Toxxic

I hate Cena, but Orton would be worse.

Benoit over Michaels and HHH shocked the shit out of me, I can tell you.

'Shatter' by Feeder, aka the closing credit music from 'Night Watch'.

Right.

Do the WWE have any wrestlers left that aren't dead or injured? Uh... Paul London.

I'm with the guy who says that Cryme Tyme is more offensive than Silverback.

Blow, presumably.

Well, Sly and I are intending to hound you for the titles until we win. I guess that can be considered a feud.

I think we can safely assume that Spike knows how to treat a woman. It's also possible she was on the other side of town, away from where his computer is.

I'm afraid I must claim part of the blame for Spike's decision. I informed him that if he was even thinking about typing instead of having sex, he must be at least partially gay. Of course, at the time I didn't consider how many gay guys I know who always think about sex, just with men.

Gah. If I'd have known for sure that the show would be pushed back I might have managed to sleep last night...

Well, when I see 'Thursday July 12th' and Thursday July 12th has already taken place, I tend to look for another clue. Such as the date in the subtitle of the thread.

In all seriousness, it seems a sensible idea to me to list the smallest unit of time first, then the medium unit, then the largest. Day, month, year. Or hey, do it year/month/day if you want. I just don't see the point of putting the month first, it just confuses me. But anyway - how many people will actually have a match for tonight?

Shortly before Storm… SWF World Heavyweight Champion Alan Clark approaches his dressing room in the corridors of the Stade de France. Sure enough, it has on the door a nameplate saying ‘Alan Clark - SWF World Champion’, so he knows it’s his. Apparently, even the French are in awe of the SWF. “So Walter,” Alan says, halting before the door, “what do you reckon is behind this? Snakes? Spiders? Wombats?” “I wouldn’t like to guess,” Walter Reynolds tells him. Clark shrugs, unlocks the door and pushes it open without stepping inside. Not out of fear, but with the air of a man who has had too many things land on him over the last couple of weeks to be careless. “Well?” Reynolds asks, keeping an eye on the corridor in case someone is looking to send inflatable mammals towards Clark while he’s distracted. “It’s… Spike.” Walter looks around at that, to see that in the middle of the dressing room floor someone has placed… “A cardboard cut-out of Spike Jenkins,” Reynolds corrects his charge as the two men enter the room. “Ah, yeah,” Clark laughs, “so it is. For a moment I thought it actually was Spike.” “Really?” “Yeah, but then I saw it had too much personality.” Clark places the World Title down on the bench and regards the cardboard cut-out steadily for a few seconds. “Walter, you know what I’m going to do tonight?” “Not really.” “I’m going to win,” Clark says. “I’m going to beat Spike Jenkins and show everyone that you can’t jump in line and take a shot at the World Title just because I’m holding it. And then tomorrow…” a wide grin creases his mouth. “…I’m going to have a magical day.”

They should have Kennedy squash him for the title, then Edge finds out that actually his injury wasn't that bad and he could wrestle again in a couple of weeks.

It did. It said Thursday 12th June. However, the subtitle of the thread stated 7-18-2007, in that weird, mixed-up-date way that you Americans favour.

Oh, and I call opening promo.

It'll make a change to have a simpler character around - by simple I don't mean stupid, but a guy who's just decided to try wrestling to see if he's going to be good at it. I mean, the New Blood Division right now consists of a whirling dervish in a mask, a Canadian superhero impersonator in a mask, a journeyman evil genius heel who's some sort of technical wrestling god, and a giant juggalo - none of which I have a problem with, but that's a damn mixed bag. A farmboy character will be a pleasant change of pace.

I'm with Muzz. It's got that little extra zing to it.

Raynor, is it fair to say that, given that it's scheduled for July 12th, this show is a little overdue? Or are we looking at Wednesday 18th?

I don't watch it anymore really, and haven't done for quite a while. I sometimes catch Heat or the highlight shows at the weekend, and every now and then I'll record one of the free PPVs if I remember, but mainly it just bores the shit out of me. I keep meaning to watch ECW to see Punk, but I don't even know where it's been shunted to on Sky's schedule now. That said from what I saw today it looks like they might be giving Matt Hardy a push, I might tune in more to follow that. I watch TNA because despite all the shit that's going on in the main event, I get to see some of the better X-Division workers, and Joe. And the Christian Coalition amuse me immensely.

