Ace309

Actually, we're about due for another six weeks of everyone commenting on everything until they get sick of it again. Usually it happens after the rabble have been shamed in a thread like this.

Barenaked Ladies, "Pinch Me." I can hide out under there. I just made you say 'underwear.' Or o Fortuna.

For dark rum, Meyer's is an inexpensive brand that serves its purpose admirably. For light, you might have to bite the bullet and go with Bacardi. Light rum is more or less essential for decent mojitos, whereas dark goes better with coke in my opinion. If I had to choose, I'd be more likely to buy a bottle of light because it's more versatile.

Just for the record, I intend to construct my match as if it's happening live, because it's easier for me and it seems to make more sense.

Well, there were the Dead Precedents. And a pair of journeyman veterans who were mostly forgettable.

Congrats to Bruce on retaining his title. I'd like Spike to post his match, as this one was closer than I'd have liked it to be. Bruce's match was lacking at times in flow and readability; also, the finish could have used a clearer description. Spike's, on the other hand, came in very short, and the finish came out of nowhere and wasn't something I'd expect to put Bruce down. Both guys wrote the matches I expected them to with regard to the stipulation, so there weren't any OMG moments. Still, solid efforts all around.

Linens & Things has relatively inexpensive, relatively nice-looking glassware. Also, buy a bottle of bitters, so it looks like you know what you're doing.

School? You had SCHOOL? We just shouted arithmetic problems back and forth over the foggy valley, and when we got one wrong we had to switch to the other side.

If you're going to add scotch, you have to pick a semi-obscure brand and act like it's the best thing you've ever had by latching on to some characteristic that sets it apart from Walker Black (which is usually the only scotch people drink). For example, pick up a bottle of The Dalmore Cigar Malt and mention its unusual smoothness. Jameson over Bushmill's, as far as Irish whiskey goes... but between the Jack, Crown, Jameson and scotch recommendations, that's a whole lot of brown liquor. If you want a simple, all-purpose whisk(e)y, go with Jack, or with Evan Williams, which is a budget-label that, in mixes, approximates the sweetness and other flavors that make Jack stand out. Your basics are one whiskey, one vodka, one gin, one tequila, and a bottle (or spritzer) of cheap vermouth for people who drink manhattans or martinis. Other accoutrements are basically upgrades - very few visitors expect you to keep cognac, 99 Bananas or apple Pucker on hand. CanadianGuitarist is right, though - if you plan to have ladies stopping by, keep stuff for neon fauxtinis on hand, and a couple of martini glasses. Nothing gets a drunk girl drunker like making her an apple martini.

Tequila. There comes a time in every party where someone suggests it. It's your job to help that person make a fool of himself.

While I see the merits of the CHIKARA and Toxxic systems, I'd like to play Devil's Advocate for a moment. We have a problem that is, as far as I can tell, unfixable with regard to the distribution of Talent, Time, and Willingness to write. Because the TTW factor is spread unequally through the fed, we have to consider different divisions. That's a given. However, the way it breaks down, we have very few upper-crust writers, a teeming glut of upper-midlevel writers, a handful of rookies and a large smattering of enhancement talent that for whatever reason (lack of talent, lack of time, sheer unwillingness to write) can't advance. (Also, you have one or two journeyman veterans who putter around the upper-midcard harassing cruiserweights and bothering the World Champion for their own amusement.) Further, we lack mobility through the food chain. Bruce, who's at the top of the upper-midcarders (and as such is logically enough holding the International Title), got a World Title shot, but against Stephens, it's almost expected that he'll turn in a strong effort but get pointed. That's not a dig on Bruce, or Hawke, or Spike, or Jimmy, and the system assumes that Bruce, Hawke, Spike, and Jimmy will bring out the best in each other and lead to advancement. For whatever reason, that hasn't been happening, really, for anyone. Maybe it's just that your Stephenses are improving at a rate equal to that of the upper midcard, and that at the same time your Jay Hawkes are outpacing your Insane Luchadors. That's the biggest issue for me - the stagnation of the title scenes. (Granted, I'm not helping.) I'm not sure what sort of suggestions to make. The default position in the past has been to give a dominant champion a kick in the can and send him back down to run storylines in the sub-main and the upper-midcard fights it out for the World Championship, but that leads to the Championship-as-Cheap-Whore that people complain so much about. Just throwing stuff out there.

Well, hey, that'd save space too.

Hey, everybody. I can still moderate posts, so if you keep needling Bruce about shit that doesn't matter, I'll make your posts require approval to show. And I don't check the boards every day. Hey, Bruce. Your skin's too thin.

Hey, look! A discussion broke out over here!

Yeah, but is he tenured?

I move we delete every title reign that occurred before the arbitrary date of June 2002.

Happy birthday to... John john john... john john Duran... John john john... john john Duran... John Duraaaaaaaaaaaaaan Oh, take my haaaaaaaaaand You got me rockin' and a rollin', rockin' and a reeling John Duran!

