by his back pack. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to stick around to find out, JJ! Let’s get out of here!” Edward says. James extends his hand, and pulls Johnson up, but out of the cave lumbers what appears to be an enormous newt. “Is that a dinosaur?” JJ asks. “I’m not sure, JJ, but we’ve got to run!” As Eddie turns around, another equally large newt appears, blocking the two men’s path. “We’re trapped! Only one thing to do. We’ve got to fight them off!” Eddie exclaims. Johnson and James both assume fighting stances, as the newt-like creatures rumble forward. “HAAAADOOOOOOKEN!” James screams, but nothing happens. “Oh shit. I forgot...we’re fucked!” “WHOOO-HOOO!” from above the cave comes a raucous yell. BLAM! The first newt shudders, and collapses, a fair amount of blood splattering the ground around Eddie and JJ. “Hot shit, there’s two!” screams the mysterious voice. KA-BLAMO! The second newt’s face completely disappears and brain and blood rains down on James and Johnson. “We’re saved, Eddie!” JJ shouts excitedly. “Quiet, JJ. We don’t know who this person is. Just let me do the talking,” James says quietly. “Hey! There someone down there? Better get up on high ground before any more of them things come,” the voice says. “Okay, we’re coming on up,” James says. “He sounds friendly, JJ, but just be careful, okay?” “JJ be good. JJ always good,” Johnson says. The duo clambers up the hill and arrives at the top, face to face with a blond man holding a shotgun and a large case of beer sitting at his feet. “Thanks a lot, man. You really helped us out. What are those things?” James asks. “Hell if I know. Some kind of government experiment, maybe, or something all mutated from radiation, or maybe it’s just the last of some prehistoric species,” the man says. “Whatever they were, thanks a...holy shit, you’re Jake Busey!” Edward exclaims. “Yeah, I am. You want me to introduce you to my dad or something?” Busey asks. “Any other day, we would love to meet him, and spend time with you, but we’re on a mission...what is it, JJ?” Eddie exclaims as Johnson has been pulling on his sleeves. “That man! He was in the movie, with the bug!” JJ shouts. “Holy shit, you’re right! You were in Starship Troopers!” James yells. “Yeah. About that, I was kind of desperate and...” Jake begins. “No, this is great! You worked with Neil Patrick Harris,” James says. “Doogie!” JJ adds. “Yeah, and we’re the biggest fans of Doogie Howser, and we need to find him. Do you, by any small, tiny chance know where he is?” James asks, crossing his fingers. “Shit yeah, I know where that son of a bitch is!” Busey exclaims heartily. “He’s not too far from here. I can take you if you want, just let me finish my beer.” “Gee, thanks, Mr. Busey!” James shouts. “What do you say to the nice man?” “JJ want to thank Busey, and JJ not think like Eddie, who say Jake Busey man have big large creepy Busey-head in bug movie,” Johnson says. However, Busey is too busy being drunk to catch the remark. In a shockingly short amount of time, the beer is gone, and Jake weaves back to his dune buggy. A bit reluctantly, James and Johnson get in and Busey drives away, swerving all over the barren desert. After about an hour, Jake stops in front of a small mud hut. “Okay, this is me and my dad’s place. We’ll have to stop a while and refuel, so get some food or whatever,” Busey says and proceeds to bend over and throw up. James and JJ walk into the hut, and from a corner, Gary Busey springs, holding a knife to Edward’s throat. “Who the fuck are you two?” Busey roars. “Please, sir, your son found us and saved us from some dinosaur things, and he’s taking us to meet Neil Patrick Harris,” James says quickly. “Bullshit! You two are Communist spies from Greece! I know because I don’t have a son any more. He died when the weevils came,” Gary says, managing to slur about half of his words. “Dad! These are friends of mine!” Jake says, rushing in. “Sorry, I forgot to warn you about my dad. I’m pretty wasted.” “Dad? I’m not your dad! He was shot down over Nebraska in ‘95,” Gary replies. “Body was never found.” “No, look, I’m your son, and you’re my dad,” Jake says, rolling up his sleeve and displaying a branding scar of a bicuspid. “Oh, Jake! Sorry, I was confused. Did I nick ya, kid?” Gary asks. “N...no, sir...” Edward mumbles. “So, friends of Jake? Well, help yourselves to whatever supplies you need for whatever the hell gay shit you said you were doing. I’m going to get drunk,” Gary says and stumbles off in another room. “Okay, I’ll be outside. Do what you’ve got to do, but try to keep it down. I don’t know how long he’ll remember who you are. Or who I am, for that matter,” Jake says. JJ and Eddie simply stand in silence for a few minutes, recuperating from their ordeal, before refilling canteens and other mundane shit that’s really boring. Half an hour later, James and Johnson are ready, and leave the hut. “Okay, let’s get going. It’s not far to where Neil Patrick Harris is, but we can’t go in a straight path, unless you don’t want to ever get there,” Jake says. “Get the fuck back here, you sons of bitches! I’ll kill you all, you damn Australian bastards!” Gary screams, running out of the house, empty bottle of scotch in hand. CRASH! The bottle shatters against the frame of the dune buggy, and Jake speeds off, not wanting to give his father another shot. “So, what between here and Neil Patrick Harris is bad enough to go around it?” James asks. “Uh, let’s see. There’s the salmon dam. They jump out and can chew through a foot of steel in two minutes. Not to mention Wink Martindale. He’s sort of lost it, and managed to breathe life into the cactus plants out here, and made them into his own personal army. There’s other stuff, too, but I hope I don’t have to mention it in case we run into any of it,” Jake says. “JJ scared! JJ want to go back!” “No, JJ! We can’t go back, Mr. Busey is probably still drunk! Besides, we’ve got to see Neil Patrick Harris,” James says. Jake drives on, occasionally consulting a map, but for the most part, seems to know the way. Suddenly, as the dune buggy enters a canyon and rounds a bend, the younger Busey stops the dune buggy as a large cactus springs from behind a rock, pistol trained on JJ Johnson. “Shit! It’s one of Martindale’s cacti! Everyone be cool and let me handle things. Edward, try very slowly to grab the gun from underneath your seat without being seen and then pass it to me,” Jake whispers. “Who da fuck is you?” the cactus asks. “Nobody, sir. We’re just three college kids, and thought we’d travel across the country during our summer break,” Busey says. “I don’t believe you! Hands up! Hands da fuck up, I said!” the cactus shouts. “Don’t listen to him, Eddie,” Jake mutters. “Listen! Either get your hands up, or I call the rest of my squad here and we’ll see how well your story holds up,” the cactus says. “Holy shit, what’s that?” Busey screams, pointing past the cactus. “Huh?” the cactus mumbles and spins around. Jake grabs the gun from James’ trembling hands