Ace309

“Welcome back to SWF Storm, where we’re about to see the last match before the greatest show in the history of this sport, Genesis VIII,” Mak Francis greets viewers, “and it promises to be a fascinating spectacle, that’s for sure - Toxxic, the Straight-Edge Sensation, the man who’s challenging for Johnny Dangerous’s World Heavyweight Title at Genesis is having a warm-up against ‘Big Bully’ Tracey Bruner, the bodyguard of Sir Marvellous!” “Mak, normally I’d have to say that Sir Marvellous’s character is beyond reproach,” the Suicide King comments, “but I do have my doubts about this tonight, given that he’s the agent of Johnny’s tag team partner!” “Well, I certainly remember Sir Marvellous not being that friendly to Johnny Dangerous,” Mak replies, “but it’ll be interesting to see what happens here tonight.” …and with that the beats of ‘Call The Ambulance’ by Busta Rhymes start to ring out around the JL Walkup Skydome. There are no special light effects or pyros, mainly because the behemoth appearing at the top of the entrance ramp needs absolutely nothing to appear more imposing than he already is. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms, “introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Sir Marvellous; from Brooklyn, New York, he stands six feet ten inches tall and weighs in tonight at 455lbs… TRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAA-CEYYYYYYYYYYYYY… BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUU-NERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!” Bruner strides down the ramp, the lights reflecting off his shades as he ignores the fans crowded on either side of the guardrail, Sir Marvellous trailing along in the rear like a remora temporarily removed from its shark. The massive bodyguard thumps up the steps and simply swings one huge leg over the top rope to ease his passage into the ring. “King, every time I see Bruner it makes me almost glad I’m not wrestling anymore,” The Franchise says. “He’s not had that much training, he’s far from technically sound and if you can keep your head against him you can take him down… but against a man that size, a man who outweighs Janus by a hundred pounds, it’s got to be difficult to stay calm.” “Big men have a natural advantage,” King nods, “but they have natural disadvantages as well, and if anyone will know how to exploit those it’s Toxxic. That said, we could be about to see Englishman puree,” the Gambling Man adds. Bruner carefully removes his fedora and suit jacket, then passes them over the ropes to Sir Marvellous who receives them and moves to his man’s corner. Bruner follows, if a man that big can be said to only be occupying one part of the ring at once. Busta Rhymes starts to fade out… and then every light in the arena hits full, and the Smarktron whites out before a raucous, rolling chant explodes from the PA system. “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The oozing bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn follows immediately afterwards, and as it does so the Smarktron starts to fade down to black while jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ Three chords ring out; on the first we see Toxxic knocked from the top rope to the floor by a Nathaniel Kibagami springboard enzuigiri; on the second we see him taken off the top buckle with a Super Mark of the Beat by Gabriel Drake; on the third we see him chokeslammed out of the Clusterfuck by Janus. Then the shot changes to Toxxic taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the moment the song kicks in and the- *BOOOM!* -stagewide explosion of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …wearing his customised England soccer shirt and his red-and-black canvas trenchcoat… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …Tag Title strapped around his waist, Stables Title belt in his right hand… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …come the Number One Contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Title. “And his opponent,” Funyon booms, “from Nottingham, England and representing SWF Stable Champions Revolution Zero; he weighs in tonight at 218lbs and is one-half of the of the SWF Tag Team Champions, this is the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’, TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Toxxic rolls in under the bottom rope, hands his two title belts to referee Ronald ‘Red’ Herrington and then strips off his coat and shirt before casually dropping them over the rope to the floor. “Toxxic’s going to Genesis with the opportunity to become the first-ever five-time SWF World Champion,” Mak Francis says, “I might wish it was someone more purely talented like Tom Flesher, or Danny Williams who actually has four reigns already-” “Blink and you’ll miss them,” Suicide King mutters. “-but like it or not, and a lot of people don’t, it is Toxxic who has that chance,” the Franchise finishes. Referee Herrington checks both men are ready - Toxxic flashes him a cocky grin, Bruner just nods slightly - then calls for the bell: *DING-DING-DING!* “-and we’re underway!” Mak says, as the two men start forward. Toxxic reaches the middle of the ring and, with a smirk on his face, reaches one hand upwards in an unmistakeable gesture for a test of strength. Needless to say, this is the cause of some consternation for his opponent, the crowd and the commentators. “OK, he’s lost it,” King says in total bewilderment, “what’s he playing at?” Tracey Bruner’s eyes are hidden behind his dark glasses, but the big man seems confused. He looks around at Sir Marvellous, who shrugs and gestures for him to get on with it, then back at Toxxic. The Englishman stands there with his feet planted and one hand reaching upwards so Bruner steps forward and reaches out… …and Toxxic snatches his hand back, then stamps on Bruner’s left foot. *CRUNCH!* Then delivers a basement dropkick to the big man’s right knee! Bruner wobbles, caught off-balance, and Toxxic pops back up to his feet before doing the same thing again. The bodyguard’s support is knocked from under him and he drops to one knee; Toxxic is instantly back on his feet and surges forward to grab Bruner’s head in both hands and deliver a headbutt to his opponent! *THUNK!* And another! *THUNK!* And another! *THUNK!* Bruner, taken off-guard by this early assault, simply lashes out with one arm with the purpose of pushing Toxxic away from him; however, this is Big Bully Bruner pushing away a man who weighs less than half what he does, and the result sees Toxxic rolling back across the ring while Bruner tries to orientate himself. “Toxxic’s got the right idea, but Bruner is huge!” Mak calls, “you’re going to have to do more than that to knock him down!” That’s fine by Toxxic. *SMACK!* The running front dropkick catches Bruner flush in the face and sends the big man sprawling backwards to the mat while Sir Marvellous looks on aghast from the outside. “That alright for you Mak?” King laughs as Toxxic scrambles back to his feet, “I don’t care how big you are, if you’re on one knee then being hit that hard in the face will take you down!” Toxxic has no interest in hanging around and letting Bruner get his breath back; instead he heads straight for the nearest turnbuckles and vaults straight to the top, then leaps off and comes down to drive his fist into his opponent’s face! “I’m amazed he didn’t just break his hand,” King comments as Toxxic shakes his fist out. However, the Englishman seems to think he’s onto something here and heads back to the same corner, then springs back up to the top rope for a second time. He comes off again, and once more succeeds in driving his fist into the face of the prone Tracey Bruner, much to Sir Marvellous’s consternation. Toxxic pops back up to his feet, raises his fist… ‘One more?’ “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Some fans boo but the majority seem to be quite behind the Englishman in his delivery of a surprise ass-kicking to the hulking Bruner, and Toxxic heads back to the top rope with his lopsided grin plastered over his face. He makes sure to kiss his fist this time, then jumps (perhaps a little higher than before) and comes down with another fistdrop right in Bruner’s face! The big man rolls away clutching his face, but Toxxic reaches down and grabs his opponent’s shades, then rips them off, lanyard and all! “Uh-oh, that’s-” Mak begins. Toxxic drops the shades to the mat and stamps on them until they shatter. “OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “…that’s possibly not a good idea,” Francis finishes. “What, you can hit a guy in the face and it’s fine, but break his shades and your DEAD~!?” King laughs. “Come on, what would you really do if I broke your shades, Francis?” “My shades cost more than your suit, King.” The cocky Englishman turns back to his opponent to find Brunder starting to get up to his knees; Toxxic raises one boot and seeks to bring it down on his opponent’s head, but Bruner catches the foot in two massive hands then simply shoves, sending the straight-edger toppling backwards! Toxxic rolls back up to his feet and charges, but this time Bruner is ready for him and hoists the startled Englishman up off the man, then dumps him down with tremendous force in a bearhug spinebuster! *WHAM!* “Good God, I think he was trying to throw him through the ring!” Mak shouts, “and what’s scarier, he nearly succeeded!” However, the big man has proved to not be invulnerable; Bruner staggers after delivering the move, clearly slightly wobbly after all those quickfire shots to the head. He also looks around for his sunglasses, but when Sir Marvellous points to the crushed plastic on the canvas the bodyguard rounds on Toxxic with malice aforethought. He reaches down and hoists Toxxic off the mat easily, then grabs his opponent’s arm and delivers a thunderous Irish whip to the corner. Toxxic hits hard and gasps for breath, but Bruner is following him in at high speed… *WHUMP!* …but not high enough, as Toxxic dodges to one side and Bruner’s avalanche catches nothing! Toxxic sucks some air into his lungs, then jumps to the second rope and springboards up, twisting through the air to land astride Bruner’s shoulders and snap backwards with a hurricanrana attempt. Under normal circumstances this might not succeed, but under normal circumstances Bruner wouldn’t have the ring ropes preventing him from correcting forward momentum, and with almost agonising slowness the big man topples forward off-balance and goes over the top to the outside as Toxxic hangs onto the middle rope to prevent him crashing down as well! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Whoah!” Mak shouts as Bruner falls to the arena floor, “Toxxic just took Tracey Bruner out of the ring!” “I saw it, but I don’t believe it Francis!” King fires back. “Still, didn’t I tell you that if anyone could take this guy down it’d be Toxxic?” Toxxic rolls back into the ring from the apron, then scrambles back to his feet. A quick look over his shoulder shows that Bruner is also starting to rise - it’s not such a big fall if you’re nearly seven foot, although the landing is rather harder when you’re that heavy - so the straight-edger takes off at a run towards the far ropes. He rebounds off and accelerates across the ring, the crowd starting to rise to their feet in anticipation, then takes off and leaps clean over the top rope to the outside with a somersault senton! Unfortunately Tracey Bruner catches him upside-down in mid-air, then simply swings him into the steel guardrail. *CRASH!!* “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “Damn right Holy Shit!” Mak shouts, “I’ve never seen anyone catch Toxxic in mid-air before!” “He didn’t just catch him, he just broke him in half!” King shouts back. “That could have put paid to our Genesis main event, right there!” Herrington is going mad in the ring and demanding that Bruner bring Toxxic back inside, then starts his ring-out count. For his part Tracey Bruner is jawing with some fans behind the guardrail he just threw Toxxic into, but at a little urging from Sir Marvellous he drags the battered Englishman upright and then throws him into the ring under the bottom rope. Herrington steps back as a straight-edger rolls towards him, then is followed by the considerably larger figure of Bruner. Tracey applies his considerable weight to a lateral press and Herrington dives to count… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out! “I’m amazed, to tell the truth,” Mak admits, “I thought Tracey Bruner had ended the match, but Toxxic’s still in this!” He is, although not for long if Bruner has any say in the matter. The huge man peels Toxxic off the mat and hoists him up to his feet, then simply delivers a sledgehammer-like blow with his right fist that drops the straight-edger again. He puts Toxxic in a sitting position and grabs his opponent’s head with two huge bands before placing his weight over the Englishman and twisting his neck with all his considerable might. “A neck vice might be a simple weardown hold in the hands of any other man…” Mak begins. “Uh-oh,” King mutters, looking at the entrance ramp, “here comes trouble.” Sure enough, a faint stirring in the crowd heralds the arrival of a busty, possibly-slight-overweight goth-punk chick with a can of lager in one hand; yes, Amy Stephens is in the building. Sir Marvellous looks around and then back up at Herrington, demanding to know what she’s doing here; Amy takes immediate offence at this and gets in the former road agent’s face while Herrington scurries over to try and restore order. Tracey Bruner looks over to see what the commotion is, then simply hurls Toxxic to the canvas by his head. The Englishman grabs his skull in pain and Bruner twirls Herrington around with one massive hand, then drops to make a cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out again! Bruner snorts in annoyance and drags Toxxic up by his head again, then grabs the Englishman’s wrist and delivers a massive short-arm lariat that nearly turns Toxxic inside out. Once more Bruner drops to make the cover, and once more Herrington starts counting… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Toxxic kicks out one more time! “King, obvious statement as it may seem now, I think Toxxic made his mistake with the dive to the outside,” Mak remarks. “He had been doing OK, but the urge to press his advantage must have been too strong; he just took too big a risk.” “Mak, I won’t believe Toxxic is beaten until I see Herrington make the one-two-three,” the Gambling Man replies, “but I’ve got to admit, this is looking like Bruner’s show now.” Tracey Bruner has brought Toxxic up again, and this time hoists the (much) smaller man up into the air with a military press! Amy Stephens has broken off her arguments with Sir Marvellous to watch events in the ring, and she sees her brother hoisted into the air once, twice, thrice… …and Toxxic slips out of his opponent’s grip and manages to land on his feet behind Bruner, then launches a basement dropkick into the back of the behemoth’s knee! Bruner starts to topple, throws out his hands to try and keep his balance and lands awkwardly, twisted to one side with his weight braced on both arms. This allows Toxxic to jump up and simply stamp down with both feet on the back of his opponent’s head, slamming Bruner’s face into the mat! *BANG!