Ace309

A shovel? What the fuck do you think pitchforks are for?

What are our feelings on a PPV schedule? Keep it at 8, move down to 6, or what?

What's the best day for a show?

Anyone want to fight?

Taken under advisement.

Wildchild gets Cross-Kaibatsu.

Markers assigned more or less randomly

It's only Tom and Landon if we bracket it like the rest of the world does. It's Tom and Spike if we bracket completely out of the blue for reasons even I don't understand.

Minor, minor tweak to stats. Minor.

Johnny's losing match ~~~~~~~~ Fourteen men stand in the ring as AftershoXXxXxXxXXXXXxxxxXxxxxxxXXXXXX returns from commercials! “Here we are!” ‘the Franchise’ Mak Francis proudly proclaims, “It’s the start of the annual Cold Front Classic--the granddaddy of all SWF tournaments! Tonight we kick of the ‘classic’ with a fifteen man battle royal!” “Which, if I may add,” adds King, “I don’t think anyone is very anxious to participate in such a huge crapfest of a match. We already have the Clusterfuck and that’s right around the corner!” “Maybe so, King, but the powers that be are ready to get this one started,” Francis says. “Let’s turn this one over to our lovable ring announcer Funyon!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon. “THIS IS YOU MAIN EVENT and it is the COLD FRONT CLASSIC SEEDING BATTLE ROYAL! FIFTEEN MEN WILL START! THE FIRST SEVEN MEN ELIMINATED FROM THE BATTLE ROYAL WILL BE ELIMINATED FROM THE TOURNAMENT! ELIMINATIONS OCCUR WHEN YOU GET KNOCKED OVER THE TOP ROPE AND BOTH FEET TOUCH THE FLOOR!!” “Good Lord,” the Gambling Man says. “Does he have to shout?” “If he wants to be heard over this raging crowd he does,” replies Francis. “Hey, it looks like there is only fourteen men in the ring. Where’s number fifteen?” “Who’s number fifteen?” “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon continues, “please welcome the final entrant to our SEEDING BATTLE ROYAL…” Everyone’s head quickly turns towards the curtains as the lights dim, and then the opening ‘fuse lighting’ scene from the Mission Impossible television series is shown on the SmarTron as the opening to the James Taylor Quartet’s cover of ‘Mission Impossible’ comes blaring over the speakers! As expected, the crowd explodes… YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! The familiar, rhythm driven song continues with lights moving and pulsing in time with the music, while the Smarktron™ displays various clips of the Barracuda in ring, street and bedroom action. Finally, the curtains part and Johnny Dangerous strolls onto the stage to the deafening roar of over seventeen thousand fans! Johnny looks from side to side at the fans and then holds both arms out to them. “From Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at two hundred twenty five pounds; he is your current and reigning SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION; JOHNNY ‘THE BARRACUDA’ DANGEROUS!!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” Chants of the Barracuda’s name come thundering from the audience, louder than any other time this year. He takes the fan appreciation with a smile…and then heads down the ramp, towards the ring. where the other fourteen anxiously await. “How the hell is it that Johnny Dangerous is the only man to get an entrance?” King asks as the situation is rather appalling to him. “Apparently the Barracuda is the only man to have shown up and write for this match,” explains Mak, “so he gets to do whatever he wants.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “… Never mind.” *DING-DING-DING!!!* “HERE WE GO!” The referee signals for the bell after Johnny slides into the ring and that’s when fist start flying! Everyone takes a hit and everyone delivers a hit, “-and it is complete and utter madness from the get go!” shouts Francis. “Who will stand tall at the end is any ones guess!” The only man to remain untouched is the lead attraction of the battle royal, Johnny Dangerous. He slowly stands up as Landon Maddix goes flying past him while Devin Benson goes skidding across the mat, just past the Barracuda’s feet. He carefully removes his International Championship belt, neatly folds it, and tucks it into the corner, and then takes his shades off and lies them next to his belt. “The Barracuda had better get with it,” the Gambling Man comments. “This match will be over before he can finish gellin’ his hair!” Finally, after a quick cracking of all ten of his knuckles Johnny Dangerous is ready to go. He swivels his head from side to side, looking for a chance to jump into the fight…and when he sees his opportunity he leaps in like a tiger! *CRACK!* *SMACK!* *WHACK!* “God damn! He’ll be feeling that shot for weeks!” *WHAM!* *THUD!* “There goes Bruce Blank!” shouts Francis. “Elimination number one by Johnny.” *SMACK!* “And now Charlie Matthews is thrown out like a sack of potatoes!” *CRACK!* *WHAP!* “Spike Jenkins!” *SMACK!* “Someone just threw a sandwich from…no, Tom, no! Damn! Flesher eliminated himself chasing an Arbys roast beef that JJ Johnson brought to the ring!” *WHAM!* “And there goes JJ Johnson—what a shame.” *POP!* “Landon Maddix is gone to after getting pimp slapped over the top rope!” “Crap that’s six already,” says Mak, “and now Gabriel Drake makes it seven after getting dragon punched out of this universe!” *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *WHACK!* “Damn Akira, Nighthawk, and Michael Cross all fall…in that order!” *CRACK~!* “Johnny Kick! And there goes Jimmy the Doom!” *WHOOSH-CRACK!* Spinning heel kick puts Devin Benson out for the night!” “AND HE DRAGS MATT MYERS OUT WITH HIM! WHAT A MANEUVER!” *SMACK!* *CRACK!* *SMACK!* *WHACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *WHAM!* *WHACK!* *POP!* *POP!* *POP!* *POP!* *POP!* *SMACK!* *WHACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *WHAM!* *WHACK!* “God almight-” “ULTRA COMBO! And Nemesis is done and Johnny has won!” *DING-DING-DING!!!* “Here is your winner, Johnny Dangerous!” Johnny holds his arm up in victory then disappears into thin air… As we: FADE OUT.

