Toshiaki Koala

“…It’s so refreshing, in an age and a promotion where finisher burning has become not only tolerated but required, to see a match in which every move means something, in which something that happens at the beginning can have a drastic effect later on. The fact that it’s an iron man match, where multiple falls are expected, may be a reason for this. Credit, though, must be given where it is due. Certainly, Wildchild does his best to steer it into spotfest territory, but his opponent is so skilled that things remain safely under control, and the result is a match that’s not only one of the year’s best but one of the finest examples of carrying and covering that you’re ever likely to see. Four and one-quarter stars.” Scott Pretzler, standing backstage in front of a large SWF logo, lowers the computer printout in his hand. Having finished reading his 13th Hour Workrate Report, he now addresses the audience directly. “Now, I’m not one to be throwing out snowflakes like it’s Christmas in Maine. When I give a rating like that, you’d better believe I mean business.” PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! “When I give a rating like that, you’d better believe I mean business.” By repeating himself, he hopes to silence the fans. It doesn’t work. PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! ”When I give—shut up! The longer you do that, the longer I’m going to stand here. Is that what you want?” They begin to quiet down, now only booing him gently. “Of course, the fact that I was in the match – naturally that’s going to result in some bias. Can I help it, though? Should I just stop wrestling so I can review ‘objectively,’ thus starving the industry of one of its most reliable talents? Should I put down my pen and deprive tens of loyal readers" (he smiles at the self-deprecating joke) "of my rapier wit and penetrating insight? No. I’m going to have my cake and I’m going to eat it. Now, back to business.” He adjusts his collar. “At Thirteenth Hour, I proved to all of my detractors that pure, unblemished wrestling does have a place in the main event. That cruiserweight wrestlers can headline a show and draw both money and acclaim. Mr. Flesher, I’m sure you had doubts as to whether your booking decision was the proper one, but let me make it absolutely clear: you could not have asked for a more successful main event. I say that as a fan, as a critic, as a worker, and as a participant – and I say it with absolute sincerity. Amazingly enough, many of the yokels in attendance actually stood up and cheered during the match, which is something they don’t often do when not prompted by cue cards or a snappy catchphrase!” BOOOOOOOOO! “My point exactly. I could go on for hours about the virtues of my match—“ “God, no!” Longdogger Pete suddenly shouts with horror. “—but that would be nothing more than ego-stroking, something that has no place in this business. No, there is a much more important issue at hand. It concerns the SWF Cruiserweight Championship.” A momentary silence falls over the crowd. “Alright, look,” Pretzler says slowly. “It’s, uh, very sad that the Insane Luchador has… passed away. But he is dead, and the time has come to move on. I’ll admit it right now – I was never a fan. He was one of those people, like Wildchild, who just didn’t seem to respect the wrestling business, who didn’t realize that he was damaging the industry by popularizing a destructive style. And how exactly was he a luchador? He was white, spoke English, and he didn’t wear a mask. Huh?” FUCK YOU SCOTT! FUCK YOU SCOTT! “Folks,” says Pete somberly, “the views expressed by Mr. Pretzler are solely his own and do not represent those of the SWF management. Mr. Rickmen was a beloved competitor…” “I’m sorry, that was out of line. The reason I brought this up in the first place is that, obviously, something must be done with the title. And, as much as I hate to admit it… well, when Rickmen bit the dust, there was a Number-One Contender. Me. Some of you may be too young to remember this – I myself wasn’t even born yet – but when the interior of President John F. Kennedy’s limousine was redecorated with his brain matter, the presidency was immediately assumed by Vice President Johnson. Do you see what I’m getting at here? We may not have been close, but I think Rickmen would agree that logical way out of this is through a bloodless transfer of power to the next in line.” BOOOOOOOOO! “There is one more thing that must be said, and it concerns Wildchild. Undoubtedly, Mr. Child will attempt to petition the management to have the first shot at my new cruiserweight title, or even to receive the opportunity before the belt becomes mine. That is beyond my control. What I can guarantee is this: when I am champion, I will do everything in my power to make sure he never gets another chance to become Cruiserweight Champion. Do I respect him? Yes and no. While our relationship was never about respect, at Thirteenth Hour he took me to the very boundaries of my endurance. He may be a bad wrestler, but he’s a hell of an opponent. However, his decisive defeat in that match seems to have taught him nothing. Seeing him go out there and put on a gymnastics routine against our other Luchador – an actual Mexican this time – showed me as much. The fact remains that he can't tell an arm bar from a nudie bar.” E-L-M! E-L-M! E-L-M! “Indeed. But as I said, this was never about respect. To be honest, I just don’t see the point of having another match with him. I mean, Thirteenth Hour was the blowoff. I beat him, fair and square, in the middle of the ring, and that was that. I’ve already proven that I’m better than him. So why drag it out? Sometimes, Water Closet, you just have to give up.” DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “Enough already! On a less fortunate note, Revolution Zero is no more. I just want to say that it was an honor to be part of such a hard-working and honest group of people, and I will remain good friends with all of them. I think, to a certain degree, it just wasn’t possible for three people going in radically different directions to remain a cohesive unit. Myself, the rising star; Toxxic, the former champion struggling to hang on in the twilight of his career; and Johnson, content to stay somewhere in the middle… it’s sad, but after a while we were a group in name only. Still, the legacy will live on. Unlike most of the wrestlers here - and certainly unlike all of you - the things we accomplished will never be forgotten.” He nods to the cameraman and walks away, a cascade of boos following him.

