Ace309

Nominations for Heel of the Year and Face of the Year. Don't PM me unless you're a boob.

Nominations for Wrestler of the Year. Post directly into the thread. Please do not PM me.

Filthy, rKade, Carnage and Wolfe hadn't debuted at Genesis. They're ineligible.

Yeah, the trophy's just named after Blazenwing this year because he won it last year after Thoth's masterpiece of a tooling. He didn't do anything objectionable this year during his return.

No worries, Evan. Thanks for letting us know you had a reason so the bookers don't chalk you up as a kid who joined and forgot about the fed. I'll try to read the show some time this weekend.

I AM very surprised to see another Lockdown show, personally. SWF is a popular name, but Lockdown seemed a bit more unique. At least they're not using Smarkdown. As far as I know we're still unique on the matchwriting front, though.

That's okay. I'm barely literate, so I couldn't tell.

::applause:: Considering how rarely I put anyone over, I'm happy to do so in a manner that doesn't affect me in the least. Plus, I'm maintaining my poochie status. So.

MAIN EVENT CAPTAIN FALL TAG MATCH Revolution Zero (Toxxic © and "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins) and "The Icon" Max King v. Andrea Montgomery © and Hollywood Boulevard (Mike Van Siclen and "Urban Legend" Todd Cortez) - Rev-0 USJL TITLE MATCH David Cross© v. Danny Dagda - Cross CRUISERWEIGHT TITLE MATCH Ryan Dustin © v. Austin Sly - Dustin, if he shows SINGLES MATCH Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix v. Stryke - Maddix HARDCORE TITLE MATCH Sean Davis © v. Christian Fury - Davis USJL TITLE #1 CONTENDERSHIP MATCH Uncle Filthy v. Evan Wolfe - I don't predict matches where I haven't seen both guys write. NEW GUY MATCH "Blind" Ryan Klein v. Carnage - Ditto

Hey, everyone! Mark's catching on!

I'd just like to point out that my number is somewhat inflated due to Stryke's formula of adding up the total number of days of all title reigns, as I spent extended periods with double belts. *cough* Why, no, I'm not just calling attention to myself.

Remember to double tag.

Only if you lose.

PROMO; Stubby P. McWeed. "No. Mothernature says, Regards." - T.

Farking GOLD, man.

Note to Carnage: We vets and retired types like to razz everyone. Don't take it personally.

Oooh, character motivation. That puts the nooblet one step ahead of most of the rookies.

MAIN EVENT#1 SWF CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Toxxic© vs Andrea Montgomery - Toxxic. Sorry, Andrea. MAIN EVENT #2 ICTV TITLE MATCH Landon Maddix© vs “The Icon” Max King - Maddix. He's just that good. MAIN EVENT #3 TAG TITLE REMATCH Spike Jenkins & Sean Davis© vs Todd Cortez & Mike Van Siclen - Rev0. They have the momentum. SINGLES MATCH Johnny Dangerous vs Manson - Johnnay USJL TITLE CONTENDERSHIP TRIANGLE MATCH Nathan Xavier vs Jamie Drazon vs Ryan Dustin - Ryan Dustin for the double championship shot, ending with belt girls and everything. CRUSIERWEIGHT TITLE CONTENDERSHIP Austin Sly vs The Birdman - Birdman. HARDCORE TITLE CONTENDERSHIP THREE WAY LAST BLOOD Christian Fury vs David Cross vs Danny Dagda - Dagda SINGLES MATCH Uncle Filthy vs Stryke - Stryke. Sorry, Filthman.

Leading the news, I'm retired. Generalissimo Francisco Franco? Still dead.

