King Cucaracha

Ooh, while I think about it...where the hell are The Bashams. Last I saw, Doug was getting a moderate push on Velocity as "The Bash-man"...which was only slightly less crap than "The Con-man". And Danny was some sort of mysterious guy with face paint on Heat. Then, they both seemed to disappear. Did I miss their names on a release list...or are they just stuck in OVW?

My guess? They wait until someone anti-drugs pisses them off, then they call up Punk and have him parody them simply because they can. Just have him go around randomly accusing people of steriod abuse (hey, they could nickname him "TSM", eh?) which starts a whole bunch of feuds with the Lashleys and the Chris Masters of the WWE. Hell, they could team him with Simon Dean. They'd be booked roughly with the same strength.

I still don't buy Rey as Heavyweight Champion. The structure of Rey matches mean he's on the defensive for 80-90% of his matches, against everyone. He's the natural babyface in peril. Having a guy who gets beaten up for the majority of every match and is always at a disadvantage as the World Champion? Not convincing. They can't team him with guys like Batista and Taker during his reign, because people will just say 'well, why is Batista teaming with Rey when he could kick his ass just like *that*?' I still don't buy it. And besides that, the idea Vince would put the belt on Rey in the first place is pretty funny. When was the last time Rey was in US Title contention, let alone the World Title?

Pretty much. People jumped on the bandwagon is spectacular style the moment he landed in the thumbtacks at Backlash. The Evolution turn was met with mark outs from pretty much everyone on the board. But then the anti-Orton stuff started up as soon as his face run bombed and people jumped on that bandwagon. I've got no problems with Orton as a heel. He's hardly a 'terrible' wrestler like the 'haterz' say he is...infact, it's safe to say the people who don't like him over-react far more than those who do. I can't wait for him to win the title, if only for the bitchfest that'll commence here.

Recently, times have been tough for Landon Maddix. Another show, another loss. And it's beginning to get to the point of too serious to ignore. After all, it was only a year or so ago that he was the World Heavyweight Champion of the SWF. And now, he's unable to beat the talented but inconsistant Stryke and a rusty, former indy wrestler turned movie 'star', Wes Davenport? Serious? Yes. But need to be laid out on a leather couch and talking about his problems? Well, apparantly so. "This year has been tough." sighs Maddix, wiping the hair from his eyes. "No, wait, scratch that...this year has sucked. It's been downhill ever since February and it's just getting worse by the week. Heh...and to think, this was supposed to be my year. My new beginning. The SWF under MY era. That was the hype. Beating Toxxic last Christmas put me on the top of the pile and suddenly, everything was perfect. The perfect end to the perfect year. January 14th, I lost the World Title to Sacred. To be honest, looking back, I shouldn't have been surprised. Sacred's always been...a bogey opponent of mine. I lost to him in my first SWF match and it stuck from there, though I was never a regular opponent of his, in the back of my mind. Sacred's too good for you. Sacred's better than you. I'd beaten all that...I beat him, won the Cold Front Classic against him. Too complacent. That was the start." Looking up, Maddix wipes a wry smile from his face. "Sure, I won the Clusterfuck. A big honour, huge accolade. I etched my name in history that night. A second chance. From The Fire, everything started to go backwards again. One step forwards, two steps back. I went backwards against Sacred...and then, it was as if Slay Ride had never happened. Toxxic was suddenly a worry again. If not for losing the World Title, I might have been okay you know. Fear wasn't a problem until then because I had all the confidence in the world and I was able to fall back on everything I'd ever done in the past, everyone I'd ever beaten, everything I'd ever accomplished. Then, it hit me. History doesn't mean jack. Toxxic beat me. He nearly broke my damn neck. I got over that. But I'd lost something. I had something over Toxxic from Slay Ride...mentally. That went and so did my confidence with it. I asked not to go after the World Title..." Maddix sighs deeply. "...I pleaded. Damn it, I fucking begged them not to put me in another match with Toxxic. Because my confidence was shot to bits. Toxxic didn't cripple me physically. He managed to cripple me mentally though. So I went for the second prize. I went after Johnny Dangerous. Let's face it, if I couldn't beat Dangerous, it was all over for me because I was always, always, able to pull out the victory against Johnny when it mattered. You know, I was so close to quitting back then...losing to Dangerous would have tipped me over the edge. But I beat him. The third chance. I had the International Title. You know, I held the ICTV Title for 138 Days. Two short of the record reign the company had ever seen at that time. Maybe something like that would have helped me out. Maybe that would have...I dunno...made up for From The Fire in some way." A shake of the head. "Five days. FIVE...days. I don't know to this day what was more embarrassing. Losing the World Title so quickly, nearly getting crippled trying to win it back...or losing the 'secondary' title in under a week. Third chance, gone. Strike three." Holding up three fingers to signify his point, Maddix again wipes the hair from his eyes. "Maybe then, the writing was on the wall. Maybe I was just too stupid to see it...or, just too ignorant and proud to take any notice of it. Suddenly, it all came flooding back. Fear. Fear of failure. So I fell back on someone else and went after the Tag Titles. Looking back, that was just as damaging as losing would have been. Suddenly, the threads all came loose and everything unravelled until I was left with nothing. World Title? Gone. International Title? Gone. Tag Titles? Gone. My stable, my tag partner, my manager...all gone. I was clinging on to everything that I had left from last year in the hope that eventually, it'll all go back to normal. I was in denial. 'As long as I have Martial Law, I'll be fine', I'd tell myself. 'As long as Megan's there, everything's okay.' 'She's my good luck charm'. Ha! Some good luck charm...she was just something to cling onto from the past, pretending that everything was still the same. Once I lost the Tag Titles and Martial Law fell apart, she was all I had left from Slay Ride. From 2004. Without Megan, I was nothing. When Cortez beat me at Genesis, I couldn't deny it anymore. I was going backwards." Sitting up, Maddix holds his head in his hands. "And now, I sit here...and I'm actually afraid. I beat Max King so many times in 2004, I've lost count. I beat him time after time. I beat him in Dumpster Matches. I beat him in Cage Matches. I beat him in straight up, singles matches. But...this isn't 2004. And I'm afraid of Max King. Just like I was afraid of Sacred. Just like I was afraid of Toxxic. I know I can beat him, because I've done it before. It should be no problem. Confidence should be flowing through my veins at the thought of facing Max King. It's not." At this time, the camera pans up. Far from conducting this conversation with a physiciatrist or a doctor, Maddix is actually talking to his two stablemates. One, the International Champion, Jay Hawke. The other, the Cruiserweight Champion, JJ Johnson. Neither of them looking too enthraled with Maddix's story, but both listening anyway. "So, why do you think you're going to lose to Max King?" asks Hawke finally. "I dunno...I just do." "Yeah, but why?" "Because it'd be just my luck, the way this ye..." Hawke interrupts Maddix with a raised hand, prompting Maddix to sit up. "There's your problem. It's nothing to do with 'luck'. It's confidence. And the reason your confidence is so low is because you haven't got Megan Skye to fall back on when your Plan A fails. So, the solution is pretty obvious..." "Find another rat to stick in my corner and help me cheat?" Shaking his head, Hawke immediately puts out any enthusiasm Maddix had found. "No...you need to be confident that you can win without Megan Skye, or any blonde bimbo for that matter. Me and JJ manage without valets and escorts. You just need another Plan B. Infact, now that I think of it, you'd be best served with a new Plan A as well." "Like what?" asks Maddix, sounding unconvinced. "Well, the problem is, your style isn't exactly foolproof. High flying is all-well and good, don't get me wrong. But you have to learn to play your averages. I watch you in the ring and some of the things you do look more damaging than they actually are. You need to eliminate the flash and go with something that works. Pure wrestling for example. Or maybe something more along JJ's path. Shoot wrestling. A more MMA influenced style." Maddix muses over what Hawke has suggested... ...and bursts into laughter. A little disconcerted, Hawke turns around...to find that JJ Johnson is also smirking away, not risking his throat with actual laughter but still able to see the funny side of Jay's suggestion. "I thought you said you've seen me wrestle!" splutters Maddix in the middle of his laughter. "Me? Pure wrestling? Mixed Martial Arts!?! Don't you think I would if I COULD? Being a cheating, scheming luchador is all I know!" "I know. So, me and JJ are going to teach you different." Suddenly, JJ doesn't find this situation quite so funny, looking at Hawke as if he's lost his mind. But Hawke seems totally serious as he nods to JJ. Meanwhile, Maddix too has stopped laughing. The thought of Landon Maddix, Technical Shoot Fighter should be funny. Hell, there's probably plenty of people hearing this that are in fits of laughter thinking about the mere possibility. Landon isn't one of them though. After all, it's ridiculous. As if he could win a match wrestling the way Jay or JJ do. HA! But, then again, it's not like he's winning as it is. "You're serious?" "Deadly." "...then I guess we'd better get started, because you've got a LOT of work to do."