* Toxxic staggers away to try and recover from the battering he’s taken and winds up leaning on the ropes, breathing hard. Meanwhile Sir Marvellous starts pounding the apron and yelling for his bodyguard to get up, while Amy Stephens gives him an evil glare. However, unfortunately for Amy’s brother, Tracey Bruner is indeed getting up; the big man was dazed by having his face mashed into the canvas but he’s starting to rise again. He places his weight on one big leg and starts to straighten… …and Toxxic hits his knee with another basement dropkick! Bruners staggers and drops back down to one knee- *whump-CRACK!* -and Toxxic nails his now more conveniently-sized opponent with the kip-up enzuigiri! Bruner wobbles; Toxxic shoves into him and knocks him down to the mat, then makes his first cover of the match… ONE! TWO!! …but Bruner kicks out with authority, managing to send Toxxic flying a couple of feet! Toxxic isn’t eager to let this advantage go begging however, and he piles back in as Bruner once more starts to rise, this time delivering a couple of European uppercuts to the big man. Bruner is rocked, but he fights back by wrapping both arms around his opponent to secure a massive bear hug; Toxxic gasps in pain, then slams the heels of his hands into Bruner’s ears before grabbing his opponent’s head and slamming a headbutt into his face! *CRUNCH!* Bruner’s grip slackens and Toxxic wriggles free, then backs off towards the nearest turnbuckles. Tracey Bruner shakes his head to clear some of the cobwebs and starts to force himself back to his feet, but Toxxic boosts himself up to the second buckle before measuring his opponent and then coming off with a flying European uppercut that actually knocks Bruner off his feet again! *WHAM!* “He knocked him down! He took him straight down!” Mak shouts, “I think all those shots to the head must be dizzying Tracey Bruner, because that guy’s just too big to knock down normally!” Toxxic gets back up and stumbles to a different corner of the ring, clearly suffering from the brutal beating that Bruner has delivered but just as clearly determined to make the most of this opportunity. He makes it to the top rope, raises both arms above his head and somersaults off to land the Hangover across his opponent’s throat! *BANG!* “Toxxic needs to make a cover!” King shouts, “he might get something here!” But the Straight-Edge Sensation is back to his feet again and heading for the apron this time, even as Bruner clutches at his neck. Toxxic steps out onto the apron, takes a few deep breaths, then takes hold of the top rope and jumps up… …jumps sideways to the top buckle, spinning as he does so to face out of the ring… …then backflips off with the Radford Calling moonsault! *CRUNCH!* …that only finds knees. “LET’S GO BRU-NER!” Almost unbelievably, a pro-Bruner chant has started up at ringside. Sir Marvellous looks around in surprise and approval, but a big man wrecking people’s shit has always been popular (ask Thugg), and when the person whose shit is being wrecked is Toxxic… well, it’s surprising it took so long. “Toxxic took too long and took one too many risks; Now Tracey Bruner needs to capitalise,” Mak Francis states, “he’s got the power to do it, but how much capability?” “He was certainly wobbly,” King notes, “and he’s kind of like a short-round boxer - so much strength, but has he got the conditioning if he can’t put his opponent away quick?” Bruner grabs Toxxic and drags him upright, then wraps his arms around him and whirls the straight-edger off his feet to drive him down with a belly-to-belly suplex. *BANG!* Toxxic hits hard, but Bruner is breathing heavily and sweat is not only beading on his brow but also making large damp patches on his shirt. The big man wipes his brow and takes a few seconds to compose himself as Sir Marvellous shouts encouragement and Amy shouts abuse. After a few deep breaths Bruner clearly feels able to continue and he stands up, hauls his opponent up and whips him into the ropes. Toxxic isn’t able to pull any clever deception on the rebound and Bruner hoists him up over his head into a military press, but perhaps learns his lesson from last time and just presses Toxxic once before throwing him into the air and taking a step forward to let the Englishman plummet to the canvas with a bang! Bruner bends over and takes a couple more long, deep breaths, then lumbers for the ropes, bounces off and returns at (reasonable) speed before leaping into the air for a big splash… …and Toxxic rolls away at the last moment! Bruner hits the canvas and knocks all the air out of himself without any gain and Toxxic keeps on rolling, then staggers up to his feet and lunges to the ropes to support himself. “Bruner took too long that time,” Mak notes, “this match is having an effect on both men, that’s for sure.” Tracey Bruner starts to get up, although not without considerable effort. He glances around and sees Toxxic clinging onto the top cable, apparently for dear life, and surges forwards and upwards. He can still move at a fair speed over short distances, with some decent acceleration… …but not enough to triumph over Toxxic’s sense of self-preservation, as the battered straight-edger sees his opponent and drops at the last moment, pulling the top rope down with him and turning Bruner’s lariat attempt into another tumble to the outside! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” A rival chant has now started up, possibly made up of those people who like to see bullies get their comeuppance; regardless, as Sir Marvellous rushes to his bodyguard’s aid before backing away in case Bruner tries to use him as an aid for standing up again, Toxxic turns and runs for the far ropes as fast as he can. He accelerates back as Bruner manages to get back to a vertical base, the big man sees him coming and this time ducks and covers… …and Toxxic screeches to a halt, then turns and starts running again! Bruner looks up, down and around in an effort to find out where his opponent has landed, but he looks back at the ring too late to avoid Toxxic as the Englishman finally nails his running somersault senton and comes crashing into him! “Third time lucky for Toxxic!” Mak calls as Bruner, unprepared this time and rather less stable, gets knocked to the arena floor beneath his 218lb opponent. “He’s pulling out all the stop tonight, but to be fair, I think he may need to!” Toxxic had a reasonably soft landing and rises back up to his feet, takes the chance to flip a rather offensive V-sign at Sir Marvellous… “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …then turns and starts simply pasting Tracey Bruner with stomps! “He’s lost it!” King shouts as the Straight-Edge Sensation hammers stomp after stomp down on his opponent’s ribcage and the crowd starts reacting to it, “Toxxic’s going to get himself counted out!” Bruner reaches up and grabs at Toxxic’s foot, grasping it to his chest to try and prevent the punishment he’s taking; Toxxic reacts by simply standing up on Bruner’s chest, then stamping down on his face with the other foot! “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “LET’S GO BRU-NER!” ‘SIX!’ Red Herrington bellows, his previous counts having gone unheard by either competitor. Toxxic turns and looks at him, then back at Bruner, now clutching his face with both hands. ‘SEVEN!’ Toxxic fires one last stomp into Bruner’s midsection, then heads towards the ring and rolls in under the bottom rope. Bruner immediately starts struggling up… ‘EIGHT!’ …gets back to his feet, wobbles… ’NINE!’ …staggers towards the ring… …and rolls in under the bottom rope just before Herrington counts him out! “King, Bruner is tougher than nails!” Mak exclaims. He might be, but Toxxic’s piling back into him with stomps immediately. Herrington forces some separation, and as soon as the barrage has ceased Bruner starts getting up again! Toxxic snorts, turns and runs for the ropes to build momentum- *BANG!* -and Sir Marvellous hooks his leg with his cane, bringing him crashing to the mat! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Herrington looks around; Marvellous protests his innocence; Toxxic starts to scramble up; Amy Stephens comes out of leftfield with a Polish Hammer that levels Sir Marvellous; Herrington shouts; Toxxic turns to look over his shoulder and see what happened to him, and what the fuss is about now… *WHAM!* …and Tracey Bruner levels him with a massive lariat that he threw all his weight into! “That’s it!” King shouts as Herrington whirls round again, “it’s over! Bruner’s beaten Toxxic!” ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Toxxic kicks out! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The fans seem to admire fighting spirit, and possibly have some resentment against Marvellous’s cheating. Regardless, the kickout gets a good response and Bruner just rolls away to start sucking in air again instead of following up. “Tracey Bruner is definitely feeling the burn,” Mak notes. Finally, after a good ten seconds, Bruner grabs Toxxic and pulls him up. He clamps one hand around the Englishman’s neck and signals for the chokeslam, but Toxxic kicks him in the knee he’s been targeting all match and Bruner staggers, then a second kick pains the big man so much he breaks his grip. Toxxic turns and runs and rebounds off the ropes; Bruner raises his foot for a big (very big) boot… …but Toxxic hits the deck and slides, slicing into the bodyguard’s other shin with a soccer tackle! He rolls away as Bruner falls, landing in a very uncomfortable position closely akin to the splits! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Bruner’s singing soprano for the next few days!” King shouts. Bruner tries to get his legs under him and manages to get into a kneeling position, but Toxxic has struggled up and circles around in front of his opponent to grab a front facelock, then swing his other arm around and down to nail his elbow-drive bulldog! *BANG!* “UNFINISHED BUSINESS!” Mak yells, but it takes Toxxic a couple of precious seconds to lever Bruner over onto his back… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but the big man kicks out! Toxxic slams his hands on the mat in frustration and vents at Herrington, who maintains that his count was accurate so Toxxic gets up and, delivering one more stomp for luck, heads for the turnbuckles one more time. “The last time Toxxic tried to go to the top rope it cost him,” Mak remarks, “I hope he knows what he’s doing.” “He’s taking the risks he thinks he needs to take to win a match against a man who could football tackle a Winnebago,” King shoots back. The Straight-Edge Sensation reaches steps out to the apron, raises his hands above his head and twirls his fingers… backwards. “He’s calling for the Inglorious!” Francis shouts as Toxxic starts to climb, “is Toxxic even in condition to pull off a shooting star legdrop!?” We will never know, because as Toxxic starts to climb Tracey Bruner rises to his feet with the inevitability of a movie monster coming back from the dead and lumbers towards that corner of the ring. Toxxic tries to climb fast, tries to get into a position where he can launch some sort of diving attack at the oncoming behemoth, but in his battered condition all he can manage is to get in just the right position for Bruner to reach up… …and goozle him. The big man looks out, and points to the arena floor. “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “OH YOU ARE SHITTING ME!” Mak yells, “the bodyguard of Wildchild’s agent is going to chokeslam Toxxic to the floor - the same thing Toxxic did to Wildchild earlier this year to retain the Tag Titles against Wild & Dangerous!” Bruner heaves, but Toxxic has no wish to take the ride and holds onto the top rope with both hands and all the strength he can muster. Bruner goes for it again, Toxxic holds on, Bruner relaxes a second in preparation for another attempt… …and Toxxic lashes out with a boot at his face. The first blow catches Tracey in the forehead. The second glances off the big man’s cheekbone, but the third smashes directly into his nose. Bruner staggers back clutching at his face, the damage from the evening adding up to a cocktail of pain, and Toxxic sees his chance. It’s time to throw the dice. He stands upright on the top buckle, jumps into the air and turns 180 degrees as he does so to land on the top buckle again for a moment, facing out at the crowd before backflipping off. However, this time he isn’t looking for a moonsault, because his opponent is still on his feet. This time he sails over Bruner’s head, reaches down and hooks the big man’s neck to pull him backwards and down. It’s not crisp, and it’s not pretty. *WHAM!* But it does drive the back of Tracey Bruner’s skull directly into the mat. “SUNNY IN ENGLAND!” Mak and King yell at the same time. Bruner is already on his back and Toxxic scrambles to cover… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! *DING-DING-DING* “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” Funyon booms over the rather mixed response, “the winner of the match; the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’, TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!” “He did it!” Mak yells, “Toxxic beat Bruner, and avoided embarrassment just before the biggest match of the year!” “Francis, I’m telling you that Johnny Dangerous’s time as champion is over!” King declares, “come Genesis it’s five-times Toxxic, baby!” Raging Speedhorn rolls out around the arena as Toxxic gratefully receives his two title belts back from Red Herrington. Amazingly, behind him Tracey Bruner is starting to stir. He couldn’t keep him down for long, but it turns out he could keep him down for just long enough. One belt in each hand, Toxxic leans on the ropes and thinks about Genesis, about Johnny Dangerous, and about the chance of becoming the first five-time World Champion in SWF history. Prepare, as they say, to be proved wrong. FADE OUT