I'd like Johnny to post his match, as it made my decision very difficult.

Erm... stuff is due tomorrow, WC.

I'd agree. It's a pretty lacklustre. Still, I like the tagline at the bottom and the font. Great start.

Speaking as Temporary Secretary to Raynor, the title shot is actually going to Angel.

Here we go! It's time for the PPV Border Run! However, things are a little different, because we're in North Korea. THEREFORE, if you meet one of the following conditions: a) You win your PPV match; b) Your match wins; c) You are a retired IGN/SWFer; or d) You are Crowe, you will receive an item of your choice from CHINA! Everyone make your requests, and my midget luchador will make the run and pick up your items!

THE MIDGET LUCHADORS HAVE RETURNED! That's right, my company of very short men in Mexican wrestling masks has completed its border run to China, and here's what they brought back: ~ For Divefire, we're sorry, but we couldn't bring back the MG/Rover car company. We did, however, bring you the Chinese nonunion equivalent of the band Booker T and the MGs, "The Little Red Coupe de Villes." ~ For Janus, we've got Spike Jenkins' Chinese midget equivalent, "Hunan" Spike Li. Careful - he's been smoking grass. (Not marijuana, actual grass.) ~ For Jay Hawke, a lifetime supply of Kung Pao Chicken in a KFC barrel, since that's what they gave us when we ordered "chicken," and the Chinese Junior Heavyweight Championship. Be advised, however, that it will change hands on a count-out, disqualification or mandate from heaven. ~ For Majordomo Belcourt, Tiannamen Rice Krispie Squares, flavoured with the soft, marshmallow-like resolve of the capitalist pigs. ~ For JJ Johnson, a bunch of illegal pornography produced by PornoSec, and a UV-protective helmet to shield you from the dumb looks of your friends. ~ For Akira, brain bleach. You're an evil, evil man. ~ For Michael Stephens, the Little Red Rug. ~ For Chris Raynor, a Ming Dynasty gunpowder-propelled rickshaw, complete with a crudely-carved Chinese Checker set that attempts to implement the little-known "Mongol rule" allowing you to forfeit a turn and in exchange punch your opponent in the mouth. ENJOY~!

BORDER RUN~!

Type /join , not just join.

It's still operational, but non-GOdrea, non-Australian people aren't common.

I believe it's actually four now, Divey. Shortdogger Ian's a big brother, although his career is progressing nicely. He just defeated Akira Kaibatsu's sister Larkin at Genemesis. In any case, congratulations on bringing Avery Lorelei into the world. I wish you many years as a happy family.

What typo? Congrats, Pete and Sydney!

