HollywoodSpikeJenkins

Wow, the way you tell it, Vince McMahon is the Devil.

Joe may have had a long reign and given the ROH title credibility...but overall, I enjoyed Aries title reign more. For most of the first year, Joe's title matches weren't that good and he had no feuds, except against Daniels and Homicide. He just went out and defended the title. With Aries, at least, you had the story of him being the one person to beat Joe, his feud with Alex Shelly that ended with a great match at MM, Aries taking over Generation Next (granted, not really doing anything with it), and the fact that Aries was determined to defend the title at every chance he could get to prove himself and his body not being able to take the abuse it was receiving. Aries wanted the world, and when he got it, it leads to his downfall. IMO, Aries 6 month title reign > Most of Joe's 20 month title reign.

People don't seem to realize Aries has been ROH Champ for 6 months and was running a storyline where he had a bad neck.

I'm a huge Raven fan...but I'm upset that AJ was just a transition champion. Seriosuly, I thought he was going over. Rest of the results: -- Shark Boy def. Amazin Red, Elix Skipper, Delirious, Zack Gowen, and Jerelle Clark when he pinned Clark with a DSD. -- Shocker def. Alex Shelly with an inverted cradle. Really good match that was given some time. -- The Naturals def. Team Canada to retain the Tag Team Titles when Jimmy Hart returned and gave Chase Stevens the microphone and hit Petey Williams with it. Very good souther tag match where Andy Chase was just killed for most of the match by Team Canada. -- Ron Killings def. The Outlaw with a roll up. Outlaw beatdown post match. He brought a chair into the ring and BG James came in and stole the chair. Outlaw told James to hit him with the chair, but he never did. Konnan came out and attacked Outlaw off and questioned James. -- Samoa Joe def. Sonjay Dutt with the Island Driver followed with a Rear Naked Choke. Crowd was way into Joe. -- Bobby Roode def. Lance Hoyt after D'amore distracted Hoyt and Roode hit the Northern Lights (a lariat to the back of the head). Post match beatdown on Hoyt. D'amore went for a moonsault but missed. Hoyt fought back and hit a moonsault on D'amore. -- AMW def. 3LK when Outlaw came out and brawled with Konnan and AMW hit the Death Sentence on BG James. Story of the match was that both teams couldn't work together. Post match, James left the ring angry at Konnan and almost joined Outlaw going to the back. -- Christopher Daniels def. Michael Shane and Chris Sabin in an Elimination Match to retain the X Divison title. Sabin pinned Shane with a Future Shock; Daniels pinned Sabin with an Angels Wings. -- Raven def. AJ Styles, Monty Brown, Abyss, and Sean Waltman in a King of the Mountain Match to win the NWA World Heavyweight Title.

It was Johnny. Take care, buddy.

How is Punk anything like HHH?

ELM is back? Jeez...why did I have to break my hand now?

I actually might order the show now.

I was a Sandwich Artist up until about 2 weeks ago when I broke my hand. Free food made it great to work there. And yes, Subway is putting out an electronic type card thing. Something similar to the CVS card. You put money on it and use it at Subways, instead of paying with cash. Sort of like a debit card, I guess.

I agree with Sacred. Wow, one feud and being put in an angle that has you main eventing a PPV doesn't bring the CW division to whatever "success" you want it at.

But IL is the CW champ...

It also opens the show.

I'll let you in on a secret... I wrote those. <{POST_SNAPBACK}> How'd I know you'd let that one out?

I called it in and the damn Brit couldn't pronounce "Jenkins".

"Straight Edge Fringe Named Gang" Reno Updated: 8:12 AM Jun 1, 2005 Koula Gianulias Straight Edge teens say no to drugs, drinking and sex. Most parents would say, that's a good thing. The problem is some of these kids are taking their beliefs too far. Police say they are considered a gang because some are lashing out violently against other kids who don't follow their lifestyle. "They're pretty much terrorizing kids in their owns schools," says Sgt. Walt Frazier with the Regional Gang Unit. "Some of their weapons of choice are bats, brass knuckles, knives, pepper spray and mace," says Officer Paul Adamson, also with the Regional Gang Unit. It's a lifestyle based on positive behavior. But an extremist fringe has grown out of this philosophy, leading the Regional Gang Unit to classify a group of strait edgers as a gang. They're considered "hard core" and apparently feel its their obligation to enforce their beliefs. Police say they target kids who smoke and drink. Usually draped in dark clothing with dyed black hair, they're known for starting trouble at a sporting events, or showing up at parties they weren't invited to and provoking a fight. Police also say because they come from more affluent families, they've got the technology - like cell phones and computers - to organize rapidly. The Washoe County School District has banned all straight edge clothing and paraphernalia. They're also urging parents to talk to their kids about any sort of organization they've joined, and the level of their involvement. ---------------------------- Considering I'm Straight Edge and not in a gang or anything...and all the other Straight Edge people I know are purely nice people, I have to call bullshit on this. Seriously now, they are just looking for a title to put on these kids.