Sarp comes from a different era, where title reigns meant something instead of the World Title being passed around like a cheap whore. Compared to Sarp's single World Title reign, Tom Flesher's two World reigns, two Cruiserweight reigns, two Tag reigns, single Light Heavyweight reign, single ICTV reign, and three US reigns mean little to nothing. Come back when Tom wins the clusterfuck. ::

Some cad called opening promo.

You know who knows about me entering illegally? YOUR GIRLFRIEND lolz

Not our best effort, clearly, but here it is... for POSTERITY~! === DING DING!!!! “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the following tag team contest is YOUR main event!” The announcer pauses, allowing the Edmonton crowd to revel in the card as it’s developed all night and as it’s about to culminate. Then, after a moment, the lights go dark. In the back, Joe Peters flicks his iPod on and turns it to Shuffle. I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind There was something so pleasant about that phase Even your emotions had an echo in so much space The infectious bassline of Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy” begins pounding through the Rexall Place speaker system. The fans begin to cheer for the popular, though incongruous, hit song. “You know,” says King, “this song’s about dropping acid.” “Interesting choice for Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix, then,” Mak says. “Although I don’t know whether you’re right or not. Either way, I’m not surprised Peters has it on his iPod.” And when you're out there without care Yeah I was out of touch But it wasn't because I didn't know enough I just knew too much Does that make me Crazy? Does that make me Crazy? Does that make me Crazy? Probably With a shrug, four figures appear at the top of the entrance ramp, one of the two at the front cracking his neck from side-to-side and the other spreading his arms wide, inviting the cheers - or possibly jeers - of the crowd. Meanwhile behind them are their distinctly opposite female accompaniments, one a beautiful girl next door, the other ready to pop your head off if you so much as look at her funny. Amy guzzles her Stella, and Megan pats Landon on the back. And I hope that you are having the time of your life But think twice, that's my only advice Come on now who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you are, ha ha ha bless your soul you really think you're in control As the challengers make their way to the ring, the crowd cheers them on, apparently making peace with Landon’s past actions. Once they reach the ring Mike rolls in under the bottom rope while Megan holds the cables open for Landon, who whirls into the ring with his trenchcoat flying. As Landon preens, Stephens merely pulls off his personalised England soccer shirt and hurls it into the front row. A girl in a rugby shirt picks it up, cocks an eyebrow, and throws it back at him. well I think you're Crazy I think you're Crazy I think you're Crazy Just like me “Well, it looks like the challengers are ready to go,” says King, as the two former World Champions have a quick chat about strategy, with the music fading out. “They’re so up for this match. It’s a shame they’re about to get dropped a few notches.” “It’s not like they’ve got any less experience as a team than Tom and Grappler did when they got their title shot,” Mak replies. “They had, what, one match against the Dead Precedents and a handicap match under their belts? Chemistry’s important, but so’s out-and-out talent. For that, you can’t beat Two Skinny White Guys.” The music fades out, and the lights flicker on, and then off again. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” shouts James Matheson, met with a chorus of boos from the crowd, “your main event is about to get a little more magnificent! Tonight you have the privilege of seeing, in the ring, four former Heavyweight Champions of the World, the reigning Cruiserweight Champion, and without a doubt, Canada’s favorite team. They’ve gone undefeated thus far on this tour, and tonight will be no different as YOUR Tag Team Champions will Spike-Piledrive some poor schlub and walk out with their belts still around their waists. Give it up for your Canadian Connection, TOM FLESHER AND CHARLIE MATTHEWS!” With that, flashing red lamps light up Rexall Place, and the speakers blare with the sound of... a soft Irish pipe? Every night in my dreams I see you. I feel you. That is how I know you go on. Far across the distance And spaces between us You have come to show you go on. “Uh, King?” “Shh!” snaps the Gambling Man. “I’m trying to listen to their theme!” Dressed in identical flannel shirts and toques, Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews step through the curtain to be greeted with nothing but hostility from the crowd. Flesher carries an axehandle with him, and Matthews bears a large jug of maple syrup. “It’s well-known,” says King, “that without the aid of lumberjacks, this part of Canada would never have been settled. ... well, as settled as it is, anyway.” Near, far, wherever you are I believe that the heart does go on Once more you open the door And you're here in my heart And my heart will go on and on Flesher and Matthews enter the ring, with the all-Canadian Celine Dion’s voice continuing to irritate the Edmonton fans. For their part, the Tag Team Champions look confident – Flesher wears his Cruiserweight Championship belt over one shoulder, and each man bears his Tag Team belt around his waist proudly. The music fades out as they enter the ring, and while each man sheds his belt, Funyon makes his announcement. “The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the SWF Tag Team Championships! Standing to my left are the challengers. They are accompanied by Megan Skye and Amy Stephens. At a total combined weight of 442 pounds, which is considerably below the median, they are Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix... reigning SWF World Heavyweight Champion Michael Stephens.... TWO! SKINNY! WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITE GUUUUYYYYS!!!!!!” The crowd pops big for TSWG, and Landon acknowledges them by hopping onto the middle rope and raising his arms to the crowd. That muddies the reception somewhat, but nonetheless, Landon hops down satisfied. “And their opponents...” BOOOOOOOO! “Currently making their residence in Edmonton, Alberta...” (“Does it even count if they’re just staying in a hotel, King?” “Quiet, you!”) “...and weighing in at a combined 437 pounds, accompanied by the brains behind the brawn and even more brains, they are the current Tag Team