and fires at the cactus, emptying the entire clip, and cutting it in half. “Whoa! That was awesome, Jake Busey!” Eddie exclaims. “Well, those cacti are kind of scary, but aren’t too smart,” Jake explains. “Not smart, huh?” comes a voice from behind a large pile of rocks. Another cactus steps out, followed by six more, all pointing their guns at Jake, Edward, and JJ. “Look, when I say so, I want the both of you to duck down and stay down until I tell you to come back up, okay?” Busey says. “Well, well, well. Looks like we got us some fresh meat, boys!” the largest and most grizzled looking cactus says, eliciting a laugh from his soldiers. “Yeah! And they’re gonna pay for what they did to Murph!” screams a small cactus armed with an AK-47. “Of course they are, Jones. But not here. We’re taking them to Mr. Martindale, and he’ll know what to do,” the commander says grimly. “NOW!” Jake roars. He, James, and JJ all crouch down, and Busey floors it, shooting past the cacti, and bowling a few over on the way. After nearly five minutes of blind driving, Busey looks up and sees the path is devoid of cacti. “Okay, guys. It’s cool now.” “That was close. JJ was very scared,” Johnson says. “What does Wink Martindale need a mutant cactus army for, anyway?” James asks. “To survive, mostly. This desert’s a pretty rough place to live. We Buseys have been out here for years, and we’re used to it, but a newcomer like Martindale needs some help,” Jake explains. Jake drives on, leading them out of the canyon, and past a large hole filled with scorpions. Suddenly, a tumbleweed blows across the path, and Busey slams on the brakes. “What the hell was that for?” James asks. “Shut up,” Jake says quietly, watching the tumbleweed roll. “It’s just a tumbleweed,” Edward says. “Just a tumbleweed? I’ll show you, motherfucker!” the tumbleweed screams. “Screw this shit! Lock and load!” JJ shouts, grabbing for a shotgun. BLAM! “You dumb son of a bitch. That shot’s just going to go right through me,” the tumbleweed says to Johnson. “Yeah? Well, how about this?” Busey shouts. Jake grabs a spare bottle of whiskey, takes a big gulp, flicks his lighter, and spews the alcohol into the flame, torching the tumbleweed. As the weed is reduced to ashes, Jake speeds on. “Look, you two don’t know what goes on out here, so when I tell you to shut up, just do it, okay?” Jake asks. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It just didn’t seem to be that bad. What could it have done, anyway?” Eddie asks. “On it’s own? Rip up the tires, cut us pretty badly, but the real threat is that nine out of ten tumbleweeds out here are scouts for Martindale’s army,” Busey explains. “I just hope it wasn’t reporting before it came across us.” “Shit. I’m really sorry, man. You’ve helped us out so many times, and then I go and almost get us killed,” James replies. Jake drives on, and occasionally takes a drink from the whiskey bottle. After another thirty minutes, he stops in front of a large mesa, with a steep staircase carved into the very rock. “Well, here we are. At the top is where Neil Patrick Harris is. I’d go with you guys, but the dune buggy’ll get stolen if I leave it for too long. I wish you the best of luck,” Jake says, shaking Edward and JJ’s hands in turn. “Thanks man. We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us. If there’s any way we can repay you, just ask,” Eddie says. “Yes. JJ like Jake Busey man. Jake Busey man helpful and friendly,” JJ chimes in. “Well, now that you mention it, there is something,” Jake says and starts to unbuckle his pants. James’ eyes go wide while Johnson stares on in confusion. “Hell, I’m just shittin’ you guys! Naw, you guys don’t need to repay me, or anything, but don’t be strangers, okay?” With that, Jake heads back to his dune buggy and drives off, leaving James and JJ alone. “Well buddy, I guess we better get a move on if we want to see Neil Patrick Harris before nightfall,” Edward says. James and Johnson start climbing up the staircase, and after a few hours, reach the very top. “We made it! Where’s Neil Patrick Harris?” James asks. “Yes! Where Doogie Howser?” James scans the mesa, and in the distance, through the haze of the heat waves, sits a small building. “There, JJ! He’s got to be over there,” James says, pointing. The two march onward, and after another hour of walking, arrive at the building, which looks to be made out of slabs of sandstone. “So where Doogie?” Johnson asks. “I am here,” Neil Patrick Harris says, emerging from behind the building. “OH MY GOD, IT’S NEIL PATRICK HARRIS!” Edward shrieks. “Yes, it is I,” Harris replies, looking very serene. “Mr. Harris! We’re pretty much your biggest fans, and we’ve got just the thing to get you back on television!” James exclaims. “Yes! JJ and Eddie love Doogie Howser!” JJ shouts. “So I gathered,” Neil says, chuckling softly. “So, what is this thing that will get me back on television?” “Oh, it’s only the best written fan script of Doogie Howser, MD ever!” James shouts. “Doogie Howser? I don’t know, guys. It’s been a long time, and besides, the appeal of the show was that he was practically a kid, and I’m much, much older,” Neil says, a bit crestfallen. “Yeah, but, that’s part of the plot! He’s being sued by a family because of a mistake he made as a kid, and he’s fighting that, but at the same time, is back in the hospital, and he cures this guy who’s got AIDS. And also Ebola and what was it, JJ?” Eddie asks. “Stabbed in the brain,” Johnson replies. “That sounds really contrived. I don’t think many people will want to see a doctor take care of all of those things, especially with so many hospital shows already out there,” Harris says. “But at least read it, Mr. Harris. Please?” James pleads. “Okay, I’ll read it, but just because I like it, which I’m sure I will, doesn’t mean that it’ll get made,” Neil says. Neil Patrick Harris takes the script, sits down, and starts reading. After five minutes, tears are rolling down his cheeks. He slowly sets the script down, stands up, and looks at Eddie and JJ, who are watching him expectantly. “That was...without a doubt...the most...horrible, disgusting, ill conceived piece of trash I’ve ever read. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you were retarded, and I’d feel sorry for you, but you obviously aren’t, and it saddens me that two grown men can produce such shit,” Harris spits. Within seconds, James and Johnson begin sobbing while Neil Patrick Harris stares daggers at them. “Can...we...at least...have...our s-script back?” Edward mumbles. “No, because nobody else on this planet should know of its existence. I’m going to wipe my ass with it, then burn it, and then pour hydrochloric acid on the ashes until nothing remains,” Harris shouts. “Now, get the hell out of my sight.” Convulsing with sobs, James and Johnson march away. As soon as they are out of earshot, Harris pulls out a cell phone and flips it open. “Artie? Yeah, it’s me, Neil. Look, you need to get out here, because, buddy, have I got a killer script!” EL FUVOLUTIONO!