As the ring is cleaned of the detritus of the previous match, the camera is marching steadily down the red-carpeted aisleway displaying the crystalline busts those IGN/SWF legends who have come and gone before! As it zooms in on a few and the crowd roars appropriately with regards to each, the stately voice of Cyclone Comet doles out the names of those who laid the foundations of this wrestling institution... “Jayson Grant. The scoop slam heard 'round the world.” “Stubby McWeed. Future controversy aside, one of our finest competitors.” “The Hville Thugg. The baddest of big men, and a multiple time world champion.” “Fallout. Perhaps the finest cruiserweight ever.” “Sacred. Australia's greatest natural treasure, and former world champion.” “El Luchadore Magnifico. The wrestler by whom all others are judged in the SWF.” “Axis. The gatekeeper to the main event.” “Cyclone Comet. I would like to thank Commissioner Zenon for including me in this most august lineup.” “Chris Wilson. Currently wanted by the FBI for suspicion of domestic terrorism. If you know anything about his whereabouts, please call (555) 555-BOOM.” “Rane. He defined the World Championship for an infant federation.” “Pimp Daddy Sarp. This man laid the road that future heels would walk.” “Grimedogg. GRIMEDOGG IS HARDCORE!” “Neilsen of the Jungle. Still singlehandedly funding the FCC with his indecency fines.” “Outcast. Please notice that no female busts are anywhere near him for fear that they might catch a bullet.” “Silent. He elevated no-selling to an art in and of itself.” “Thoth. The man who made the Clan a force to be feared.” “Frost. This bust brought to you by Frost brand busts.” “Danny Williams. He singlehandedly brought puroresu to the SWF.” “These men and many more who we do not currently have time to name, they are the ones who helped make the SWF what it is today. We thank them, and we thank you faithful fans for keeping us going for four strong years! Here's to four more!” The camera returns to the announce desk and our very own legendary announcing team of Cyclone Comet and Bobby Riley, both resplendent in their evening wear. Each man's voice is already worn raw from the excitement of the evening but they show no signs of slowing down. “And what a match we have just witnessed gentle viewers!” Cyclone Comet emotes mightily through his formal mask. “Misters Cross and Lezaire just left it all in the ring, and how good was it?” “It was, dare I say, excellent, Comet.” Riley agrees vociferously. “The Canadian Championship has never been more hotly contested and those two men lived up to the Genesis standard.” “Truth be told the Canadian Championship had never been PREVIOUSLY contested, but that USJL Championship was a stellar bout!” Riley sighs. “When will you let go of the past, Comet?” Comet looks thoughtfully at the bust of Axis and takes a long swig of Pepsi MAX. “Never, I hope.” “Anyway..." Riley continues. "I noticed that you did not mention any of our competitors in the next match in your little speech about legends just then.” “Indeed Citizen Riley! I wished to praise those who had gone before. These men will add to their ever-growing legends tonight in that very ring. And speaking of legends, what of the surprise announcement earlier? Edwin Macphisto has returned for one night only to aid his friend Mark Stevens!” Riley clucks his head disapprovingly. “Record store owners and part time DJs have no place in a wrestling ring! We all know why Edwin is here tonight, and that is to once again sweep the red carpet right out from under Chris Raynor as he stands on the cusp of stardom!” Comet looks at Riley with something not unlike pity. “It surely couldn't be friendship, or a desire to do what's right?” “Of course not. And besides, you yourself questioned Raynor's motives at Smarkdown, saying there was more to his presence with King and Flesher than there seemed. Do you really think he was anticipating a three on two match, or do you think deep down in his heart - ” “His black and twisted heart?” “That's the one. Deep down, he wasn't doing this for King and Flesher, or even to show up Stevens. No… he was hoping, praying that he just might lure out MacPhisto for one last chance at redemption! And you know what, I think it worked!” Comet smiles wryly. “Well, I am glad that you think Raynor will be happy about this, because I daresay the Superior One and the Suicide King will be mightily peeved that their handicap match has become a fair fight!” “A fat baseball fan, an effete Brit, and Landon Maddix versus three of the most dominant heels ever does not a fair fight make.” “You touch upon another point there Robert,” Comet notes, “although you do it in your own unique style. So many stories tied up in one match here at the Rose Bowl! King and Stevens! King and Landon! Carnie tensions! The "present," Flesher, versus the "future," Maddix! Raynor/Edwin! Will the ring be able to contain it all?” Riley ponders thoughtfully for a moment. “I'm gonna have to go with 'no.'” “I am going to make a bold prediction for this night, Robert... Landon Maddix, the man many people have tried to look past or overlook entirely, will be the difference maker tonight! In any event our pre-match hype has reached its zenith, my good man! The time has come now for all the questions to be answered, and I think that nothing may ever be the same again afterwards... take it away, Funyon!” Funyon stands in the ring and raises the microphone to his lips. Well behind him, the conductor of the Los Angeles Orchestra raises his baton to the musicians... “Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall, and is a SIX MAN TAG MATCH!” The sell-out crowd explodes with the knowledge of what is to come. “Introducing first... from Buffalo, New York and weighing in at 231 pounds! Accompanied to the ring by Allison Onita... he is one of the all-time greats! He is 'THE SUPERIOR ONE,' TOM FLESHER!” The crowd only has a moment to vent their disdain before the orchestra kicks up into the epic refrain of Led Zeppelin's “Kashmir.” Striving mightily they manage to be heard over the cinematic entrance music, but only just. At least, that is until the man himself emerges under the "GENESIS" sign with his trademark arm candy and cocky sneer in place... his new singlet is blue and gold as can be seen through his unzipped warmup suit, his Doc Martens freshly shined. “If that man is worried about Edwin MacPhisto, you certainly wouldn't be able to tell by looking at him Comet! And how can you consider Landon Maddix the difference maker when that man will be in the ring? Tom Flesher may quite simply be the best that's ever been!” Riley notes approvingly. As the volume at his entrance grows, Flesher walks down the aisle, Allison at his side. His eyes are firmly set on the ring in front of him. Never once does he look at the busts that line the carpet he walks on. The effect of his entrance is clear on everyone in attendance. If those enshrined in crystal on either side of him are legends, then he may very well be a god. The music reaches a crescendo as they climb the ring steps and gracefully aid each other through the ropes. Allison quickly moves over to Funyon and hands him an index card with a practiced motion as Flesher begins to remove his warmup suit. The music stops and all in the ring are suddenly blasted with a wall of sounds from thousands of irate Californians... “A powerful condemnation of Tom Flesher from these fans, Riley!” “If they think they hate him now, let's see how they feel when Funyon is done reading that card!” Funyon looks at Allison with the resigned expression of a death row inmate. Once can clearly read his lips. “C'mon... it's Genesis!” Unmoved, Allison gestures at the card with rising vigor. Funyon sighs... “All in attendance, gaze upon the man who has single-handedly made wrestling 'cool' again to watch! No more must you feel like social pariahs for watching wrestling! Now instead you may concentrate your shame on your unwashed bodies and you ill-formed minds. Please form an orderly line so as to shower praise on this man who has brought honor, pride, and glory to the great sport of professional wrestling. And when you are done, please stay in that line so that forced sterilizations can be administered to all of you sub-Omegaloids. Tonight you may thank whatever gods are in heaven as he takes the final steps to reaffirm the essential dignity of this event by destroying two has-beens and one never-gonna-happen. And once he has left that indelible stamp in this ring, on your hearts, and on their faces everyone may feel just a little better about the world. After all, a world that contains Tom Flesher is surely the best of all possible worlds.” Funyon neatly folds the card up and tucks it into his jacket pocket as the crowd ponders rioting. Tom smiles broadly and raises both hands to the crowd for a moment, before handing off his warmup suit to Allison and aiding her in her exit from the ring. “Say what you will about the man Comet, he has a way with words!” “Yes, I suppose he does. Bu the crowd is going to have to save some of their anger. I understand their desire to blow it all on Flesher, who of course has been an ever-present and consistent ne'er-do-well over the past two years.” Riley snorts. “Ne'er-do-well? There's formal speech and then there's archaic, Comet.” “Shush you.” The conductor again waves his baton and the orchestra readies itself... Again Funyon raises the mic to his lips. “And his tag team partner... from Baton Rouge, Louisiana and weighing in at 240 pounds! He is the Rayn-man, CHRIS RAYNOR!” The conductor's arm falls, the lights go out, and the stage lights flicker white