Champions, Charlie “Grappler” Matthews and the SWF Cruiserweight Champion, TOM FLESHER!!!!!” The crowd boos the Champs heartily, even as Flesher raises his axehandle in solidarity. Dissatisfied with the chilly reception, he doffs his knit cap and wriggles out of his flannel shirt. Charlie Matthews does the same as Nick Soapdish comes over to take the belts. “This should be a barnburner,” says King, as Soapdish walks the belts over to Landon and Stephens and shows them the belts. He then holds them in the air as King continues, “The current World Champions of both weight divisions, the number-one contender to the Cruiserweight Championship, and the World Tag Team Champions all in one ring! I can’t wait to see how this shakes out!” Soapdish hands the belts off to an attendant and calls for the bell. DING DING DING!!!! Having won Rock-Paper-Scissors at the Saddledome, Landon finds the disinterested Stephens stepping out of the ring and leaving him to start off the match. Tom Flesher, for his part, pats Grappler on the shoulder and points to the center as he steps through the ropes. “Grappler and the Cockroach are going to be starting this one off,” says Mak. “Brilliant assessment,” yawns King. “Jesus, Mak, I wasn’t expecting much from you, but I thought you’d at least improve somewhat over the past few months. Are you actively trying to unlearn how to do color?” Matthews and Maddix circle around each other in the center. Landon looks up at Grappler, then quickly unleashes a knife-edge chop! SMACK!!!! (WHOO!) Grappler looks down at his chest, then back at Landon. Maddix cocks an eyebrow, then throws another chop. SMACK!!!! (WHOO!) Grappler looks at him quizzically. After waiting a moment, he leans forward, slamming his head into Landon’s! La Cucaracha staggers backwards, grabbing his head, and Grappler turns around to grin at his corner. Flesher golf-claps, prompting yet another wave of boos from the crowd. Matthews, meanwhile, sees that Maddix, in his momentarily-stunned state, is ripe for the picking. He grabs the much-smaller half-Spaniard by the head and pulls him back to grappling range before wrapping his arms around his ribs and lifting him into a bearhug! Almost by reflex, the crowd begins chanting. BOOOORING! BOOOORING! “Don’t listen to them, Graps!” shouts Matheson. “They don’t know what they’re talking about!” Maddix writhes in pain. He looks over at Stephens, who leans on the turnbuckle with the tag rope in his hand. He extends his arm, showing that he clearly can’t reach the center, and shrugs, then turns his attention back to Amy. “So, you thought about going back to uni?” “Kinda stupid, innit!” Landon sighs (in pain!), but, in a move not many have ever successfully executed, he first fires off two forearms to the chest, and then uses both his cruiserweight speed and Grappler’s already-glistening forearm sweat to slip free out of the bearhug! On his knees, Landon ducks under Matthews’ legs and charges to the ropes, but as he rebounds against them, he gets a knee smash to his lower back, courtesy of the new Cruiserweight Champion! “Oh come on!” Mak complains, “Landon was able to successfully free himself from the bearhug before it caused too much damage (physical damage, at least), but Flesher is right there with the illegal blindside attack.” “Mak, it’s just smart tag team wrestling. What’s the ref gonna do, yell at you? Seriously, when was the last time a team actually got disqualified for too much illegal activity? Plus, if they’re disqualified they keep the belts. It’s a win-win for the champions. Hoooooo!” Tom, in fact, doesn’t even get yelled at, as referee Nick Soapdish simply glares at him. Maddix, meanwhile, doubles over in pain, allowing Grappler to slowly lift his big arm up…and bring the hammer down with a forearm smash! “Do it again!” Flesher orders from ringside, and Grappler gladly obliges. He then places Maddix in a standing headscissors, giving Tom a big hokey thumbs-up before flipping Landon up onto his shoulders—surprisingly early—for a powerbomb! “GAH! MY EYE!” Landon Maddix must have a badass edge to him. After a thumb to the eye of the powerbomber, the powerbombee pushes off of Matthews’ shoulders and kicks his legs forward, vaulting backwards off of his chest with a big Dropsault that takes both men down! The crowd roars as Grappler scurries to his feet, as he’s met with another knife-edge chop! SMACK!!!!! (WHOO!) Grappler quickly (as quick as he can, at least) tries to reply with a headbutt as he did before, but this time Maddix ducks it, charges to a set of ropes where he can’t be blindsided, and jumps to the second rope, springboarding off and turning with a flying forearm that again drops Matthews to the canvas! Maddix follows with a lateral press on the tag champion, but the big hoss kicks out (with AUTHORITY~!) before even a one count is administered. Both men rise to their feet, Maddix with a confident smirk and Matthews with frustration, as evidenced by his growling and kicking at the bottom rope. So, he tags in Tom Flesher! “I can’t believe what I’ve just seen!” Mak chimes in. “No, I thought the same thing,” King interrupts, “that isn’t Scott Keith in the front row. Turns out there are TONS of people in Edmonton who are that ugly.” Mak sighs, before, “that, and the fact that Landon Maddix has totally owned, if you will, Charlie Matthews in the opening stages of this contest!” “I will not!” King disagrees, “Whether Landon has changed styles or not, that flippy-floppy nonsense will get him nowhere against a powerhouse like Grap or the greatest technical wrestler in the world like, well, Tom Flesher. Plus, Charlie was an innocent victim to that awful sneak attack by JJ Johnson earlier tonight.” “Yes, a sneak attack. Excellent unbiased reporting, King.” Maddix looks to his corner and sees his partner Michael Stephens, who shrugs as if to suggest that, yeah, he wouldn’t mind being tagged in, but Landon’s doing pretty well so he might as well continue. Landon can read this look and advances towards the Cruiserweight Champ, who calls for a collar-elbow tie. La Cucaracha nods and comes closer— BAM! --right into a wicked thumb to the eye! “THAT’S how you do it!” Flesher reprimands, as clearly Maddix had poor form in his previous attempt on Grappler. Flesher traps Maddix in a tight front facelock and walks him over to his own corner, releasing the hold at Soapdish’s fourth count. As he holds his hands in the air and asks Soapdish how the Oilers could have possibly let down their hometown fans in the Cup Finals, Charlie Matthews wraps his tag rope around Maddix’s throat, choking the life out of him! “Oh come on!” Mak complains (he’s been doing a lot of that tonight), “It’s obvious that this match is more about softening up the number one contender, Landon Maddix, for his eventual match with Flesher than it is about the tag team titles!” With Flesher and Soapdish finally in agreement that it was due to poor goaltending, Grappler releases the tag rope and shoves the Cockroach towards his partner, who easily traps him in a bearhug and shoots him overhead, dropping him across the ring with a big railgun suplex! *SMACK!