Well, here it is: evidence that a returnee shouldn't get Wildchild in his first match back. Must... rebuild... cred... === DING DING!!!! "Ladies and gentlemen," says Funyon, as the show returns from commercial, "the following contest is scheduled for one fall and will be contested under Cruiserweight Rules!" Funyon pauses to let the crowd pop, and they do so dutifully. He continues, "Making his way to the ring..." As "Bouncin' Back" begins to blare over the speakers, the fans continue cheering, and Suicide King says, "Welcome back to SWF Lockdown! I'm here as always with everyone's favorite workman's comp case, Mak Francis." "Oh, you better believe it's not comp," says Francis. "Of course, even if Peters wasn't paying me, it wouldn't matter. I'm still the Franchise, with a big house and five cars." "Yeah," scoffs King. "In Philadelphia." As his music plays, Wildchild steps out from behind the velvet curtain and begins making his way to the ring, accompanied by the beautiful Melissa Fasaki. "Dub-Cee's got the fever tonight," says Francis. "Look at the intensity in his eyes. He's beaten Tom Flesher before, and he knows he can beat him again." "Bull," King snaps back. "As near as I can tell, there aren't any ladders around here, so Wildchild's lost any advantage he'll have. Of course, you'd be feverish too, with Melissa around here." Funyon announces, "Accompanied by Melissa Fasaki, from the Bahamas, and weighing in at 214 pounds... this is the WIIIIIIIIIIIIILDCHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILD!" "Of course," murmurs King, "You probably don't get feverish anymore, what with the paralysis and all." "That's not what your little woman said last night," says Mak with a smirk. Wildchild slides his shin guards off and hands them to the beautiful Miss Fasaki, and then somersaults into the ring. The crowd breaks into a chant of "DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE!" which he acknowledges with a quick raise of his arms as his music fades out. "And his opponent..." BOOM! With a burst of blue pyro, the percussive opening of Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" lights up the Taj Mahal, its pristine white marble reflecting Tom Flesher's trademark blue. The strings ring out over the Indian crowd, and Flesher steps through the curtain. His brow is level, and his jaw is set. While Wildchild showed that he's serious about this match, Tom Flesher seems just as humorless. Without any posing, without any flare, he struts to the ring in his blue warmup. He stares at Wildchild the whole time, his gaze never leaving his adversary. "This is Tom's first match back after a stint as Ghost Machine 2.0," says Suicide King. "While I'm sure he enjoyed himself, he's back with a vengeance, and he wants to avenge all the losses he's suffered. Wildchild, of course, won the first Cruiserweight Championship by defeating Flesher in a ladder match, and I'm sure that's stayed with him." Flesher climbs the stairs to the ring, wiping his feet on the apron before stepping through the ropes. In the center, he throws his head back, and machinegun-like bursts of blue pyro spray out of the cornerposts as "Kashmir" breaks down. Flesher looks to Funyon, who dutifully announces. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is the in-ring return of the most dominant force the SWF has ever seen. Twice the World Heavyweight Champion, former World Cruiserweight Champion, former World Tag Team Champion, and a member of the S... W... F... HALL of FAME... weighing in tonight at 229-point-9 pounds, this is THE SUPERIOR ONE, TOM FLESHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!" The fans cheer as Flesher, all business, strips his warmup off. Ced Ordonez steps over, checking his new foam kickpads and pronouncing them legal before Flesher steps to the center of the ring. Wildchild stares him down, and finally, Ordonez calls for the bell. DING DING DING!!!! "And we're underway," says the Suicide King, as the Superior One and the Bahama Bomber square off in the center of the ring. Wildchild stands low, his body coiled up as if he were planning to spring into the air at any moment and set off an aerial assault. Flesher, meanwhile, maintains a square, broad stance, characteristic of his defensive attitude - come to me, and I'll make you regret it. Flesher reaches forward and claps a hand onto Wildchild's neck. He grabs WC at the triceps and pulls him into a lockup, then sends him to the ropes. Wildchild bounces off, and Flesher lunges at him with an arm cocked for a lariat! The Caribbean ducks the clothesline, though, and keeps running. As Flesher spins around, Wildchild launches himself off the ropes and springs at him, nailing a pinball attack! Flesher falls to the mat but quickly springs back up as Wildchild rolls through. WC hits the ropes and