Thank you, fog! The ref for the United/Villareal game tonight was a disgrace. Why is it that referees can't tell when players are blatantly diving and play-acting, when however many thousand were at the game could?

RODEZ I'm thankful that vasectomy procedures are scientifically proven, 99% accurate. *thumbs up* WRIGHT On this national day of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for my superior intellect and my unquestioned morality.

Okay, so the idea is we want a little quote from as many superstars as we can get on what they're thankful for on this Thanksgiving. A Survivor Series '89 retro flashback kinda dealy. So, rather than sending a whole bunch of PMs or making a whole bunch of threads, we might as well collect them here. Whoever's posting the show can put any from non Mods in here too if it's easier.

Crap. Is there any way you can sub me out for someone, because I'm going to need this show off. I would have PMed, if could have got on last night. I've got two promos going up (pre-written) and I'll be fine for the next show...but having a match this week really screws up what I'm supposed to be doing.

He'd just miss out. If he could play on the left hand side, maybe. But central midfield is another of England's pleasant headaches, like centre-back. True. Michael Carrick would have a case too for central midfield. In other news, I benched Henri Camara out of my fantasy team because Wigan were playing Arsenal. And sure enough, he goes and scores. So I miss out on points from him unless Nolan doesn't play tonight. Just my luck.

Eh, same difference.

I did it the cheap way... I've also never seen the computer do it, so what you do is put in a second player and have him steal the taunt (should be a long one, just in case), and then you, the first player, interrupt. Hmm, I didn't know you could do that. Urge to cheat...rising. Yeah. Not the same, I know, but I'm used to stopping to breath from FirePro on the GBA, so it's no big deal to me. Haven't tried it without yet.

SS 89 was all right at the start of the show.

Exactly what I was going to say. Cena's always going to be a heel over here, character change or not.

Nice to see Alpay's got his head together since leaving Villa and has finally become such a sportsmanlike, civilised human being. Good for him. 'Boose...you missed the memo about Kevin Nolan for England, I see. Also, according to the 'sheets', Ballack is on his way to Real Madrid. Further proving that Man United aren't a big team anymore. Bad news...we don't get Ballack. Good news...maybe now, United fans won't be labelled Glory Hunters and instead be labelled Glory Dreamers as we currently are.

They could always just 're-release' Cheating Death, Stealing Life with a bonus disk that maybe includes the tribute matches on RAW and SD amongst other stuff. And, maybe an adjusted title, considering. And give the proceeds to a charity Eddie would have or did support in some way.

