Toxxic

After doing a Google search... possibly, yes.

I disagree. That implies an ego, such as the Rock had. The point of MANSON's new character appears to be that he believes he is a god/leader of the people, and everything he does is in the best interest of the people to eliminate the evildoers/pretenders/false idols so everyone can worship his power. Talking in the third person separates you from others - talking in the first person as he has been doing so far gives a much more personal connection to his congregation. That's my take, anyway.

I have rather more than an inkling that I know where this is going, but nonetheless I'll be intrigued to see it develop.

Awesome. I actually reckon MANSON and Crimson Skull should join forces. Then you'd have a supervillain and a raging madman with (possible) godlike powers ready to take over the SWF! Or possibly no-show a lot. But I'm expecting great things from this new, reinvented MANSON!

Opening promo. Also, expect a very slight change in my stats soon.

About the guilt thing: I think the main difference between something like boxing and MMA is the expectations. People have died in boxing, been crippled, etc, but I've never seen that recognised as a part of the sport. It's been a 'tragic accident'. But the sport is two men HITTING EACH OTHER IN THE HEAD AS HARD AS THEY CAN. MMA on the other hand, has no illusions. It's about two men getting in a cage and hitting/twisting/kicking each other until one of them gets hurt bad enough for it to stop (or is at an immediate risk of it, and taps out). On the influence of MMA in wrestling: I agree with other people talking about consistency. If one person's hold is going to be much more effective than a similar one done by someone else, there'd better be a damn good reason why.

I love how Cardboard Comet is better than JJ Johnson.

I think the axis of the world just shifted.

I'd like to take this opportunity to commen you on an absolutely awesome promo at Ground Zero, Manson. It was brilliant and hilarious, but also could quite conceivably work as the next stage in the evolution of the MANSON character. ...although then you'd be an evil super-villain WITH SUPER POWERS and the ability to blow people up with eyebeams. And that's be a little freaky.

I was waiting for you to go on a two-month losing streak first, so as to tie it in with your last title shot But hold that thought.

...you are? Toxx beat you in the ICTV fall of the Tag Match From Hell, but I'm not sure we crossed paths again until you took the Tag belts from me and Davis on the first show of 2005. Then I beat you in that Hardcore match where you didn't notice it had a hardcore stip, and that's all i remember of Toxxic vs WC. Then TKO beat you and Johnny for the Tag Titles in a match you wrote, but then you beat TORU one-on-one. And then i beat you with Amy. So by my count you're 2-4, one of your losses being written as a loss, and one of your wins coming in direct one-on-one competition where I wrote as best I could and still lost. Oh, and Dace is 0-5 against me, with one draw (that he won after an extra five 'unofficial' minutes). And God knows how many times I've beaten IL

PROMO: Ancient History Atlanta, Georgia Early 2002 "Toxx, you know you're too young to drink, right?" The question is being asked by Karl Winter, a young man of 22 with an earnest expression, pale blonde hair and a can of lager in his own hand. It's his apartment - well, he's the one who rents it - and as a result he gets the privilege of the armchair to himself. Also in the small living room is a TV, currently showing a popular sitcom, a small coffee table with an assortment of snack foods and nibbles on it, and a three-seater sofa. At one end of the sofa is a pretty girl with full lips and lazy eyes, absent-mindedly winding a strand of hair around her finger as she watches the TV. At the other end is a 19 year-old with spiky black hair, nail varnish and eyeliner who finishes the swig he's taking of his beer, giving Karl a middle-fingered salute as a counterpoint. "Bite me Karl," Toxxic grins, stifling a belch, "I've been old enough to legally drink for a year. It's not my fault if this country doesn't know it." "I still can't believe people can drink at eighteen over there," Karl says, shaking his head in mock-despair. Toxxic laughs. "Eighteen?" the Englishman sniggers, "that's only how old the law says you have to be. I've been drinking since I was fifteen," he informs his host, "you just have to know where to go." He focuses on the TV. "Hey, Livvy," he says, addressing the girl, "I've lost track. What series is this? Who's sleeping with who now?" "I'm not sure," Livvy says, bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging them, "I'm waiting to see if Richard has a moustache or not. I'll know then." It's at this point that the living room door opens and the last member of the quartet walks in. Taller and more heavily-built than the other three, Gabriel Drake has short dark hair and mischievous hazel eyes. He jumps over the back of the sofa and lands in the middle, the impact jolting Livvy and causing her to fall sideways into him, where she grins and hugs him... and spilling lager down Toxxic's front. "Bloody hell!" Toxxic groans, "yeah, cheers Gabe." "Hey man, I'm sorry," Drake instantly apologises, getting up and looking around, "Karl, you got any tissue anywhere?" "Kitchen," Winter replies, jerking a thumb. Both Gabe and Toxxic head for the door, which leads to a playful barging match to see who can get through first. Gabe wins, and stumbles into the kitchen ahead of the Englishman. "God," Drake says as he looks around, "you know I love my mom, right? But I wish she didn't talk so much!" "You've been on the phone to her all this time?" Toxxic asks, astonished, "bloody hell mate, how come your parents live a spit away and phone you every other day, and I don't hear from mine for two weeks at a time?" He shrugs, then spies the kitchen tissue and grabs some to start mopping himself down. "Yeah, I know," Drake grins ruefully. "It gets better too; I gotta go back for a week. Wedding anniversary." "You're shitting me!" Toxxic says, "a week? You'll miss our first show!" "I know," Gabe says, "but there's nothing I can do. I mean, my old man knows how much it means to me, but it's their 25th and the whole clan's coming. And aside from dad, no-one else cares much about my wrestling career, so..." he shrugs helplessly. "Bloody hell," Toxxic says again, chewing his lip, "that's bollocks, mate. An' it was meant to be you me and Karl all tagging together an' all." "I know," Gabe says again. "Family sucks. But hey," he says, "maybe you'll have to miss a show sometime when your sister graduates, or something!" "You what!?" Toxxic splutters, "Amy? Yeah, she'll graduate," he grins, "with a 2:1. Two black eyes, and one hangover. Tell you, that girl..." he shakes his head and turns to go back into the living room, but Drake catches his arm. "Listen, I wanna ask you a favour," he says quietly. "Sure," Toxxic nods. "At the show... there's gonna be a load of guys around, wrestlers and all sorts," Gabe says, looking like he feels slightly foolish but soldiering on nonetheless, "can you... watch out for Livvy?" "You what?" "Take care of her!" Gabe hisses, "you know what the lockerrooms and stuff can be like, you've heard the same stories I have. Just keep an eye on her, make sure no-one messes with her?" he finishes hopefully. Toxxic grins and shakes his head. "Gabe, mate," he says good-humouredly, "Livvy's training to be a wrestler too, in case you hadn't noticed. Any bloke who touches her without her wanting him to is probably gonna lose an arm." He takes another look at his friend's face, and sobers up. "Yeah, sure. I don't reckon anything'll happen or owt, but I'll watch out for her." "Promise?" "Jesus, I promise," Toxxic grins, "take it easy mate! She ain't looking at anyone else, and she'll let 'em know it." He claps the bigger man on the shoulder, then reaches into the fridge for a new beer. "Now come on, I want to worry Karl with my law-breaking ways…"