rebounds, catching Tom off-guard with a springboard leg lariat! Flesher once again hits the canvas, prompting a cheer. Rattled, the two-time Heavyweight Champion rolls out of the ring, trying to shake off the unexpected attack. "Well damn," says Francis, watching as his former partner tries to collect himself. "It looks like the ring rust is getting to Flesher's head." "The ring rust and Wildchild's speed," King adds. As if on cue, Wildchild springs onto the second turnbuckle, and then the top. He sprints across the cable toward the unsuspecting Flesher, then somersaults off, throwing himself at his adversary with a diving koppo kick! He whips Flesher in the head with his heels, and Tom collapses to the concrete! Wildchild kips up, sliding back into the ring and getting to his feet. He lies in wait as Flesher pulls himself up on the ring apron. "Flesh's always been a slow, methodical wrestler," Francis says, "trying to use the Greco-Roman style that got him here. He's lost to Wildchild before because he couldn't keep up with these kinds of attacks." As the Superior One gets to his feet on the apron, he holds the top rope to keep his balance. With a slight smile on his face, the Human Hurricane jumps to the top strand and springs off, diving toward Flesher and grabbing him in a front facelock as he falls toward the concrete! He pulls Flesher down with him, slamming him into the thinly-padded floor with a springboard DDT! The crowd stands up, chanting "HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!" "Where do you suppose they picked that up?" muses King. "Wayne Blank had the warmup tonight," Francis says. "He taught them just enough English to watch wrestling effectively." Flesher sprawls out on the thin padding as Wildchild rolls through to his feet. despite being in much better shape than Flesher, Wildchild is clearly suffering from the move. "Was that the brightest thing for Dub-Cee to do?" asks Francis rhetorically. Yeah, Flesh is down, but Dub's not in great shape himself." "He does this kind of nonsense all the time," King replies. "He's got to take a few lumps of his own to soften his opponents up for that flip-flopping crap he calls a moveset late in the match." "Sort of like Tommy Boy with his headlocks and getting the other guy tired so he can put on some random submission?" King bristles. "Oh, come on. You know a thing or two about ring strategy, don't you?" "Enough to know that Tommy's just as boring as Wildchild but without all the entertaining stuff," Francis laughs. Wildchild slides back into the ring, leaving Flesher stunned. Still trying to shake off the impact of the springboard DDT, Wildchild leans against the ropes but maintains a constant state of readiness. Flesher, meanwhile, rolls over and starts trying to push himself to his feet. Despite Wildchild's careful watch, the former Heavyweight Champion stands up slowly and seems only barely aware of his surroundings. Using the apron, he pulls himself to his feet and rolls back into the ring. Still lying in wait, Wildchild holds back until Flesher gets all the way up. From there, the Machine from the Caribbean grabs him and whips him into a far corner, then starts chasing after him. Flesher hits the corner, slumping down into it as it knocks the wind out of him. Only a second behind, Wildchild launches himself into the air and twists 360 degrees, slamming into Flesher with the Blue Crush! The force sends Wildchild slightly backward, and Flesher starts staggering out of the corner. "Here it comes," says Francis, feigning boredom. Flesher staggers one step out of the corner. He staggers a second step. Finally, he flops impotently onto his face. The crowd, simply put, explodes. "I'll never quite understand that," King muses as Wildchild grabs Flesher by the arm and rolls him onto his back. He makes the cover, and Ced counts ONE!! Flesher kicks out! The fans pop as Tom rolls to his stomach and starts to push his way to his feet. He looks up, his eyes clearer than would be expected for the amount of trouble he appears to be having. As he nears his feet, Wildchild runs behind him and bounces off the ropes. Flesher gets to his feet, wobbling, and takes a step backwards as his opponent sprints by him and leaps onto the bottom rope, then springs off! He arches his back and flips in mid-air, executing a picture-perfect Asai moonsault! Unfortunately for the cruiserweight sensation, Flesher anticipated that he'd be flinging himself at him, and grabs the vulnerable Wildchild in his upside-down position. A few fans pop for Flesher's quick catch, and he quickly throws Wildchild to the mat with a scoop slam! The Bahaman grabs his back, but Flesher aims for his sternum as he drops onto him with a headbutt. He stays on Wildchild for the cover. ONE!! NO! Wildchild kicks out. Flesher eases some of the