Aside from the who should win, who shouldn't win arguement...they never should have made Christian vs. Monty Brown, because it's likely going to be a mediocre match at best. Monty is awful in the ring. I'm sorry, but over or not, putting the World Title on Monty Brown does not make TNA an alternative to the WWE. It just says 'hey, we can put the belt on a charismatic, bigman, one move wonder who sucks in the ring too'. And that's all I see in Monty Brown. The Pounce. And that's it. If they want to make him World Champion, they need to have workers in there who can cover up his limitations and carry him to good matches BEFORE he does his big move. I like Christian. I really do. But Christian, I don't think, will be that guy or should be that guy. The best way Christian can make Monty look good is to bump his ass off for the first 3-4 minutes, then cheat to gain the advantage before Monty makes a comeback. Or, in other words, exactly the same formula that was holding Christian back in the WWE. Instead of coming to TNA and having his first big match and being able to relax and concentrate on putting on a great show...he has to carry a worthless lug. Win or lose, they're already messing up Christian's debut in the company by even booking the match, because his first match is going to blow absolutely nobody away and he'll go back to being the guy that nobody liked because he did too many chinlocks. The worst thing about the match is...I don't care who wins or who loses. I don't care who it'll hurt more. I don't care, because I wouldn't pay to watch Christian vs. Monty Brown. Well, it worked with Rhyno and Jarrett. Oh. Wait.

I'm one Challenge away from completing the Amateur Challenge Set...and it's to interrupt a Stolen Taunt, which the computer NEVER does. Never seen it done, in Season Mode, GM Mode, anywhere. Frustrating.