“Tom, I’m sure you are aware that I’m a highly competitive individual.” Tom Flesher nods and takes a sip of his bourbon. “You’re aware that I am rarely content to sit on my laurels, as it were. I actively seek out new challenges.” Flesher nods again. “Sometimes I may make decisions that seem rash. Such as, for example, trying to provoke Janus into a one-on-one match. Or challenging the rest of the federation to step up and take on myself and four team-mates, two of them unconfirmed at the time, in a WarGames match.” Nod, sip. “With that in mind, and taking all other factors into consideration,” Toxxic says, leaning forwards in his chair to peer over the desk at the SWF Commissioner, “I’d still like to know what the bloody hell you think you’re playing at putting me in this match tonight.” “Toxxic,” Tom sighs, “there’s just no pleasing you.” “Took you long enough to work that one out, sunshine.” “I was speaking,” Flesher snaps. “As I was saying, there’s no pleasing you. If I find you easy opponents, you get offended. And yet if I find you someone potentially challenging, you huff and puff and whine-” “I never-” “You whine,” Flesher continues forcefully, “and then you go out and wrestle and, it pains me to admit it, usually win anyway. So I figure I might as well get a good show out of you if I’m going to have to listen to your garbage.” “Tom, normally I wouldn’t have a problem with it,” Toxxic says, trying to sound reasonable, “but the week before Genesis? When I’m challenging for the World Title? How am I meant to be competing at my best in the biggest show of the year when Johnny gets the night off and I get Tracey freakin’ Bruner!? Your audience are going to throw a fit if I turn up to wrestle in the main event barely able to walk or something!” “Toxxic, I have faith in you,” Tom smiles smugly. “Don’t let me down.” “Bloody hell Tom,” the straight-edger snarls, “has it really occurred to you what you’re doing? You’re putting me into a match with not just the heaviest guy who’s ever been in the SWF, but against a man who just happens to be the bodyguard of Sir Marvellous.” Tom raises an eyebrow inquiringly. “Who just happens to be the agent of Wildchild.” The eyebrow remains cocked and ready for action. “Who just happens to be the tag team partner of Johnny ‘The Barracuda’ Dangerous,” Toxxic continues, somehow managing to pour scorn onto two blameless single quote marks. “And…?” “Who just happens to be the guy I’m facing for the World Title at Genesis!” Toxxic fumes, “tell me, does that seem like a coincidence to you? Cos it certainly don’t to me, sunshine!” “So what are you suggesting,” Tom scoffs, “that Sir Marvellous might instruct Bruner that deliberately injuring you is a higher priority than winning the match?” “Yes!” “I hate to disabuse you of a comfortable notion,” Tom smirks, “but to Tracey Bruner, deliberate injury is how you win matches. He certainly has no concept of anything else. No, I don’t think you’ll have a different match on your hands than you would have with him at any other time, in any other circumstance. And I expect you to win,” he adds, as an afterthought. “What?” Toxxic asks, slightly confused. Tom sighs again, secretly jumping for joy at the chance to be this condescending. “Toxxic, your track record speaks for itself,” he states. “I’ve been analysing your win/loss quotas. They make depressing reading I might add, not to mention somewhat repetitive. However, one thing stands out,” he notes, shuffling paperwork, “and that one thing is that statistically, you would be more likely to lose to Luke-O than Tracey Bruner.” “Say what?” “Statistically speaking,” Flesher continues, “in your case at any rate, that phrase of ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall’ is absolutely accurate. I’ve looked back and you’ve faced Aecas, Janus, Carnage, Bruce Blank, Nemesis, Charlie Matthews, the list goes on… but you’ve never been pinned or made to submit by anyone over 290lbs, in any form of competition,” he declares. “Janus got the win in that strap match, and that ladder match, but in terms of pinfall or submissions, you’re untouched. Singles matches or tag matches. You appear to be Kryptonite to super-heavyweights,” Flesher says, “so really, tonight should be an absolute cakewalk for you. Statistically.” Toxxic looks at him for a long few moments. “Here’s another phrase for you, Tom. ‘There are lies, damn lies, and statistics’.” The Straight-Edge Sensation stands up and kicks his chair backwards. “Why don’t you throw a bloody steel cage into the match as well?” “Well, if you think it’ll help…” “Shut up you twat,” Toxxic snaps. “I’ll tell you something sunshine, when Tracey Bruner wakes up with a headache tomorrow, I’m gonna be directing him to you.” The Revolution Zero leader turns and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Flesher just watches him go, then places his feet on the desk, his hands behind his head and sighs contentedly. “Ahh, Toxxic. Wind him up and watch him go…”