* …Unfortunately, Flesher did not take into account his ring position, as Maddix was able to roll right into a tag with the World Champion, Michael Stephens! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Flesher nods, and again calls for a collar-elbow tie, but Stephens doesn’t take the bait, instead opting to charge forward and drive his knee into Flesher’s gut, much to the delight of the crowd! He quickly unleashes two short elbows to the temples of the Cruiserweight Champion, before wrapping his arm around Flesher’s head and flipping him over with a headlock takeover…but the more astute mat wrestler holds on and brings Stephens down to the mat, almost in an armdrag! The Superior One holds onto the pumphandle armbar from this position, but Stephens is fresh and is able to easily rise to his feet, reversing into an arm wringer of his own. Flesher groans at this trivial attempt at counterwrestling and ducks through with a hammerlock, before simply *SMACK!* --slapping the back of Stephens’ head, to the chagrin of the challengers and the Edmonton fans. Matthews and Matheson, of course, golf clap. “Flesh doesn’t take Stephens all that seriously, does he, King?” “Why would he? He’s just keeping that belt warm until Taamo wants to take it back and lead both weight classes and the tag division.” Mak rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, he’s not that good.” “All he’d need then is the Hardcore Title! I’m telling you, Mak, he’s the WAVE OF THE FUTURE~!” With the hammerlock still in place, Tom executes a deft inside trip, taking Michael Stephens back to the mat. Stephens wriggles, trying to free his arm, as Flesher plants a knee on his back. From there, Flesher reaches down and applies a side headlock, then sits out and leans on the World Champion’s neck. Stephens struggles, trying to peel off the tight headlock. As he does, Flesher leans on him, smirking at his applauding partner and manager. As he does, though, Stephens kicks a leg up and hooks Tom by the head, pulling him down out of the headlock and into a head scissors grip. Flesher rolls his eyes, grabbing Stephens’ ankles and peeling them apart. “Jesus, that’s not even close,” Flesher says, throwing the Straight-Edger’s limbs off to the side. “If you’re not even going to try I might as well just tag Grap in and let him take it.” “Tom makes an interesting point,” says King. “And what’s that?” King pauses, like a deer in the headlights. “Uh... well... if you don’t get it, I’m not going to explain it to you.” Stephens, for his part, merely scoots back, slapping a body scissors onto Flesher as he pouts. Tom leans over, looking utterly disinterested in the whole affair... until Michael snakes one leg up and slaps on a half leg-nelson! Flesher reaches up, knowing that the leg-nelson can’t be good, but he can’t peel off one foot before the other follows it up! Mike rolls over, pinning Flesher’s shoulders to the mat with the leg-nelson! Soapdish counts ONE!!!! TWO!!!! KICKOUT!!!!! “And Stephens draws first blood this time around!” says Mak, suitably impressed that for once the man with the crown on his head is actually king. “He surprises Taamo and gets a near-fall!” “Near fall, schmear fall,” King says. “Toxxic can get all the back points he wants. This isn’t freestyle, and all that matters at the end of the day is who pinned whose shoulders to the mat.” A mildly surprised Flesher breaks free after his kickout and rolls to his stomach, watching Stephens leerily. He stands up, facing off with Stephens once more. Tom crouches down, watching Michael for any defensive movement. When Stephens doesn’t fall into Tom’s defensive trap, the Cruiserweight Champion looks back, reaches out his hand, and tags the Grappler back in. “Look at that!” says Mak. “He doesn’t want to see Stephens until after he’s given Charlie a chance to beat up on him! What a coward!” “Oh, come on,” King says. “You don’t understand tag team strategy because you never had a decent partner. I mean, come on. CIA?!” Grappler enters the ring as James Matheson hops onto the apron and hands Tom a towel for his brow. Stephens squares off with Grappler, only to be clubbed on the neck with a meaty forearm. (“That looked…eerily similar to the last move he did.” “Hush, you.”) Matthews grabs Stephens and pulls him in, this time applying a headlock of his own! Except, without the mat expertise of his partner and a huge weight advantage, Grappler sees fit to just stand there and wrench in the headlock. Referee Nick Soapdish does his job and checks with Stephens for a potential submission (ha!), but even he gets bored after doing so, and begins to tap his foot on the canvas impatiently. “Don’t lose focus!” Flesher coaches from the corner, “Keep that bicep flexed!” And does Matthews ever. So much so that a familiar chant begins to flare up in Edmonton. BOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOORING! Stephens meekly tries to fire off some elbows and fists to Matthews’ midsection, but to no avail. “YEAH, BABY!” Matthews shouts out of nowhere, which only serves to infuriate the crowd. “I mean, it’s almost been a minute now,” Mak sighs. “Good things come to those who wait,” King mocks, “except Michael Stephens, obviously. He’s just going to eventually get hit really really hard.” And it’s at about this time that Landon Maddix has had enough. He charges into the ring to break up the headlock, but Nick Soapdish is RIGHT THERE to stop him! This allows Grappler to finally relinquish the headlock, pound Stephens’ neck with his forearm (again!), and make the international “clap for a heel team’s false tag,” allowing Flesher to reenter the ring. Grappler hoists Stephens into the air in another bearhug, while his lighter partner backs into the ropes, builds up enough momentum and leaps into the air, taking Stephens down with a tandem Hart Attack! “THAT WAS FOR YOU, CANADA!” Matheson squeals. The fans aren’t happy. Soapdish turns around, stupidly accepts the false tag, and counts the lateral press that Flesher has on Stephens! ONE! TWO! KICKOUT!!! The crowd breathes a sigh of relief, but the World Champion doesn’t, as Flesher rises to his knees to argue the count, his shin conveniently and inconspicuously placed across the throat of Michael Stephens! Soapdish finally notices and begins his five count, but Flesher stares him right in the eyes and counts along with him, finally releasing at 4.6. “That was beautiful,” a tear comes to King’s eye, “I couldn’t have done it better myself.” “The champions are bringing out every dirty trick in the book tonight,” Mak agrees, “and I—along with these Edmonton fans—am just waiting to see them finally get their comeuppance from what I think is the top team in the SWF today.” “Oh, you would,” King groans, “if Flesher and Grappler win tonight (which they will), will you finally accept their superiority—pun intended!