"Generally, we here at the SWF aspire to bring our younger and more family orientated program in our schedule in the form of Lockdown." begins Longdogger Pete as we return from commercials. "Robots, Jimmy The Doom, a different kind of Robot...and some other stuff that it's probably best we all forget. But, tonight, we're going to break from format momentarily and take you to one of hottest spots for Detroit sports fans, The Hockeytown Café, for a very special Hardcore Gamers Title Match. So, at this point, you may want to take the women and children out of the room...this could get nasty." "Pete, go easy on the drama, wouldya?" The Suicide King sighs in response to the over-dramatic intro. "I've got to give fair warning to the people." "Why? Sure, we had a real brutal Hardcore Match at the Pay Per View, people got hurt, yadda yadda yadda. This is different. We're not talking Janus and Bruce Blank in a cemetery in the middle of the night. It's Bruce Blank...and Landon Maddix. In a restaurant. Playing Hide and Seek." "So?" "So? SO!?! Pete, Maddix is about as Hardcore as Swimsuit Monthly. Comparing him to Janus would be laughable. Laughable! HA! HAHA! See. Laughable. Like that. Ha." "..." Pete glances to his side at King and sadly shakes his head. "Regardless of that, you really should send the kids out of the room folks. And not just because we're legally binded to inform you of that. Despite King's thoughts, this couldturn ugly and with Bruce Blank involved, probably will. So, consider yourself forewarned, as we cut over now to Hockeytown Café and join the Hardcore Gamers Title Match." -------------------------------------------------- Right on cue, over to the outside feed we go and we are outside in Detriot, as Landon Maddix stands at the entrance to the Hockeytown Café gazing upwards at the massive sportsticker scrolling around the building's wall. Behind him, referee Sexton Hardcastle admires the view too with arms folded. Despite the fact that he was unlucky enough to draw the short straw (literally, straws just about meet SWF budgeting rules) and be assigned the Hardcore Title match tonight instead of a cushy Battle Royal payday, Hardcastle seems quite happy. After all, he gets to watch a game while doing his job...and doesn't have to do any real work. Win-win. Except for being stuck travelling to Detroit with Maddix, that is. "Man..." mumbles Maddix to no-one in particular. "What in the HELL am I doing here?" "Not a Hockey fan?" chimes in Hardcastle. "No, it's not that." "Really? You have Hockey in South Dakota then?" Turning his head, Maddix looks at the Hardcastle with destain. "Jesus Sexton, we're not Amish. Of course we have hockey! Just because we haven't got a team in the NHL, doesn't mean we don't have hockey. In actual fact, we've got a pretty good team. Sioux Falls Stampede." "..." "Currently ruling over the rest of the ACHL." "..." Realising Hardcastle is drawing a blank, Maddix sighs and motions for the resident referee to follow him as he strolls towards the entrance. Maddix, despite not seeming too eager about what's in store, strides off ahead of Hardcastle. Who, unsurprisingly, is booed as soon as his referee stripes are spotted by a group of ardent Red Wings fans stood in the lobby. But, ol' Sexton's a trooper and he ignores the boos as he tries to keep pace with Maddix, who is already looking around nervously. "So, how big did you say this place was?" asks Maddix as Hardcastle reaches him. "24,000 square feet." "...well, at least Blank isn't gonna be too hard to find. Just follow the stench of pig slop." Meanwhile, somebody has found Bruce Blank. A second camera man, conveniently placed inside the restaurant, is right beside Bruce...who, pretty predictably, is at the bar and chugging down a beer. And judging from the collection of empty glasses beside him, it's not his first. Leaning over the bar, Bruce takes a curious glance around in a half-hearted search for his belt, before calling over a nearby bar attendant. "Hey...there ain't no belts behind this bar, is there?" "Uhm, no sir." replies the bar assistant, without actually looking. "Have you tried Lost and Found at the main entrance?" "Lost and Found, eh?" muses Bruce, before shaking his head. "Nah, too obvious. Guess I best start lookin' soon, else that pipsqueak Spaniard's gonna ged'it. *glances at clock* Ah, I still got time. Gimme a whiskey barman...I'm feelin' up market ta'night!" The barman scuttles off as Bruce smiles a contented smile and chugs down the rest of his beer before his next drink arrives. Little does Bruce know, that he's being watched. Infact, he's slowly being advances on, as Landon Maddix has arrived and is creeping up on Blank. Blank is oblivious to this as he taps his fingers on the bar, merrily waiting for his drink, unaware that Maddix is right behind him and...stopping, realising that there's no weaponary handy. Not trusting his fists alone, Maddix panickly looks around for something to use. But he finds himself at a loss for plunder, so settles for simply kicking Blank's stool out from underneath him, causing Bruce to topple to the floor with an awkward, hip first landing. "Dang it!" shouts Blank, clutching at his hip... *SMACK!* ...moments before getting kicked square in the face! Channeling the Kawada within, Maddix quickly grabs a reeling Bruce by the hair and snaps his boot upwards twice more in quick succession, before scrambling over and grabbing Bruce's abandoned bar stool. Maddix then heaves the stool over his head, measuring Bruce, before dropping the seat down across his hip. The stool buckles, one of the legs splintering and snapping on impact. It's now useless, other than as a weapon, which Maddix gladly uses it as a second time as he drives it across the leg. "C'mon Bruce! Surely you aren't legless yet! HAHA!" A small but curious crowd has begun to form around the two SWF superstars by now, not entirely surprised to see a fight in a hockey themed venue but intrigued nonetheless. Some are even cheering Maddix on, despite probably not knowing who he is or why he's laying into a big-ass Alabaman with a bar stool. A third time the stool crashes down into Bruce's upper leg and by now, the seat is totally mangled and little use even as a weapon anymore. So Maddix tosses it casually aside, before searching for something else to use. Luckily, Bruce's Whiskey has arrived by now. Grabbing it off the bar, Maddix takes a quick swig from the glass...but he's not one for alcohol, so instead hovers the glass over Bruce's head with a smirk. *SMAASH!* He then drops it, causing the glass to explode into what seems a million shards, right across the back of poor Bruce's head! "AAAH, JESUS!" "Close...but, not quite." smirks Maddix, wiping his hands theatrically at a job well done. Meanwhile, Bruce cries out, but only in temporary pain; he's felt much worse. Still, glass in your skull isn't much fun, even when you're Ultraviolent. "Well, that was easy." smiles an oh, so smug Maddix. "So, where should we start looking then, S'ton?" "S'ton?" "Hate to break it to you, but Sexton's kinda a goofy name. ...so, where's the hockey memorabilia at. The belt's bound to be around there somewhere." Hardcastle points the way and Maddix begins to stroll off in that direction, casually. Far too casually in fact, as suddenly, a hand reaches out from off camera and grasps his ankle, like something out of a horror movie. Stopping cold, Maddix's eyes bulge slowly and dramatically open in fear, like something from a B-level horror movie...maybe C, but I'm feeling generous. "Not so fast, boy!" With no other choice, Maddix turns and tries to wrestle his foot away from Bruce's grasp, but the Ultraviolent Champion is up to his knees and lurches forward with a headbutt that buries itself deep into Maddix's abdomen. And another one. Maddix doubles over, breath knocked out of him, while Blank eases himself up on the bar and grabs one of his empty beer glasses. It's amazing what fear can do to a person though and seeing Blank advancing on him wielding a pint glass and snarling through gritted, bloody teeth sends a sudden adrenaline rush through Maddix's body. Enough for him to dive forward and land an uppercut between the legs of The Alabama Hammer! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Bruce drops to his knees, still clutching the glass despite the agony that he's clearly in. Does him little good though, as Maddix proceeds to kick the glass out of Bruce's hand, before laying into him with a flurry of quick right hands. The hockey fans can relate to this type of offence a little more and cheer on Maddix, before cheering even more as Blank suddenly retaliates with gutshots. Blank's punches are obviously heavier than Maddix and soon Blank is back up to his feet, leathering the now stationary Maddix in the gut a final time before clubbing him across the jaw with a right hook! Maddix sprawls backwards, falling against the bar and staying slumped there. Smiling through the pain, Blank rubs at his head briefly before picking up one of the bar stools, with considerably more ease than his opponent early. Bruce then adjusts his grip, so he's holding the base of the legs, before swinging the stool down like a club right into the spine of La Cucaracha!! Taking the stool in another, more baseball like grip, Blank waits for Maddix to turn to meet him before swinging the stool with frightening ease. Luckily for Maddix though, he sees it in time and ducks his head. The stool carries on flying, over Maddix hurtling past the bar and through the selection of spirit bottles mounted on the wall behind, sending glass and alcohol flying. Which Blank would usually mourn. But he's too busy to weep over wasted alcohol now, as Maddix has set off and is now running for higher ground. "C'MON YOU LIL' RUNT!" yells Blank, pushing through the crowds. "FIGHT LIKE A MAN!" "NO!" yelps Maddix from in amongst the bodies. "I'M'A KICK YOUR ASS WHEN I CATCH YOU!" Emerging from through the small crowd, Blank ends up at the other end of the room and stops dead. Maddix has disappeared. Looking around, there's no door or window that Maddix could have escaped from, leaving Bruce confused. Either Maddix has run for the hills and is looking for the belt, or he's lying in wait ready to sneak attack the Champion. And after some quick pondering, Blank figures as it's Maddix, it must be the former. "AH HA!" *WHOOSH!* He was wrong. But, at least he ducked the hockey stick aimed at his head. "...crap." Grabbing the errant hockey stick on the second swing, Blank rips it from the grip of the ambushing Maddix, booting him quickly in the gut... *CR - AAACK!* ...AND BREAKING IT CLEAN IN HALF OVER HIS BACK!! Maddix falls to hands and knees with a low groan for all to hear, as Blank tosses away the lower half of the stick and instead grabs Maddix by the hair. The bigman from Alabama has little trouble pulling Maddix up by the hair. And even less throwing him face-first into the bar, with enough force for Landon to recoil and stumble back across the floor and over a table. A few of the people in the bar haven't got up to crowd around, but even they are getting into the spirit of things, patting Maddix on the chest as he sprawls across their table. Maddix shrugs them away, but he's clearly hurt. Meanwhile, across the room, Blank is taking advantage of the heavily propped bar and grabs a replica Red Wings helmet from off the wall. He's not a hockey fan and even if he was, he wouldn't support the Red Wings. But, it'll have to do. "Aw yeah, now we're gettiin' somewhere!" smiles Bruce as he manages to get the helmet partway on his head, but no more. That doesn't bother him though, as he grabs Maddix's legs and splays them. The people around the table know what's coming and encourage Bruce to 'do it'. So he does.... "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...headbutting Maddix right in the lower nutsack region, with helmet assist! "YOU WAN'ANOTHER!?!" yells Bruce to the people around the table, to which they smile. "YEAH!" "YEAH!" "HELL YEAH!" "...no!" "Whoop, three to one!" "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Poor Landon is outvoted and gets another helmet assisted headbutt between the legs. Writhing in pain, Maddix topples into the laps of the restaurant's patrons, while Bruce pulls off the helmet with a huge, country boy grin on his unshaven face. "You know...I really should be gettin' ma belt by now...but dang it, I'm just havin' too much fun." Bruce kindly informs the nearby camera as he grabs Maddix and drags him from the laps of the applauding Red Wings' fans. Hauling him away from the table and letting him slump to the floor, Bruce then measures Landon, before driving a big cowboy boot into the side of his head. Landon rolls a few feet across the floor. Far enough for Bruce to get a small run up, before leaving his feet and dropping a rather cautious leg across his throat! The legdrop does Bruce's hip no favours, but he grits his teeth and ignores the pain while pulling himself up. "Bartender...another whiskey, when'ya ready." The rather horrified attendant behind the bar scuttles off, trying to find a whiskey bottle that wasn't destroyed by the errant stool. Meanwhile, Blank clears the bar with a large sweep of his huge hamhock, sending his empty beer glasses shattering to the floor. He has something planned, clearly, as he drags Maddix off the floor again and sets, lifting Maddix into his arms. From there, Blank then heaves...and presses Maddix clear above his head with a Gorilla Press! "OH GOD!" The crowd quickly back off a little more, as Blank then surveys the scene, displaying his strength to all and sundry... *THUD!* *OOOOF!* ...before dropping Maddix face-first, lengthways across the bar. And there Maddix stays, seemingly knocked silly from the heavy landing, as Bruce shrugs. "Guess I best git huntin' then." And with that, Bruce then walks out of shot, with Maddix left lying motionless on the bar. Returning moments later is the bar attendant, a little taken aback at the human carcass that lays on his previously pristine bar, enough so that he decides to down the whiskey in his hand himself. -------------------------------------------------- "Wow!" gasps Longdogger Pete, as we return momentarily to the arena. "Bruce Blank just decimated Landon Maddix and has apparantly left him laying while he retrieves his belt." "Rest assured, if the rules didn't mean Bruce had to search an entire restaurant for his title, he'd just be getting started." smiles King. "I'm not sure he did enough damage though. If Maddix recovers, chances are he'll luck out as usual and fall ass over head right by the belt." "You're right King. This match is as much about luck as it is skill. But obviously, if you incapacitate your opponent, you have more time to search." -------------------------------------------------- And search is exactly what Bruce Blank is doing as we re-join the match and Bruce strolling through the Hockeytown Cafe, seemingly trying to think of some sort of strategy. If he can get into the minds of the SWF officials, then maybe he can guess where to try first. Obviously, it's not going to be anywhere too public. That'd be too easy. But...then again, maybe that's what they WANT him to think. Maybe it's a double bluff. Bruce has read about that sort of thing. He studied physchology. Well, okay, he found a mangled copy of Science Weekly at a bus stop once. But damnit, he read a couple of pages in between looking at the pictures. "Excuse me missy." Bruce politely smiles as a young woman passes him. "Could ya tell me which way to the restroom?" "Certainly. Down the hall, take the second lef...well, that's the women's restroom. I assume you don't want that. *smiles*" "Nah, one more offence like that and they throw me in the clink." sighs Bruce, to a raised eyebrow from the woman. "Uh...well, I think the men's is right on down the hall." "Thanks missy, mighty good of ya." Bruce strides off down the hallway, as the women exhales, having held her breath just long enough to avoid the smell of beer coming from Brucey's mouth." -------------------------------------------------- "You know...if the belt was in the restroom, surely someone would have stolen it by now." muses Pete. "I doubt it. Like I told you before, the belts are pretty much worthless since I implemented my sweeping cost cutting scheme back in the day." "Ah, yes, the great aluminimum collection of 2003, I remember now." -------------------------------------------------- Staggering out of the bar, Landon Maddix still looks extremely groggy. Then again, a 7 foot drop onto a wooden bar would do that to a guy. Stumbling through the hallways, The Next Generation is followed through the crowds of Red Wings fans by Sexton Hardcastle, who has only just been able to check Landon's condition. "Where'd Bruce go?" Maddix mumbles as he suddenly stops. "Did you see him?" "No, I'm sorry La..." "No, no. Don't be sorry. Let him be. I think I've proved all I need to prove against him already." Maddix checks his nose is still at the same angle it was earlier. "No, I need to find the belt. Now...I just have to think. Where would they put it? The head office likes screwing me around, so it's probably in the last place I'd want it to be. Like at the bottom of a toilet or something. That'd figure." Maddix pauses and looks at Hardcastle despairingly. "You don't think..." Hardcastle