‘When I was back in seminary school…’ Everyone sits up and takes notice when Jim Morrison’s voice rings out over the PA system. ‘…there was a person there who put forth the proposition That you can petition the Lord with prayer. Petition the Lord with prayer? Petition the Lord with prayer? YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER!’ *BOOOM!!* The opening riff of ‘Kashmir’ by Led Zeppelin rings out as blue pyro erupts from the soundstage, heralding the arrival of the SWF's Commissioner extraordinaire, Tom Flesher! With a bitter scowl on his face, Flesher marches to the ring, ignoring the reaction of the crowd which is decidedly mixed. It's not every day you see Tom Flesher live after all, even if he is usually a jerk. A grade-A jerk. Sliding into the ring, Flesher takes the microphone from Funyon and angrily jerks a thumb in front of his throat to get his music cut. "Man, Tom looks real pissed." remarks Mak. "You know what, I've got a lot on my mind right now," begins Tom, pacing around, "which is why you bastards booing over there better shut up and quick before you get thrown out. Tom points out the offending fans, which only serves to make the noise from their section intensify. "There's a lot of talk and a lot of hearsay... let's face it, there's a lot of bullshit going around. And I have officially had enough. Genesis is around the corner, our biggest show of the year. It should be an exciting time in the SWF. But it's not. It's nothing but hassle upon hassle, problem upon problem. It's been this way for a while. You know, I've been swimming against the tide for some time now. Tom Flesher, it's a name synonimous with the SWF. And I love the SWF. Apparantly more than some people. I won't go into names. You can probably guess them." Sensing he's beginning to rant, Tom stops momentarily to compose himself. "Ever since the Commissioner's job was given to me I have strived to do my upmost to make the SWF better. In the face of all the no-shows, the last-minute cancellations, the wrestlers who were just here for the paycheck and really didn't give a shit about how much of a god-damn failure they came off as. All the tools and the people in it for themselves. Everybody who let me and themselves down. In the face of all that garbage, I tried to keep this place running to it's best potential. And what have I gotten for it?" Tom looks down the barrel of the camera lens. "Nothing. But. Shit." Tom wipes a hand across his face. "I've got targets not being met, problems not being solved. Are they my fault? No. Are they falling on my shoulders? You'd better believe it. Tom Flesher is a success, okay. Tom Flesher, I'm so pissed off I'm speaking in the third person here... I speak for everyone when I say, I am a success. I've got an extensive amateur background. I'm a two-time World Heavyweight Champion. My name is etched in SWF folklore, I've seen it all and I've done it all. I'm a success in every aspect of my career. It's not MY fault! If it weren't for me, we'd have all been down shit-creek without a paddle a LOOONG time ago!" Tom paces around a little. "All this talk, I'd like to see somebody do my job. I'd like to see the man who thinks they could do a better job than me. Anyone who's talking behind my back, critiquing me. Any of the suits I have to answer to. Any of those TV executives. Any of you ungrateful, bottom-feeding people out in the audience! There is nobody more qualified than me to run this company. Wrestling is in my blood, the SWF is in my blood. That makes me the... REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH! "YYYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" "...son of a bitch!" Cut off in mid-diatribe, Tom Flesher's veins bulge in his forehead as through the curtains breezes the Hardcore Gamers Champion, Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix! With a big grin on his face, Landon waves to the crowd, all but ignoring the fuming Superior One in the ring. Megan follows her man out as he raises a microphone and calls for some quiet. "Maddix, you better turn around right now!" snarls Flesher. "Tom, Tom, Tom. Chiiiill my friend. Chill out, take a deep breath, mellow out. Man, I had to come out here and cut you off before you went too much further there. That was some display of pent-up frustration buddy." "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "Yes, thank you." smiles Landon, angering Tom even more. "Tom, settle down. Now I know you're suffering from a little bit of a reaction to the bad news you got earlier but never fear. Landon Maddix has the solution to your problems." "I have no problems." "What about you getting our one TV show cancelled?" "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Tom grinds his teeth, so loud it's almost picked up over the microphone. "Sorry, that was a lowblow. But still, Tom, it's clear that all is not well. Much as I hate to wind you up when you've clearly on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but I'd be remiss if I didn't say 'I told you so'. This hasn't come from nowhere Tom. See, the reason we're in this situation IS down to you. It's down to bad management. Sure, you do have the SWF in your blood but that's been your downfall recently. You've been letting things get personal. Look at the way you treated Toxxic. Or the way you've been treating Johnny, Raynor, me. You've let personal vendettas from the past, the distant past in many cases, dictate the way you run this program. You've phased out your old enemies out in spite, in favour of guys who don't deserve it. Failed experiments like Danny Williams' return. Like Akira and that guy he teamed with who did so little I forget his name. Like the guy who won Smark Enough. Like Zyon." "Zyon was your doing." Tom interrupts. Landon shrugs. "Yeah. That was my bad. But the point still stands Tom, you let your personal issues get in the way and look where we are now." "Get to the point..." "Hey, you got to rant!" sulks Landon mockingly. "The point is, I have the solution. We do have some contingency plans and you're looking at one of them. See, you ask who could do a better job than you? Well, Megan and myself have drawn up our own little business plan and..." "You!?" "Yeah, why not?" "You have got to..." Tom stops, trying to restrain himself from swearing. "I get it now. Well, I'm not going down without a fight. Tell you what Maddix, as of this moment, your Genesis match I had lined up is cancelled! If you want the Commissionership from me, you can take it the old fashioned way, by beating me for it." "Tom, this isn't a belt or a bag of money, this is a position of power in this compa..." "You and me, one on one at Genesis!" Tom yells back. "You beat me, fine, you can have my Commissionership. If not, I stay on, signed and sealed!" Landon's eyebrows perk a little. He whispers something to Megan, nodding to her. "Well gee Tom, I was just going to come out here and ask you nicely but... a match? That sounds even better!" "Then it's on!" "YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" "And trust me Landon, when I beat you... I will CONTINUE to make your life a living hell, whether it's on TV or not! It'll be just as satisfying I promise you!" Tom throws down the mic and "Kashmir" hits again. Landon figures that's his cue to leave and he does after a few parting words and finger points with Flesher, who's still fuming. "Wow King. Uh... what can you say after that?" "How about 'If Landon's our Commissioner, I'm grabbing your wheelchair and heading off into the ocean'?" "Sounds intriguing all round! Tom, Landon, Genesis for the Commissionership!"