This promo was outerrated

Upwards, not onwards! And always twirling, twirling towards freedom! Sorry, I have nothing else meaningful to contribute, but I so rarely get a chance to use that reference.

Hey, look! It's Casty's birthday! Celebrate by writing a 90k promo in which your girlfriend is killed by a mugger as the two of you leave a store!

I remember when NTD had his cruiserweight tournament at Budokan, and Galatea as a masked wrestler (It might have been something like The Masked Man) won it. He came out to Faith No More. Yay Galatea!

I LOSTED! DAMN YOUZ, JAY HAWKE! I SHALL RIP OUT YOUR LIVER AND DRINK YOUR BLOOD! I mean, damn, lost. Oh well. So, time to comment on stuff that happened: Anyone else notice Bobby run in to comment during the tag match? Crazy Riley. Um, that's really all. I read the first match, thought it was good, but I basically scrolled to see who won (Congrats Luchy, even if you didn't write it), and then got angerful to see I lost. But, like, meh and stuff. I'll read the rest later (No, I probably won't)

I'd really like some comments on this, especially from Mike, and especially as to how Jay's was better. Maybe my downfall was taking it too serious or something. So, here's the match that just wasn't good enough (I'm really trying to check the bitterness/angerfulosity, but I honestly didn't think Hawke's match was 'all that', then again, you won't find many writers to say, "Yeah, I can clearly see that your match was better than mine. Great job.") --------------- SWF Storm, live from Sydney, Australia, returns from a commercial for Jobber Chow, and camera man John Kruger pans around the world famous (And apparently only landmark in all of Australia) Sydney Opera House, showcasing such signs as, “Cane Toads > Toxxic!” and “Axis Fears Shed!” before he focuses on the Suicide King and Longdogger Pete. “Welcome back, fans, to Storm! We’ve had some great action thus far, with Manson and Arch Griffon taking on the team of Danny Dagda and Martin Hunt, along with Spike Jenkins and Mak Francis going at it again in a surprisingly standard match, but right now, is a real treat for all the fans!” Pete exclaims. “Yeah, but not for Jay Hawke, I bet. It’s beneath him to wrestle in this kind of match, and it’s not right!” shouts King. “Nevertheless, Jay Hawke and Lil’ Buck, who is still undefeated, will be going at it in a moment in a very unique match, which is saying something since Storm has seen its share of unique matches,” Pete says. “But since he’s in the ring, I’ll let Funyon explain further.” “Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall, and will take place under Russell Crowe’s Favorite Match rules! Both competitors will alternate taking shots of cinnamon schnapps every minute until a winner is determined, and disqualifications and count outs are not in effect!” Funyon shouts as the fans cheer for alcohol and blood, the two favorite liquids of Australia. Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” kicks on, though, and that promptly ceases the cheering as the lights dim. “Introducing first, from Cleveland, Ohio, he weighs two hundred, fifteen pounds and is the current SWF International Champion, the Dean of Professional Wrestling, JAAAAY HAAAAWKE!” Funyon bellows over the mounting boos. A spotlight, presumably the same one used to highlight Placido Domingo, shines down on Jay Hawke as walks down the ring, title belt wrapped snugly around his waist. Jay saunters down the ring, climbs the steps and casually enters the squared circle. Hawke takes off his robe and title belt, and places them carefully in a corner. The Dean takes a glance at the bottles of schnapps and shakes his head in dismay as “Learning to Fly” fades away. “Jay Hawke doesn’t seem to pleased with this match. It can’t be because he lives a straight edge lifestyle, as all of the wrestlers in the federation that do abstain from such things certainly make it a point for that aspect of their lives to be known by all, so what could it be?” Pete asks. “Do you really have to ask, MacDougal? For one, drinking should be saved for a post-match celebration, not during the match like some sloppy hillbilly, not to mention that Hawke must be showing incredible self restraint to not stage a protest in being booked in a hard core match,” King explains. “Don’t go speaking badly of Martin Hunt, we got him very cheaply,” Pete mutters in an undertone. Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck” thumps over the speakers, prompting a fairly large cheer from the crowd, if only for the reason that there’s a good chance Lil’ Buck will kick Jay Hawke’s ass. The Gangsta of Love makes his way out, throwing his hands in the air, and since nothing spills out of his pimp cup and onto his Connie Hawkins jersey, it’s safe to say that the goblet is empty, for now, at least. “And his opponent, from Lanett, Alabama, he weighs in at two hundred, seventy pounds. Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon shouts. Buck slaps a few hands, makes his way down the ramp, and pulls of his jersey, passing it to Funyon. Buck climbs into the ring and referee Ron Mexico steps between the two men in order to oversee the coin toss. “A coin toss will determine the order in which Lil’ Buck and Jay Hawke will consume their shots. Jay Hawke has been chosen to call it in the air,” Funyon explains. “Heads,” Jay says as Mexico flips the coin. It lands on the mat, Funyon leans down to inspect it, and pops up soon after. “It is heads, and that means that Lil’ Buck will take a shot after one minute, and Jay Hawke after two, continuing in this fashion until the match is over,” Funyon explains before heading out of the ring. “There you have it. Buck is first in line to take a shot of schnapps,” Pete states. “Yeah, that’s exactly what Funyon said. Great job of investigative journalism,” King replies. Ron Mexico, having nothing to check for, simply shrugs and calls for the bell. DING! DING! DING! As the last ring dies away, a large counter pops onto the Smarktron, ticking off a minute. Buck makes his way forward, looking to lock up, but Jay dodges out of the way and cracks Buck in the knee with a kick. Sugarhill’s Finest turns around, but eats a roundhouse. Lil’ Buck takes a step backwards, and the Dean sends him even farther back with a dropkick. Jay pops to his feet and pulls him to the canvas with a double leg takedown as the Arrogant Alabaman bounces off the ropes. The Dean slides forward, looking to get a mount, and manages to land a forearm to Buck’s jaw. Jay Hawke rears back for another blow, but Buck sneaks in a jab. Buck goes for another punch, but his position doesn’t lend itself to striking, and Hawke snares Buck’s arm and cranks on it. “Jay Hawke has Lil’ Buck in some sort of submission. It’s a bit difficult to see where he’s going with it right now, but no doubt it’ll take away some of Buck’s power,” Pete states. “Ha, wouldn’t it be funny if Jay Hawke won this match before either man had to drink? That’d be a definite cause to celebrate!” King exclaims. The Dean continues to work the armbar while Buck throws punch after punch into Jay’s head, though he’s too close to do any real damage. *Ding* Mexico