shrugs. Maddix sighs. "Which way?" -------------------------------------------------- "Uh-oh..." "Anyone in that restroom right now is in for a BIIIG surprise." beams King. "Well, apparantly we're having trouble getting cameramen in the right place at the right time. We seem to have lost track of Bruce Blank. King, were the cameramen by any chance affected by your cost cutting schemes?" "Hey, if you wanna keep that Lazyboy you're sat in, you'll quit complaining." "Well...it is kinda comfy." -------------------------------------------------- Luckily, we still have a camera on Landon Maddix as we switch back, just as Maddix has reached the bathroom. Stopping at the door, Maddix shakes his head and wonders just why he's doing, this before entering...and freezing in shock. For the stall in front of him is in use. And all that can be seen are two cowboy boots. "So, where do we sta..." "Ssssshhhhh! Sssh!" hisses Maddix, pointing out the boots to Hardcastle. "Sorry." "This won't take a minute...stand back." Hardcastle seems confused but does as he's told, as Maddix suddenly backs up and takes a run-up to the stall, before booting the door... ...and retreating, whining and holding his foot. Maddix hops around on the spot holding his foot, as slowly the door opens and a thick Alabama voice causes Maddix's eyes to bulge open. "What'chu doin' boy?" "I'm kicking your a...ah...who the hell are you!?!" Yep, it wasn't Bruce. Yep, there just happened to be another person from Alabama wearing cowboy boots in the restaurant. And yep, he does have his pants around his ankles, but luckily everything is obscured from vision. "I'm a guy tryin' to take a crap, who the hell are you?" "Look, I'm sorry...I mistook you for someone else. Listen, I'm really sorry. Just please, for the love of all that's holy, don't stand up." Maddix pleads, before snapping back to his senses. "Listen, I don't suppose you've seen any belts around here. Big, championship style belts." "Nah. Hadn't seen any when the other guy asked me neither." "Other guy?" "Yeah. Some big ass redneck, he was." "And, where did he go?" "Dunno. He muttered somethin' 'bout bein' hungry and then walked off. Now, if ya don't mind, I got'sme some business to take care of." The guy in the stall closes the door (thankfully), leaving Maddix to turn to Hardcastle and look at him in confusion. "Hungry?" Hardcastle shrugs. "He's from Alabama, so he's got no money..." "HEY!" protests the guy from behind the toilet door. "I'll bet he's gone to the kitchens. C'mon, let's go!" "Wait! Aren't you gonna wash your hands?" Maddix glares at Hardcastle, before leaving. Without washing his hands. -------------------------------------------------- "Can you believe that?" chuckles Pete. "I can't believe he didn't wash his hands! All that money the government spends on campaigns, wasted! Impressionable kids watch this show you know! Maddix should be fired on the spot!" "Sigh!" -------------------------------------------------- Into the main eatery area we go (which, to be honest, could be anywhere in the building, because I really don't have a clue what it looks like), but Landon Maddix and Sexton Hardcastle aren't in the mood for eating. Well...Sexton is. But he doesn't have much of a choice, as he's dragged by Maddix to the door that clearly leads to the kitchen. Curiously, no-one tries to stop them from getting in. Infact, nobody seems to dare to. Maybe because someone already tried? Who knows. Stepping over a motionless body in front of the door, with a boot imprinted on his forehead, Maddix pulls Hardcastle in front of him and smiles re-assuringly. "Okay, after you." "ME!?!" wails Sexton. "Are you crazy!?!" "But he might have the belt. And if I go in first, I might boot him, grab the belt and pretend that I found it first. And then you'd be under investigation from shoddy officiating. Now, haven't you had enough of that this year?" Hardcastle solemnly nods, before veeeeery cautiously entering the kitchens. Maddix waits with an ear to the door, for an possible howls or screams or clangs and pangs...but, there's nothing. So, either Hardcastle's been KOed before he could scream...or the coast is clear. All the same, Maddix grabs a couple of empty plates on a stack beside him before slowly entering. To find Hardcastle safe and well. "No sign?" asks Maddix. "Well, I sure didn't scare him off." "Nevermind that. Start looking, we've got a lot of ground to cover here." "Uh...technically, I shouldn't." "Technically, you owe me. Remember? What happened in the brothe..." "Yeahyeahyeah, say no more." Smiling, Maddix pats Hardcastle on the back before setting to work searching for the belt. Curiously, there seem to be no actual cooks in the kitchens. Infact, there's no-one in the kitchen. There is a splattering of red liquid on the floor in front of Landon, but that could be anything. Right? Still clutching the plates, Maddix strolls down one 'aisle' of the kitchen, glancing around for any immediate signs. But he finds nothing, so stoops down to check under one of the work surfaces. *GGAAAAAHH!* And a large hand grips him around the throat. "REMEMBER ME!?!" Crawling out from under the table, Blank continues to choke the life out of Maddix with a hefty grin on his face. Dragging Maddix around, the bigman then backs Maddix up and SLAMS him backwards into a door which presumably leads to the big freezer. Blank then drags Maddix out again, still holding him by the throat. *SMAAAASH!* But suddenly, porcelain chunks fly across the kitchen, as Maddix desperately breaks one of the plates over Bruce's head! *SMAAAASH!* And the other one! Stumbling backwards, Blank falls against the same door used moments ago, as Maddix catches his breath before charging and forearming Bruce right in the jaw! A large cut has been opened up on Bruce's head from the plates and Maddix has seen it, targeting the forehead with a quick succession of right hands. The punches aren't particularly damaging to Bruce, but the cut has been opened up badly now and he's still not 100% from Ashes to Ashes, so can't seem to fight back as Maddix finally stops his onslaught and retreats. Woozy from blood loss, Blank slumps against the door. Just as Maddix charges, aiming the laces of his boot right at the gash with a Running BOOTSCRAPE~! "Lan-don's-go-nna-kill-you! HAHA! C'mon you redneck, get up!" Landon accompanies the verbal abuse with a slap to the face. Big mistake, as Bruce reaches up and grabs Landon by the front of his jeans, hauling him forwards and face-first into the heavy metal door! Maddix staggers backwards and collapses as Blank eases himself up. The blood from the forehead and the glass cuts from earlier are bothering him, which is a first. Maybe he isn't as healty post-Janus as he thought. But all the same, he grabs Maddix by the hair and pulls him back up. Pulling him over to the sink, Bruce grabs a bar of soap on the side and smiles. "Now, how'bout we wash out that potty mouth, sonny?" "No, no...anything but that..." Bruce shrugs. "Okay." concedes Blank, instead slamming Landon's head into the edge of the sink! Landon falls to his knees clutching his face, while Bruce tosses the soap away. Oh, the irony. Instead, he grabs a handful of Landon's hair, picking him up before effortlessly throwing Maddix up onto the kitchen workstation. Maddix slides a foot or so before coming to a stop, which he doesn't really want, trying to crawl away. Bruce stops with with a haymaker to the side of the head though. He then lands a haymaker to the left kidney area, before looking up to his left, where a mass of cutlery hangs above his head. And a smile creeps over his face as he reaches up and grabs a rather large looking fork. Bruce admires the weapon with a wry smile, turning around... *OOOOOF!