—over the rest of the Fed? Or will it take another Burning Hammer to bring you to your senses?” *SMACK* Let’s face it, King had that one coming. Tom Flesher drags Michael Stephens up to a standing position, but the World Champion immediately drops back down, shooting his legs at Flesher’s and causing The Superior One’s knees to buckle from the basement dropkick. With Tom on all fours, Stephens quickly rolls over him perpendicularly and twists over with an Oklahoma (Nottingham?) Roll! ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! Not to be outdone, Flesher scrambles to his feet, but the former Toxxic is waiting for him with a well-placed kick to the gut before applying a quick half-nelson in one hand and Flesher’s waist in the other, sitting out and driving his face into the canvas. Even after this Stephens doesn’t let up, as he maintains the half-nelson and rolls Tom into another pin! ONE! TWO! ANOTHER KICKOUT! This time, the Superior One decides it might be a better idea to stay on the ground for a second. As he does so, however, Stephens makes a quick tag to Landon Maddix. Utilizing the five-count, as the World Champion holds Tom still on the mat, the number one contender slingshots into the ring, flipping over and landing a perfect legdrop on Flesher, following it right up by spinning three hundred and sixty degrees and dropping another leg! At the behest of his partner, Landon wraps up Flesher in a tight cradle for yet another pin! ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! “I never would have expected this!” Mak cries, more enthusiastically, “Tom Flesher has become the victim of quick pins and strong tag team wrestling, usually found in his own repertoire!” King fumes silently. Flesher rolls out of the pin and rises to his knees, and a flashing lightbulb—or is it a shining wizard?—creeps across Landon’s face. He backs against the ropes in preparation for his wicked knee, but the crowd deflates as the wicked James Matheson grabs onto Landon’s knee as he hits the ropes! Maddix turns to give the Manager of Champions™ the what-for— *BOOM!* --only to be clobbered by the huge lariat of Charlie Matthews, who showed tremendous athleticism in running across the ring apron! “Now THAT is strong tag team wrestling,” King finally adds, beaming. “I was waiting for that.” Flesher, back to his feet, brings Landon up and shoves him against the Corner of Champions™, tagging in the big burly monstrosity known as Charlie Matthews. Before Grappler enters the ring, however, he holds Maddix in place, allowing the Superior One to back up to mid-ring, charging in before lifting his leg up— *WHAM!* --and slamming Maddix with a huge Yakuza Kick in the corner! Satisfied, the partners exchange, allowing Charlie to bring Landon out of the corner, snapmare him onto his buttocks, and wrap an arm tightly around his head with a chinlock! “Now before you say anything,” King leers at Mak, “the chinlock makes perfect sense here because it focuses on the head of Landon, which just got rocked by the Yakuza Kick. It’s something we wrestlers call psychology.” “Or, alternatively, an opportunity to catch his breath and bore the crowd to death,” Mak sighs. And that certainly appears to be the situation at hand. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING! LET’S – GO – MADD – IX!! *clap-clap clap-clap-clap* But suddenly the chants stop, and instead the crowd’s cheering grows… *BAM!* …as Michael Stephens enters the ring, performing a front dropkick to Grappler’s face, successfully breaking the chinlock! THANK – YOU – TOXXIC! The world champion smirks as Nick Soapdish directs him back to his corner, but unfortunately for Maddix, Tom Flesher is much more versed in entering illegally, doing so behind Soapdish’s back to simply step on Maddix’s face, turning his heel on Landon’s face not unlike the late Eddie Guerrero before exiting the ring cleanly. “For the impressionable children watching at home,” King grins, “that is exactly the way to cheat. Not directly in front of the referee, like that British git.” “If only all of the world’s children would grow up to be just like Tom Flesher,” groans Mak. “Alien cultures from all over the universe would come to mate with perfection.” The attack on both legal competitors brings them back to square one, as they both slowly rise to their feet. Maddix lunges at Matthews’ midsection with what appears to be a headbutt, but the stronger Grappler absorbs the blow and uses Landon’s momentum to hold him tightly in a gutwrench, snapping him up and slamming the Cockroach down with a power bomb out of nowhere! Matthews immediately drops to his knees, however, and crawls over, using the opening to tag in Tom Flesher instead of going for the pin. “Smart move by the Grappler,” says King. “He gets a fresh man in the ring to beat down on the opponent, and he gets to play to the Canadian crowd. It’s win-win!” Landon starts to get to his feet. Flesher lies in wait, and as soon as Landon gets back to his feet, he eats a stepping palm strike. Before he falls back down, Flesher grabs him in a front facelock and snap-suplexes him straight back onto the canvas. From there, he teases a cover. Landon instinctively bellies down to avoid being pinned, only to be grabbed around the waist in a gutwrench! Flesher lifts him up and slings him over one shoulder in a Canadian backbreaker. He waits there for a moment...before dropping to one knee, nearly snapping the svelte Spaniard in half with a Derailleur! He deposits Maddix on the mat, and once again covers him. Maddix rolls over again, acting only on reflex, and with a smirk on his face, Flesher takes a seat on his back. “Brilliant move by Flesher!” says King. “He nailed Landon’s back, and he was either going to get the pin or a submission out of it. Maddix bellied down, and so here comes the Camel Clutch!” As promised, Flesher reaches down, grabbs Maddix by the chin