hurries to Hawke and order him to release Buck, as a minute is up. Nearly frothing at the mouth, Jay screams at Ron about having a submission hold locked in and victory being near, but Mexico ignores him and hands Buck a shot of the schnapps. Lil’ Buck shakes his head and gestures that he wants it in his pimp cup, and Ron obliges. Sugarhill’s Finest downs the shot and Mexico signals for the counter to be reset. “And we’ve had our first drink of the night, though it came at a rather inopportune time for Jay Hawke,” Pete says, chuckling. “You’re damn right it did! Couldn’t they have just poured it down Lil’ Buck’s throat or something?” King rages. Hawke starts yelling at Buck and Mexico, demanding that he be allowed to reapply the armbar, but is ignored. Lil’ Buck stalks towards Jay, but gets nailed with a stiff right. Buck rears back and lashes out with a right of his own, and Hawke stumbles backwards. Sugarhill’s Finest scoops the Dean up and plants him with a belly-to-belly suplex. Buck pulls Jay back to his feet and nails him with a left hook. The Gangsta of Love bounces off the ropes, and jumps, knocking Jay back down to the mat with a clothesline. “Nice leaping clothesline from Lil’ Buck, and it looks like he’s now in control of this match,” Pete states. “Yeah, only because he was saved by the bell,” King replies bitterly. Lil’ Buck slides outside and starts looking under the ring for something. Buck emerges holding a music stand and gets back in the squared circle with it in hand. The Gangsta of Love holds it like a baseball bat, waiting for Jay Hawke to get back up. The Dean climbs to his feet, and Buck swings, the top flying off and heading straight for Ron Mexico, who nimbly ducks it. The rod, however, is on target and sends Hawke to the mat. Buck drops the stand and makes a cover. ONE! T--NO! *Ding* Mexico grabs a shot glass and thrusts it in Jay’s face, ordering him to drink, which Hawke does. Ron signals for the counter to start again, as Buck aims a kick at the Dean’s head, but Jay manages to roll out of the way. “And now both men have had their first drinks, and it should be interesting to see how it goes from here,” Pete states. “It doesn’t seem fair to Jay Hawke, though. He’s much smaller, and most likely won’t be able to hold his liquor as well as Lil’ Buck. Once again, someone is showing favoritism to him, and it’s not right!” King yells. “And Toxxic not defending the world title in how long is just standard practice?” Pete asks. “Quiet you.” Buck grabs the music stand, and Hawke, treasuring his head, rolls out of the ring before the Gangsta of Love can strike. Jay dives underneath the ring skirt and comes back with a cricket bat wrapped with barbed wire. “Is that the Equalizer?” Pete asks. “Sure as hell looks like it. I guess Janus left it here for safe keeping,” King replies. Hawke climbs up the steps and heads to the top rope, not wanting to expose his back to Lil’ Buck by stepping between the ropes. Jay drops down and swings, but Buck easily parries with his music stand and kicks the Dean in the stomach. Buck smacks Jay on the wrist with the music stand, forcing him to drop the Equalizer. Lil’ Buck lets go of the music stand, grabs Hawke in a front chancery, and drops to the mat. Sugarhill’s Finest rolls Jay off of him, gets to his feet, and grabs the Equalizer. The Dean stands up, only to duck down as the Equalizer goes whizzing past his head. Hawke shoots forward, pulling Buck down with another double leg takedown. Jay once again scoots forward, but instead of hitting the Arrogant Alabaman, Hawke tries to wrestle the cricket bat out of his hand. “Jay Hawke wisely trying to take away Lil’ Buck’s weapon, as he’s strong enough without it,” Pete states. “Come on, Jay, bash him up!” King shouts. Hawke manages to take the bat away, but Buck lands an elbow with his free left arm to Jay’s head. The Dean rolls off, gets up, and slams the Equalizer down onto Buck’s chest. *Ding* Jay backs away as Ron Mexico presents Buck with his second shot, and the Gangsta of Love drinks it quickly. Ron signals for the counter to start up again, and Buck slowly gets to his feet, a few lines of blood on his chest. “What a shot from Jay Hawke with that cricket bat! I bet Lil’ Buck is wishing he would have kept his jersey on tonight,” Pete notes. “Like it would have helped any. Barbed wire isn’t going to stop for a mesh basketball jersey, MacDougal,” King adds. Buck eyes the music stand, but Hawke rushes in, and nails the Gangsta of Love on his arm with the Equalizer. Lil’ Buck stumbles back, and quickly exits the ring. “Ha! Buck’s running away!” King shouts gleefully. “No, I think he’s just going to find something to even things up,” Pete says. Lil’ Buck once more looks under the ring and pulls out a viola case. Buck opens it, perhaps hoping for a machine gun, but alas, it’s the instrument and bow. Sugarhill’s Finest takes both items out, closes the case back up, and hurls it at Hawke. Jay knocks the case away with his bat, but it gives Buck the opportunity to slide into the ring, holding the viola and bow. The Arrogant Alabaman gets to his feet and nails Hawke with the instrument. “El Kabong!” Pete yells. “Do you want us to get sued?” King asks. Hawke staggers back and gets poked in the eye with the viola bow, forcing him to drop the Equalizer as his hands fly to his face. “Fiddle sticks! Buck just used a fiddle stick!” Pete exclaims. “Maybe in your backwoods town, but people of culture, such as myself, refer to that as a bow, you moron.” Buck slams the viola into Jay’s stomach, doubling him over, and Buck lifts him up and delivers a spine shattering back breaker. *Ding* Sugarhill’s Finest pushes the Dean away, allowing Mexico to force another shot upon Hawke. Buck heads out of the ring and makes his way to the front row. He seems to be in deep conversation with a fan, and as the counter resets, the pulls off his sweater and hands it to Buck, who wraps it around his arm. “Oh, come on! That can’t be fair! He’s getting tourniquets from fans!” King roars. “Hey, it’s not Buck’s fault that the fans would rather help him than Jay Hawke,” Pete states. The Dean exits the ring himself, and searches for a moment, and pulls out a cricket ball. Hawke rushes for Funyon, snatches Buck’s Connie Hawkins jersey, and wraps the ball in it. Jay heads towards Buck, swinging the ball, and slams it into Buck’s knee, forcing Sugarhill’s Finest to the ground. Hawke rears back and cracks the Arrogant Alabaman in the shoulder. Jay drops the cricket ball and quickly locks on a Fujiwara armbar. “Oh, it’s over now! No way Lil’ Buck can get out of that Fujiwara armbar,” King says. “Very possible, King. That’s the same arm that was sliced open by the Equalizer, and of course, just recently, hit with that cricket ball,” Pete adds. Ron Mexico slides out of the ring to see if Buck will submit, but the Gangsta of Love waves him away. Sugarhill’s Finest reaches out, grabbing Jay’s head and pulling it back, but Hawke simply cranks back on the hold. Buck reaches out again and sinks his fingers into the Dean’s eyes, forcing Jay to relinquish the hold. “Well, Lil’ Buck didn’t submit to the Fujiwara armbar, so