The lights dim in the arena. “And we’re about to see an in-ring return here,” says Mak Francis. “That being the return of Insane Luchador, who we last saw on June 21st of this year” “He was gone?” says Suicide King. "Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains begins and a surge of red and black pyrotechnics goes off. Insane Luchador emerges from the lingering smoke and energetically throws his arms up into the air to rally the crowd. “Introducing first, from Easton, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 223 points, Your Psychotic Hero, INSAAANE LUCHAAADOR!” says Funyon. Good Ol IL sprints down the aisle while slapping fans’ hands until he gets to ringside. IL slides into the ring, gets to his feet, and waits for his opponent. “And here comes my pick for 2008,” says King. “He does speak the truth about strippers” “Uh huh, he’s going to need to get more serious if he wants to win here,” says Francis. "Devil's Dance" by Metallica starts to play as the lights dim and we see Leon Sharpe walk through the curtains. Funyon then tells us “Introducing second, from Paradise Valley, Arizona, weighing in at 325 pounds, LEEEON SHARPE!” Sharpe is followed by two people holding signs saying "Vote Sharpe" on them, and two security guards. Sharpe has an obvious smirk on his face as he walks down to the entrance ramp to a mix of cheers and boos. Sharpe gets to the ring and steps over the top rope and walks to the corner. But then Sharpe charges and Luchador gets out of the way. “I think he’s trying for an ambush here!” says Francis. Luchador bounces off the ropes and hits Sharpe with a forearm. Sharpe barely moves. Luchador bounces off the ropes again and Sharpe hits him with a clothesline. Sharpe picks up Luchador, puts him next to the ropes and hits him across the chest with forearm shots. Sharpe then grabs Luchador and whips him across the ring. But Luchador counters the Big Boot by baseball sliding Sharpe’s other leg. “Sharpe is experiencing the quickness of IL right here!” says Francis. Luchador grabs Sharpe and gives him a snap suplex. He follows up by throwing elbows at Sharpe as he’s on the canvas. We see an agent in the corner of the screen pull Sharpe’s leg under the ropes. The Ref only notices that Sharpe is under the ropes and orders Luchador to stop his pummeling as boos as heard. Francis notes that “I think that Sharpe got some help to get out of that Infuriating Enemy Pummel” King retorts with “I think someone is obviously seeing things” Luchador drags Sharpe a bit and then stomps him across the stomach. Sharpe rolls onto his stomach and gets into a crouching position. Luchador attempts to strike Sharpe on the back and Sharpe shoves him into the corner. Luchador charges Sharpe again and Sharpe counters with a Spinebuster Slam onto the canvas. Sharpe then elbows Luchador in the face as a followup to the Spinebuster. “Now that’s a display of power right there,” says King. “But that must be crooked to you too, eh Mak?” Sharpe picks up Luchador and drops him onto the canvas with a Fallaway Slam. Sharpe gets onto his feet and drops an elbow across Luchador’s chest. Sharpe then pins Luchador’s shoulders down using his hands to boos. “One, and a kickout by Luchador, What a lousy way to pin someone” says Francis. “Sharpe’s showing Luchador who’s the boss here” notes King. Sharpe picks up Luchador, putting IL’s back over his knee. Sharpe then drops an elbow over IL’s throat and follows up by choking IL with his hands. The referee counts to 4 and Sharpe breaks the chokehold. Sharpe then puts on another chokehold and breaks at 4 again. “This is a bit ridiculous, can we just cut out the choking here?” says Francis Sharpe picks up Luchador and guides him to the corner, and then he starts to choke him in the corner using his foot. Sharpe breaks at 4 again, guides Luchador towards the ropes, and then runs Luchador’s throat over the top rope to a reaction of boos. Francis notes that “Sharpe is continuing with this choke-based offense here. And let’s face it, it’s just dirty.” King replies and says “Well, this is just building to Sharpe’s finishing moves, and he’s following the rules too” Sharpe whips Luchador off the ropes and Luchador comes back with a shotei to Sharpe. Sharpe brushes his face and then clotheslines Luchador to the canvas. Sharpe then steps on Luchador’s face and follows that up by choking Luchador with his foot. Sharpe then unleashes another elbow drop to Luchador. Sharpe picks up Luchador and then drops him with a tilt-a-whirl powerslam. Sharpe goes for a pin. “One, two, and a kickout by Luchador” says Francis Sharpe picks up Luchador and then drops him to the canvas with a belly to belly suplex. Sharpe follows with another pin. “One, two, and a kickout again” Sharpe picks up Luchador again and drops him to the canvas with a side slam. Sharpe elbow drops Luchador again and goes for another pin. “One, and a kickout” says Francis. “Ok Leon, you don’t have to go for a pin after an elbow drop” says King. Sharpe picks up Luchador and Luchador surprises Sharpe with a surprise elbow to the face. Sharpe stumbles back slightly and Luchador hits him with a forearm to the face. Luchador elbows Sharpe in the face again and then hits him with a Spinning Backfist. “Luchador is rallying here against Sharpe” says Francis. Sharpe stumbles back and then hits Luchador with a spinning backfist, dropping him to the canvas. “Some rally by Luchador!” says King with a laugh. Sharpe kicks Luchador in the face, picks him up and starts to pulls off the white tape on Luchador’s left hand. Sharpe rips off the tape and starts choking Luchador with him, releasing again at a four count. Sharpe smiles and then hits Luchador with a shoulder-breaker. Sharpe gets behind Luchador and starts to hit him across the side of the head with forearm and elbow shots. Sharpe unleashes yet another chokehold on Luchador, once again breaking on a count of four. Sharpe slaps Luchador on the back of the forehead and yanks him onto his feet. Sharpe attempts to whip Luchador into the ropes, but he tries to counter. Sharpe then counters the counter by standing there and hitting Luchador with another spinning backfist, followed by a clothesline that knocks Luchador down to the canvas. “Sharpe is maintaining control of the match so far here” notes Francis. Sharpe picks up Luchador and holds him up in a press position. Sharpe keeps Luchador in that position and casually tosses him over the top rope to the floor below. Sharpe exits the ring and kicks Luchador in the face.. One before picking him up and throwing him into the guardrail. Two Sharpe holds Luchador’s back over the guardrail and elbows him on the throat Three sending him into the crowd. Four Sharpe yanks Luchador up and suplexes him back onto the ring mats. Five Sharpe yanks Luchador up again and attempts to whip him into the ring steps Six but Luchador counters and Sharpe goes into the ring steps. Seven Luchador rolls into the ring as Sharpe is stumbling to his feet and gestures towards a cheering crowd. Eight Sharpe is being attended to by his security guards as Luchador gets the crowd to cheer. Nine Luchador then vaults himself over the top rope and hits Sharpe and the agents with a plancha, breaking the referee’s count. “You idiot!” exclaims King. “Insane Luchador isn’t going to settle for a count-out victory here, he wants to win the right way,” notes Francis King replies by saying “He would have made more by winning than by losing.” Luchador gets Sharpe back into the ring and rolls him under the ropes. Luchador goes to the top rope and comes down with a frog splash, and a cover. “One, Two, and Sharpe kicks out” Luchador elbows Sharpe on the upper back and takes him into the corner, preparing him for a Tornado DDT. But Sharpe counters by standing up and holding Luchador in place. But then Luchador overwhelms him and DDTs Sharpe to the canvas. Luchador then tries for another cover. “One, two, and Sharpe kicks out” Luchador picks up Sharpe and DDTs him to the canvas again. But instead of going for a cover, Luchador goes to the top rope again. Luchador comes off the top with a moonsault, but Sharpe rolls out of the way. “I could have sworn I saw one of those agents helping Sharpe” says Francis. Sharpe picks up Luchador and lifts him up in a vertical suplex position. “Here comes the Sharpe Edge!” says King But Luchador is about to counter by flipping out of the hold and getting on his feet behind Sharpe. Sharpe then counters by dropping Luchador with a neckbreaker. Sharpe elbow drops Luchador again and goes for a pinfall. “One, two, and a kickout by Luchador. I think Sharpe is making progress on that elbow drop” says Francis. “Use it as a combo, as a combo!” says King. Sharpe whips Luchador off the ropes, but Luchador returns by attempting a rana on Sharpe. But Sharpe is able to stay on his feet and he counters with a power bomb, and a cover. “One, two, and another kickout by Luchador” Sharpe yanks Luchador to his feet and powerslams him down to the canvas. Sharpe follows up by leg dropping Luchador, and going for another pinfall. “One, two, and a kickout by Luchador” says Francis “Ok, I think going for a pin after an elbow drop was a better idea” notes King Sharpe yanks Luchador to his feet again and throws him through the ropes to the floor. Sharpe then decides to start talking to the referee, keeping him from seeing Luchador on the floor. As soon as that happens, one of the agents kneelifts Luchador and the other one whips him into the ringpost. “HEY! Secret Service agents aren’t supposed to beat people up!” says Francis. “They’re the best security money can buy, daddy. Of course they beat up some people” notes King. The agents then let Luchador fall to the ground and walk away as Sharpe ends his conversation with the referee. The Referee looks obviously confused as Luchador is on the ground, in another place. But the ref decides to let it go for now. Sharpe steps over the top rope and drops down to the floor. Sharpe whips Luchador into the ringpost again One and then drops him with a powerslam on the ring mats. Two Sharpe steps back into the ring and steps out to break the count. Sharpe whips Luchador back into the ring and goes for another elbow drop, but Luchador rolls out of the way. Luchador elbows Sharpe in the face and then follows up with another elbow, before starting to kick Sharpe in the legs. “If Luchador can chop down Leon Sharpe, this might help him win the match,” says Francis Luchador keeps up on kicking Sharpe in the legs until Sharpe shows pain. Luchador then springs off the ropes and hits Sharpe with a rolling koppo kick, putting Sharpe on his back. Luchador goes to the top rope and waits until Sharpe gets up, before he springs off and hits Sharpe with a top rope crossbody. But.. Sharpe has enough strength left to catch Luchador. Sharpe counters with a fallaway slam, and then hits Luchador with another elbow drop. Sharpe then yanks Luchador up, reaches under Luchador’s arms, and locks his hands on Luchadors face. Before lifting him up and dropping him with an Anaconda Slam. Sharpe covers Luchador again. “One, two, and Luchador kicks out” Sharpe picks up Luchador and launches him across the ring with a release German Suplex. “Yee-ouch, Sharpe might have it here” says Francis. Sharpe goes for a cover. “One, two, thr—Luchador kicks out!” says Francis. Sharpe yanks Luchador up to his feet, puts his hand around Luchador’s throat, and drops him with a chokeslam. Sharpe goes for another cover. “One, Two, Thre—Kickout by the Insane Luchador! Sharpe is coming closer and closer to victory here” Sharpe yanks up Luchador, but Luchador surprises him with an elbow to the throat, followed by multiple forearms and a spinning back fist that drops Sharpe to his knees. Luchador then kicks Sharpe in the face, knocking him down to the mat on his shoulders. Luchador hobbles to the corner in obvious pain as we hear cheers from the fans. Luchador gets on the top turnbuckle and comes off with a moonsault that hits Sharpe, and Luchador hooks a leg. “One, two, kickout by Sharpe” Luchador hobbles up to his feet in pain, unwraps a bit of wrist tape, and starts choking Sharpe. Luchador then strikes Sharpe with elbows and whips Sharpe into the corner. Luchador then runs in and tries to attach a full-nelson, a move that Sharpe resists. “I don’t think that Luchador is going to get a full nelson on Sharpe in order to do the Brink of Insanity” says Francis. Sharpe counters by turning around and squashing Luchador in the corner. Sharpe elbows Luchador and whips him into the other corner. Sharpe charges in, but Luchador gets out of the way and charges in with more kicks to Sharpe’s mid-section. Luchador kicks Sharpe in the midsection and then attempts to lift Sharpe, possibly for a piledriver. Sharpe counters the move with a back body drop. Luchador gets back to his feet quickly and startles Sharpe with elbows and forearms, before turning him around and dropping him with a backdrop suplex. Luchador goes for a cover. “One, two, kickout by Sharpe” Sharpe gets back onto his feet, and Luchador continues a barrage of elbows and forearms. Luchador grabs Sharpe for an Irish Whip into the Ropes, but Sharpe counters with an Irish whip and Sharpe hits Luchador with a big boot. The Big boot knocks Luchador off his feet, but when Sharpe yanks him up, Luchador counters with a small package. “One, two, Sharpe kicks out”, says Francis. Sharpe is startled by this turn of events and Luchador comes at him and applies a front face lock for what may be the Implant DDT. “This might be the finisher right here,” says Francis. But Sharpe counters the lift by lifting up Luchador in a vertical suplex position, and dropping Luchador with the Sharpe Edge. Sharpe pins the shoulders and hooks the leg. One! Two! Three! Francis says “And Sharpe wins here, and wait a minute!” As Sharpe holds his arms up in victory, the secret service agents are beating up Insane Luchador. “I really don’t think Secret Service agents are supposed to beat up people” says Francis. Sharpe smiles and gets something from another supporter. Sharpe then takes a “SHARPE 2008” sticker and puts it on Luchador’s face. The Sharpe team then stops the beating after extra security comes down to break up the scene. As Sharpe and friends are walking down the ramp, we see Emma Dumas approach them ackwardly. “Leon Sharpe, why did you do that to Insane Luchador?” Sharpe replies “Woman, I did what now?” “Your.. guys.. they beat him up. I think he’s hurt” pouts Emma Sharpe nods “Look Woman, these dudes are highly trained security machines. I don’t recall them beating up anybody. We’re at war, and we don’t need to question our troops or embolden our enemies at this time. Who are you, some MoveOn.org mouthpiece” “Um.. oookay.. I think that makes sense. I wasn’t bashing them” Sharpe nods again “Woman, I’ve never worked with you, but you’re good looking, and I’m going to take you back to my dressing room. I need to explain what my campaign is really about.” “Yeah, I think they want me to do something tonight. And campaign, what campaign?” Sharpe replies “I’m running for President, you watch the show, right?” “But, isn’t Bill Clinton doing a good job?” Sharpe glances around “Ok, just go to the back with me” Sharpe walks off. “It looks like Leon Sharpe will be a winner in more than one way tonight,” says Francis “I guess this is related to the stripper thing in his platform” King says. “Luchador should have taken the countout” “Ok whatever” Francis concludes.