pressure, allowing his foe to roll to his stomach. With a smirk, Flesher clamps on a front headlock, prompting a cheer from his more devoted fans and a collective groan from most of the rest of the crowd. He pulls Wildchild in close as he stands up, leaning on the slightly build gymnast's neck. "Here we go," says King. "Flesher's starting in on the serious work now." Flesher clamps down on the headlock. Wildchild struggles. He grabs at Flesher's cocked elbow, attempting the pass-by counter learned in the ring against Scott Pretzler and Ejiro Fasaki. Flesher sees the counter coming and jerks his elbow back into position, smirking almost to the point of laughing out loud. "Isn't that adorable?" asks King. "Wildchild thinks he can fight his way out of a Tom Flesher front headlock." "He did pick up a bunch on the mat from Pretz, Hawke and Ejiro," says Francis. "I wouldn't put it past him." Francis' benefit of the doubt aside, Flesher is able to tighten up the headlock to the point where Wildchild's struggling is unproductive. As soon as he feels Wildchild stop actively fighting for escape, Flesher steps in and arches his back, throwing the Caribbean Cruiser through the air and onto his back with the Cement Mixer! Flesher floats over and comes up on top, exposing Wildchild's shoulders to the mat! Ced Ordonez dives down and counts ONE!! TWO!!!! NO! Wildchild gets a shoulder up, and Flesher cuts his losses by scooting out to the side and allowing him to roll back to his knees. "He knows he's still in control," says King as Flesher stands up once again and pulls Wildchild in at an awkward angle. As Wildchild backs out, trying to escape, Flesher snakes an arm under his left shoulder and underhooks it. He drives forward, thrusting the underhook skyward and tossing Wildchild to the mat with the Cement Job! He holds his adversary down as Ordonez makes another count: ONE!! TWO!!!! KICKOUT! Wildchild breaks the fall, getting his arm loose and rolling to his hip in order to relieve the pressure on his neck. Flesher stays on him, however, even as he allows him to get to a sitting position. As soon as Wildchild does, however, Flesher kicks his legs forward and applies bodyscissors, locking up the Wet Cement submission! Wildchild immediately stiffens, and the crowd shouts, "OOOOH!" as he attempts to escape the deadly lock! "This could be it!" says King. "Flesher leaned on Wildchild, racking up near-falls until the Tropical Tumbler lost track of what was going on, and then took advantage of that disorientation by slapping on the Wet Cement! Wildchild's not going to be able to escape this one!" Wildchild tries to scoot himself free but quickly finds that he can't move very far with the added 230 pounds hanging from his neck and ribs. He reaches out one arm, trying desperately for his only chance to escape, and finds it as he grabs the middle rope! As he hangs on for dear life, the crowd pops for the escape and Ced Ordonez begins his count. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Finally, Flesher releases his bodyscissors and kicks back, getting to his feet before releasing the headlock. "Flesher was playing close to the edge there," says Francis. "The ref could have hit him for keeping the hold late." "Oh, he was just trying to get balanced," says King, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Flesh was one of my best friends when I was wrestling," Mak snaps back. "But he's always played fast and loose. It's just the way he is." "Well, that style's proven effective for him, just like Wildchild's circus performances have been effective for him. Of course, you see who's coming out on top now that there are no ladders around." True to form, Flesher dives down onto Wildchild with an elbow to the spine. Wildchild flattens out, but Flesher quickly stands back up before dropping another elbow into his back. Once more, the Superior One returns to his feet. This time, he drives a knee into the Bahama Bomber's back, and as Wilchild writhes on the ground, he applies a hammerlock. Immediately, the fans begins chanting "BORING!" "It may be boring, but he's still in control," says King. Wildchild, however, lets his arm go limp, drawing once again on the techniques he's seen from Fasaki, Hawke and Pretzler. As Flesher leans over to try to reapply the hold, Wildchild scoots out between his legs, escaping out the back door and slapping on a waistlock! Stunned, Flesher gets to his feet and begins trying to escape. Nevertheless, Wildchild retains his element of surprise by lifting Flesher into the air and slamming him to the mat with a waistlock takedown! The fans cheer as he sprints to the ropes and rebounds, diving through the air with a flip and landing on Flesher with a somersault senton splash! Flesher arches his back in pain, but quickly stands back up and faces Wildchild to