for a strobing effect, as “The Grudge” by Tool is played by a very confused orchestra that is also suddenly having a hell of a time reading its sheet music. They recover admirably however, just in time for the boos to return in earnest! Chris Raynor, the forgotten son of the SWF stands in stark profile under the GENESIS sign. Arms at his sides, eyes cast low on the ground in front of him he slowly makes his way down the aisleway. Tonight finds him wearing his traditional black pants, but apparently someone in marketing did a hell of a job as Raynor wears a black t-shirt emblazoned with the word “CARNEVIL” in front. As he passes the camera, the unmistakable outlines of the Suicide King and Chris Raynor can be seen looking particularly diabolical... “He is completely oblivious to the crowd!” Comet exclaims. “It's like they're not even there to him.” “Since when has their opinion mattered? What have they ever done for Raynor? They TURNED on him for trying to do the right thing!” Riley protests vehemently. “They should be happy he's ignoring them. The level of interest he would probably like to show them usually involves automatic weapons!” The camera zooms in right on Raynor's face. It is calm, sedate... maybe even serene. He was drowning, but now that Edwin has returned he has his life preserver. One more chance to prove to everyone... no, screw them, to prove to HIMSELF that he can beat MacPhisto. The crowd's hatred is inconsequential. Destiny has come full circle tonight, for one man. Comet shudders. “I would not like to meet that face in a dark alley.” The big man rolls under the bottom rope, rising to his feet in front of the Superior One. Each man eyes the other one warily, not entirely sure what to make of the other. “What is that saying about politics and strange bedfellows, Riley?” “Next gay joke from you will be met with a slander lawsuit, you masked freak!” Chris reaches out a leery hand, that Tom takes in a very business-like handshake. Words are exchanged that may never be known, but each man nods in agreement as the crowd steeps in its hatred. Funyon signals to the conductor once more before finishing this first half of the introductions... “And their tag team partner... from Dayton, Ohio and weighing in at 226 pounds! He is the current owner of 25% of the SWF stock! He is the captain of this ground-breaking heel alliance!” Comet interjects, “I don't think anyone told Tom that King was the 'captain,' judging from the look on his face!” Funyon continues, “He is the original Gambling Man... he is THE SUICIDE KING!!!!!!!!!” The arena plunges into blackness as the choir sounds outs. “ALL ABOARD! AH HAH HAH HAH HAH!” The musicians launch into a rather cool rendition of “Crazy Train” if I do say so myself. The low notes of the string section sound out the beginning notes as the arena languishes in darkness. Right before the electric guitars would normally kick in (but tonight violins will just have to do)... A wall of crimson pyro erupts from the stage, illuminating everyone in its scarlet glow! Those closest are momentarily deafened and blinded, but those far enough away can see the unforgettable silhouette of the Suicide King. The red light refracts through the crystal busts, and for just a moment it looks like the Devil himself is standing tall at the front of the stadium. The lights return and the King of Hearts is revealed to everyone in attendance, prompting a fresh volley of California hatred. He merely stands there for a moment, absorbing the hatred like it was sunlight and he was photosynthesizing... opening his eyes, he grins at the crowd in his own inimitable style before finally beginning the long walk to the ring. It is like someone took a time machine back one year, as King wears his classic ring garb. Black and red long tights, and a simple black vest adorn his lean frame...Halfway down the aisle he stops, regarding a bust critically... Comet is outraged. “That egomaniac stopped to inspect his own bust!” Indeed, King has done just that. He reaches out and moves it a millimeter to the left before reaching out with a flap of his vest, and wiping an errant smear from its neck. Smiling approvingly, the Heartbreaker again resumes his motion to the ring... rolling under the ropes he regards his two partners with a wide grin. Stepping between them quickly, he raises their arms up into the air and prompts a volcanic eruption of derision from every level of the Rose Bowl! Dropping their arms the three men move over to a corner and quickly begin to review their game plan, with last minute MacPhisto modifications. Funyon nervously stands well away from the heel convention, preparing to resume his spiel... “And their opponents!” At the merest suggestion of the opposition the fans turn 180 degrees and begin to cheer their hearts out! “Introducing first! From Lincoln, Nebraska and weighing in at 301 pounds!” The crowd knows what that means! Riley screams shrilly. “That man has the unmitigated gall to come out first?!” The lights go out... the people are clapping, talking, shouting, waving signs, waiting for what is about to happen... ::CRACK!!!:: The crowd, simply put, explodes! The crack of a bat and the roar of the crowd announce Grand Slam!! The orchestra quickly picks up the opening bass notes of “Born Bad”, his classic anthem by the Gone Jackals. The various multicolored lights flash in time with the rhythmic bass until the violins kick in and the choir cries out "Born Bad!" Somewhere in the afterlife Carl Orff cries. Then the stadium is flooded with bright white light!! Red and white pyro explodes at the top of the entrance ramp!! When the smoke clears and everyone can see again, "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens is standing underneath the gigantic GENESIS sign!!! The crowd erupts in even more cheers for the perpetual fan favorite, Heavy Hitter!!! Funyon continues, a smile lighting his face for the first time since he began announcing this match. "He is the Heavy Hitter... he is 'GRAND SLAM' MARK STEVENS!" As Funyon makes his announcement, the Heavy Hitter walks down the ramp slowly while carefully avoiding the crystal busts, savoring every moment of cheers and pointing at various fans, slapping hands and keeping them screaming! He knows this may be the very last moment of his Hall of Fame career and he is determined to give the people their money's worth! Tonight, as the camera zooms in, he is wearing a L.A. Dodgers baseball cap!! When the crowd sees this, they cheer even louder, nearly drowning out his music!! Stevens makes it to the base of the ring before finally turning his attention to the two grinning and one deathly serious face therein. Calculating his chances and deciding they aren't very good, Grand Slam defiantly steps into the ring between the ropes and heads to a corner! "You do not turn your back on any of those men, much less all of them!" Riley protests. The implied insult has the Suicide King livid! Throwing his vest off he rears back to charge across the ring before being restrained by his two more level-headed partners. Meanwhile "Grand Slam" climbs to the second turnbuckle, looks at the crowd, then pumps his right fist into the air several times, firing the crowd up even more and causing a flurry of flashbulbs to pop, illuminating the ring like a strobe-light!! Before dropping back to his corner and resuming a much more watchful and prudent pose, Grand Slam flings his cap out to the crowd, giving some lucky fan a unique souvenir from the SWF!!! Once the cap is sent out and the music begins to die, his face becomes deadly serious and he glares at the three men across from him, with particular regards to one face that is nearly spitting its venom back at him... Funyon clears his throat. "And introducing his partner! From London, England and weighing in at 235 pounds!" Comet cannot contain himself any longer. "It's the long-awaited return of an SWF legend!" "He is the Crown Prince of Flash and Panache! He is the Mac Daddy! He is EDWIN MACPHISTO!" The lights dim as the sound goes up! The orchestra launches into an awkward rendition of Edwin's unmistakable theme song, Lo Fidelity All Stars' "Battleflag!" The lights flash madly all across the arena before returning to roost at the head of the stage and revealing one man dressed so wildly that it can only be HIM! In particular the light catches one noticeable feature... "Edwin re-dyed his hair while he was backstage! MacPhisto is truly back and it looks like he'll be firing on all cylinders tonight" Comet proclaims proudly. As the crowd support swells for their returning hero, it takes a good long look a his ring attire. His silver and red camouflage pants are par for the course, and the Union Jack muscle shirt is all class. The mirrored sunglasses certainly add something, but the most notable feature is one that causes the unflappable Bobby Riley dread... "Who gave him a microphone?" "YOO HOO!" Edwin waves at the ring. "Mark, we've already talked so you don't mind if I address the nouveau Meat Factory there, do you?" Stevens chuckles and waves off as the heels look around indignantly. "Boys, I'm over here! It's been awhile, and I've got something to say. King! You, sir, are a poopy head!" King just blinks incoherently in the ring as he was apparently expecting something in a more... well, college grade variety of insult. Edwin clears his throat. "Sorry. Let me try that again. King, let me save you a whole lot of heartburn. Mark isn't a fraud! Never has been, never will be. You however, you just may find that going up against him tonight will in fact make you the King of Suicide! Flesher! You used to be so good! Imagine what you