Yeah, that's what they all say. Or is this your cunning plan to get a World Title shot?

No, is the simple answer. I do press-ups and sit-ups, and that's it.

Reminds me of a despair.com poster - 'the one common factor in all your failed relationships is you'

What I meant was that everyone has ideas that can seem great, but only time will tell if they will be or not. Maybe give them a chance to see how they work before criticising them. Your angle could have been good, but no-one else involved in it seemingly gave a shit about it, and the people you brought in for it turned out to be hideously unreliable. Blank's angle could improve the prestige of the International belt and provide a little nostalgia, or it could fail horribly and turn into another Hardcore Title, only slightly more old-school, or he could lose the belt straight away and no-one will know how it could have turned out. Then there's ideas like the Lethal Lottery, which most people suspected would turn out to suck, but hey. Zed had some good moments on CC (such as booking me into World Title matches), we've got to allow him a few mistakes.

Damn, that's a good weight machine to make your muscles take form the moment you start using it! But hey, promos about the past of the character are always good. And I'm not just saying that because I'm about to do a few.

I only said Johnny because it was you, WC. He's only no-showed against me once - Kibs did it twice, and has since no-sold his own return three times. Hey, Flesher no-showed against me as well. I just have this magical power.

Well, if you'd like he can create a stable with two guys who don't have time/motivation (delete as appropriate) for the fed, run a couple of no-contests and then not get their possibly-blowoff match on the PPV. We all have ideas. Some of them work, some of them don't. If Blank wants to try and give his title run a definitive theme, best to start early. It worked with the Ultraviolent. If it works for the International, it'll be a successful and memorable run. If it doesn't he'll lose it quick and no-one will remember what he was trying to do, so it won't matter. Let's let him try it and see how it works. If it gets annoying, I'll just beat him with Amy

Yeah, I made Johnny look damn good at Genesis V.

While I have it on good authority that J3 did have 8k before his computer crashed and died, I can at least chalk up another no-show crush. Go me.

Or you could just try and, hey, wrestle

Have these people not heard of limited schedules? Danny Williams won the World Title on a one-show-in-three rotation, for Christ's sake!

Hey, mine was only 11.7k. That's one of my shorter PPV matches.