Not one quote from Commando. Worthless.

It's stupid - I guess they can't be called the LWO because that would be referencing the NWO, and Vince can't acknowledge that they existed.

My computer monitor passed away without warning yesterday, so I was unable to finish my match or send in the long promo I had written. However, the promo will be posted on the board soon. It wasn't my fault!

Ebessan > Me > j00

There have been Thanksgiving dinners less hammy than Carrey's performance in Batman Forever. And a Batman and Robin special edition? Who the fuck is going to buy that shit? The first one should make a good SE, though I don't know if I'll actually buy it. It's one of the better superhero movies ever.

The more I think about this angle, the more I like it. It's clever and perfectly logical - the departing star gets a final shot at the world title because that's the custom, except this time he actually wins it, and, naturally, refuses to give it up. I would have loved to see a big emotional celebration, but this is something different, and I honestly can't wait to find out what happens next. Oh, and the match itself was great (minus the "delayed selling" of the 450) and should really be considered when the time comes to vote for the match of the year.

Punk has officially signed a contract, according to Meltzer. Maybe Raw will become watchable... nah.

Smarks Board Name: Spine Upon The Pine Wrestlers Name: “The Critic” Scott Pretzler Height: 5’11” Weight: 226 lbs. Hometown: Toronto, Ontario Age: 27 Face/Heel: Heel Stable: None Ring Escort: None Weapon(s): His wrestling ability. Quote: “Feel the swankness.” Looks: The Critic is a handsome and clean-cut young man. His blond hair is fairly short and is combed straight back; plain but good-looking would be the best way to describe his face. He is in excellent physical shape but his body shows no signs of steroid use. He wears traditional navy blue trunks with a gold tildebang insignia (~!) on the front and “THE CRITIC” in gold letters on the back. White wrist taping, black kneepads and navy blue leg guard boots to match his trunks complete his ring attire. He has deep-set blue eyes. Ring Entrance: The stirring notes of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony hit the speaker system as “The Critic” Scott Pretzler emerges from the entryway to a chorus of boos and rude chants. He stops and places his hands on his hips as he stares down smugly at the fans he despises. Taking his time, he walks down the ramp, climbs the steps, and enters the ring with pride. Stats: ¯¯¯¯¯ Strength: 5 He cannot lift bulky opponents, but is capable of fearsome bursts of energy and puts a great deal of power into his impact moves and holds. Speed: 3 Pretzler prefers to keep the match in one place. When he does fly, his aerial attacks are precise and devoid of flash. Vitality: 6 His small size makes him vulnerable to power moves, but he has GREAT stamina and almost never submits. Charisma: 6 Charismatic is the last way Pretzler would describe himself, but his command of the audience’s feelings (namely, hatred) is absolute. His promos are verbose and condescending. Style: Priding himself on his technical abilities, Pretzler works a style that features impactful moves with little flash or style. Because the Snowflake Clutch puts pressure on the neck and back, Pretzler will relentlessly attempt to wear down this area using strikes, holds, and backbreakers. His contempt for the audience will sometimes lead him to intentionally slow the match to a crawl, and when this happens he revels in the crowd’s frustration. He NEVER uses weapons. Signature moves: Octopus Hold– Pretzler bends his opponent over so that their upper bodies are perpendicular, hooks his left leg over the back of the foe’s head while placing his right in front of the other's left, and wrenches the right arm back in his own direction. Powerbomb– Done high-speed à la Chris Benoit’s Wildbomb. Pretzler always holds on for the pin, and sometimes flips over in a jackknife. Brainbuster – Not a complete vertical drop like Hashimoto’s, this is still very punishing to the neck. Guillotine Leg Drop – One of Pretzler’s few aerial maneuvers. He will attempt it only if he is certain that it will not be avoided (could therefore be considered a rare move as well.) Front Guillotine Neck Lock – With both men standing, Pretzler applies a front facelock and then scissors his legs around the opponent’s body, pulling him down to the mat. Crossface Chickenwing – Used to wear down the neck in preparation for the Snowflake Clutch, this can also end a match by itself. Common moves: Knife-Edged Chops Elbows to the back of the neck European Uppercut High-Angle Dropkick (Best in the business!) Lariat Powerslam Back Drop German Suplex (With or without bridge) Butterfly Suplex Front Neck Lock (Opponent either standing or seated) Pendulum Backbreaker Headlocks! Lots and lots of headlocks. Shoulder Neckbreaker Grounded Neck Lock w/ Arm Scissor (Samoa Joe's 'Joejigatame') ARM-BAR~! Rare moves: Tope Suicida – Pretzler has a beautiful suicide dive, but he rarely busts it out as the risk for him is too great. Top Rope Frankensteiner – Another junior-style move that Pretzler has the ability to execute but will do so only when desperate. Snowflake Suplex - A cross-arm German suplex, also called a Strait Jacket Suplex. Near-impossible to escape, but equally hard to hit. Finishers: Snowflake Clutch – A camel clutch variation in which the opponent’s arms are crossed in front of his chest. Unlike a regular camel clutch, this starts with the opponent in a seated position. Nearly identical to Jinsei Shinzaki’s Goku-Raku Gatame. Often set up with a hard elbow to the beck of the neck causing the opponent to fall to his knees. The Tildebang – Pretzler puts his opponent in a rear facelock and lifts him up as if to deliver a reverse brainbuster; when the jabroni’s body is at a 90-degree angle, Pretzler drops him down into a Michinoku Driver. (See the “Yukiguni Driver β” in Fire Pro Advance.) Pretzler will almost never use this on opponents heavier than 250 lbs. Notes: Scott Pretzler despises Sports-Entertainment. A former world champion in the northeast-based Ring of Respect promotion, he has come to the SWF with the lofty goal of “saving” North American pro wrestling. Both highly educated and a superb athlete, he simply can’t help believing that he is better than everyone else – his every word and action drips with arrogance. His superiority complex allows him to overlook any morally questionable actions he may take, and on very rare occasions he will play dirty if it means getting the job done. He is also the author of a weekly internet column, which he will sometimes quote in his interviews.