could do with your life if you got your face out of King's lap!" This time it's Flesher's turn to be restrained as he lunges at the ropes. On the outside Allison's face goes white with shock. Edwin continues on full steam with the crowd firmly in the palm of his hand. "And Chris! Chris..." Edwin's face drops along with his voice. "Well, Chris... I'm sorry it's come to this." Dropping his microphone, Edwin sprints down the ramp and slides udner the rope, making it almost all the way across the ring to Mark's feet before popping upwards. Closing ranks with Mark Edwin looks across the ring and meets Raynor's icy eyes with a steely gaze of his own... Unnoticed Funyon prepares to finish his duties. "Finally, introducing their partner! From Huron, South Dakota and weighing in at 218 pounds! He is accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye" Once again the choir sings out as the lights drop... "PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!" ...WAAAAAHHHHH... *DUM DUM* The post-riff part of "Megalomaniac" by Incubus is launched into by the orchestra, as from behind the curtain steps Landon Maddix, stopping at the top of the ramp and thrusting his hands out to his side as the lights return back to normal. Landon actually pauses for a moment as the sheer volume of the pop at his entrance shocks him... Comet chuckles, "That's what you get when you're on the side of the angels, Landon! Soak it up! You deserve it! Now get out there and teach King what he gets for trying to destroy your career!" Shaking his head in mild amusement, Landon turns back to the curtains...as Megan follows out from the back, to another repsectable burst of cheers and applause. They then walk down the ramp, with Landon leading the way in his black and red half and half ring attire... Funyon continues. "He is the Future! He is LANDON 'LA CUCARACHA' MADDIX!" Another massive pop follows at the mention of his name as the First Couple of the SWF walks down the aisleway... before coming to a sudden stop? "What's all this then?" Riley asks, suddenly channeling the eloquence of a British policeman. Landon and Megan appear to be inspecting a familiar crystal bust. Riley remains perpetually three steps behind the rest of the wrestling world. "Ah, he's noticed the exquisite craftsmanship of the Suicide King's bust! You know, that Landon kid wasn't that bad at moments... if he bowed at the altar of the Suicide King now, I bet all would be forgiven!" Maddix cocks his head left... then right.. before reaching out with one little finger and tipping the bust over! The delicate crystal statue explodes into a thousand pieces when it impacts on the concrete just outside the red carpet and the crowd explodes with it! "GAAH!" Riley screams. "That HACK! That talentless little PUNK!" "That's just a taste of what King is going to get for playing with Landon's and Meggan's lives like they were playing cards!" Comet notes as a duly licensed defender of justice. The Suicide King sneers, strangely unmoved by his symbolic shattering. Comet snorts. "He probably already has three of those busts up in his house." Landon leaps to the apron, before running across the apron and leaping up to the middle turnbuckle. Looking out at the crowd, Landon grins and holds his arms out to the sides before leaping over the top and entering the ring. Just in case Edwin and Mark take flanking positions to discourage spontaneous heelishness on the only active wrestler on their team. Hopping down to the applause of Megan and the crowd, Maddix goes over to his teammates to discuss strategy. Unnoticed by everyone, Funyon casually moves over to the face half of the ring... As Funyon clears his throat the King looks up with sudden panic in his eyes as he glances about the ring, looking for only he knows what... "And introducing your SPECIAL GUEST REFEREE!" "What?" Comet exclaims. "Is there no depth of villainy those three won't sink to to insure their victory?" "Um, Comet? I don't think this is King's scheme..." And indeed King has stormed across the ring and grabbed Funyon by the lapels as the crowd explodes! They can sense that something unexpected is going down right here, right now. To their credit the three good guys are standing in their corner just trying their DAMNEDEST to look innocent. Edwin is even whistling. With uncharacteristic defiance, Funyon looks right into the Suicide King's eyes. "He is the Commissioner of the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation! He is ALEX ZENON!!!" Instead of his usual music, the orchestra kicks up in an encore presentation of "O Fortuna." King throws Funyon across the ring in disgust, the microphone just missing his stream of expletives at this latest misfortune. In the background Raynor and Flesher share a mildly nervous glance. Comet is exultant. "Alex Zenon swore he would make this right, and tonight he fulfills that promise! I bet King wishes he hadn't threatened his job now!" "Just seconds ago you were condemning King for this, but you praise them for it? How is Zenon supposed to officiate fairly? This is a travesty! He stripped Flesher of the Cruiserweight Title, ILLEGALLY I might add, just last Smarkdown!" To say Riley is apoplectic is an understatement. Comet clucks approvingly. "King and Flesher are about to reap what they have sown!" Zenon finally makes his appearance as the choir sings the opening refrain. As he stands there enjoying the crowd's approval for the first time in a long time, he glares at the ring. More specifically he glares at two men in that ring who are currently expressing differing degrees of displeasure at a rapidly departing Funyon. His entrance to those opening lines is no coincidence. "Truly, Fortune is like the moon, now waxing, now waning! It looks like Fortune has turned against Flesher, Raynor, and King!" Comet notes for the non-Latin speaking public. Zenon marches down the ramp, pausing only to tell the man sweeping up King's bust to "Keep up the good work." Rolling into the ring he marches to the center, confident that whatever else may come, tonight, right now, he is doing the right thing. Spinning around at the feel of a presence behind him, he meets King eye to eye. The glare lasts for many long moments... the two men share some rather heated words before King SHOVES Z across the ring, screaming at him! With the crowd's roller coaster of emotion it is hard to pick up the exact words, but the sudden and violent gestures from King cast serious doubt as to the future of Zenon's job security... With an exasperated yell King turns back to his corner, trying to calm down. "Emotions are already boiling over and the match hasn't even started yet! All that remains is for each team to pick their starting member and for Z to signal for the bell, and then this battle of past, present, and future will get underway!" Comet takes a quick swig of his Pepsi MAX. We're ready, viewers! Are you?" Tom Flesher, the Suicide King and Chris Raynor stand in their corner, discussing the strategy of the match to come. In the opposite corner, Stevens, Maddix and the returning hero, Edwin MacPhisto, do much the same. Alex Zenon, in the center, motions for each side to put out its first athlete. From the face side, Landon Maddix bravely steps forward. Chris Raynor starts toward the center, but before he can, Tom Flesher places a hand on his chest. With a smirk, the Superior One steps ahead of him, and King and Raynor obligingly step out. Flesher and Maddix meet in the center, with Flesher’s insufferable arrogance showing through. Zenon checks to see that both men are ready and, to a huge cheer from the crowd, calls for the bell. DING DING DING!!!! Flesher and Maddix face off in the center of the ring. Instead of his usual slow style, the Superior One immediately meat-hooks the back of Landon’s neck, snapping his head down and slapping on a tight side headlock! Zenon drops down to check for an illegal choke, but sees that everything is kosher and allows Flesher to ride the move. “Already, that bastard’s getting involved,” grouses Riley. “Flesher’s been using that side headlock forever, and it’s never been called illegal! Why worry about it now?” “Forever indeed,” says Comet. “I believe I’ll have time for a bathroom break.” Flesher squeezes the headlock, standing firm in the center of the ring. Maddix reaches around his waist, trying to break the grip, but fails in the face of Flesher’s incredible grip strength and significant weight advantage. Tom, meanwhile, simply tightens the headlock even further, laying into Maddix by making him carry an extra 231 pounds. “Of course, here you see Flesher’s strength,” shills Riley. “The man has an unbelievable sense for how wrestling works, how to fatigue your opponent. Landon Maddix? He’s always had to rely on cheating to get by, and ever since he gave it up, well, the kid just hasn’t been the same. He’s too small to compete effectively, and he gave up his only advantage.” “I find myself forced to question the veracity of that statement, Robert. The Cucaracha’s in-ring ability is second to none in the SWF today, and his style is unmatched except by the likes of the Birdman or, shall I even mention his name… the Wildchild.” Flesher takes a shuffle-step and swings Maddix across his back, slamming him to the mat with a side-headlock takeover. He lifts Landon’s head off the mat, pinning his shoulders down! Zenon drops to the mat and counts ONE!!! No more, though, as Landon quickly rocks toward Flesher and brings his shoulder off the mat. He kicks a leg up, trying to hit a head scissors to counter his way out of the headlock. Flesher, for his part, leans forward to avoid the grip. As Landon