it looks like Jay Hawke will have to find another way to win,” Pete states. “Are you retarded? Just because it didn’t work once doesn’t mean that Hawke won’t go back to it!” King screams. *Ding* Mexico sprints back to grab Buck’s pimp cup, and gives him another shot. Buck slowly gets to his feet, and Hawke rushes him. The Gangsta of Love scoops Jay up, turns him upside down, and sits, driving Hawke into the ground with a piledriver. “Tilt-a-whirl piledriver! Big move to give Lil’ Buck some time, but it looks like his arm didn’t agree with it too much,” Longdogger points out. “See? Jay Hawke is a genius! Sure, he got dumped on his head, but it took a bit out of Lil’ Buck, too, and I don’t think Buck will be able to lift Hawke too much after this,” King adds. Buck rolls Jay over and hooks his leg. ONE! TWO--NO! “Buck almost got two out of that, but Hawke is pretty tough, and it’s going to take a lot more to keep him down,” Pete notes. “Well, of course! He wouldn’t be the International Champion if he went down to a piledriver!” Buck pulls Hawke up and drives a knee into his stomach. Lil’ Buck cinches in a front facelock with his bloody arm, and slams a forearm into the Dean’s back with his other limb. Buck lands another, and a third forearm, before he turns around, hooks Jay’s arm, and drops to one knee. “Nice armbar takedown from Lil’ Buck, and that knee to Jay Hawke’s face can’t have been too pleasant, but it looks like it hurt Buck, too,” Pete says. “And, if you say Jay Hawke was smart to do that, I will smack you. Yeah, he’s a genius all right. Just lets Lil’ Buck knock him around, but it causes some minor pain to Buck.” “You’re bitter in your old age.” Buck pushes Hawke to the floor, stands on his back, and grabs both of Jay’s arms. Buck pulls back and grinds his foot into Hawke’s upper back while Ron Mexico asks if the Dean wants to submit. It would seem Hawke did not say no, as the match continues, but Lil’ Buck releases Jay’s right arm, as it appears the strain of yanking on it is too much. “Look! Buck’s arm is hurting, and he had to let go of Jay Hawke’s arm! It’s working!” King shouts, cackling maniacally. “Damn it, you’re right, King,” Pete admits. “But, Lil’ Buck is still pulling back on Jay’s other arm, so he’s got that going.” *Ding* Buck reluctantly lets go of Hawke’s other arm, allowing Ron to give the Dean his third shot. The Gangsta of Love rubs his arm, looks to the ring, and notices the Equalizer laying just inches from him. Buck grabs the bat and waits for Hawke to get to his feet. Buck charges in and swings like Barry Bonds for the Dean’s skull. CRACK! “My God! What a shot from that cricket bat! Jay Hawke is damn lucky that Lil’ Buck hit the back of his head, otherwise he might not have a face right now!” Pete exclaims. “That was slightly horrific,” King mumbles. Buck quickly drops the bat, though, and his left hand shoots to his right biceps. Meanwhile, Jay Hawke is leaning over the barricade, apparently unconscious, and a fan shoves a plastic plate in his face. “Come on, now! Get Mr. Bukkake out and to deal with this stuff!” King bellows. “It looks like Jay Hawke just got a faceful of Vegemite!” Pete exclaims. “That’s not right! That shit is disgusting!” King yells. The Dean slowly wipes his face and gingerly touches a hand to the back of his head. Hawke stumbles backwards, and slowly makes his way to Lil’ Buck, who stands, waiting for him. Jay lashes out with a chop, but before it connects, Sugarhill’s Finest snaps off a jab. Hawke takes a few steps backwards, and Buck presses on, landing a left hook. The Gangsta of Love reaches out, grabs Hawke by the tights, and shoots him back into the ring. Buck climbs into the ring and drops a knee across the back of Hawke’s neck. “Despite bleeding profusely from his arm, Lil’ Buck seems to be back in control of this match,” Pete notes. “Not for long, though. Not for long,” King replies. Buck rolls Jay Hawke over and makes a cover, Mexico quickly down on the mat to count. ONE! TWO! TH--NO! Hawke gets a shoulder up, and Lil’ Buck pulls the Dean to his feet. Sugarhill’s Finest whips Jay into the ropes, crouches down, and explodes forward, knocking Jay Hawke to the mat with a forearm. “Chin Check from Lil’ Buck! That can’t be good for Jay Hawke’s already battered head,” comments Longdogger. “Especially with the back of his head lacerated from that barbed wire,” King adds. *Ding* Mexico rushes over and hands Buck his pimp cup. The Arrogant Alabaman downs the shot and pulls Jay Hawke to his feet. Buck picks him up and lays the Dean across his left shoulder. “It looks like Lil’ Buck if about to send Jay Hawke on a little ride here!” Pete exclaims. “Mistake...” King mumbles. Lil’ Buck starts spinning around, but it seems King saw this coming, and Hawke lets loose with a stream of vomit, splattering the ring. Buck slips and falls backwards, landing in the puke. “Eurgh...I think I’m going to be sick now...” Pete says, gagging. “Yeah, me too,” King replies, trying not to retch. Hawke stays down, and Mexico drops to count the pin. ONE! TWO! THRE--NO! YYEEAAH! “Lil’ Buck got a shoulder up, and just imagine how embarrassing that would be, to have your first loss on account of vomit,” Pete says. “If that would have happened to me, I’d have killed the other guy. To death,” King replies. “Then again, I can’t imagine it being any worse than anybody with an undefeated streak that lost to you.” Jay Hawke gets to his feet and pulls Lil’ Buck up. Hawke smashes a jab into Buck’s jaw, and slips behind the Gangsta of Love, applying a rear waistlock in the process. Jay strains, but lifts Buck off the mat and dumps him on his back. The Dean scrambles to his feet and slides out of the ring. Jay picks up the Equalizer and the cricket ball wrapped in Buck’s jersey, and climbs back in. “Jay Hawke really must have dug deep to have been able to hit that German suplex, but it seems odd for him to use that move when he’s been working over Lil’ Buck’s arms the whole match,” Pete comments. “Hey, it took care of Buck for a bit, so there’s no harm in it,” King replies. Hawke drops the cricket ball, but carries the bat to Lil’ Buck and smacks him in the chest with it again. Buck’s arms fly to his torso, and the Dean sets the Equalizer down on the mat. Jay lays Buck’s right arm on top of the bat, and jumps, dropping his leg across Buck’s arm, driving it into the barbed wire. “Leg drop from Jay Hawke to Buck’s already worked-over arm, and putting the Equalizer underneath was just icing on that cake!” Pete shouts. “And Jay Hawke continues to show his technical genius,” King says. Jay pulls the bat out from underneath Buck’s arm, and makes a cover. ONE! TWO! *Ding* “God damn it all!” King screams. “It was over!” “Well, no, it wasn’t, because Buck kicked out right after that bell rang,” Longdogger points out. “Yeah, but the referee was going to count three right before...” King offers. “No, he wasn’t.” Ron Mexico hands Hawke his shot, and Lil’ Buck slowly gets to his feet. Buck grabs the jersey-wrapped cricket ball with his left hand and swings it menacingly towards Jay. Hawke quickly scoops up the Equalizer, and advances towards Lil’ Buck. Sugarhill’s Finest