and leans back. Maddix manages to keep one hand free, but even as he pulls himself toward the sidelines, Flesher’s low-risk offense drains his stamina. As Tom torques Landon’s back, the Next Generation Superstar manages to reach out and grab the bottom rope. The fans groan, disappointed that one of the heels is being released from a hold, even as Flesher cranks the camel clutch. Nick Soapdish counts ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Finally, Flesher stands up, sighing that he couldn’t get the submission. As he backs away, Landon gets to his knees. Soapdish admonishes Flesher for keeping the hold as long as he did, while Flesher argues vainly for his innocence. Meanwhile, Maddix takes advantage of Nick’s diverted attention to... SPROING~! King gasps. Mak winces. Nick Soapdish pretends he didn’t see anything. Flesher doubles over in pain as Maddix stands up, trying to loosen the wrenched muscles in his back while Flesher tries to loosen the wrenched muscles in his scrotum. Even so, he realizes that he only has a few moments to take advantage of Flesher’s sore, battered testicles, and so he grabs Flesher in a three-quarter facelock. He sprints over to the corner, ushering Herrington out of the way as he sprints up the turnbuckles. As he hits the top one, he moonsaults, flipping over Flesher and coming crashing to the mat with a sitout Sliced Bread #2! “LABERINTO’S REVENGE!” screams Mak. “SUNNY IN ENGLAND! SAME DIFFERENCE,” he yells, as Landon pops back up to cheers from the crowd! Staggering, the man who could survive a nuclear holocaust unscathed leans toward his corner and falls... tagging in Michael Stephens!!!! The crowd, simply put, explodes! “And now it’s time for Taamo to pay the piper!” shouts Mak. “Michael isn’t about to let this one go. It’s a chance to show his challenger exactly what he thinks of him, and Flesher’s in no shape to do anything about it!” Stephens measures Tom up, then hits him with a right! A left! A right! A left! As the crowd cheers, he flips Flesher the fuck-you V-sign, and then spins around with a discus clothesline! Flesher ducks the clothesline, only to eat a discus punch to the face as Stephens continues the rotation! Tom collapses to the mat, and Michael covers him for ONE!!! TWO!!!! NO! Flesher kicks out and rolls to his stomach. Charlie Matthews immediately reaches out and taps Nick Soapdish on the shoulder, getting his attention by pulling him to corner. Soapdish protests, trying to turn his attention back to the match, but Matthews keeps his attention by stepping into the ring. As Soapdish orders him to exit the ring, James Matheson slides the briefcase into the ring. Flesher grabs it and rolls over, slamming it into Michael’s forehead! The SWF World Champion collapses to the mat as the fans begin a “YOU SUCK DICK! YOU SUCK DICK!” chant. Meanwhile, the smirking Flesher slides the briefcase back out of the ring, the prominent new dent hidden by James Matheson. “No,” shouts Mak, “Not like this!” Matthews steps out of the ring, hands in the air, proclaiming his innocence. As Landon Maddix stirs in the corner, though, the Grappler steps down from the apron and sprints over to his corner. He grabs Landon by the leg and pulls him off the apron, then clobbers him with an overhand right! Maddix staggers back, but throws another knife-edge chop to hit the former World Champion in the chest. Matthews steps back, and they continue brawling at ringside. Back in the ring, Flesher grabs the stunned Stephens by the head and lifts him to his feet. He pulls Michael’s left arm behind his own left leg, then slaps on a front facelock. With the leg-capture fisherman’s suplex set up, Flesher ducks his head under Stephens’ right arm. Then, he lifts him into the air. The crowd gasps. Tom turns his adversary upside-down, perfectly vertical above the mat. As if in slow motion, he calls to the mat. As if in slow motion, Stephens follows. As if in slow motion, he lands, head-first, on the mat. “CAFFEINE BOMB~!” shouts King, cheering on the Cruiserweight Champion. The crowd showers Flesher with boos, but Tom, for his part, ignores them and merely rolls Michael Stephens onto his back and hooks his leg. Unaware of the move’s illegal set-up, Nick Soapdish counts ONE!!!! Landon looks into the ring. Alarmed, he tries to slide in to break up the fall. TWO!!!!! Grappler grabs him by the ankle, stopping Landon just inches from Stephens and Flesher! He pulls Landon back out, dropping him ineffectually onto the concrete, just as Soapdish counts THREE!!!!!!!!! DING DING DING!!!! Flesher leaps off the mat, hurting but elated at his successful defense of the Tag Team Championships! Landon, irate, throws fists at Grappler, who staggers back, taking the brunt of the blows. “The number-one contender is NOT happy,” says Mak, “at having his shot at the Tag Titles stolen from him by James Matheson and his briefcase!” “Stolen?! Do you think Amy Stephens would hesitate to interfere if it would help them win the titles? No, they just didn’t create the opportunity! It’s Two Skinny White Guys’ fault that they lost, not James Matheson’s!” As Landon throws more blows at the Grappler, Flesher looks to the outside. With a sadistic glint in his eye, he sprints to the sideline, drops to the mat, and hammers Landon in the back of the head with a baseball slide dropkick! Landon stumbles forward, and the Grappler grabs him by the torso. Then, with the deliberate pace he’s best known for, Matthews lifts Landon off the cement floor and slams him back down with a power bomb! The crowd continues booing, louder every second. As Maddix lays on the concrete, and Stephens is still unconscious from having his own Caffeine Bomb used against him, Flesher and Grappler snatch up their Tag Team Titles from the timekeeper’s table. “The winners of the match,” Funyon announces, “and STILL SWF Tag Team Champions... TOM FLESHER and CHARLIE... GRAPPLER... MAAAAAAAAATTHEWS!!!!!” Each man hoists his belt high in the air as Matheson joins them at the table. “They stole that defense!” snaps Mak. “They stole it, and Flesher’s just using Matthews to beat up on the top contender to his Cruiserweight Championship!” “It’s strategy, Mak, and it’s paying off! The Champions are two of the smartest guys ever to step into an SWF ring, and at this rate, they’ll have those belts for a long, long time!” As the camera trains on Flesher tapping his temple, one belt over each shoulder, we fade to black. =-=-=-=-= SWF Smarkdown, August 14, 2006. © Acid Rayn Productions. All rights reserved. The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation: “Raising workrate by typing faster.”