Screw football. Badminton is where it's at. Are there any fantasy badminton leagues? Is there professional badminton? The world may never know. But there certainly should be.

I was going to reply "Make me one, ho!" But you did. And I won't deny that my character's cumbersome and inappropriate nickname was somewhat inspired by that show... BUT I never watched a second of it. I just knew about it, and stuff.

Good to see it had the desired effect.

People, like me, are mad because ROH promised that something very special would happen, and it didn't happen. If Punk had accepted Daniels' challenge and then dropped the belt to him, followed by the Paul London treatment, it would have been the perfect ending. Instead... a) He received the worst sendoff ever, or b) All of the hype about this being his last ROH match was bullshit. Very frustrating and disappointing either way. In fact, I don't think even Wrestlemania 2000 left me with such a sour feeling.

Jules Ffeifer is a fucking schmuck. My dad met him once and told him where he lived, to which Ffeifer responded, "Oh, I take my dog down there to shit sometimes." His artwork is really ugly, too.

The Main Event - Six Man Tag Team Match Wild and Dangerous and Lil' Buck vs. Martial Law © (Landon Maddix and Todd Cortez) and Ejiro Fasaki © These three have been on a roll of sorts. Toxxic vs. ??? The various ???'s have been impressing lately... but betting against Toxxic is not wise at all. Acropolis Now - SWF Hardcore Championship Match Zyon © vs. JJ Johnson vs. Mak Francis He deserves a decent run with the belt after such a great debut. And will get one. Olympic Wrestling Exhibition (Non-Title) "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke © vs. Arch Griffon Basically the winner will be the guy who butchers the rules in a less horrifying fashion. Which could be aynone. So I'll guess and say Arch takes it. Manson vs. Austin Sly RETURNOSITY~! as others have pointed out. "The Maniac" Bryan Rodgers vs. Ghost Machine Ghost blows a fuse, forcing the referee to end the match in Rodgers' favor. Jumpin' Jack Flash vs. "Big Country" Martin Hunt For obvious reasons.

I myself was going to predict Fallout... good for me that I didn't!

My promo will be ed... well, you know.

!!! I MUST see this.

The O. HENRY TWIST~! gets 'em every time.

Every time I stop believing in Hell, this guy pops up again.

Oh, who am I to oppose the combined will of three former world champions? Keep in mind, though, that this was written when I was a sprightly thirteen (with minor alterations made over the years), so... yeah. "Bill" This story is about a man named Bill Who had no control over his drill Bill had a beautiful wife named Hill But for a young intern's body he would kill. One day Bill was alone in his room When he smelled the scent of fresh perfume In walked Monica, looking so pretty Suddenly Bill got the urge for some titty. Bill felt the heat when he looked at her thighs But the temperature wasn't the only thing to rise Slowly his penis grew into a wood With stretching slacks, the President stood. He pulled down his trousers and shedded his briefs Ready to show Miss Lewinsky his beef With a twinkle in his eye, ol' Slick Willy said "Get on your knees and give me some head!" Suddenly Hillary opened the door And saw her husband alone with this whore Thinking fast she grabbed a sickle And with one swift motion, sliced off his pickle.

The article is dated January 4, 2005, and the sordid events took place sometime around New Year's Eve. Still, better late than never... Yes, the teen in question is really me!

Rotating 420+ times doesn't take athleticism, it takes being in space. As for the most athletic wrestler, it's got to be Billy Gunn. Would JR have lied to us all of these years?

Just for the record, I didn't write that match. But everyone probably knew that already.