lets go of his jersey, and the cricket ball flies right for the Dean, catching him off-guard. CRACK! “That did not look good. That cricket ball nailed Jay Hawke right on the forehead, and he’s lucky to still be standing,” Pete states. “It was nothing! I’ve seen him take worse,” King replies. Thoroughly dazed, Hawke doesn’t see Buck charge towards him and deck him with an elbow. The cricket bat falls out of Jay’s hand and rolls to the edge of the apron. The Gangsta of Love picks Hawke up and nails him with a right hand, but Buck quickly backs off, holding his arm. Buck heads back to the Dean and slams an elbow into his face, driving Jay towards the corner. Buck continues to lash out with his left arm, forcing Jay into the turnbuckles. “Is Lil’ Buck maybe looking for a Dirty South Thang? If so, I don’t think Jay Hawke would manage to survive it,” Pete says. “I doubt it. Lil’ Buck doesn’t have enough strength in his arm to pull that move off.” Buck tries to lift Hawke up, but the Dean fights back, kicking Buck in the knee. Buck stumbles back, still holding on to Jay, and pulls him out of the corner. Sugarhill’s Finest boots Jay in the gut, doubling him over, and Buck turns around. The Gangsta of Love hooks Hawke’s arms, and starts to turn over. “Jay Hawke might be going on a Buck-Wild Ride in a moment!” Pete exclaims. “Oh no he isn’t!” King yells. *Ding* BOOOOO! Ron Mexico rushes to Lil’ Buck and tells him that he must take his shot. Buck lets Hawke slide off his back and to the canvas, and downs his shot. “Jay Hawke just got saved there! I don’t think he would have been able to kick out of the Buck-Wild Ride,” Pete says. “Not that Buck could have held him up long enough for him to hit it.” Hawke gets to his feet, very groggily, and Buck not much better off after five shots of one hundred proof alcohol in twice as many minutes. Lil’ Buck takes a wild swing, Jay barely manages to duck, and snares Buck’s arm. The Dean sticks a foot out and trips the Gangsta of Love. Hawke locks on the chickenwing, and after a slight repositioning, manages to scissor Buck’s other arm. “Wing Span! Jay Hawke has Lil’ Buck trapped in the Wing Span! I don’t think Buck’s arm can take much more punishment!” Pete yells. “It’s almost over! There’s no way that Lil’ Buck can escape it!” King shouts, even louder than Longdogger. Ron Mexico gets down to check on Lil’ Buck, who shakes his head. A few fans risk a glance at the counter, and notice Lil’ Buck is in luck, and begin counting down. Ten! Nine! Eight! “No! There’s no way he can outlast it! Submit, damn you!” King orders. “Lil’ Buck might manage to endure the Wing Span long enough to force Jay Hawke to take a shot!” Pete exclaims. Seven! Six! Five! Mexico asks Buck again, but the Gangsta of Love once more shakes his head. Four! Three! Two! One! *Ding* YEEEEEAAAAAAAAH! Mexico screams at Hawke to release the hold, and is force to pull Jay off of Lil’ Buck. “No! That’s bullshit! He was going to give up! Make him get back in it!” King demands. “Well, even with that interruption, I don’t think Lil’ Buck can last much longer. He’s taken way too much punishment, and I doubt he could lift a sparrow, let alone Jay Hawke,” Pete replies, allowing himself a small joke. Jay takes his shot and downs it quickly, turning to look at Lil’ Buck struggle to his feet. The Dean marches over to Sugarhill’s Finest leans back, and spews the alcohol into Buck’s eyes. “Yes! What a genius move by Jay Hawke!” King roars. “That’s not right! The rules say the wrestler has to drink the shot!” Pete yells. “No, the rules say that the wrestler has to take it, swallowing was not specified, so it’s not required,” King replies. Buck stumbles around blindly, and Hawke heads to a corner. He snatches up his International Championship belt, folds it, and sprints for Lil’ Buck. The moment before impact, Sugarhill’s Finest bends over, trying to wipe his eyes, and Hawke goes hurtling past, nearly hitting Ron Mexico, who just manages to juke out of the way. Hawke bounces into the ropes and shoots backwards, bumping into the Gangsta of Love. Buck reaches up blindly and drops to the mat. “Neckbreaker from Lil’ Buck! He might not know it, but he ducked Hawke, looking for a belt shot, and he might have just turned the tables!” Pete screams. “No, no, no! Come on, Jay, get up!” King demands. Buck slowly gets to his feet, the schnapps out of his eyes, and he grabs the music stand. Lil’ Buck places it against Jay’s throat, puts Hawke’s arms in front of the stand, and locks in the full nelson. The Gangsta of Love pulls the Dean off his feet, and drops him down. Buck quickly leans forward and pulls back on Hawke’s arms, effectively choking him. Mexico leans down, asking if Jay Hawke wishes to submit. “Come on, Jay, you can last it out! That dumb idiot did, and the Wing Span is a much better hold than that damn Champion’s Requiem!” King yells. “I don’t know, King! Jay Hawke has the better part of a minute to wait before Lil’ Buck will have to take another shot,” Longdogger points out. Blood visibly dripping from Buck’s right arm, Sugarhill’s Finest tightens up on the hold while Jay continues to flail, looking for some means of escape. “Not much longer, Jay! Just twenty seconds! Fight it, Jay, fight it!” King demands. “He’s looking kind of purple, there King. I don’t think he’s got much left,” Pete notes. “Nonsense! He’s going to tough it out,” King replies. Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! “Shut those idiots up! Only fifteen more seconds, Jay!” King encourages. The Dean of Professional Wrestling might just make it, though he’s stopped flailing his arms around. Ten seconds to go, and Mexico asks again. The blood from Lil’ Buck’s arm is running down to his hands, giving him difficulty in holding on, as the timer reaches five seconds. Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap! With a second to go, Jay Hawke makes the slightest of movements, his left hand patting against his shoulder. Mexico leaps in the air and signals, bell rings mingling. *Ding* DING! DING! DING! “He made it!” King yells triumphantly. “No he didn’t!” Pete shouts even louder. Buck seems to think the same as Pete, as he releases Jay from the Champion’s Requiem and holds his left arm high. “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match by submission, SUGARHILL’S FINEST, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon roars. YYYYYEAAAAAAAH!!! “Knuck if You Buck” blasts over the speakers once more, and Buck gets his jersey and pimp cup. He pauses for a moment in the ring and motions for the rest of the bottle of schnapps. Mexico hands it to him, and the Arrogant Alabaman lives up to his name by pouring the alcohol into his pimp cup, and then dumping it on Jay Hawke’s prone form. “Oh come on! That’s just uncalled for,” King says. “He was just repaying Jay Hawke for when he spat liquor in his eyes,” Pete states. As Buck limps backstage and Jay Hawke is helped to his feet, both no doubt required medical attention soon, Storm fades to a commercial for Danny Williams’ Strong Style Ribs: “Try the new Unholy Combo Plate! One Strong Style rack of ribs, one order of Horrorcole slaw, and Maori fries!”