avoid any further surprises... and sure enough, he sees the acrobat grab him by the wrist and fall to the side, throwing him to the mat with a flying armdrag! The crowd pops as Wildchild springs back up and is waiting for Flesher as he tries to get to his feet, only to be thrown with another flying armdrag! Flesher rolls to the side before getting to his feet, but still gets tossed to the mat one more time as the crowd is literally screaming its approval! "That's talent," says Mak approvingly. "Wildchild isn't as strong as Flesher, and he's not about to win any down-and-dirty mat battles, but he knows what works for him and he knows how to nail it! Look at that speed, King. You can't beat that." Flesher gets up, disoriented by being thrown three times in succession. As a result, Wildchild is able to grab him and guide him into the corner before running down the side of the ring. Once he reaches the adjacent corner, he leaps onto the top rope and runs back across the top strand! As he barrels toward Flesher, he shoots his legs out and nails him in the face with a dropkick! The fans cheer even louder as Wildchild hits the mat, executes a perfect backward roll and leaps to his feet in the center of the ring! "And tell me how you can't like that," says Francis. After he acknowledges the crowd, Wildchild sprints back toward Flesher and leaps into the air, throwing a gamengiri straight at him! Partially out of instinct and partially out of luck, Flesher half-ducks, half-falls, dropping to his knees and letting Wildchild kick straight into the turnbuckle. Flesher stands back up, shaking off the cobwebs as he senses an opening. As Wildchild turns around to face Flesher, he steps straight into a running shotei that knocks him back into the corner. Once again, Flesher's loyal contingent of fans cheers as Wildchild slumps against the ropes. Flesher lifts WC's right arm into the air and then hammers him in the ribs with a shin kick! Wildchild curls up, in obvious pain, but Flesher hits him with another kick to the ribs. Flesher steps back, allowing Wildchild to stagger forward before he grabs him and throws him overhead with an effortless railgun suplex! Wildchild lands with a thud, while Flesher merely rolls over and makes the cover. ONE!! TWO!!!! NO! Wildchild kicks out! "That railgun suplex was brutal!" marvels Mak. "I mean, it's no Million Dollar Plex, but..." "And the Million Dollar Plex was no Jokers Wild," King says. "But Tom Flesher is one of the foremost ring technicians in not only the SWF but the history of wrestling. How can you complain about anything the man does?" Flesher lifts Wildchild by the head and lifts him to his feet. He whips him to the ropes and steps forward, looking for a shotei. Wildchild ducks, and Flesher staggers forward awkwardly. Wildchild hits his feet and jumps back up, dropkicking Flesher into the corner. As Flesher tries to catch his breath, the Human Hurricane runs to the ropes and springs off the top, nailing him with a springboard enzuigiri! Flesher slumps into the corner and bounces back out, stumbling slowly. Wildchild grabs his head and lifts him, twisting with a corkscrew vertical suplex! Tom hits the mat, and Wildchild floats over without a second thought for the cover! ONE!! TWO!!!! NO! Flesher kicks out forcefully, though his eyes aren't clear. He pushes to his feet, with Wildchild quickly kipping up and waiting for him. As Flesher uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, WC grabs the extended wrist and jumps up, coming down with a Caribbean Cutter that flattens out the Superior One! The crowd leaps to its feet as Flesher bounces off the mat, rolling to his back! Within the blink of an eye, Wildchild is springing up the cornerpost and perched on the top turnbuckle! He leaps off, and the crowd screams, with flashbulbs popping and Mak Francis yelling, "ANDROOOOOOOOOOOOOOS DROP!!!!" With his arms extended in a crucifix position, Wildchild twists through the air, diving toward Tom Flesher to finish him off! He lands... ** THUD ** "HE MOVED!" shouts Francis, as Wildchild hits the mat with all the force of his Andros Drop and no one to absorb it. The crowd immediately begins booing as Flesher rolls to his feet. Flesher takes a moment to shake off his ring rust. Then, with all the nonchalance the fans have come to expect from the Superior One, he drops a knee onto the stunned Bahaman's back. "Tom Flesher has continued attacking the core of the Wildchild all through this match," says Suicide King, "from kicking him in the ribs to dropping those elbows and knees into his back. Where the head goes, the body will follow, but if you take out the core, the body will crumble. By attacking Wildchild at the trunk of the tree, he's making sure that he can't build up those chains of aerial maneuvers that we saw early in the match