Twenty minutes after Ground Zero goes off the air Parking Lot of the Gund Arena Michael Stephens strides through the alternating patches of light and shade cast by the neon overhead. His black holdall is over his shoulder, once more securely containing the SWF World Heavyweight Title. JJ Johnson gave him a hard fight, but he came through it in the end. However, he's not taking much pleasure in the win. He has other things on his mind. He just wants to get out of here. "Hey! Hey, wait up!" The distinctive voice of Landon Maddix interrupts him as Stephens opens the boot of his car (and boot it is, and will always be to him, no matter how often the Americans around him call it a trunk), and the World Champion slings his bag in before slamming it shut. He doesn't look around, instead heading for the driver's door. Amy sometimes rides with him, but she'll have to find some other transportation tonight. He's not in the mood for company, especially since waiting around means he'll have to talk to Landon. "Mike!" Stephens opens the car door, but Landon reaches him and grabs him by the arm to stop him. For a moment Stephens considers swatting his tag team partner's hand away, then sighs and turns. "What the bloody hell do you want?" he demands, not bothering to keep the tiredness and irritation out of his voice. "I want to know what's going on," Landon replies, "who the hell was that back in the Gund earlier?" "His name's Gabriel Drake," Stephens replies, turning to get into the car, "if you want to know more about him, go ask him." "I'm asking you," Maddix says, not letting go, "because you know." "Well, maybe I'm not in the mood for talking," Stephens retorts, removing Maddix's hand from his arm. He turns to get in the car again... then is suddenly hauled backwards, spun around and rammed against the side of the vehicle. He finds Landon with a hold of his shirt with both hands, face thrust forwards and clearly not in a mood to take no for an answer. "You'd better be," Maddix snaps, "dammit Toxx, I'm your tag team partner now! Like it or not, we have to work together! How the hell am I meant to work with you if I don't know what's going on! Believe it or not, I will cover your back," he continues, staring Stephens straight in the eye, "but I can't do that if i don't know what I'm covering it from. This guy Drake; is he going to attack you? Am I going to be left without a partner? Is he going to attack me because I'm tagging with you?" He releases Stephens and steps back, regarding the Englishman with a steady gaze. "I think I'm owed that much, don't you?" Michael Stephens, evidently taken aback by Landon's physicality, eases himself off the car and stares back at his former enemy, current tag team partner and general annoyance. His lips purse for a moment while he considers... then he nods towards the passenger door. "Get in." "Huh?" Landon says, "hey, no way. I've seen the way you drive." "Suit yourself," Stephens says, turning to get back into the car, "but if you want to know the deal, you get in. I'm not staying here." Landon watches him for a second, then sighs and runs up, slides across the car's hood to the other side before opening the door and clambering in. Stephens turns and looks at him. "You sure you don't want me to wind the window down so you can swing in?" he asks levelly. Landon grins back at him. "Down here in Hazzard County, we don't much hold with tag partners holdin' out on each other," the Dakotan drawls. Stephens rolls his eyes, throws the car into reverse and backs out of the parking bay. A few minutes later and they're on the open road. * * * "So, Drake," Landon prompts when Stephens shows no immediate sign of spilling the beans, "who is he?" "He's a second generation wrestler," Stephens replies. "I used to train with him in Atlanta, four or five years ago." "OK," Maddix says, "he said he'd been away for four years. Where was he?" "In jail." "...you know, of all the possible answers, that was probably the one I didn't want to hear," Landon mutters. "Why was he in jail? Please tell me it was for fraud, or something non-violent like that?" "Manslaughter," Stephens replies shortly, not looking around. Maddix winces. "Right," La Cucaracha says, "and he hates you... why?" "Believe it or not, we used to be best friends," Stephens says with a snort of humourless laughter. "But then we had... a bit of a falling out." "And that made him hate you?" "Possibly," Stephens shrugs, always a worrying manoeuvre when holding a steering wheel, "but mainly I think it was because I put him in jail." "...you did WHAT?" Landon asks, incredulous, "what the hell were you, Federal Marshall at age 19 or something?" "No," Mike says. "No, I testified against him. I testified against my best friend and he got sent down on a charge of manslaughter. Now he’s out. He’s been hitting the weights while inside, it looks like he’s got three sixes tattooed on the back of his neck, and although I can’t prove it I know that he broke the leg of a guy called Karl that we knew while we were training, having assaulted another wrestler to get his costume and mask so that Karl wouldn’t know it was him. He’s coming for me.” He turns to look at Landon for a moment, and the look in his steel-grey eyes stops Maddix from demanding that he look at the damn road. “I can’t tell you what he’s going to do Landon,” Stephens says soberly, “because I don’t know the man anymore.” He looks back in front of him, causing La Cucaracha to breathe a little easier- there’s no traffic around, but still. “This isn’t something that came from wrestling, either. Sure, we trained together but…” he shakes his head, agitated, “this isn’t about wrestling, this is about his life. He’s lost four years and God knows what else due to me. He seems to have picked the wrestling ring as the way to get his revenge, to embarrass me in the arena I’m best known, but I don’t know if he’ll lose patience, or maybe he’s just planning to jump me when I’m not looking.” “You sure do pick ‘em,” Landon says, sighing and turning to look at the road ahead. A few seconds later he feels his tag team partner’s eyes on him. “What?” “You were trying to break my neck six weeks ago,” Stephens says levelly. “It’s not like I succeeded,” Maddix protests, “c’mon, can’t you ever let things go?” “I swear,” Stephens mutters, “I’d crash this bloody car if I wasn’t worried that I’d be stuck for eternity with you.” “But it means you won’t crash!” Landon beams. “At least,” he adds, “hopefully not on purpose…?”