Promo - Gund Down (Or, Spooky) Part 2 “Scott?” Toxxic says, astonished. “Who the fuck is doing this?!” “Dis some bullshit! If I had my gat, I’d put two in the bitch did this shit!” Buck roars. “Well, Buck, where is your ‘gat’? How can we be sure that you didn’t just put two in Pretzler?” Griffon asks. “Man, fuck you, Archie! Ain’t no bullet holes on him!” Sugarhill’s Finest yells. “No, of course not. We would have heard a gun go off. He died quickly, though. It must have been someone fast. And what do you know, the fastest man in the federation just so happens to be standing in this ring, too,” Arch says, rounding on Wildchild. “You can’t be serious, mon!” says WC. “Oh, yes I can. Pretzler’s been going after you for weeks, and you just so happened to find the perfect opportunity to take care of him,” Griffon replies cooly. “Dat’s impossible! I couldn’t do nothin’ like dat! I’m not strong enough! But...you’re a powerhouse, aren’t ya, Archie?” WC asks. “Me? Yes, I theoretically could have, but as we’ve established, it must have taken someone fast. But, what if it wasn’t a someone? What if it were two people, acting as a team? But that’d have to be a well-organized team. Have to work together for a long time, trust one another, know each other inside and out, backwards and front. Besides, it wouldn’t help if a member of that team had some special skills. Skills he learned when he became a spy. Spies, they know how to kill someone quickly and efficiently in the dark, right, Johnny?” Arch inquires. “Hey, fuck you, Griffon! Why the hell would I want to kill Pretzler?” “Simple. He’s been going after Wildchild, and you couldn’t have your tag partner out of action if you were going to defend those belts, could you? So you just took care of him,” Archie says calmly. “Oh, that’s just the biggest pile of shit I’ve ever heard. If you ask me, we should be asking about your friend. You know, the one who’s melted a Nazi’s face?” Johnny says, pointing at Manson. “Ha. That’s funny Johnny, really funny. Yeah, I killed Pretzler. Look, I’ve never been one for subtlety, okay? If I wanted to kill Scott, and yes, I could have very easily, there would have been a flash of light, and beams come out of my eyes, and his bones would disintegrate! But all this sneaking around in the dark shit is the kind of thing a coward would do. A punk. A person who doesn’t drink alcohol,” Manson says, pointing a finger at Toxxic. “What? Get your bloody finger out of my face, sunshine! Why would I kill my own stable mate?” Toxxic demands. “Simple. Pretzler’s been slipping. He lost a few matches, and it wouldn’t work for someone without a near-perfect record to be associated with you. But, you couldn’t just kick him out of Revolution Zero, because we all know what happens then. They go after you, get on your heels for months, tormenting you. And you didn’t want that with Pretzler, so you took him out for good,” Manson says. “You’ve got to be joking! This is a load of bollocks! You know who’s behind this? The cryptic message, the shadowy figure, it all smacks of Kibagami!” Toxxic yells. “Very good, Toxxic, I’m impressed,” Landon says, clapping. “Everything’s always got to be about you. Couldn’t dare think that someone was after Pretzler. No, it’s Kibagami, coming back to toy with your mind. And that’s exactly why you didn’t do it. Because you wouldn’t want someone else given credit for your handiwork. If you wanted to take Pretzler out, it would be in full view of the public. You know, just like Bowers.” “Hey!” Luchador shouts, getting everyone’s attention. “Okay, now, it could be that someone in this ring did this to Scott, but there’s an equally good chance that some psycho is in here with us...” “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Insane Luchador?” Cortez asks. “Maybe you finally snapped and Scott was the first person you could reach.” “Todd, just shut the fuck up and let me finish, okay? Now, as I was saying, since we don’t know for sure who did this, I think we should at least get out of the ring, where, if it is someone else, they don’t have all of these ways to get us. Now, we should head for the locker rooms, that way we’ll know if it’s one of us or not,” IL says. “Great plan, idiot. Why don’t we just get the fuck out of here and call the cops?” Cortez asks. He pulls out a cell phone, but stares at it in disgust. “No signal. Can anyone else get one?” he asks, and one by one, the wrestlers shake their heads. “Well, let’s just get out of here, at least,” Maddix says. The nine remaining grapplers leave the ring, but Toxxic lags behind. “What about Scott? Are we just going to leave him, or what?” the Straight Edge Sensation asks. “What can we do, though? We’ll get out and send someone back for him,” Dangerous says. They head up the ramp, and backstage. After another winding trip through some corridors, they come to the front doors, barricaded with tables, chairs, crates, and other objects. “Who’s the idiot now?” Luchador asks. “We got to the locker rooms.” Moving as one, the group heads back for the locker rooms, and in an ironic twist, they’re locked shut. “Aw, we’re trapped!” WC moans. “Are you retarded?” Griffon asks as he shoulders the Bahama Bomber aside. THUMP Griffon’s shoulder isn’t enough to break the door down, though, and Lil’ Buck joins in the effort. THUMP THUMP Crack The door finally gives, and the wrestlers pour in. “So, what? We wait until it turns out that one of us is the killer or we die from starvation?” Toxxic asks. “Hell no! I ain’t goin’ out like no bitch! If I have to eat through the walls, I’m gettin’ out,” Buck says. “Yeah, and besides, I doubt our cell phones will be down forever,” Manson says. Just at that moment, the lights flicker, and all nine wrestlers spring to their feet, but the lights remain lit. “Fuck you,” Buck says, flipping the bird to the fluorescent lighting. The lights seem to take offense to that, as they promptly go out. A moment later, the door creaks open, and then... CRACK “Ungh” Thud As the moan fades away, the lights come back to life. “Not again!” To be continued