An additional promo has been added.

“Man,” grumbles Mike Van Siclen to himself as he heads out to his car, “this day has just been one fucking thing after another… first, someone slips a laxative into my breakfast this morning, then that idiot Hardy gave me bad directions to the arena… And if I ever find out who glued my boots to the inside of my locker, they’re fucking dead!” Van Siclen stops to scowl at some fans who snicker at him as they walk past. “Ugh! All I want to do is get a good night’s sleep and get out of this hellhole first thing in the morning!” Van Siclen walks past a few more fans who chuckle at him, as well as one who breaks down in gut-busting laughter. “What the hell’s so funny?” wonders Van Siclen, as he turns the corner outside the Saddledome… “AAAAAAAAAAH!” “MY CAR!” Van Siclen drops his gym bag to his side and stares in open-mouthed horror at the disfigured pile of scrap that was once his prized ’64 Chevrolet Impala. “WHO THE FUCK DID THIS TO MY CAR?” Van Siclen runs over to what used to be his car, shouting at the fans that are gathered around it, enjoying a good laugh at his expense. “Get away, you vultures!” screams Van Siclen. “Get the fuck away from my car!” The fans disperse, but not before infuriating Mike with a few more guffaws. Van Siclen’s eyes are bulging with rage, and a vein appears to be on the verge of popping clean out of his neck. A low, guttural growl escapes through gritted teeth, as he shakes in futile anger. Suddenly, something catches Van Siclen’s eye: he whips his head around to see something spray-painted across what’s left of his windshield… … In aquamarine: YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE. I WILL NOT BE CHEATED OUT OF MY RETRIBUTION AGAIN. PUT YOUR AFFAIRS IN ORDER, VAN SICLEN… YOU’RE ON BORROWED TIME. - WC Van Siclen scans the sky, half-expecting Wildchild to come running in from out of nowhere, but finds only a few more Canadian fans, reveling in his misfortune. “SON OF A BITCH!”