Fuckin' Brits.

What am I doing here? It’s a thought that has crossed many people’s minds at some time or another. Maybe the office party got a little out of hand, maybe the night out clubbing was just a bit too drunken; regardless, alcohol is often involved in the run-up. Not tonight though, and not for many, many months beforehand. This man hasn’t touched a drop of the strong stuff for nearly a year now. Seriously. What am I doing here? It’s night in Johannesburg, and overhead the stars have come out to play. That in itself says something, because in most cities you can’t see the stars due to the fallout from the thousands upon thousands of lights. This part of Johannesburg is darker. There aren’t so many street lights, and by and large that’s how the locals like it. ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins turns a corner with a degree of caution, looking about him as he does so. He’s seen a few people since he left the hustle and bustle of the city centre, but most of them have given him a wide berth. He’s not richly dressed or with any obvious signs of wealth, and that combined with the fact that even as one of the SWF’s smaller wrestlers he’s still a well-built 6’1 means that any muggers in the area won’t consider him a priority. In fact, Jenkins grimaces sourly as he readjusts the black woollen hat pulled down over his dirty blond hair, I probably look like a mugger. It didn’t take him long to find out what he needed to know. A few hints, a few casual questions dropped here and there. Countries and languages may change but some things are similar the world over, and Spike’s got the feel of it coming back to him now. If his information is correct a quick cut through this alley and he should be in prime territory for what he’s seeking. Is this what I’ve been brought down to? The thought strikes him suddenly, almost causing him to break his stride. He’d considered what he was doing of course, even as he dropped the hints and asked the questions, but now he might only be minutes away from actually doing it the reality is starting to hit home. I can’t beat Toxxic, he reminds himself, feeling the bile raised by the thought strengthen his resolve. I had my best chance yet on Smarkdown… and I couldn’t do it. Forget Ejiro interfering, forget the chain, forget that we were both hurting from Japan, forget everything - after everything that we went through together, and then all that he’s done to me since, I still couldn’t put the motherfucker away. So what have I got left to lose? The line of reason makes it easier - not much, but a bit - to continue walking. Spike used to have lofty goals in life, and in his SWF career. The prospect of winning the World Title that he held up so briefly on Smarkdown as security dragged Ejiro Fasaki away from the ring has always been in his thoughts, driving him on with its golden glint. Now however his sole focus is on the British straight-edger with his stupid painted nails and his stupid spiky black hair and his stupid eyeliner and his stupid lopsided grin and his sheer stupid, stubborn, totally infuriating refusal to ever, ever lose… and it is this that means he is walking down a dark alley in South Africa at ten-thirty in the evening. He can’t be long though; he has a schedule to stick to. Spike saunters out the other end of the alley, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He was right; he’s now in the right sort of area for what he’s after, not the bright lights and security cameras and police of the main city, but one of the outlying areas. Perhaps a former village that eventually got swallowed up by the metropolis and now has its own little main street of shops and bars, a down-at-heel cousin with rusted shutters on the shop windows and litter lying everywhere, populated by a clientele who manage to be watchful without ever really looking at anyone else for too long. Perfect. In a way. * * * * * Spike finds the man he’s after slightly further down the road. Two skinny, unsteady young men are already hurrying away from him with their hands plunged in their pockets and Jenkins approaches without any great caution, carrying on at full pace as if to go past before suddenly stopping. To any suspicious watcher it might look like he’s stopping to ask for directions. “I wonder if you can help me,” Spike says in a low tone. The man looks up at him, startled. He’s not that big under the trenchcoat, Spike realises. He’s a short, rather slender man of indeterminate age and, Hollywood realises, a growing amount of apprehension at being addressed by this hulking American. Spike realises that he’s scowling and forces himself to appear a little more approachable. He disapproves of what the man does, but right now he needs this. “Maybe,” the guy says, still weighing his new friend up, “it depends what you’re after…” he trails off, before his face suddenly splits in a wide grin. “Hey! You’re that guy from the wrestling show, right? The Hollywood one!” His smile grows wider as Spike marvels at the fact that the SWF has reached even the slums of South Africa… but then the grin disappears, or rather mutates into a fearful grimace. “You, er… you’re one of those no-drugs no-drink guys, aren’t you?” the man says with a nervous laugh. “Hey, I think you must be lost. Look, if you go-” “I’m right where I want to be,” Spike replies, trying not to growl. With an effort, he forces himself to smile. “Look, don’t you know that wrestling is fake? The whole straight-edge thing is a gimmick.” “A what?” “Gimmick,” Spike repeats. “Like, something we do to make our characters more interesting? I’m not really straight-edge,” he assures the dealer, for without doubt that’s what the man is, “it’s just… it’s like I’m acting,” he finishes, praying to anyone who might be listening that the man doesn’t bolt. Seeing one of their fellows fleeing from a big American would either cause fear or anger amongst the other dealers populating the street, and either way Spike’s aim for the night would become hopeless. “…OK,” the guy says, still not sure but apparently not wanting to lose a sale. “So, you’re interested in buying?” “Might be,” Spike counters. “What’ve you got?” The man gives him an appraising look, then motions to the alley behind him. “Hey, you wanna see the wares you’d best come in here a way where we won’t be disturbed,” he says, moving away but making sure not to turn his back to Spike. “Most people know what they want before they get here, y’know?” A thought seems to strike him, but he dismisses it. “Hey, if wrestling’s fake you wouldn’t want Angel Dust, would you? Pity,” he continues, “that stuff’s like the best painkiller ever…” “Just show me what you’ve got,” Spike says, keeping his face level and following the man inside.

‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins sips his drink - mineral water - and looks around the club. It’s a Tuesday night but the SWF can always find somewhere to party, even with a show the next day. Spike suppresses a small smile at the thought of him being ushered into the club as a VIP, spared even the smallest possibility of him being searched and the tiny package in his pocket being discovered. However, it’s getting later and he still hasn’t done what he needs to do. It’s time to act, so he walks up to the bar and signals to the bartender, who makes his way over. “I want a Coke,” Spike says, “lemon, no ice.” “WHAT?” the barman bellows over the music. Spike sighs and leans closer. “COKE!” he yells. “LEMON! NO ICE!” The barman nods, wiggling one finger in his ear as he moves away and prepares the drink. Jenkins takes another sip of his mineral water and considers his next move. His gaze drifts around some more… and there, halfway across the crowded building, is the man he’s been keeping an eye on since he got here. Toxxic is engaged in conversation with Scott Pretzler at another bar, grinning away like a madman in a way that sets Spike’s teeth on edge. How can he do that? What gives him the right to smile? He’s not World Champion anymore, he’s had his ass kicked by Ejiro and Spike busted him up in their hardcore match… it’s not even like Revolution Zero is the outfit it once was, Spike thinks. Him and Sean Davis compared to two Canadians, one as dreary as a librarian and the other some wheezing MMA-wannabe? No question, Jenkins decides. Davis was worth both of them together, and when he and Toxxic turned on him Spike snapped his ankle like that… “HEY!” the barman yells. “YOU WANT THIS?” “Yeah, sorry,” Spike mutters, digging in his pocket. The barman hasn’t got a clue what he just said but the coins satisfy him and he disappears to the other end of the bar. Spike picks up the Coke - Toxxic’s order - and goes to set off… then hesitates. This isn’t going to work. The plan was to give the drink to Toxxic himself. Profess sorrow, forgiveness, whatever. Claim that he’s seen the error of his ways, or maybe just offer it to his former leader as a mark of respect for the fact that he still can’t beat him… but Spike knows that it won’t work. Even if he can prevent his hands from wrapping around the Brit’s neck, even if Pretzler doesn’t go for him first - even if Toxxic doesn’t just attack him, come to that - he still won’t be able to pull this off. There’s no way that he’s going to be able to say anything civil to Toxxic, not even for the few seconds it would take to hand the drink over. And it would have to be longer than that, he’d have to stay around afterwards and at least pretend to make some sort of conversation, pretend to try and build the bridges again… Fuck it. Spike thinks. After all that, I can’t do it. I hate him too much [/i][/i]to do it.[/i][/i] And then, hoving into view come Hollywood’s saviours. Two girls, late teenage or perhaps just pushing twenty, probably from two of Johannesburg’s richer white families. Both in heavy eyeliner with a real rock-chick look; Spike’s seen girls like them many times before, at ringside during an SWF show. They always seem to get off on Toxxic’s pseudo-gay pretty-boy look, it’s so easy to forget that he’s only 22... and as Spike watches their line of sight he sees that these two are no different. Whether or not they follow wrestling, whether or not they have a clue who Toxxic is, both of them are looking at him. And giggling. Bingo. It takes only a few seconds for Spike to make his preparations and then he sets off again, angling himself on a