rolls back to his prone position, Flesher grabs the ropes and hoists himself back to his feet. He pulls Maddix back up, getting out of a position where Landon can easily counter into a pinning position. Still, he keeps the headlock clamped around Landon’s spaghetti-like neck and walks him toward the center. “I still don’t get why Landon Maddix is involved,” Riley says. “Just an accident of the backstage relationships, I suppose,” says Comet dryly. “Yeah, but…” “Don’t ask, Robert, and don’t tell.” Maddix leans forward, trying to throw Flesher off. The Superior One plants his feet, though, and Maddix is unable to shoot him to the ropes. Flesher continues working, but Maddix drops back and wraps an arm tightly around Flesher’s waist. As Flesher tries to rebalance himself, Maddix throws him forward and sends him rocketing into the ropes! Flesher hits the ropes and sprints at Maddix, who cocks a leg to the side and hammers the Superior One with a superkick! “SWEET DISCIPLE MUSIC!” shouts Comet. “Maddix pulls that one out of nowhere, and Tom Flesher is already at a disadvantage even this early in the match!” Flesher staggers backwards, and Maddix follows him to the ropes, hammering him with forearm smashes. As Flesher backs up, trying to regain some semblance of balance and lucidity, Maddix follows him in, and… *CRACK* absolutely slams him with a palm strike! The crowd lets out an “Ooooooh,” to be followed only by… “BURN~!” shouts Comet, as Flesher reels from his own signature strike being thrown at him by his opponent! With a grin on his face, Maddix takes advantage of Flesher’s momentary stunned state and runs across the ring. He bounces off the ropes and leaps off the mat, hammering Flesher with a flying leg lariat that nearly takes both men over the top! Flesher reels, but manages to keep his balance, and Maddix backs away. He runs at Flesher once more, this time throwing a tried-and-true forearm smash… which the Superior One ducks! As Maddix rotates, Flesher hooks him around the waist in a quick and dirty capture, then arches his back powerfully over the top rope! He tosses Landon over the ropes and to the outside with the modified capture suplex, then leans against the ropes as the Future adjusts himself in the air. Like a cat, Maddix twists his body around and lands on his stomach, sparing himself any injury but still feeling the wind knocked out of him. Flesher, not ready to be assaulted this early in the match, staggers to his corner and slaps the nearest hand he sees… Chris Raynor. “Here comes the pain,” beams Riley. “Chris Raynor hasn’t been inside a ring since Genesis III, when Edwin MacPhisto – bastard that he was – broke his neck, and now it’s all coming back to him. He’s got a grudge alright… and he’s ready to settle it!” Raynor steps into the ring, and the crowd goes silent. He stares across the ring, his eyes fixed on the opposite corner, and quietly, simply, beckons MacPhisto. “He’s laying the challenge out there,” Riley cackles. “He wants Eddie Mac, and he wants him bad!” “But does Edwin really want Raynor?” Comet asks forebodingly. “He seems reluctant at best to square off against his old friend, and perhaps would be more willing to take Citizen Raynor out for a cup of java than to get involved in a war of fists.” With the arena so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, MacPhisto slowly nods his head up and down, once. His eyes on Raynor, he ducks down and slowly, deliberately steps through the ropes. The crowd, simply put, explodes! Edwin slowly walks to the center of the ring, facing off with his old enemy and older friend. Raynor looks him up and down, and the two meet in the center of the ring. Their eyes meet, as they nearly share the same build. Edwin’s sober gaze butts against Raynor’s scowl, and as the tension builds… *CRACK* Raynor punches MacPhisto flush in the face! Immediately, the crowd bursts into a chorus of boos, and the moral leader of the Midnight Carnival reels backwards. A wicked smile spreads across Raynor’s face, but is quickly wiped away when MacPhisto responds in kind! He nails Raynor in the jaw, sending him staggering back! Zenon looks on, stonefaced, as two of the biggest influences in his career duke it out. They throw punches at each other, MacPhisto finally realizing that he’s not going to be able to work this out with Raynor. This means war. MacPhisto throws another sledgehammer-like fist at Raynor, nailing the jaw with his knuckles. They go toe to toe, but MacPhisto gradually gets the upper hand, hitting harder and harder until he backs Raynor into a neutral corner. Edwin, riding the wave of adrenaline that being back for the first time in two years brings with it, backs up to the center of the ring. With a flourish, he sprints into the corner, leaping off the mat for a gamengiri… only to eat a huge Raynor-sized boot to the chops! Edwin stumbles back, caught completely off-guard, only to have Raynor charge at him and hit him with a wooden-looking back elbow. Edwin lands on his back, and Raynor smirks, satisfied with his work. He turns around, starting to strut back to the corner and let one of his teammates continue the onslaught. MacPhisto, though, has different ideas, and snags Raynor’s ankle from behind. He stands up, pulling the prodigal Carnie’s leg out from under him and sending him spilling to the mat. The Crown Prince of Flash and Panache stands up just long enough to throw out a quick crowd-pleasing juke and jive before dropping an elbow into the back of Raynor’s neck! Chris Raynor winces, his Achilles’ heel acting up again. MacPhisto, showing only the slightest sign of remorse, backs away, waiting for Raynor to get back to his feet. “What a craven, cowardly act on the part of Edwin MacPhisto,” fumes Bobby Riley. “He of all people, attacking Chris Raynor’s injured neck – where does he get off?” “Citizen MacPhisto acted on impulse, Robert, but one can hardly blame him in the face of the assault from the opposition.” “Raynor is simply trying to settle the score, Comet. How can you defend a blatant attempt to cripple a man for the second time?” Instead of getting up to fight, though, Raynor simply shoots Edwin a look that could kill a man and reaches up, tagging in the Suicide King. In answer, Edwin backs away and slaps the hand of “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens. The tag pleases the crowd, and the final pairing enters the ring. “And here we are,” says Comet. “Citizens Stevens and Applewhite are finally stepping into the ring against each other, for the first time since – interesting trivia, here, Robert – since before Citizen Flesher made his SWF debut.” “Man, I bet Stevens feels old,” Riley snickers. “Flesher and King have been training regularly, and frankly Stevens can’t hold a candle to his physical condition. It would be too heavy.” Stevens, staring down his former friend and now perennial enemy, lunges forward to grab him in a collar-and-elbow tie. King, with a smirk on his face, merely sidesteps to leave Grand Slam staggering forward comically off-balance. King grabs him by the wrist and pivots, sending Mark to the ropes. As Mark lumbers forth, the Suicide King steps forward and whacks him in the chest with a Heartbreaker shotei! Stevens staggers backwards, the wind knocked out of him, and King merely smiles. “Here we see the absolute hatred these two men share,” says Cyclone Comet. “The former friends are willing to hurt each other regardless of the circumstances, unlike Edwin MacPhisto, who felt remorse for his attack on Chris Raynor, and unlike Tom Flesher, who cares not for who he harms as long as he looks good.” “Oh, get over it, he always looks good,” says Riley. King grabs Mark by the arm once again and whips him into the ropes. This time, though, Stevens comes barreling forward and levels the stockholder with a lariat! King collapses to the mat, and Stevens, fire in his eyes, drops onto him with a fist! King scrambles to the ropes, trying to avoid the Heavy Hitter’s ground and pound, but Stevens gets in a few good licks before he can grab the bottom strand. Zenon, for his part, watches on closely. He lets Stevens whack King twice more before administering an even, if not standard-speed, five-count. ONE! … TWO! … THREE! … FOUR! … … Finally, Stevens breaks the hold, getting to his feet. He backs away as King shoots a scowl at the official. The King of Hearts slowly gets to his feet, this time a little more wary of his 301-pound adversary’s newfound weight advantage, and backs toward his corner. Stevens nonetheless follows him in, throwing another lariat at the King. This time, though, he doesn’t connect, as Tom Flesher reaches in and viciously sweeps his leg out from under him! Stevens winces as his knee takes a hit from the apron, and King points at Flesher as if to say “You’re my wingman.” King grabs Stevens’ ankle, then whacks him in the hamstring with a kick. He reaches out and slaps Flesher’s hand, then stays in to make sure that Stevens isn’t going anywhere. Flesher enters the ring with a smirk, all but rubbing his hands together with anticipation. “And here comes Tom Flesher,” says Comet with more than a hint of sarcasm, “ready to take over for the Suicide King against the biggest threat in the match. What courage. What admirable fighting spirit.” Flesher hooks Stevens’ left leg as he enters the ring, then quickly drops an elbow into the side of the kneecap. He hoists Stevens into the air, ducking his head under the Heavy Hitter’s arm as if for a backdrop suplex. Instead of following through, though, he simply drops Stevens forward onto a bent knee and hammers his leg with a shinbreaker! Stevens lurches forward, running