Ace309

Tom's been traveling alone lately. He got used to riding with Mak Francis, Drew "CIA" Kelk and Justice & Rule, but with all of them out of it it's just been easier to take his own rental. Although this Aidan Redwood kid's been sitting in the back seat learning bad habits.

2500 words = just barely enough to describe Tom Flesher blinking. Because he does it with feeling.

Nope, just that now when he makes snide remarks in the WWE Folder they're going to have teeth.

We were hoping you'd just threaten people idly.

::reads initial post:: ::scratches head:: Remind me again who you are? I don't know that I'm familiar.

Well, I'm disappointed. This felt like a winner to me, but I suppose there's a reason I've never won a ladder match. === The SWF’s February tradition, the Clusterfuck, opens up with a bang as the Gund Arena in Cleveland, Ohio, goes absolutely nuts! Fireworks of all colors go off on the stage and in the ring as “Only the Strong” blares over the speakers! The smoke clears, and the cameras begin to pan the crowd. Fans hold signs up, like “Va’aiga = King’s Road Apple,” “Pimp Daddy Sarp Is Subsidizing The Clusterfuck” and “If I Make The HOLT Report I Win Twenty Bucks!” Many people wear Unholy Trinity cricket jerseys in black and red, supporting Danny Williams and his cohorts in their matches for the evening, and a few wear the plain black t-shirts with “The Unnamed” printed on the front in Arial font. Many have the blue-and-white “I Am Superior” shirt on, but aquamarine “Human Hurricane” shirts are just as abundant. Soon, the camera settles on the announcers, with Cyclone Comet in a sequined cape and bowtie, and Bobby Riley in his standard blue ruffled tuxedo. “Fans,” says Cyclone Comet, “we’ve got a great night in store for you! We have the SWF World Champion, King’s Road savant Danny Williams, taking on the Maori Warrior, Va’aiga. We have US Champion ‘the Sacred One’ Andrew Blackwell facing the SJL’s unified champion, Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix, to consolidate the belts! We have the Clusterfuck match itself, where twenty SWF superstars enter the ring with the winner being awarded a title shot under the stipulation of his choice at From The Fire!” “My money’s on Manson,” says Riley. “Mmm, talk about a good-looking rebel who plays by his own rules. Todd damn!” “I asked you very nicely to stop saying that. But first, we’ve got a match for the ultimate cruiserweight bragging rights! The Light Heavyweight Championship had a storied history,” Comet says. “It was held by such superstars as Fallout, Nielsen of the Jungle and Andrea Montgomery, as well as an epic 68-day reign by Tom Flesher.” “EXCUSE ME,” says Riley. “I think you forgot one of the pioneers of the Light Heavyweight division!” “No,” says Comet, “I got GOdrea. Unfortunately, it was put into mothballs when the legendary El Luchadore Magnifico won it from penultimate champion Annie Eclectic, better known these days as Ann ‘Ichiban’ Onita. The plan was to bring it back over the summer, but unfortunately, as we all remember, Magnifico returned to his native Mexico. Sadly, he took the SWF Light Heavyweight championship with him, and that was the end of the division. However, with the rise to fame of SWF superstar the Wildchild, who has a circus background, Commissioner Slam felt it would be unfair not to give him a chance to display his skills against another top cruiserweight. Without a doubt one of the best Light Heavyweight Champions in the history of the division…” “Behind me,” says Riley. “You only wish, Robert. Tom Flesher is also the last champion to be active in the SWF today. Onita and Magnifico are on leave and hiding from immigration, respectively, so Flesher is given the task of representing the Light Heavyweight division in this ladder match. Keep in mind, however, that Tom has never won a ladder match in his entire career. He lost the US Title to Taylor Thompson in the summer of 2002, and of course he lost the legendary ladder-submission match to Magnifico one year ago at this very event. Clearly, Wildchild has the mental advantage coming in. However, this match is a brand new playing field, so, without further ado…” The lights go out, ushering in several seconds of hushed silence before… ::Crack!!!:: The crowd, simply put, explodes! The crack of a bat and the roar of the crowd announce the SWF’s commissioner, “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens! It quickly fades into the