Note: This is in the vein of the horror movies back on the IGN Wrestling Community board where someone picked a person to be the killer, and everyone else wrote stuff, and tried to figure out who was the murderer. Or something. Just a Friday 13th thing of stuff and wax. Promo - Gund Down (Or, Spooky) *SKIRTCH* The sound of tires squealing on asphalt disrupts the silence in the parking lot of the Gund Arena. Lil’ Buck hops out of his car and heads for the entrance, but stops as another car pulls up behind him. Sugarhill’s Finest turns around and sees Insane Luchador climb out. “You got the call, too?” Buck asks. “What? Oh, yeah. Know what this is about?” “Not a fuckin’ clue, man. Hope we can get this over with quick, though,” Buck says. Before long, the once-empty parking lot has a fleet of cars, as Landon Maddix, Manson, Johnny Dangerous, Todd Cortez, Scott Pretzler, Arch Griffon, Toxxic, and Wildchild show up, all seemingly called to the Gund Arena, same as Buck and Luchador. The ten men enter the Arena, which is so unaccustomed to having any athletes in it during May, and come across a large sign tacked to a wall. Go to the ring. You’ll receive further instructions there. With no other option, they head down a winding set of corridors and hall ways, all of them gaining overness from this except for Johnny, and make their way down to the ring. “Okay, so now what?” Cortez asks. For an answer, all of the house lights turn on to a blinding level of brightness. “Kay, thanks. Can you turn the lights down a bit?” Dangerous wonders, looking around. Suddenly, the Smarktron flickers to life, and over the black background, red, blood-like letters appear, spelling out a message. You are all going to die “So what? We were brought out here to see some new guy’s entrance?” Pretzler asks. “I mean, it’s a cool effect, the letters look like dripping blood, but we all had to rush here for this?” “Eh, it’s not that great. Perfect Bo had something like that back in the fucking JL,” Luchador replies. “I bet he didn’t have that!” Maddix shouts, pointing. The nine other men turn their heads to see a large drop slide off the Smarktron and hit the stage below with a wet splat. “This’s some fucked up shit. I ain’t stayin’ here to die, motherfuckers,” Buck says, trying to force his way out of the ring. “No, you’re going to stay right here. All of you,” says a deep, booming voice. “Who the bloody hell is that? There were only six cars outside,” Toxxic says. “I don’t give a fuck who it is! I ain’t goin’ to find out and get fuckin’ killed!” Buck yells. Before Buck can shove a single person out of his way, the lights go out, plunging the arena in darkness. Just as quickly, a single light flares up from the sky box, illuminating a shadowy figure, watching the competitors in the ring. “Who’s that?” Pretzler yells. The light in the sky box goes back out, and then... THUNK! “AAAAGH!” Thud A pained scream comes from someone, and the lights flicker to life again. The wrestlers look around, a few splattered with blood, before looking down and seeing a corpse. Who’s corpse exactly? Why, none other than.... To be continued PS - If you want to continue this, feel free, though I do have a good portion already planned out. Then again, this is Fuvolution, so, blork!

Well, people were saying that it was staged and stuff, something about some of the characters having the equipment that they get from taking the rookery or whatever. But, yes, damn funny.

Promo - So Good, It'll Make You Slap Yo Momma! Inside a dirty, hole-in-the-wall restaurant sits SWF superstar, Lil' Buck. He picks up a large rib, slathered in bright red sauce and takes a small bite. "God damn! What tha fuck you put in dis shit?" Buck shouts, jumping up and knocking over his table. "Can't you mu'fuckas make some decent fuckin' ribs?" "They can't. But I can," says a low voice, belonging to Danny Williams. "Who the fuck is you, bitch?" Buck demands, slowly reaching under his shirt. "I'm Danny Williams, and I'm here to invite you to Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs," Danny replies Star wipe to a gleaming Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs location, and the two men enter. Danny hands Buck a plate piled high with ribs, and Sugarhill's Finest tentatively takes a bite. He smiles slightly, and begins eating in earnest. "These shits is great! Might not be as good as my momma's, but she can't send 'em to me any more, cause of the herbs she uses!" Buck exclaims. "Yes. At Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs, you get the full rib experience," Danny says in his monotone. "Hells yeah, bitches! I can't believe dis white boy here can make ribs this damn good! Straight up, Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs knocks the competiton's fronts out, bitch!" Buck yells. "Tony Roma?" Danny asks. "Fuck 'im!" Star wipe to a shot of Buck holding Tony Roma in an alley and Danny unleasing with a vicious rolling elbow. Cut back to Buck and Danny in the restaurant. "Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs, with locations in all fifty states, and soon, all over the world! Ya heard?!" Can't let the Fuvolution die!

MAIN EVENT SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Wildchild (SWF Cruiserweight Champion) v. Insane Luchadore (SWF Hardcore Champion) Fuvolution pride says IL, so, IL. HARDCORE MATCH SPECIAL GUEST COMMENTATOR: Toxxic, the SWF World Heavyweight Champion Ejiro Fasaki v. "Maniac" Bryan Rodgers Ooh, tough second match for the rook. Ejiro with his mad experience skillz (And armbars) HOUSE RULES MATCH RUSSELL CROWE'S FAVORITE MATCH Lil' Buck v. Jay Hawke (SWF International Champion) Mr. Galatea SINGLES MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins v. "The Franchise" Mak Francis These two again? Whatever, uh...Sporky. HARDCORE TWO ON TWO MATCH SPECIAL GUEST ANNOUNCER: Johnny Dangerous, one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions! Arch Griffon and Manson v. Martin Hunt and Danny Dagda Fuvolution and MANSONOSITY cannot be beat!