Seconded with the birthday wishes. And the wonderings. Jakey isn't exactly the most involved community-wise, but I believe he has been busy getting ready to move to NYC for the new academic year.

It's where the whole straight-edge thing started, with Minor Threat. Evolved out of punk in the early 80s. I'm no expert but I'd say bands like Black Flag and Bad Brains, guys like that, were among the frontrunners. But yeah - hardcore punk is probably by favourite musical genre, and that is probably my favourite album. Tied with New Maps of Hell.

“Walter, I’m due to wrestle in Germany tomorrow,” Alan Clark says. “Yes, Alan.” “I’m tagging with Spike Jenkins, the guy who will be challenging me for my World Title next week, against the Tag Team Champions with their titles on the line.” “I know, Alan.” “This match could be kind of important. If I play this right, I could be walking away tomorrow evening as World and Tag Team Champion.” “That’s true.” “And yet,” the Disney-sponsored World Champion finishes, gazing ruefully down the street, “I’m still in Sweden. Why am I still in Sweden, Walter?” “Well,” the large bodyguard rumbles, “there was the fact that someone let loose a plague of locusts in the car-” “They were grasshoppers, and there were only a few hundred. I’m sure a plague needs upwards of a thousand,” Clark cuts him off. “Grasshoppers, whatever,” Reynolds nods. “And then someone put those rubber snakes under the hood for you to find when you went looking to see what the problem was with the sparkplugs.” “They weren’t even realistic,” Clark grumbles. “And you didn’t get much sleep last night because someone kept playing recordings of unconvincing ‘ghost’ noises outside the motel window,” Walter adds. “Walter, I wasn’t really asking why I was stuck in Sweden,” Alan Clark tells him, “I was more wondering what’s going on, and who keeps pulling these ridiculous pranks. It was rhetorical, know what I mean?” * * * Further up the road, behind a few conveniently-placed bushes (or perhaps the position was chosen due to the bushes), the following conversation can be heard. By anyone near enough to hear, which is, nobody. “OK, everyone ready?” “I still don’t unnerstand what yer doin’ this for.” “Ask me if I’m surprised, Ames. Sly, you ready?” “Toxx, I’m not sure if any of us are truly ready for an event of this magnitude.” “…are you taking the piss?” Moments later there is a whirring in the bushes and a large shape appears. Bizarrely, it appears to be what in North America would be a moose, and in Europe is an elk. Even more bizarrely, it is the rather less-commonly seen inflatable variant, although who decided that an inflatable elk was a good idea remains unclear and is possibly best not investigated. To complete the triple quotient of bizarre, each hoof is attached to a radio-controlled car, and the gaseous mammal starts to roll down the street to the astonishment of passing pedestrians. However, one leg is dragging slightly. “Toxx, you’re lagging.” “Hey, it’s not my fault! Jakey nicked mine!” “Did not! You were always going to have the Mini Cooper!” “Oh that’s right, just because I’m British give me the bloody British car…” * * * “Alan?” “What?” “I don’t mean to alarm you,” Walter Reynolds says in a low voice, “but there’s an inflatable moose coming down the street towards us.” Alan Clark stares straight ahead. “Inflatable.” “Yes.” “Moose.” “That’s right.” Clark’s brow wrinkles. “How’s it moving?” “Uh… on four RC cars,” Reynolds informs him. “…this I’ve got to see.” Alan Clark turns around to see that yes, there is an inflatable moose coming down the street towards him. And yes, it’s travelling on four RC cars (with one leg struggling to keep up). The pair watch as the ungainly appearance whirrs towards them, then each man steps smoothly aside to let it pass. The moose (or possibly elk) carries on undeterred, and certainly without any semblance of steering, until it hits a crosswalk and gets taken out by the rather startled driver of a Toyota who slews to a halt with nothing dented except his pride. “Well,” Clark muses, “I guess it doesn’t matter that they don’t have moose in Japan.” “What?” “JJ Johnson would of got that joke,” Clark informs his bodyguard. “C’mon, let’s get the car. I’ve had enough of Scandinavia.”

Raynor, Rise Against are hardcore punk. Probably more hardcore than punk, maybe. But they are definitely NOT nu-metal. Wash your mouth out, young man.