and allowing himself time to recover." After a moment to breathe, Flesher squats down and grabs the stunned Wildchild by the waist and hoists him into the air. He holds the gymnastic marvel upside down for a few seconds, teasing the crowd with the setup for his trademark Ego Buster... and then quickly drops to one knee, bending Wildchild over the other with a gutwrench backbreaker! Mak Francis clears his throat uncomfortably, saying, "Flesher said he wasn't going to be using any head-dropping moves this time around the block, but it can't be easy to ignore a big drop like that." "Of course," King says, just to be contrary, "if Flesher had stalled much longer, Wildchild probably would have been able to counter out of it with a rana or flying headscissors or some other flippy-floppy nonsense. Flesher's got him stunned, but Wildchild won't go down that easily." Flesher lets Wildchild slump down and stacks him up as Ced Ordonez counts ONE!! TWO!!!! THR- NO! Wildchild shoots off the ground with authority, and Flesher stands up, knowing he's got more work to do. He grabs Wildchild by the braids and pulls him up, prompting Ordonez to caution against hair-pulling. Ignoring him, Flesher hooks Wildchild by the arm and bends him to the side, applying an abdominal stretch! Immediately, the fans begin to boo as the official drops down to one knee and asks the first-ever Cruiserweight Champion if he wants to quit. Flesher takes the opportunity to reach over and grab the top rope, leaning back and using the leverage to increase the pressure on WC’s abdominals. He pulls on the ropes and Wildchild's painted face twists into a mask of pain. "Oh, come on," says Francis. "Flesher's just leaning on those ropes to increase the pressure. I mean, I know it's his style and all, but that's just not right." The fans, agreeing with Francis, jeer loudly and shout at the official to look up at Flesher’s hand, but Ced's positioning puts Wildchild’s body in the way and so he can’t see the blatant illegality. Flesher leans further back, and WC cries out. Ordonez stands up to check if the former Heavyweight Champion is using the ropes, but as soon as he starts to stand up, Tom releases it. Ced Ordonez walks around Flesher, sees nothing, and moves back in front of Wildchild once again. As the ref moves back into the blind spot, Flesher casually leans over and grabs the top rope once again. "This ain't right," sighs Mak Francis. "Well, it’s not illegal as such," replies King nonchalantly. "Oh, isn't it?" sighs Mak, knowing he's contractually obligated to feed straight lines to Suicide King at least twice per show. "Does Hardcastle see it?" "Obviously not." "Then he can’t very well call it. Thank you, good night." Wildchild, in excruciating pain, tries to hold out. Flesher pulls the rope harder, putting more and more pressure on the Tropical Tumbler’s spine and ribs. Even as the fans begin an "ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!" chant, Ordonez stays focused on Johnny. The Bahama Bomber tries to tell Ordonez that Flesher is cheating, but the referee simply shakes his head and says that he didn’t see the illegality. ("Probably can't understand his accent, either," murmurs Suicide King.) Flesher smirks and leans even further back, just as the official stands up to look for a rope grab. Flesher releases a moment too late, and Ordonez calls for the break. Tom holds his hand up, professing innocence and arguing that he had done nothing wrong. Wildchild, meanwhile, takes the opportunity to spend his last ounce of strength. With Flesher off-balance, he swings his legs up and hooks Flesher's head, then dives forward, rolling to take Flesher off his feet and to the mat! Flesher lands on his back, but by the time he realizes what's happening, Wildchild has already hit the ropes and rolled through to flatten him out with a senton splash! The crowd goes wild as Flesher sits up, the wind knocked out of him, and then flattens back out. Wildchild, though, isn't in much better shape. "Dub-Cee's looking in a bad way," says Mak, sounding concerned. Sure enough, he sits clutching his back, his eyes showing obvious pain. Flesher rolls to his knees, getting up despite his chest heaving. As Wildchild starts to get up, Flesher sucks it up and charges at him. Just as the Caribbean looks up, Flesher's boot makes an imprint on his face, taking him to the mat with concussive force! Once again, a loyal pocket of technocrats cheer for Flesher's big boot, but most of the crowd boos out of concern for Wildchild. Nonetheless, the Human Hurricane quickly sits back up, only to feel Tom Flesher charge at him and throw a stiff kick straight into his spine! Wildchild's back curls up and he lets loose with a blood-curdling scream, cut short only by a second place-kick straight to the back! Wildchild's face is