opening drumline of "Go Home" by Blessid Union of Souls. The SmarkTron lights up with baseball highlights mixed with big spots from Grand Slam's matches, flashing the words “Grand Slam,” “Mark Stevens” and “The Heavy Hitter.” Multicolored lights flash in time with the rhythmic drumbeats until the drums roll fast and the lead singer yells out “Go Home!” The arena floods with bright white light, and red and white pyro explodes at the top of the entrance ramp! When the smoke clears, “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens is standing underneath the SmarkTron holding a steel briefcase! The crowd erupts in even more cheers for the Heavy Hitter as the camera zooms in on him and highlights the Cleveland Indians cap he wears. “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the SWF commissioner, ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens! As Funyon makes his announcement, Grand Slam holds the briefcase over his head, showing it off to the fans and grinning as the fans cheer. The Heavy Hitter walks down the ramp slowly, savoring every moment of cheers and pointing at various fans, slapping hands and keeping them screaming! He walks around the three ladders already set up on the outside, the middle one standing several feet taller than the others. Grand Slam steps into the ring between the ropes and stands in the center, holding the mystery briefcase up once again and causing a flurry of flashbulbs to pop, illuminating the ring like a strobe-light! He flings the Indians cap to the crowd, giving one fan a one-of-a-kind souvenir, and then motions for the microphone from Funyon. “Well,” he chuckles, “since I’m out here anyway, I thought I’d handle this. The following match is, of course, a ladder match, with the winner being the first wrestler to climb one of the ladders on the outside of the ring, grab this briefcase and come back to the mat. After the match is over, I’ll come into the ring and unlock the briefcase. Now, making his way to the ring…” Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” fires up, and the Gund Arena goes absolutely wild! The bassline pumps as Wildchild’s fans begin to chant, “WILD-CHILD! WILD-CHILD!” with the beat. Suddenly, the curtain blows open and the Human Hurricane sprints through it, running full-speed down the aisle! The fans go absolutely crazy as Wildchild takes a lap around the ring before quickly scaling the tall middle ladder, then throwing his arms into the air! “Weighing in tonight at 214 pounds,” says Stevens, “and from the Bahamas, this is the Tropical Tumbler, the WIIIIIILDCHIIIIIILD!!!!” As Stevens announces his name, Wildchild arches his back and moonsaults off the ladder, landing on his feet in the ring! The fans continue cheering as Wildchild pumps his fist, clearly fired up for the match. “Let’s Get Dirty” fades out. “And his opponent…” The lights go down and the SmarkTron begins glowing white. As the opening guitars of the Philosopher Kings’ “I Am The Man” vibrate through the arena, the fans applaud, anticipating the entrance of the Superior One. After a few seconds… BOOM! An explosion of blue pyro and smoke lights up the arena as the song starts to rock out over the sound system! Tom Flesher emerges from the cloud of smoke, striding confidently to the ring as videos of his signature moves alternate in half-second clips with the words “SUPERIOR ONE,” “AWARD-WINNING,” “MAIN ATTRACTION” and “THE MAN.” Flesher pauses on the ramp, crossing his arms over his chest as the fans applaud him. They continue cheering for him as he falls out of his pose and walks to the ring. “And in contrast to the Wildchild,” says Cyclone Comet, “we have the cool, calm, collected Tom Flesher, confident in his own ability.” “Well, wouldn’t you be confident if your opponent was a monkey?” Flesher climbs the stairs to enter the ring and, making sure to wipe his feet off on the apron, steps into the ring. As the music fades away, Flesher positions himself in the center of the ring. “Currently in the ring,” says Stevens, “from Buffalo, New York, and weighing 213 pounds, ‘the Superior One,’ TOM FLESHER!” Flesher poses as the fans applaud him and flashbulbs pop. Once the excitement dies down, though, Flesher backs reservedly into the corner and strips off his warmup suit. A cable descends from the ceiling and into the center of the ring. “Gentlemen,” says Grand Slam, “we’ve discussed the incentive to win this match, and up until this point I haven’t told you what