‘JOHNNY DANGEROUS!’ The sultry female voices whispers the Barracuda’s name over the speakers as dozens of strobes begin to pulse from behind the entrance stage, “-and it appears the Barracuda has decided to make an appearance tonight,” Mak Francis says. “He isn’t scheduled for a match so I could only assume he has something to get off his chest.” “Hopefully it’s the World Championship,” Suicide King mutters. “I doubt that,” Mak answers. “He probably wants to address the Dangerous Nation heading into Genesis.” “Will you stop that! You’re only giving that stupid organization more life by talking about it.” “The Dangerous Nation has taken off on its own. In fact, we can’t keep Dangerous nation merchandise in stock!” “Did we have more than one shirt?” The strobes continue while similar ones strafe across the crowd from the top of the ring canopy. ‘I am the new way to go. I am the way of the future.’ The volume of the crowd rises as Johnny Dangerous makes his way out wearing his Sunday bests, silhouetted by the strobes and with occasional flashes reflecting off his expensive shades as he turns his head from side-to-side, looking out at the flagstaff, Arizona fans! ‘I am the new way to go. I am the way of the future.’ “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” Johnny walks slowly down the ramp, not rushing, letting the fans see the title that sits snugly around his waist. ‘There’s a lot of innocent people being crucified...’ “FROM LAS… VEGAS… NEVADA!” Funyon bellows over the roaring crowd. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “PLEASE WELCOME THE CURRENT AND REIGNING SWF WORLD… HEAVYWEIGHT… CHAMPION… JOHNNY ‘THE BAAARRAAACUDAAAAAAAA’ DAAAAAN-GEEEEERROOOOUUUUSSS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Johnny pauses at the bottom of the ramp. He raises his hands to his face and takes off the shades before folding them up and tossing them to the crowd, then hops up onto the apron and steps through the ropes. Johnny unbuckles the belt, then raises it high in the air and turns full-circle so the entire stadium can see it, even the ones in the top tiers getting a good view thanks to the massive Smarktrons. “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” The Barracuda climbs the nearest turnbuckle and raises his arms to the fans, still holding the belt in one hand, and the entire arena rises in response as camera flashes go off from all sides! “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” Dangerous heads to the edge of the ring and calls for a microphone. He receives it promptly then turns to the crowd, waiting just a minute longer for them to settle themselves before speaking. “Dangerous Nation!” Johnny calls his fans to attention and they respond with a thunderous cheer. Despite the best wishes of the Suicide King for the Dangerous Nation to die a quick death, the Nation is in full force which brings a smile to Johnny’s lips. “I don’t want to take a lot of your time,” Dangerous begins, “but there are a few things that need to be addressed – namely Genesis!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “I know, I know,” he says, motioning for the crowd to be seated. “Everyone is excited for the biggest show of the year and believe it or not I’m pumped for this one. Having the opportunity to walk in to Genesis as the World Heavyweight Champion is a once in a life time opportunity – the same can be said for challenging the World Champion at Genesis, but I can’t speak from any experiences on that one. I can talk about the first option though as I am about to do it for the second time! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “What’s his point!?” the Gambling Man questions with his arms raised. “He’s rambling because he knows his time as World Champion is limited.” “At Genesis,” Johnny continues, “I have a match with the very same man that defeated me for the World Heavyweight Championship at Genesis V, and that man is someone I know all of you love to hate – Toxxic.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Glad to know were all on the same page here,” Dangerous replies with a smirk. “Toxxic,” Johnny begins but will not continue; the second he calls out the name of Revolution Zero’s leader is when the speakers pick up with- “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The rolling bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn starts to ooze over the PA system and the Smarktron quickly darkens down to black; as it does so jagged white letters flash up a slogan that Johnny Dangerous has grown very familiar with, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ Three chords ring out. On the first we see Toxxic knocked from the top rope to the floor by a Nathaniel Kibagami springboard enzuigiri. On the second we see Michael Stephens taken from the top rope to the mat with a Super Mark Of The Beast. On the third we see him chokeslammed out of the Clusterfuck by Janus. Then the guitar drops out and the bass takes over again while Toxxic takes Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table, the shot starting to strobe and intercut with a lopsidedly grinning face, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the moment the song kicks into gear, and the- *BOOOM!* -stagewide blast of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …red-and-black canvas trenchcoat flapping behind him… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …with a Stables Title belt slung over his right shoulder, and one of the Tag Titles he and Austin Sly won from Wild & Dangerous buckled around his waist… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …comes possibly the one man that would proudly proclaim himself as the Barracuda’s worst nightmare. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” Stephens heads into the ring, rolling under the bottom rope, before popping up and gliding past Dangerous towards the far end for a microphone. “Well hello there, Johnny,” the Englishman greets with an overtly pleasant tone. “Now I’m not normally one to come when beckoned but standing backstage, listening to you talk about Genesis and then calling my name… I figured I’d head on out anyway since I don’t have a lot of time.” “You see,” Stephens continues, “unlike you I have a match tonight and I’m not exactly too pleased about it. So before you start going on about how you’re going to do this and you’re going to do that and win at Genesis, let me just make it simple for you – you won’t win.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Johnny glares hard at his challenger for Genesis, but Toxxic continues to speak; “I don’t care if I have to be rolled down to the ring in a wheelchair and wrestle in a walker, this match is mine… again.” “Feeling a little overconfident are we?” Dangerous asks in an irritable tone. “It’s not confidence, sunshine – it’s the facts,” Stephens continues. “Tom Flesher likes to toss around stats about my winning percentages so let me add a few more. First of all, how many times have I challenged for the World Title and lost?” Stephens tosses the question out and looks around the room for a response. “Anyone? Here’s the answer for you, it’s an easy one, zero. That’s right, I haven’t lost, nor have I ever lost at Genesis. On the other hand, Mr. Dangerous here has never wonat Genesis.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “You know what,” Dangerous growls. “I don’t give a damn about you and your ego-inflated stats! You want some facts, how about this,” he says, holding the World Title in front of Stephens face and tapping the face plate. “It doesn’t say Toxxic on that name plate it says Johnny Dangerous and it’s going to stay that way!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “You think you have this match in the bag and the bell hasn’t even rung yet,” Johnny heatedly continues, getting directly in Stephens face. “Let me be the first to tell you that when you beat Alexander last week to earn the Genesis shot there wasn’t a happier man in the world than me! Since Genesis Five I’ve been waiting for my chance to avenge my loss to you - I’ve been working towards this moment for three years, so if you don’t think I’m ready for this that you are sadly mistaken! If you walk into this thinking you have some kind of guaranteed victory than it’ll be the quickest loss you ever took!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” “It’s the rematch from Genesis Five… but this time you… will… fall!” Dangerous throws down his microphone and leaves the ring with the World Championship. For the first time in a while he has the final word on Toxxic, but as the Englishman watches the Barracuda head towards backstage he’s already planning on how he will beat Dangerous once again… as we: FADE OUT.

Loitering around backstage, we find SWF Commissioner Tom Flesher. Cutting a frustrated figure, Tom looks over the run sheet for the night's show one more time, swigging from a bottle of whiskey as he does so. Tom's private moment is soon interrupted though as Joseph Peters, who has clearly been searching for the Commish, comes sniffing over. "Tom? Tom, what are you doing?" "Look, Peters, unless it's really important..." "Losing a TV deal? Yeah, I'd say that's pretty important." Flesher glares at the former SWF head honcho in a look that would shut anyone in their right mind up. "Keep your damn voice down wouldya. I don't want that shit getting around before I'm good and ready." "Tom, they already know." sighs Peters in reply. "It's all over the internet." "The internet." Tom takes a swig. "That's just typical. Damn dirtsheets... if that was Pretzler who leaked the info, I know where he lives, his contact details are still on our records, he'll be hearing from my people. God... what the hell Peters!? What do I do to deserve this? Years of loyal service, in and out of the ring. Busting my ass for this company. Damn near rendering myself wheelchair bound. And they let this happen to me?" "Tom... they want to talk to you." Tom takes a swig. "I guess I don't need to take three guesses why, huh?" "I don't think it's anything like that... it's about the future. There's contingency plans and there's..." "Contingency plans don't neccessarily involve me though." Tom takes a swig. "No, the suits can wait Peters. You stall them. If everybody's talking already, I ought to give them something to talk about. I'm going out there and speaking my mind." "Look, Tom, come on. Keep it together." "It's together, okay. It's... look, I've got stuff to get off my chest. You go tell everybody to find a monitor, grab one for the suits. Let me tell you, Tom Flesher was never meant to go down in anything but a blaze of glory. But I'm not going down on anything other than my terms. You tell them. You tell them Peters." After pointing a finger in Joseph's face, Flesher hands the bottle of whiskey to him and marches off. Looking around in despair, Peters curses under his breath and goes marching off in the opposite direction.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Wednesday, September 26th, from the J.L. Walkup Skydome in Flagstaff, Arizona!! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to Ace309) One show before Genesis! It'll be Toxxic vs. Johnny in the Main Event, but with a week still to go, a lot can happen! For example, maybe... oh, I dunno... a CONTRACT SIGNING?! PLUS~! A rookie, a returnee, and a cyborg all in action! And hopefully a number of PROMOS, hint hint wink wink nudge nudge say no more. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Toxxic vs. "Big Bully" Bruner --> Mike asked nicely, so hey, why not? Rules: Standard singlies. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Muzz -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Leon Sharpe vs. Insane Luchador --> He is not a crook. So he'd have us believe, anyway. But seriously, better strippers? I'd totally vote for him. The returning Leon Sharp-with-an-E goes up against the Insane Luchador! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Luke-o vs. MANSON --> Luke-o's debut last show turned a lot of heads - unfortunately, one of them was Manson's~! Can our impressive rookie survive a concentrated dose of MANSONOSITY?~~~@!@ Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: [email protected] -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Ghost Machine vs. Jesse James Sanders --> Ghost Machine's been out sick for a few weeks - Blue Screen of Death - but I have it on good authority that he's back, and ready to... uh... format Sanders' C: drive... or... man, I suck at this. Rules: Singles. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: [email protected] -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Mukasey's a good choice simply because he's not Ted Olson. Olson, while an attorney competent at the level necessary for this job, is far too controversial for what's essentially a lame duck appointment this late in the term. Lieberman would have been an interesting choice, although I'd bet his heart's still in the Supreme Court. (I'm still somewhat surprised he's not in Alito's chair right now, frankly.) My dark horse choice would have been Mike DeWine, who was essentially screwed out of his job in the Democratic takeover despite his attempts to make himself appear moderate and to distance himself from the far right that was being ousted in the election. DeWine was apparently on the short list for the Alito slot when they were still considering a lack of judicial experience to be a positive.

So... you're saying I don't have to buy the shirt?

I believe I have a match set up, although if that doesn't work out there's always Battle of the Ghost Machines.

An explanation from the nation's finest news source.

Presumably, the law is a front for China appointing someone who they can more easily control, as they did with the Panchen Lama. Assuming for the sake of discussion that the Tibetan Buddhist view of reincarnation is correct, then having a Chinese government-approved Panchen Lama will control the "discovery" of the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama - ie, China will name a sham Dalai Lama for purposes of political expediency to try to break the Tibetan demands for genuine self-rule. It'd be roughly equivalent to the UN naming a new Ayatollah in the hopes of stopping sectarian violence in Iraq.

I'm going to go ahead and say Wednesday the 22nd. If this has adversely affected anyone's writing, please let me know.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF Aftershox - Wednesday, August 15th from the Nassau Coliseum in (Ugh!) Long Island, New York! Due Wednesday, August 15th, by 9:00 EST/6:00 PST. Send marked matches, promos, potato knishes, etc. to chirs3. IMPORTANT NOTE: Alan Clark is, as he stated in his promo, looking to see if there's anyone who deserves a title shot. Where is a more convenient vantage point than in front of a monitor? Thus, Alan Clark will be a Special Guest Commentator on all matches this show. MAIN EVENT - SINGLES MATCH "The Dean of Wrestling" Jay Hawke vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins ~ Jay Hawke suffered a tough loss at Ground Zero, allowing tonight's special guest commentator to unify the International and World Championships. Spike Jenkins, another recent victim of Clark's, took umbrage at Hawke's demand for a rematch. Now, the two square off to try to sell management on giving them another shot! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send To: chirs3 CRUISERWEIGHT TRIPLE THREAT Michael Alexander vs. MANSON vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix © ~ Maddix and MANSON clashed at Ground Zero on what are now unquestionably the New King of Hardcore's terms. Will the result remain the same in a Cruiserweight encounter, with the Professor of Pain to play the spoiler? Rules: Standard cruiserweight rules (no over-the-top, 20 count on the outside). First pin or submission wins, but a wrestler can be disqualified or counted out and eliminated without ending the match. Quitcherbeefin. Maddix's title is not on the line. Word Limit: 4500 Send To: Ace309 TAG TEAM ACTION The Winston Churchill Experience (Fulminatus and Jimmy the Doom) vs. Beauty And The Bint (Danny Dagda and Amy Stephens) ~ I think we all remember our first crush. That cute girl in the little plaid skirt sitting at the desk next to me, taking bets and outbelching a Jersey greaseball... why, I get a little tingly thinking about it to this day. But I prattle on. Fulminatus' heart skips a beat every time Amy Stephens comes round, and so what better way to press the issue than to put them in the ring together? What can I say? I'm a sadist. Rules: Standard tag. Word Limit: 4500 Send To: Ace309 POP THE CROWD, BOYS, YOU'RE ON FIRST The Fabulous Jakey © vs. Johnny Dangerous ~ Johnny isn't happy. He's not happy that he didn't make the main event of Ground Zero. He's not happy that Michael Stephens and Austin Sly stole the Tag Team Championships from Wild and Dangerous. He's not happy that the Fabulous Jakey's purse doesn't match his shoes. (Well, maybe not that last one.) Can Dangerous avenge at least one of these ills in this non-title match? Rules: Standard cruiserweight rules. Word Limit: 4000. Send To: Ace309