* ...but gets caught, right in the gut, with a wooden, spiked, meat mallet! And it does it's job, tenderising Bruce's flesh and leaving him doubled over with a hand on the workstation. Maddix rolls off to the floor, still wielding the kitchen implement and landing a shot into the ribs! Bruce's already torn up midsection from A2A is getting re-torn now, as Maddix wields the weapon again...and lands another shot to the ribs. Blank is in agony now and collapses in a heap on the floor. Standing over him with the mallet, Maddix measures Blank...but suddenly, a thought occurs to him. "SEXTON! OPEN UP THE FREEZER!" Hardcastle turns his head, looking a little surprised at the request. But he isn't one to quibble and rushes over across the kitchen to do what was asked of him. Meanwhile, Maddix bends down and starts to claw at Bruce's face, trying to open up the cut even deeper and even wider than it currently is. "I CAN'T!" "Oh, for crying out loud." sighs Maddix, stumbling over towards Hardcastle. "Must I remind you again about the brothel and the hooke..." "No, I mean I can't. It's jammed." "I can explain that." groans Blank, pulling himself gingerly up across the kitchen. "I...kinda...OW!...I kinda...locked the cooks in there. An'...I made sure they couldn't git' out by...hitting the lock a few times..." "With what?" "Oh...just with...THIS!" Suddenly, Bruce Blank pulls a lead-pipe from under the workstation and Maddix suddenly flicks back into B-level horror movie mode. Walking with pain clear on his face, Blank advances on Maddix with the pipe and Maddix, understandably, backs the hell off. Seeing this, Bruce smiles a little. He can keep Maddix at bay with the pipe. And at the same time, he can search around the kitchen...which he does, knocking over a few boxes stacked in the corner and checking for any belts that happen to be laying within. "C'mon, thi...this isn't fair!" "Just be lucky I ain't beatin' you senseless." growls Blank as he checks behind some more boxes stacked in the corner. "Well...c'mon Sexton, get the pipe off him!" "You're kidding, right?" stutters Hardcastle, huddled in the corner sucking his thumb. "CALL YOURSELF A REFEREE!" Maddix snaps, before reaching behind him, fumbling blindly for a weapon and grabbing the first thing that comes to hand. "AH HA!!" "...a colander?" snickers Bruce. But snicker he shouldn't, as Maddix suddenly charges at him with the deadly weapon. Blank quickly wields the pipe and swings for Maddix, but he skids to his knees across the floor, crawling quickly through a bemused Bruce's legs. Coming to his feet before Blank can gain his bearings, Maddix then swings the colander with all his might, clocking Blank right between the eyes with the metal tool! Bruce reels backwards with small circles imprinted on what part of his forehead isn't sliced open...but he shakes off the effects with a beaming smile. "One of them newfangled lightweight things." Blank says in dis-approval, before swinging the lead pipe...but Maddix blocks with the colander! Blank swings again...but again Maddix blocks! "Pretty good shield though, huh?" "UUUGGGGHHH!" Not against shots between the legs it isn't, as Blank catches Maddix gloating and boots him low! Tossing the pipe away, Blank looks around briefly, but still can't seem to find the title, at least in immediate eyeshot. So instead, he grabs Maddix again, looking to deliver more punishment. Starting with a right hand that sends Maddix sprawling over the workstation. Smiling, Bruce's attention is taken by the stove beside him. Not good. "Now, how's about we heat things up, eh?" "No, Bruce, that's too far!" protests Hardcastle. "Aw, come on. I ain't gonna cook him! Just...burn 'im a lil'." Blank replies, as he casually turns one of the knobs on the stove which seems to start it up. "So, tell me Sexton. How'd'ya like your scrawny rat...well-done, or burnt to a crisp?" *THUD!* Bruce doesn't get an answer though. And had he done, he wouldn't have heard it, as it's disguised by the dull thud of wooden chopping block on Alabama cranium! Eyes crossed and brains scrambled, Blank collapses to one knee, as Maddix drops the chopping board and launches into Bruce with a sudden, straight kick! Landon's boot slams into Bruce's face and he slumps in a heap, while Maddix pulls himself quickly back up, or as quickly as possible at least. Now's his chance. Bruce is down and dazed, so he's got the kitchen to himself to search for the belt. The belt that'll mean being champion of the Hardcore Division. The belt that'll mean... ...more of THIS? "Screw this." groans Maddix, clutching his groin. "I'm outta here." "Wha...what?" asks a clearly confused (boy, he sure gets confused a lot, huh?) Hardcastle. "You've got to get the belt to be Champion." "You know what...I don't want the belt. Not if it means fighting for my life night in and night out." Turning back to Bruce, Maddix bends down towards Bruce's face. "Bruce, congratulations buddy, you're welco...GAAAHH!" But suddenly, a hand reaches up, grasping Maddix by the throat. Maddix should probably expect this by now, but he doesn't and Blank manages to pull himself up before Maddix can counter at all, taking Maddix and hurling him across the floor with a huge beil! Skidding to a halt, Maddix clutches his back in agony, while Blank sniffs the air and pulls a disgusted face. "Man, whatever they's got in that stove stinks." Maddix is now trying to crawl for the exit. But Bruce has re-found his masochistic side and he's enjoying the chance to beat up on someone smaller than him. He knows this is chance to erase the memory of Janus from people's minds and he's determined to do it in style. Grabbing Maddix by the hair, Bruce drags him off the floor and slams a headbutt across Maddix's own cranium. Blood from Blank's forehead smears across Maddix's face, as a second headbutt is slammed into Landon's head, causing him to stumble backwards and fall right in front of the lit stove. Bringing a sick, sadistic smile to Bruce's face. He has something seriously Ultraviolent in mind. Something that might even go BEYOND Ultraviolence. And as he strolls towards the fallen Cucaracha, Bruce can already see the publicity he's going to get. The statement he's going to make. And if Landon doesn't do something about it, he's going to be toast. Like, literally. Lucky then that Maddix manages to shoot out his legs, wrapping them around Bruce's and causing him to tumble forward in a modified drop toe hold. *BOOF!* "AAAAOOWWWWWW!" Throwing his hands up despairingly, Blank still crashes headfirst into the stove door, with enough force for the door to buckle and slowly creep open. Blood is now gruesomly smeared down the door as Blank groggily rolls away from the door. And as he does, the door slowly opens a little more. Causing Maddix to cover his nose, choking from the disgusting stench from within. "Ugh!" groans Maddix, not altogether consciously. "I'm sure not...eating here...tonight." "Yeah, I've never smelt anything like that. Almost like...burning leather." Still a little dis-orientated pulls himself up to his knees in front of the oven, with the smell of burning leather coming from it. Burning leather. ...jesus he's slow, huh? "Wait a minute..." "What?" "...if Bruce had that leadpipe, why didn't he club me and you as soon as we walked into the kitchen?" ... "Wait a minute...burning leather?" Finally, it's clicked and Maddix curiously looks in the stove. And sure enough, sat on a single baking tray, sits the Hardcore Gamers Championship! Maddix eyes light up instantly, but whether it's in delight or despair is arguable, as he's found the prize. And it's not like he can pretend he can't, because Sexton Hardcastle has seen it and grabs Maddix's arm before hauling it in the air. "WE HAVE A WINNER!" "Oh. Uh, yay?" "Well, what are you waiting for!?!" beams Hardcastle. "It's yours!" Maddix looks up at Hardcastle and he really, really doesn't seem convinced. But hey, as he's being handed it on a silver platter...literally...who is he to argue? So, with a shrug, Landon reaches out and grabs the belt... "AAAAH, DAMNIT!" ...before suddenly realising it's searing hot and dropping it from his burnt fingertips. "Uh...well, I guess that counts. Congratulations Landon." "Thanks. Let's just...wait until that cools down and then, get the hell out of here." Just as Maddix says this, Bruce Blank groans and begins to stir. "...on second thoughts, how about we just run like hell?" Glancing hurriedly around, Maddix grabs the colander he used earlier from beside him and tosses the belt in that before he and Hardcastle begin to make a very hasty escape. Leaving Bruce Blank, slowly coming to his senses, as yet unaware that his belt is...well, no longer his. -------------------------------------------------- Meanwhile, back in the arena, Funyon is in the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen...your winner of the match and the NEEEEEWWW S-W-F HARDCORE GAMERS CHAMPION... LLLAAANNDDOOONN "LA CUCARACHA" MMMAAAADDIIIIXXXX!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" The fans in the arena don't like it, at all, and voice their displeasure at poor, scapegoat Funyon. "I KNEW it!" snaps a bitter Suicide King. "I KNEW he'd luck out! He ALWAYS lucks out! You know, sometimes I think somewhere up there has a thing about teasing me." "Landon Maddix, the luckiest man in the Hockeytown Café tonight! Or, perhaps, the unluckiest, depending on how you look at it. He's the new Hardcore Champion but to be honest, I get the impression he's not too thrilled about it." "Would YOU be?" "I was, remember?" "Yes, I know. But if you were Landon Maddix, would you be?" "...good point."