“This is Ben Hardy backstage,” says Ben Hardy, conveniently located backstage, “and with me this evening are Tom Flesher, Charlie Matthews, and the brains behind the brawn, James Matheson. It’s an eventful night for the Tag Team Champions, with the Grappler taking on perennial thorn in his side Scott Rageheart, and Flesher challenging for the Cruiserweight Championship. James, tell me, what’s the game plan tonight?” “The game plan? You want me to tell you the game plan? Whaddaya think I am, some kind of idiot? Jesus, Ben, you can’t just walk into an interview and ask a guy to give away his game plan. That’s the sort of thing that’s gonna get you fired. If I told you all about the game plan, then Grappler and Flesher wouldn’t have anything left for the game! Haven’t you ever heard of the element of surprise? Good lord almighty, Ben, what do they pay you for?” Hardy looks quizzically at Matheson, who appears to be on the verge of having a coronary. “Well, James, what WOULD you like to share?” “Why do you think I want to share anything?” shouts Matheson, his mouth running a mile a minute almost before Hardy even finishes talking. “Jesus, Hardy, you’re the one with the interview slot. You’re the one who wanted to bring out the Tag Team Champions and talk to them on international TV. You’re like the guy who walks up to a girl in a bar and says ‘What’s a girl like you doing here?’ Darn it, Ben, when you initiate the conversation, you have to bring your own topics with you, or else you’re just being a numbnut!” Hardy, shocked, turns to face Flesher. “So, uh...” “I’m glad you asked, Ben,” says Tom, with a grin on his face. “I think it’s important to analyze my shot at the Cruiserweight Championship with the SWF food chain in mind. You see, at the bottom, we have people like, say, Ciro Vitale, people who can take out Ced Ordonez when he’s not moonlighting as a referee, but not much else. Then, you have people like Mike Cross in the wild. Talented enough, but you can’t build a promotion around a guy like him. He won the Cruiserweight Championship, which brought him up a notch, but frankly, Ben, he’s still light-years behind guys like your Michael Stephens and Landon Maddix.” “Did you just...” “And then, of course, far above and beyond the skinny white guys, you have me.” “Never mind, that cleared it up.” “You see, Ben, the problem is that you take a guy like me, and a guy like Michael Cross, and you put us in a ring together... sure, it sells tickets. Anything I do sells tickets. I personally have sold tickets to dinner with me. And never mind the sex, Ben, you don’t even want to think about it, I can tell. But the tickets you’re going to sell, they aren’t good tickets. They’re not to people who want to see good, solid, Canadian technical wrestling. Oh no. They’re here to see me rip this kid limb from limb. And Ben, that’s just sadistic.” “So,” Ben says, “you’re predicting a win?” “What are you, simple?” shouts Matheson. “Of course he’s predicting a win, just like Charlie’s going to put Scott Rageheart right out of his misery! Come on, guys. You have matches to prep for.”

I was very impressed with this show. Every match had something for the slot, even if Drake/Van Siclen was written by the marker. Everything was in early enough that I was able to get it posted before 2 AM, which makes me a very happy panda. If there's something you'd like edited into the show, please PM me and I'll be happy to do so. I know the PM system is a little iffy at times, so make sure you save a copy in your sent messages folder. That always seems to ensure the recipient gets it.