straight into the Carnevil corner. There, King wallops him in the face, sending him back toward Flesher. The Superior One grabs Stevens and hoists him off the mat, then throws him to the side with a modified Railgun Suplex! Stevens hits hard and arches his back in pain as Flesher covers him for ONE!!! No more, though, as Stevens kicks out. Tom looks around and shrugs as if to say, “Eh, what the hell.” He grabs the top rope and plants a foot firmly on Stevens’ neck, then leans back as far as he can to put the pressure on Grand Slam’s windpipe! Flesher looks Zenon in the eye and grins stupidly, prompting the commissioner to sigh and begin his count. ONE! Flesher holds up a single finger. TWO! Flesher holds up a pair of fingers, counting along with him. THREE! Could he possibly be any cockier? FOUR! Or any more annoying? By this point, Flesher is laughing out loud at getting his old JL tag team partner to admonish him. Zenon, however, doesn’t find it funny at all, and physically removes Flesher from Stevens’ neck. Flesher shrugs again, seeming to say, “It was fun while it lasted.” He then shoos Zenon away, grabbing Stevens by the head. He escorts the former commissioner to the corner, slamming him face-first into the buckle before reaching out and tagging in his partner. Stevens staggers away, but as he does, Flesher charges at him with a Yakuza kick! Grand Slam collapses into a neutral corner as Zenon ushers the Superior One out of the ring. “And here comes Raynor,” Comet says over the rising ire of the crowd. “Very little competition between these two, ever, in their careers… The only time I can recall is- er… let’s change the subject.” “Go on, Comet, you can say it,” Riley responds with a grin. “The only time you can recall is when they went straight up one on one, Raynor vs. Mark, for the ICTV Title. And Raynor won.” “Yes. Well… I was hoping you’d forgotten that.” “Forgotten? I’ve been waiting all night to rub that in your face!” Raynor climbs over the ropes and makes a beeline for Mark, still recovering in the neutral corner. He reaches out to grab the Heavy Hitter- -and suddenly finds a knee to his gut instead! Mark finds his second wind and the crowd rallies behind him as he explodes out of the corner with a flurry of strikes! Throwing Raynor for a loop, he pushes Raynor back into the far corner, then grabs his arm and Irish whips him into the opposite post! “It looks like the Heavy Hitter’s still got some fight in him!” shouts Comet, as Raynor stumbles out of the corner, caught so off guard he’s still not sure what’s happening! Mark capitalizes by striding forward and planting a boot in his stomach, then hooking him up for a DDT- *THUD* - which Raynor counters by pulling Mark’s legs out from under him! Still holding on, Raynor quickly swings Mark around 180 degrees, leaving his head under the ropes, and without a moment’s pause he falls back, jackknifing Steven’s neck right into the bottom rope! “You were saying, Comet?” Mark rolls back towards the center of the ring, coughing violently, and his teammates and the crowd let out a collective “Shit.” Raynor collapses after the move, still dazed by the beating he just took. After a few moments he manages to get back to his feet, and he stumbles over to Mark and drags him up by the hair, then immediately drives the point of his elbow straight into the back of Mark’s head. He continues mercilessly, hitting Stevens two, three, four times before heaving him into the neutral corner. Stevens barely has time to get himself upright before Raynor closes in, scoops him up, and hangs him upside down in the Tree of Woe! “This is certainly a different Raynor from the one we saw two years ago,” Comet points out, as Raynor immediately begins laying boots into Mark’s stomach. “He’s not wasting any time showboating or taunting, it’s just one hit after another.” Raynor finishes the last of a dozen kicks before he grabs Mark’s arm and yanks him out of the corner, where he’s dumped on the mat with a *THUD*. Raynor drags him up by the arm and slaps on a side headlock. Stevens starts to get feisty, so Chris wraps his left leg around Stevens’ right and sweeps him down to the mat. He quickly grabs Mark’s leg and drags him towards the center of the ring, then turns and drops an elbow across it. He shoots up to his feet and drops a second, and a third, then steps back and takes a moment to plan his next move. Mark tucks his injured knee in and cradles it. On the sidelines, Edwin and Landon start to bring the crowd into it, leading a “LET’S GO STE-VENS!” chant. “It’s no secret that Mark’s had knee surgery, and after this match, I’m afraid he may need it again.” “And guess where that money’s coming from, Comet… his baby daughter’s college fund! Better hope she bags a rich one, Mark!” “Good lord, Riley, that was low, even for you!” “It’s Genesis, baby! I’m bringing out the heavy artillery!” Back in the ring, Raynor takes Stevens up by the hair and whips him hard into the bad guy’s corner. Mark slams into the post and stumbles out. Almost immediately, his injured knee is caved in by a hard kick, and the Heavy Hitter goes down in a bad way. Stevens scrambles to get up, and ends up falling into the corner to remain upright, only just now becoming aware of which corner it is. As Raynor approaches, Stevens kicks out in desperation, landing a nice shot to his opponent’s midsection, but the Suicide King immediately clocks him from behind! Stevens staggers out of the corner and straight into a monstrous big boot, and the Heavy Hitter goes down yet again! “Come on ref, do something!” screams Comet, trying to get Zenon’s attention. Zenon does indeed have a word with the King, who doesn’t even bother to make eye contact. Raynor grabs Mark by his bad leg, drags him into the center of the ring, and again drops a set of elbows, each one causing Mark to flinch, and frightening everyone else along with him. “Well, I’m gonna go ahead and go,” says Riley, rising from his chair. “It looks like the Rayn Man’s got everything under control, and I want to beat the traffic.” “Citizen Riley, I’ve had just about enough of your buffoonery!” “Come oooooon,” Riley says, with the impatience of a child. *RAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!* Raynor suddenly goes down at an awkward angle as Mark swings his good leg up and straight kicks him flush in the back of the knee! Raynor instinctively rolls right over and pops up to his feet, only find that his knee is buckling! He swears profusely and attempts to shake the kinks out, then catches Mark in the corner of his eye, half crawling and half stumbling across the ring towards his corner! Landon and Edwin are holding the tag ropes with one hand and almost falling over the top rope stretching out the other! Mark dives - *WHUMP* ”Awwwwwwww!” And goes down just inches from the hand of Landon Maddix, as Raynor catches his foot in mid air and violently yanks him back! He drags Mark all the way across the ring, then raises the Heavy Hitter’s knee and slams it into the canvas! Mark is utterly helpless as Raynor turns and slaps the hand of his partner, the Suicide King! “Whoohoo! Round two!” Riley gleefully announces. The Suicide King hops over the ropes and accidentally lands on Mark’s bad knee - oops - before grabbing his arm and pulling him up to his feet. Mark attempts to use the momentum as he dives forward for a clothesline, but the King easily sidesteps it, visibly amused- - but this time, Mark keeps going! King goes from grinning to growling as Stevens lets his momentum carry him toward his corner! But his knee begins to buckle, and he falls just inches short! The Suicide King dashes over, using Mark as a stepping stone on his way to clocking Landon Maddix clear off the apron, then doing the same to Edwin! He then drags Stevens up by the arm and hurls him back across the ring, into enemy territory! Edwin and Landon are furious, and Alex Zenon is doing everything he can to keep them out. This, of course, gives Tom Flesher the perfect opportunity to yank Mark’s legs out from under him, take his bad knee, and - *THUNK* - ram it into the steel post! “This does not bode well for the forces of Justice,” Comet worries aloud. “If the Suicide King and his cohorts continue to target Mark’s knee, this match could be over much sooner than anyone expected!” “Not me,” Riley says smugly. “My money’s on a quick win, so we have to bust out the swing fight at the end of the night.” “Swing fight?” “Yeah, if we go under time we’re going to have Justin Bowers wrestle Ebony.” MacPhisto and Maddix eventually calm down, and the interim commissioner turns his attention back to the action. The Suicide King has Grand Slam against the ropes, now whipping him across the ring. Mark runs possible scenarios through his mind as he hits the ropes, but none of them come to fruition as the moment the ropes propel him forward, he sees the King charging forward, and he has no time to move before the King baseball slides into Mark’s bad leg! “NOW can we go to beat the traffic, Comet?” “Quiet, you!” The Suicide King looms over his former friend, looking truly pleased with his handiwork. Stevens rolls onto his knees and immediately collapses again as his bad knee gives way. A few members of the crowd, as well as his partners, begin to look seriously worried as Stevens makes it up to one leg, but the slightest pressure on his other causes him to fall again. King sighs and shakes his head, then calls out “Tom!” He turns and heads for his corner, and tags in Flesher. Tom wastes no time in grabbing Mark and pulling him away from the ropes, and then - “Oh no,” moans Comet, over the schoolgirl giggling of his