I'll begin by stating the obvious: the state of the SWF is weak. Apathy is rampant. New writers are practically nonexistent, and despite the best efforts of creative control, they don't stick around very long. Creative control is, well, me. A few of you show consistently. A few of you show once in a while. the majority of you consider yourselves active in the fed but show rarely if at all. That's not to make you out to be bad people - it's just indicative that what I've been predicting for a long time is coming to pass. That is, the fed's unviable competition model is losing its novelty and thus the fed is circling down the drain. I'd been putting this off, hoping that it would prove to be unnecessary. I'd hoped that an all-time high number of Clusterfuck writers would prove to me that people really do want to be in the fed, and then rationalized that no one shows for the Fuck anyway. The Fuck match itself had two writers; the tag team match was competitive; the World Title match was what delayed the show, because the guy who holds the title didn't finish until Friday and the guy who had built for months to his challenge match didn't show. I've considered changing my mind on this, and I will if we can somehow overturn the conditions I listed in the opening paragraph. If we get a lot of new writers, if people start to show regularly, if we get enough people to fill out a booking committee without having to tap active writers, then I'll reconsider my read on the fate of the fed. However, we've been saying that for a long time, and it doesn't appear to be in the cards. Hell, our most prolific storylines at this point exist because guys are double-timing in the OAOAST. Think back to the 90s, when the Rock and Roll Express defended their SMW Tag Team Championships against the Heavenly Bodies at Survivor Series 93 - it didn't make anyone take SMW any more seriously. In any case, I'll cut to the chase. Raynor, Van Siclen, Zed and I have been discussing this for some time, and I drew the short straw to make this public. Barring anything unforeseen, I am resigning as SWF head booker effective October 4, 2007 - the day after the final Genesis show is to be posted. The fed is closing its doors as of Genesis, assuming we can keep enough interest to stay around till then. This gives everyone who loved the fed a little too much the chance to come back and be part of the grand conclusion to its history. Really, lasting as long as we have was pretty impressive anyway.

Okay. Pick some enhancement talent and write a match.

Clark is indeed tacked on to the usual announce team.

Johnny, it was just a request that Rando made that extrapolated from the very short promo he did write.

As Aftershox returns from commercial break, “Learning to Fly” by Pink Floyd begins to play over the PA. But forget about spotlights or pyro or any of the amenities that are seen these days on a professional wrestling card. All we get is Jay Hawke storming the ring, a noticeable limp in his step, a look of anger in his eyes and a scowl on his face. Francis: “Here comes the man who came within an eyelash of winning the World Heavyweight Championship at Ground Zero, and judging from the look on his face, he is not happy.” King: “Would you be happy, Mak?” Francis: “I’d be disappointed, I’ll admit that.” King: “So how do you think Hawke feels? That was his first pay-per-view main event, and he might never get an opportunity like that again!” Jay Hawke storms over to the timekeeper’s table and rips the microphone out of Funyon’s hand, shouting “Stop the damn music” as he climbs up the steps to the ring, favoring the right leg the whole time. Francis: “Why do I not get a good feeling about this?” Hawke: “I have had it! I have had it with the officiating, I have had it with the suits, I’ve had it with you idiot fans…I HAVE HAD IT WITH THIS COMPANY!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” Hawke: “Yeah, it’s garbage like that that I’m talking about. You idiots wouldn’t know real talent if it bitch slapped you in the face, and if you’re not careful I might just prove it.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Hawke: “What happened at Ground Zero was a travesty! Now I’ll give Alan Clark all the credit in the world, because he wrestled a better match than I ever dreamed he would. But the facts remain…” “YOU TAPPED OUT! YOU TAPPED OUT! YOU TAPPED OUT!” Hawke: “I DID NOT TAP OUT!” King: “He’s snapped.” Francis: “He’s delusional.” Hawke: “I was pounding on the mat to try to rally myself for my inevitable comeback and victory, but since the referees in this company watch too much UFC and don’t know the damn difference anymore, some reject from the Land of Misfit Toys is holding my championship belt! I want my rematch, and I want it at Genesis, and I want an “I Quit” Match so there can be no doubt as to the final result.” Francis: “He’s nuts. He clearly tapped out at Ground Zero, and no amount of rationalizing is going to put him back in the title picture.” King: “I’d like to see the rematch, but you’re right. I don’t think he has a leg to stand on.” Hawke: “So I want Tom Flesher out here right now, and I’m demanding he announce the rematch!” Hawke gets some company, but he doesn’t get the boss. Instead, the lights begin to flicker around the arena as the violent guitar riffs and the blaring trumpets of Emmure’s “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong” blast through the PA system. RAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The horrifying shriek of a laugh from lead singer Frank Palmieri sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in attendance. King: “Not Spike Jenkins!” Francis: “Indeed, Spike Jenkins is heading to the ring, he’s carrying a microphone of his own, and I think he’s got some words for Jay Hawke here.” King: “Because the world was just waiting for this one.” Jenkins: “Jay, Jay, Jay. Let me ask you a question. Do you ever watch the tapes of these shows and listen to yourself talk? I mean, I know babies that cry less than you are right now. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! I got beat like a red-headed stepchild. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Pathetic. And yet you seriously expect to be granted a shot at the title?” Hawke: “What are you doing here, Spike? Look, I told you when I saw you sleeping on the corner in Richmond, I don’t have any change for a bottle of booze to keep you warm tonight.” Jenkins: “Funny. It just so happens that I came out here to challenge Alan Clark to another shot at the World Heavyweight Championship.” YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Francis: “There’s a lot of speculation as to who’s going to get that shot, but you’d think somebody new would be granted it.” King: “Well, Tom Flesher hasn’t announced a number one contender yet, so these two might be looking to impress.” The conversation between Mak Francis and Suicide King is broken up by the sound of Jay Hawke laughing hysterically. Hawke: “Wait, you’re serious? What’s your career record in the SWF? I mean, is your win/loss record even like .500? Let me give you a free lesson, Spike. To be the number one contender to the World Championship, you actually have to win a match or two once in a while.” Jenkins: “Well, let’s face it. I think I’m more deserving of a title shot than you are right now.” “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE!” Hawke: “History lesson. At one point, as the so-called number one contender to the World Title, I seem to recall Manson blowing you up into 685,000 bite size pieces, which pretty much ended any hopes of winning the World Heavyweight Title.” Jenkins: “Says the man who tried to make the chop block a legitimate finishing move.” King: “Are they auditioning for a shoot interview tape or something?” Jenkins: “What makes you worthy of getting another title shot to completely ruin?” Hawke: “What makes me worthy of the shot? How about 274 consecutive days as SWF International Champion?” Jenkins: “Well, thanks for the history lesson, Jay. What have you done lately?” Francis: “Oh man. We might need to get security ready to go here.” Hawke: “Look, do you seriously believe you’re more worthy of the shot than I am? I seem to remember than the last time you and I met in the ring, you submitted to the prematch handshake!” Jenkins: “And at the time, I was preparing for a title match. Maybe next time we meet, I’ll be the one teaching you a wrestling lesson.” “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE!” Hawke: “You know what? That’s a hell of an idea. How about next week we see who the most worthy of a title shot is? You and me, one on one, right here in this ring?” Jenkins: “You’re on!” “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Jenkins: “But you might want to hope that leg’s in better shape or I’ll be the one making the chop block a finishing hold.” As Jay Hawke’s scowl returns to his face, Spike Jenkins casually leaves the ring as the fans once again chant: “SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE!” Francis: “Well, it looks like we’ve got a match for next week, but there’s only one problem. They’re treating it like a number one contenders match, and we don’t even know if they’re even under consideration for the title at this point.” King: “Well at least we’ll get to see Spike Jenkins scream louder than the girl I met at the hotel last night.” Francis: “That was more information than I needed to hear.” King: “You’re just jealous I didn’t let you watch.” Francis: “We have a match signed for Storm next week! That's it for tonight!” === SWF AftershoxxxXXXxxx, August 8, 2007 © 2007, Acid Rayn Productions. All rights reserved. The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation: Raising workrate by typing faster

he Cassell Coliseum in Blacksburg, Virginia is buzzing backstage. Technicians and assistants and the like running about frantically backstage, trying to make sure that everything continues to run smoothly during the show. The only calm figure in sight is that of an awkwardly loping blue, orange, and red figure. If you can call him calm. Fulminatus is indeed simply ambling through the backstage area, and although you likely wouldn’t be able to tell, he has no particular place to go. He’s honestly just walking about. Looking for something to get into. The New Blood Champion strolls about at a leisurely pace, sometimes allowing the lack of balance in his swaying body to carry him in a different direction. As he walks, the production assistants scurry out of his way as best they can, but it’s hard to avoid a man who doesn’t know where he’ll go next. Fulminatus comes to an intersection in the hallway and, for some reason unknown to us and likely little known to him, he stops. And he listens. BURRRRGH!! The frightening noise sends Fulminatus up against the wall, flat backed like some sort of a spy. Not the former tag champ one, either. It’s difficult to tell, but fear is etched across the face of the Cruiserweight Chaos Engine. His beard is right quivering with terror. RARRRRRUMP!! The noise again! The panicked man is darting his head from side to side, too frightened to comprehend what’s going on. What could it be? An ape? A stegosaurus? Some horrifying invisible monstrosity from the hills of Dunwich? The masked man’s mind races with the myriad silly possibilities of what could be making the loud noises in the hall behind him. Several members of the crew walk by and give him strange looks as they pass. GRAAAAAAAUUUUHMP!! The curiosity of the madman overcomes his fear and he very tentatively cranes his neck around to observe the monster in the hall. BAAAAAARRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUGAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHUPL~!! “Son of a bitch! That was fucking insane, Amy!” “Yeah, innit?” Danny Dagda takes his beer can and chucks it against the floor in anger. He then begins to dig around in his pocket for something, saying “Seriously, a girl shouldn’t be able to burp like that.” “Oh sod off and pay me, cuntface!” The New Blood Champion is floored. His heart skips a beat. “What angel is this?” Fulmy squeals aloud to himself. “I am smitten!” he yells at the top of his lungs. Amy and Dagda look at the strange being staring at them from behind the corner. “Now who the fuck is that bloke?” Amy asks. Fulmy remains motionless like a deer in headlights. “OI!!” the Punk-Rock Princess yells, causing Fulminatus to run away at top speed like an embarrassed little girl. Stephens shrugs her shoulders. “Alright, lissen up, Danny. Next time you feel like tryin’ to out-belch me, feel free. I’ll be plenty happy to take your money again, ya get me?” Danny Dagda grumbles something unintelligible and wanders off, shoving a handful of crumpled bills into her hand as he goes.