trajectory to casually approach them from the rear. They turn around as he walks up and stifle a quick giggle again; Spike knows he’s good-looking, and he’s showered and washed his hair since he was tramping around Johannesburg’s darker streets earlier this evening. Even so, it’s a surprise when the blond one speaks. “Hey, aren’t you Spike Jenkins?” First drug dealers, now South African ‘It’ girls, Spike reflects. This is turning into a very strange evening. Momentarily stumped for anything else to say, he nods. “My younger brother watches your show,” the brunette confesses. “Mom and dad don’t like it, though.” She pulls a face, although whether at the strictness of her parents or her younger brother’s folly remains unclear. “Hey,” the blond one says, looking at Spike appraisingly, “why’ve you got two drinks?” Jenkins grins back, letting her expectation rise for a moment. “Sorry,” he says, motioning slightly with the hand that holds the Coke, “this isn’t for you. It’s for my mate Toxxic over there.” He points clumsily, nearly slopping the carbonated beverage over the top of the glass. Maybe if I try really hard I can convince two braindead bimbos that I don’t hate him… “I thought you guys hated each other?” the blond one says, tilting her head to one side. Spike grins in what he hopes is a disarming way, but the brunette nudges her friend in the ribs. “Don’t be stupid,” she says scornfully, “wrestling’s fake. Everyone knows that… except my brother. They don’t even really hurt each other.” She pulls another face, this one definitely at her brother’s belief that two men hitting each other could be anything except fake. I hope your brother Shoteis you when he grows up, Spike thinks venomously at her, but thank you. Sure enough, even the blond one’s scepticism seems to be dying down in the face of her friends’ aggressive disbelief. “Hey, I saw you looking at him,” Spike says, taking the plunge. “You like him?” “Well… he’s kinda cute,” Blond admits. Spike mentally renames her ‘Blind’, then proffers the Coke. “Hey, this is what he likes,” he says. “Tell you what; you go and give it to him, get to know him a bit. But,” he adds conspiratorially, “don’t say I gave it to you, yeah? That’d ruin the fun.” “OK,” Blind grins and takes the drink before looking back at him. “Aren’t you coming over too? I thought he was your buddy?” “Nah,” Spike says, thinking furiously, “I wouldn’t want to cramp your style, know what I mean? I could try and get the blond guy he’s with out of the way too…” he adds, racking his brains for a way to distract Pretzler that wouldn’t end in instant violence, but Brunette unexpectedly comes to the rescue again. “That’s OK - I kinda fancy him,” she giggles. Spike just looks at her for a moment, then with a lack for anything vaguely witty resembling ‘Brunette’ simply renames her as ‘Stupid’. “Alright then; good luck,” he says, forcing his face into a grin. “Remember; don’t mention me, or the surprise will be gone!” The girls give him a vague acknowledgement, then begin to cross the floor towards the two members of Revolution Zero. And that’s that. Spike forces back a surge of guilt at what he’s doing, fiercely reminding himself about what Toxxic’s done to him. No, the ends justify the means. Let’s see you laugh this one off, you smug motherfucker. Blind and Stupid have reached Toxxic and Pretzler, who turn around in surprise to find themselves accosted by two attractive young women. My work here is done. No-one really notices Spike Jenkins heading for the exit, but that’s going to change soon. Before very much longer, everyone is going to know his name. And they won’t have a choice about noticing him.