Thanks for the feedback, Judgems. Duly noted. I figured you might have been there, which is why you knew about it and chose it for the match, so I tried to be a bit too realistic. Also part of the reason why I no-showed Mall Brawl back in the day.

Somebody booked a triple threat match? Holy crap! Judge = retro booker.

9 from moi. Awesome show, whole bunch of great matches and Patty's continuing bringing of teh awesome. Apologies for my rush job ending but...well, I'm a lazy asswipe who spent all week writing an SWF match that didn't even win. So sue me, and stuff. Match Of The Night: Zack vs. Brock Line Of The Night: "Did you know Taco Bell in sign language is just pointing behind you at the Taco Bell across the strip club? I didn't.", Alex Spezia

I think Prazak called it "American Strong Style". I think he was joking somewhat when he said it too, though I can't remember the actual quote. He certainly didn't have his 'serious voice' on when he said it. Trouble is, that's what most US Indy fans already think, certainly before Prazak said that. Because most fans bastardised the term Strong Style as soon as hitting people real hard in the face got popular on the indies. Ask most wrestling fans what Strong Style is and I doubt the majority would even mention Japanese wrestling. The term has been used loosely for a long time by a lot of people. And besides that, I'm not sure Ian could get 8 guys who work/try to work a 'full Strong Style' like Romero, Joe and...say, BJ Whitmer. Anyway, should be a fun enough show, so long as they put the right guys through first round. Corp and Necro would make a decent first round match but with all due respect, I wouldn't want any more of Corp than that. As long as they stick Joe and Necro together somewhere and maybe Strong/Joe II (?) or Kingston/Hero XXXVIII in, it should be good.

OAOAST World Heavyweight Title Stephen Joseph © vs. Leon Rodez ...shall be the... ...MMMAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIINN EEEEEEEVVEEEEEEEEENNTT~!~~!~~~!

Duggan joining Team Canada. Why!?!