partner. “You’ve got to know where this is heading: The Superior Stretch.” Edwin and Landon look more concerned than ever, and quickly begin to work the crowd into a frenzy, squeezing every ounce of moral support out of the fans they can! Mark is fully aware of what’s going on, but every flailing kick of his leg causes him more pain, and with no ropes for leverage, he’s helpless to stop Tom from locking in the deadly Texas cloverleaf hold! “Yeah, Rico? I’m almost done here… yeah, I’ll be there in ten.” “What are you- Put that cell phone away!” “Hey, just because I have a life and you don’t, doesn’t mean you can get persnickety!” Tom cinches in the hold, and Mark Stevens is doing everything he can to try and break free, but nothing he does gets him any closer to the ropes! He pounds on the mat in half-frustration half-agony, and the fans chant louder, hoping to bring on a third wind! “LET’S GO STEVENS!” *CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP* “LET’S GO STEVENS!” *CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP* “LET’S GO STEVENS!” *CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP* Stevens’ eyes dart across the ring, looking for something, looking for anything - he finds the face of the Suicide King staring mockingly down at him, a smug, satisfied smile on his face… Mark growls, grits his teeth, refuses to give his foe the satisfaction of screaming, but even so the pain in his knee is reaching the point of being unbearable. His head falls to the mat, and despite fighting it with all his might, his hand begins to creep up off the mat… But suddenly, Landon Maddix gives a big middle finger to the rulebook and leaps into the fray, pouncing on Tom Flesher and breaking the hold! “CHEAT TO WIN!” becomes the crowd’s new battlecry as the referee forces Maddix out of the ring, and the Suicide King is beside himself! “DAMN IT!” shouts Riley. “That’s a disqualification, ref! This match was over!” “I can’t say I agree with his tactics, but regardless, he just snatched victory from the grasp of evil, and I applaud his efforts!” “Good lord, Comet… Lamest. Justification. EVER.” Back in the good guy corner, Edwin gives Maddix a hearty pat on the back! All the while, Flesher has been trying to drag Stevens back to the center, but in the confusion Mark managed to grab the bottom rope, and he sure as hell isn’t letting go! Flesher unleashes a barrage of kicks and stomps to the Heavy Hitter’s knee, but the man just won’t budge! “TOM!” King waves the Superior One over, indicating that he wants another go. Tom shrugs and turns his back to Mark - - and at that moment, Stevens lunges off the mat, bad knee and all, and he plows into Tom from behind! Tom rockets forward into his own corner and slams into the turnbuckle chest first with enough velocity to send him stumbling out backwards, where Stevens is waiting with a rollup! ONE! TWO! TH- Flesher rolls away! He jumps to his feet and almost falls over, still woozy from having the wind knocked out of him, and he notices only too late, as Mark- *SLAP* - tags in Edwin MacPhisto! “YES!” Comet shouts, objectivity be damned. “Stevens escapes with his knee somewhat in-tact, and brings in the Crown Prince of Flash and Panache!” “I don’t see how you can be happy with this Comet - that was a total weasel move!” “Weasel move or not, it may have saved the match for his team!” Edwin climbs into the ring and is bum rushed not by Tom Flesher, but the Suicide King, in off a blind tag! The King is visibly pissed about Mark’s cheap escape, and he pushes Edwin back into the good guy’s corner with a flurry of strikes - - until Landon Maddix leans over the top and nails King right between the eyes! Or maybe right in the eyes. Who’s to say, in this topsy-turvy world? “A taste of your own medicine, you cad!” shouts Comet. The King is distracted just long enough for Edwin to crouch down and launch a palm strike straight up, catching the King in the jaw and launching him clear off the mat and down to the canvas with a hollow *THUD*! He scrambles to his feet, and is immediately overtaken by the Crown Prince! A flurry of palm strikes and punches and - *SLAP SLAP* *WHOOSH* Two bitchslaps and a legsweep drop the King again, and the fans are loving every second of it! “The Cocktail of Shame makes its official return to the SWF!” announces Comet, in a voice as eerily giddy as Riley’s. King quickly rolls to his knees, but a stiff snap kick puts him right back down on the mat, and Edwin goes for the fast cover! ONE! TWO- The Suicide King finally collects himself and forcefully shoves Edwin away. He springs to his feet before the two charge each other and tie up. The King quickly slides down and traps Edwin with a drop toe hold, then floats over to cinch on the headlock. Edwin is quick to get to his feet, taking the King with him, and after a brief tug of war, Edwin manages to shove the King off into the ropes. On the rebound, King catches Edwin ducking and leapfrogs him - - or tries to, anyway, but just as King leaps, Edwin raises himself up, grabs his opponent around the waist, and carries him across to slam him down to the mat with a spinebuster! The crowd watches in awe as Edwin picks King right back up, hoists him up high, and plants him on the canvas with a powerbomb! “WOW! AMAZING timing by Edwin!“ shouts Comet, again forced to raise his voice to match the noise of the crowd! “He suckered the Suicide King into jumping right into the Love Rollercoaster!” “Edwin’s not that smart! He, er, was bent over from a sneeze, and just went upright at a truly lucky moment-” “Weak, Robert. Really, quite frankly unbelievably weak.” Edwin, appearing to be as sprightly as he was in his heyday, pops back to his feet and takes a moment to play to the crowd. Grand Slam looks on with a smug satisfaction, and Landon stands beside him, grinning like a fool. The Mac Daddy finishes his little one-man show, then turns back to the King, who’s backed into a neutral corner with that deer-in-headlights look. As Edwin approaches, the King drops to his knees, making the time out signal with his hands! Tom Flesher suddenly climbs through the ropes, only to have Alex Zenon head him off at the pass. This, of course, leaves King free to stick an arm between Edwin’s legs- -and do absolutely nothing of any interest, as Edwin locks his knees and falls straight down, pinning the Gambling Man’s wrist to the canvas! “Edwin has really done his homework! Although, really, everyone should know that particular entry in the Suicide King’s arsenal by now.” Edwin springs back, and allows the King to slowly reach his feet, cradling his arm. The Mac Daddy holds out one hand and makes the universal “bring it on” gesture, and the King rushes forward! The two tie up, and this time the Suicide King powers Edwin into the opposite corner. Edwin covers up and waits for the referee to separate them. Zenon comes in between them and shoves the Suicide King back a few steps, before getting shoved away himself! The King turns back, and is immediately floored by a springing sidekick! “He’s on fire!” Comet cries. “Boomshakalaka!” counters Riley with authority. Edwin takes the Suicide King up by the arm and gives him a hard Irish whip into the Midnight Carnival corner, then tags in La Cucaracha! Landon springs over the top rope as Edwin holds his target in place, and unloads on the King with a series of blistering knife-edge chops! *SMACK* Woooooo! *SMACK* Woooooo! *SMACK* Woooooo! Maddix then grabs the King by the arm and starts to whip him across the ring - King notes with a great sense of relief that he’s moving toward his corner. But Landon doesn’t release - he swings the King around a full 180 degrees and sends him right back into the good guys’ corner, sternum first! The Gambling Man stumbles out backwards, and Landon runs at him from behind, grabs his head, and runs up the turnbuckle! The crowd bursts into cheers as they see what’s coming. “Acid Drop coming up!” shouts Comet. “Are we still allowed to call it that?” But the crowd deflates as the King manages to shove Landon off as he pushes off the top! Landon notices he is no longer holding onto anything, and lands in the center of the ring. The Suicide King charges him, but Landon springs up more quickly than he anticipated, and plants a dropkick square into the center of the King‘s face! The King of Hearts stays down this time, so Landon steps over him and grabs him by the hair… only to receive a thumb to the eye for his troubles! Zenon finds himself at a poor angle, and only sees Maddix stagger away holding his face. Smelling a rat, he gets in the Suicide King’s face about it! The King attempts to demonstrate that, quite clearly, it was an ill-aimed palm strike, and it most certainly won’t happen again. Landon falls back into a neutral corner, praying that he didn’t leave anything behind on the mat. “That’s dirty pool!” cries Comet, as the King shakes off the cobwebs, then moves to follow up on Landon by unleashing a steady stream of punches. He lands about a dozen blows to La Cucaracha’s midsection, then hurls him into the enemy corner! Raynor leans back to give King some room, but the Gambling Man takes the scenic route - that is, he goes out of his way to accidentally bump into the referee, earning himself some more harsh words while Tom Flesher makes good use of the tag ropes. The Superior One wraps them tightly around Maddix’s neck, choking the life out of him! Mark and Landon scream bloody murder, but the referee isn’t done with his lecture! Raynor remains motionless, watching the carnage but not participating. “What’s he waiting for, a formal invitation?” chides Riley. “He’s right there, man! RIGHT THERE!”