Why would I want to read another Johnny/Landon match? There are like, 40 of them throughout the past 3 months!

Danny/Mak reeks of old-school "surprise match" awesomeness. *remembers Mak/Spike from the JL just happening out of nowhere on one show*

I still don't give a shit about Anya...

Is that Jesus with the belt? That is, is Matt Striker Jesus? I don't know if Striker is Jesus, but that's him alright. It's the NYWC Championship belt. www.nywcwrestling.com Actually, I think it's the NYWC Interstate Title. Striker is now a Double Champion in NYWC. And yes, he is Jesus.

Somebody give me a rundown of tonights episode since I had to work.

.... How am I god damn Jar Jar?

The usual. The busting in of Tom Flesher’s office. “Jesus. Can I get one day without someone charging in here to bother me?” The answer is simple. No. Well, at least not today. Today is the day Spike Jenkins lets out all his frustration on the man he hates almost more than Toxxic. “I’m sick of this, Flesher!” Flesher sits up out of his chair and makes way around his desk. He motions for Spike to sit down, which the “New Franchise” declines. “What is it now, Spike?” “I’m sick of being held down by the committee!” “What do you mean?” “You know very well what I mean!” Spike shouts as he prods Flesher’s chest, “I finally get my match with Toxxic the show AFTER he loses the World Title! What is this crap?” “I really don’t know what you are talking about…” “NO! You know exactly what I’m talking about! I’m in line for a World Title shot, but Ejiro gets his before mine! Why? Because Toxxic took out his bitch sister? Oh, boo fucking hoo.” “Hey! Watch it! Blaming others for you not getting your title shot isn’t going to get you anywhere.” “See, this is where you are wrong, Tom. There is only one person to blame for this…and that is you!” “Oh please…not this again,” Flesher makes his way around Spike and towards his door, “I have a meeting to get to.” “No! You aren’t going to walk out on me! I’m sick of this crap! You’re going to hear me out!” “Spike, I’m done with hearing you out. You’re all talk. Get over it.” “All talk? I KICKED OUT OF THE FRANCHISE TAG! I’M THE FRANCHISE AROUND HERE! I’m the best damn wrestler in this company!” “Spike, look around you. You’re the only one who believes that. Yeah, you kicked out of the Franchise Tag and that is a big deal. Nobody has ever kicked out of the Franchise Tag! But the problem is…nobody cares about you.” “WHAT?” shouts the “New Straight Edge Sensation”, “These fans are here to see me! What are you talking about?!?” “To see you? Spike, you really are delusional…” Flesher looks down at his watch and then back up at Jenkins, “Spike, I don’t have time for this. So you know what? I’m just going to tell you flat out. You are worth NOTHING!” Spike stands wide-eyed and open-mouthed as Flesher continues. “You were never worth a dime to this company. Ever. Look at your pathetic SJL career. Ever wonder why we never called you up to the big time? Because you aren’t ANYONE IMPORTANT! The only reason you had a job then is because of Mak Francis. Hell, the only reason you’ve had a job here during your even-more-pathetic SWF career is because you were either buddies with Toxxic or, again, Mak Francis. If it was up to me, you would have been gone a LONG time ago.” “…No…you’re lying…you’re just jealous…” “Jealous? Of what? You? Why the hell do you think I took that Cruiserweight Title off you? I didn’t have to, you know. But I requested it to the booking committee. It wasn’t just to get at Toxxic. It was to get at you. You’re a sham of a wrestler and a sham of a man. You’re waste. Nothing.” Spike looks at the ground, shaking his head. He can’t believe the words that he is hearing. “It’s no secret. I don’t like you. Never have. So stop running around screaming that I’m holding you back. Yeah, it is true. But it’s for the better of this company. Nobody wants to see you. So why the hell should you be in the main event?” “I’m the best wrestler in this company, damn it! I can beat anyone you throw at me!” “You can? Well, that’s a surprise, considering when you were in the SJL, you had about, oh…a thousand losses? What about now? Yeah, you beat Mak Francis in a fluke. Hell, you lost to Insane Luchador on Lockdown! Jenkins, come back to reality. The only time you were EVER worth anything was when you were the ‘longest’ reigning Cruiserweight Champion in history and with Toxxic. God, that was a fraud. If I were on the booking committee then, I would have had you stripped. You just devalued that title more,” Flesher looks back down at his watch and then back at Spike, “Okay, I’ve given you more time than I should have. Maybe you’ll do me the favor now and just quit. It would make my life easier.” Flesher quickly turns around and struts out the door. Spike Jenkins stares at the ground, trying to figure out what just happened…but he can’t. Spike Jenkins has been rendered speechless. He tries to put his thoughts together, but everything is just jumbled up. “Am I really worth nothing?” “Longest Cruiserweight Title reign…” “With Toxxic…”