Amy Stephens approaches her dressing room after the show, looking forward to grabbing yet another can of lager with which to sit back and enjoy the evening. As she closes in on the door, though, she hears the sound of rustling from within. Did she leave a fan on? No, couldn’t have been. The rustling gets louder and she begins to worry. “What the fuck could be making that bloody racket?” CRASH!! Something glass falls over and very audibly breaks within. “Alright, whoever’s in there had best get the fuck out sharpish or you won’t be happy when I get in, ya get me?” The rustling suddenly stops and Amy takes the moment and throws open the door, fists raised, clearly ready for a fight. “OI!!” she yells as she throws herself inside, but is brought face to face with… A duck. “What the fuck?” The duck stands quietly and unassumingly in the middle of her dressing room. Everything that was once standing has now been knocked over, including a tall lamp, now shattered to pieces on the ground. The duck stands quietly in the center of the carnage, looking as innocent as a duck can possibly look, with a note tied with a blue ribbon around it’s neck. Amy is absolutely livid. She runs over to the duck, now apparently very docile, and does her best to catch it, but ducks have a quickness to them and this one is no exception, eluding Amy at every turn. After a good five solid minutes of ridiculous and hilarious chasing, Amy grabs her duffle bag and chucks it at the duck, momentarily trapping the creature beneath it. The Punk-Rock Princess grabs the water fowl by the feet and after a moment or two of fighting off the flapping wings of the frantically quacking bird, manages to remove the note. Still holding the squirming duck in her off hand, she reads it. A present to the most stunning creature imaginable. From, Your Secret Admirer “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” With that, she runs to the door and throws it open again, stepping out into the hall and yelling loudly. “Now who the hell put this fucking mal-lard in my room, innit?” she screams. “If I find out who did this, I’ll kick your fucking arse, ya get me?” Behind a small black equipment box, Fulminatus giggles profusely, trying desperately to hide his laughter. “You know I can see you, right?” Amy says as she looks over at Fulmy behind his absolutely horrible hiding spot. Before she can say anything further, Fulminatus just runs away at full speed, giggling like a child. “Fuckin’ hell.”

Aftershox returns following a short word from the SWF’s sponsors, and Ben Hardy stands in front of the Aftershox backdrop. Next to him is one half of the five-time former World Tag Team Champions, Johnny Dangerous, and his presence is the cause of a booming cheer from the crowd in the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Hardy begins after a slight pause to let the fans settle. “This is Ben Hardy live on scene with Johnny Dangerous. Johnny,” he says, turning towards the Barracuda. “At Ground Zero, you and Wildchild were the targets of an absolutely vile British crowd during the course of your match against Revolution Zero, while your opponents received much of the fans adoration. Revolution Zero won the match, going so far as to hit the tabooed demonstar driver on the Wildchild, that has now sidelined him. What are your feelings on all of this?” “My feelings?” Dangerous incredulously asks. “You’re asking how I felt about going out to Stonehenge to defend the Tag Team titles in front of a malicious crowd? Ben, in this business I’ve come to realize that not everyone is going to like you. Sure some folks seem to be liked a lot more than others - you can’t expect everyone in the entire world to like you. However, just as the fans in England were cheering on Revolution Zero, I know the fans watching at home were rooting for Wild and Dangerous!” Johnny pauses as the cheers of the crowd in the arena can be heard all the way to backstage. Their cheer, confirms the Barracuda’s speculation about the home crowd on Wild and Dangerous’ side. “Now, what happened in the match is another thing,” Dangerous continues. “Revolution Zero proved that Ground Zero was their night as they defeated us for the titles. For that, they deserve the praise. On the other hand, how they won those belts leaves a lot to be desired.” “You mean Toxxic using the demonstar on Wildchild?” Ben asks. “Most definitely,” Johnny affirms. “Toxxic showed that once again he has no problems crossing the line. Just like he showed us when he chokeslammed Wildchild to the floor back in February, but that only pushed us harder. Stephens wants to claim the kids gloves are off so Toxxic, just remember that little comment when Wild and Dangerous is one hundred percent and we come knocking for our return match. All bets will be off so don’t blame us for what happens to you.” “In the meantime, I wish Nic the speediest of recoveries… and I also have to apologize to you in advance, Dominic.” Johnny nervously pauses. “For the next few weeks it’s just Dangerous – solo, and I’ve been waiting patiently for eight weeks.” “Are you saying tha-” “You have no idea what I’m saying, Ben!” Johnny snaps. “I’ve waited since the close of 13th Hour for this. The same show where I was wrestling a three man elimination—every man for himself—and was ganged up on like a drunk girl at a fraternity party.” “If you’re issuing a challenge for Alan Clark at Genesis, the line is already getting pretty long, Johnny.” “I realize that,” Johnny answers. “Everyone and their grandma want’s a shot at the World Title at Genesis and that’s fine. What I want, and what I plan to take, is a bit of vengeance for 13th Hour, and since that little Mickey Mouse lovin’ son of a bitch will only fight in the ring and since he only shows up once every four weeks or so, I’m just going to have to take him down before Genesis!” Again the roar of the crowd can be heard, and this time a faint “JOHN-NY” chant is also audible. “Now don’t get me wrong here. There is absolutely nothing wrong with loving Mickey Mouse or anything the fine people at Disney produce, nothing at all… so long as you happen to be under the age of 12 and not a grown frickin’ man!” “Ouch! That’s pretty harsh,” says Ben, trying to hide the smile and remain impartial. “What’s harsh is having to watch a grown man parade around in Peter Pan outfits while holding the most respected World Heavyweight Championship in professional wrestling! What’s harsh is watching him and his fat slob of a body guard enter any SWF arena, and what will be harsh is my foot up his sorry ass!” “So Alan Clark, I hope you enjoy the next few weeks sitting on your ass at home so you won’t have the opportunity to loose the Championship, while the rest of us bust our ass for the millions that come to our shows. While you’re at it, dream up some lame way to stretch out your title reign to Genesis; a pipe dream is all it will be cause you won’t make it that far with the belt! When me and you face off you’ll leave the arena just like you left when you and Spike challenged Wild and Dangerous…a loser.” FADE OUT.

FADE IN “Welcome back to Aftershoxx,” says Mak Francis. “And, coming to us tonight from the Bahamas, live via satellite, is the Wildchild! Wildchild, last week, at Ground Zero, you and Johnny lost the Tag Team Titles to Revolution Zero; in the process, Toxxic hit you with the dreaded Demonstar Driver… how are you feeling?” “I’m fine,” replies WC. “Not'ing was broken… Hell, I been hit way harder den dat before. De doc’ says I sustained a Grade-2 concussion, an’ some minor muscle tears, but I’m gon’ be jus’ fine!” “Glad to hear it!” says Mak. “So, you must be chomping at the bit to get back to the action!” Wildchild shrugs noncommittally. “Not really,” he says. “I’ll be back whenever I get back… Right now, I’m jus’ chillin’ wit my peeples; I’m in no hurry at’all.” “So, basically you’re running away?” challenges King. The Bahama Bomber replies with a grin. “Not at all… when I’m ready t’come back, me an’ Johnny will exercise our return clause, an’ win our sixth championship. I’m jus’ takin’ it easy.” “My apologies for my broadcast partner,” says Mak. “I’m quite acutely aware of the fact that concussions aren’t something you want to play around with.” “True dat,” replies Wildchild. “I’m not gon’ be like some of dese cats dat get injured an’ come back before dey’re healed… I did dat once, an’ it was de biggest mistake in my wresslin’ career. I’m jus’ enjoyin’ my time here at home: I jus’ got engaged, an’ me an’ Missy have been… enjoyin’ each ot’ers company, if’n ya get what I’m sayin’.” “I do indeed,” says Mak. “And congratulations on your engagement… But, when you finish healing, you plan to come back and get revenge on Toxxic, right?” But Wildchild shakes his head. “I don’ care about getting’ no revenge on Toxxic. He was doin’ what he felt he had t’do t’win de titles… I don’ got no hard feelin’s about him.” “You don’t have hard feelings about the guy that put you on the shelf?” King asks incredulously. “Not really,” replies Wildchild. “Dere ain’t no rivalry between Wild an’ Dangerous an’ Revolution Zero, an’ dere ain’t no beef between me an Toxxic, at least not from me; I don’ spend any time t’inkin about dem at’all, actually. T’me, dey’re jus’ two guys dat are keepin’ our belts warm… we’ll get what’s ours whenever we’re good an’ ready.” “Well, since you don’t appear to be all that concerned with winning back the tag team titles,” asks Mak, “are you going to come back for the World Cruiserweight Title instead?” “Probably not,” replies WC. “Dat kid’s jus’ anot’er place holder. I can beat him any time I want, an’ I’m in no rush. All dat matters t’me right now is enjoyin’ my fiancé’s company, an’ lookin’ after my business interests here on de island, like my gym.” “You own a gym?” laughs King. “Why are you so light in the ass, then?” LeCroix breaks out into a guffaw. “I’m built for speed, King, you know dat. Johnny’s de power of de team; I couldn’ do de t’ings dat I do if I were much heavier… But dat’s cool, doe…” “Well, Wildchild, since you’re obviously having a good time, don’t let us get in your way any longer,” says Mak. “Take it easy!” “No doubt,” replies WC. “By de way, how did you like de Malibu I had shipped to you an’ King’s dressin’ rooms?” “I’ll thank you to keep your nasty banana-flavored rum in the Caribbean, thank you very much!” snorts King. “Don’t mind him,” replies Mak, with a chuckle. “He’s probably going to drink the whole fifth tonight, right after the show… Thanks Wildchild!” “No problem,” replies the Bahama Bomber. “You cats take it easy, an’ I’ll see you all in a few weeks!” FADE OUT

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF Aftershox - Wednesday, August 8th from the Cassell Coliseum in Blacksburg, Virginia! Due to the uber-condensed writing time and the whole post-PPV-let's-all-be-lazy thing, Aftershox is a promo show. If you reeeeally want a match, feel free to get down on your knees and beg for it, but I can't make any promises. Promos are due Wednesday, August 8th, by 9:00 EST/6:00 PST. Send everything to Ace309.

Sorry. Working long hours. Forgot about the show last night. On its way.