contorted into a mask of agony as Flesher backs up. He sprints at Wildchild and kicks as hard as he can, absolutely slamming his foot into the spine! Wildchild collapses to the mat, and Flesher drops down, covering him. Ordonez counts ONE!! TWO!!!! THR- NO!!!!!!! "This is Wildchild right here," says Francis. "He's not going to give up for anything, and he knows that he can beat Flesher." "It's the same crap he puts out night after night," says King. "He'll put his body on the line, but it doesn't win him matches. It injures him more often than not. He needs to tighten up or else he's going to see a lot more matches like this." Flesher waits for Wildchild to get up, knowing that he'll be easy to take out with his core absolutely destroyed. As WC gets to his feet, Flesher grabs him around the waist and ducks his head under one arm, lifting him for a backdrop suplex! In mid-air, Wildchild rolls back, landing deftly on his feet behind Flesher and immediately driving him toward the ropes! As Flesher hits the ropes, Wildchild locks his arms around Flesher's waist and rolls backwards, pulling Flesher into a rolling-prawn pin! Ordonez counts ONE!! TWO!!!! THRE- NO!!!! Just before Cedric's hand hits the mat the last time, Flesher kicks his legs out and sends Wildchild running! Flesher rolls to his knees, and then to his feet, only to be nailed with a bodyblock as Wildchild parlays the burst of speed into another Asai moonsault! This time he connects, and he lands on top of Flesher! Ordonez drops back to the mat and counts ONE!! TWO!!!! THR- KICKOUT! Flesher sits up, still stunned, but not knocked out. Wildchild grabs him by the head and hoists him to his feet, and then executes another picture-perfect corkscrew suplex! They land, with Flesher clutching his back... but Wildchild doing the same. "Probably not the brightest thing for the gymnast to do," says King, barely able to contain his satisfaction. "Wildchild may have just cost himself the match." Nonetheless, Wildchild gets up to his feet slightly before Flesher does and grabs him by the wrist. He starts to whip the Superior One to the ropes, but finds himself headed to the ropes when Flesher reverses it! Before he can launch himself off the ropes, though, Flesher charges at him and hammers him with a stepping shotei! Wildchild staggers back into the ropes, bounces off slightly, and eats another stiff palm before collapsing to the mat! "Tom Flesher always has his strikes to fall back on," says Mak Francis, "especially late in the game." Even so, Wildchild is down, but not out. He starts to sit up, trying to keep himself from being pinned. Almost immediately, Tom Flesher drops to one knee behind him and shoots a half nelson behind his left shoulder. Quickly, Flesher falls back, locking on a bodyscissors grip and pulling Wildchild's left arm around to complete the cobra clutch! "King Cobra hold!" shouts Suicide King. "That cobra clutch with bodyscissors is locked on right in the middle of the ring! There's no escape!" Wildchold looks around, his eyes wide. He struggles, trying to break free, but knowing that Flesher's strength is too much to contend with when he only has one free arm. He tries to free his left arm, but Flesher keeps the cobra clutch tight. Finally, Wildchild flails uncontrollably to try to reach the ropes that are at least five feet away. "Nightie-night," says Mak Francis. "That cobra clutch was mine, and I gotta tell you, no one escapes from that, not with Flesher squeezing the life out of you with those bodyscissors." Nonetheless, Wildchild continues to fight. He grows fainter and fainter with each throe until finally, Ordonez drops to one knee and takes his arm. He raises it once... it falls. Twice... it falls. Three times... it falls. Ordonez calls for the bell. DING DING DING!!!! Flesher releases the hold immediately. He stands up, leaving Wildchild on his back in the center, and Ordonez raises his arm. "The winner of the match," says Funyon, "by submission, TOM FLESHER!" "Get used to that, Mackenzie," says the Suicide King. "With Flesher focused on submission wrestling, you're going to be hearing it a lot more." "Kashmir" once again blares throughout the Taj Mahal, and Tom Flesher celebrates in the ring as Lockdown fades to commercial.

I've been pushing for years to do an out-of-canon Halloween show where the card is booked normally, and then everyone trades characters with someone for the night, preferably not with your opponent. So if we have... Apple vs. Banana Cherry vs. Dogwood Egg vs. Flatulence Gomez vs. Mark Stevens then Apple and Dogwood could swap and Dogwood would write the Apple character for his match against Banana, as written by, say, Gomez. And so on.

This year, we're not doing my concept show. Like every year. Just because everyone would hate it but me.

King. And then I stole it.