I'd just like to point out that at Zed's suggestion I made sure to include classic spots such as: - Standing on someone's neck and counting along with the ref - Missed senton - Baseball slide headscissors - Bootscrape~! - Yakuza kick I did, however, miss the Yakuza kick against the ringpost. Le sigh.

I'm astonished by your rise to success in the fed, and I'm pleased to know that you credit me with a part of it (however small).

Yeah, it's basically (from what I can tell) an attempt to spread a meme. In order to control for it being a real message that people would have actual feelings about, it was made as nonsensical as possible.

That’s all, folks. It’s been a pleasure writing for you for two and a half years, but at some point my career ran its course and butted up against law school, so I had to make a difficult decision. I have things to do now that will keep me from writing, and if you’ll all forgive me, I want to get on the road to fulfilling Grappler’s prophecy that I’ll be the type of President of the United States who will sip martinis and smoke cigars in the Oval Office. I’ve made a lot of friends and blessedly few enemies in my time in the fed, and unlike a lot of these posts, I’m not going to say that writing was a chore. It did get harder, of course, if only because my character was incredibly hard to evolve. I got crabby when I was writing, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look back on every weekend I spent without shaving or showering, trying to grind out those last few thousand words for another PPV match, and smile. I’m a little embarrassed about the fact that I lost sleep over PPV losses, but the fed was something I enjoyed and cared about quite a bit. I’ll never say that I cared about it too much, though, because this was something that I really, truly enjoyed. I couldn’t believe the day I read the description. “We’re going to write about wrestling? Where do I sign up?” And really, that’s what it was. I got to indulge two of my greatest passions for two and a half years, and I made a few friends along the way. This isn’t going to be a cockslobbering retirement post, though. I’m going to tell it like it is. … ah, fuck that noise. Zed: Sorry about the whole ring thing. I would just like to state at this point that Zed is responsible for every good idea I ever had. He’s essentially responsible for my career as we know it, and I can’t thank him enough for that. Kibs: Here’s hoping you’ll continue as the physical manifestation of my hedonistic side. Edwin: Thanks for setting the bar, man. I can only hope to be viewed in the same light you were. Mags: I really, truly needed to beat you back in the day. You made me work, and you slapped me down. You handed me my first legit loss in six months at Clusterfuck, and I have to tell you – it helped. I can’t say it any better than you put it when you retired – you brought out the best in me. Judge: It was always a pleasure to work with you. You had one of the best dramatic minds I’ve ever had the privilege to bounce ideas off of, and I can only hope that you get the chance to exercise it more in the future. Besides, you’re one hell of a smart man. Get yourself a law degree and give me a reason to make you my attorney general. Danny Williams: Another man who set the bar, albeit in a slightly different way. No matter how many times I say it, it’s true: You brought the content and were responsible for raising the bar when it came to telling a story within the matches and developing a storyline that stretched across a whole career. I can say with certainty that without you in the fed, I would not have accomplished what I did. Dace: You were always fabulous to bounce ideas off of, and the improvement you made from that first match in the fantasy booking folder to where you are now is just fucking incredible. TNT: You have Trey Arseneault syndrome. King: I know we had our issues in the past, but you’ve always been there to give me bad advice and try to sabotage my career. For that, I salute you. Grand Slam: You’re a great fellow to talk to, but my biggest failure as a writer was that I couldn’t convert you into a purohead. Thoth: You gave me a chance, and I can’t thank you enough for that. Frost: Another one who falls under the umbrella of “brought out the best in me.” You were a challenge, and I needed it. IL: Have some fun. Go sip some Black Mists in my honor. Whoever gets the urge to write a HOLT report: I am totally, completely and unabashedly retired. No dark matches for me. I’m just going to quietly retire into training rookies, if we ever get them. And, finally, who could forget… Cutthroat: You are singlehandedly responsible for my career. Because of you, I can divide by zero. You made me feel closer to God, and I hope and pray that some day the wet dreams about you will stop. Ladies and gentlemen, Flesher has left the building.

Very nicely-written promo... it has the feel of an internet column on WWE.com, without the smark-mocking. I also appreciate the shout-out.