it is. This will be no different. The briefcase is locked and will remain so until one of you has won the match. At that point, you will receive your reward, and all the rights and responsibilities associated with it.” With that, the commissioner clips the briefcase to the steel cable, and it reascends to the ceiling. Flesher steps to the center, as does Wildchild. Grand Slam offers WC a handshake, then Flesher, and then leaves the ring. Though tense, the two combatants follow Stevens’ lead and shake hands as the commissioner sits down at the timekeeper’s table and calls for the bell. DING DING DING!!!! Tom Flesher and Wildchild square off in the center of the ring, with the steel briefcase hanging high above them. Each man eyes it for half a second before turning back to his opponent. Flesher steps forward, grabbing Wildchild in a collar-elbow tie. Wildchild tries to back out, but Flesher slams a meathook-like hand on the back of his neck and pulls him to the center. He takes a step back and uses the meathook grip again to pull the Bahama Bomber’s head down. As he tries to lock on his front headlock, Wildchild ducks down and slides out behind him! He holds on to Flesher’s arm and tries to whip him to the ropes, but the Superior One plants his feet on the mat and doesn’t budge! He jerks his arm back and throws his right palm, nailing his opponent with a short-arm palm strike! The crowd applauds his ring awareness as Wildchild hits the mat. “And there you have it,” says Cyclone Comet. “The Superior Citizen seems to have made it abundantly clear, even only a few seconds into the match, that his strategy is to slow the pace of the match down and not allow his adversary to take advantage of his speed and agility.” “Oh, sure, THAT’S original,” says Riley with an eye-roll. “I’ve never heard of ANYONE trying to slow the pace with Wildchild. Why, how innovative.” “It need not be innovative to get the win,” replies Comet. Flesher pulls WC back to his feet by the wrist and, being very careful to maintain contact, pulls him as if he were executing another short-arm shotei. However, Tom ducks down and, as Wildchild steps toward him, snags him at the knee with a single-leg takedown. Holding the leg, Flesher stands back up, and Wildchild ends up on one foot. Before he can do anything, Flesher quickly sweeps his base leg out from under him, taking him back down to the mat. From there, he keeps the left leg hooked and quickly drops an elbow into the knee! He pops back up, keeping the foot hooked, and carefully grips Wildchild’s wrist once again. He lifts the Caribbean Cruiser off the mat and pulls his wrist, trying for another short-arm shotei. This time, though, Wildchild ducks and slides out under Flesher’s arm! He sprints to the ropes, breaking contact and bouncing off. As Flesher turns around, Wildchild leaps off the mat and nails him with a leg lariat! The fans cheer as Flesher hits the mat, and Wildchild rolls back up to his feet. He continues running, bounces off the ropes and jumps up again. This time, he somersaults in the air and looks for a rolling senton! Flesher, though, does some rolling of his own, and Wildchild hits the mat hard! “Wildchild took control for a heartbeat,” Comet comments, “but could not maintain that advantage.” “Probably because he’s a little monkey,” Riley adds helpfully. “He doesn’t think about what he does. He just goes out there and goes for it, which is why he ends up on his back half the time.” “Not nearly. The Caribbean Cruiserweight has been performing far above the level of most of the SWF lately, particularly with the influx of new talent to drag down the average.” “Oh, you mean like Spike?” “Exactly,” nods Comet. “He seems to be the Xero of this class of rookies.” With the wind knocked out of Wildchild for the moment, Flesher grabs a fistful of dreadlocks in each hand and lifts him to his feet. With a snap, he pulls the cruiserweight sensation in and slaps on a tight front headlock. Powerless to stop the hold, Wildchild tries desperately to break out of it, but finds a fresh Tom Flesher’s grip too tight. Flesher tightens the hold, cutting off the flow of air to Wildchild’s lungs and blood to his brain. Wildchild fights, but Flesher quickly sprawls backward and drops onto his hands and knees. As WC tries to back out, Flesher silences him with a stiff knee strike to the head! Wildchild flattens out on the mat, and the Superior One nails him with another knee strike. With his opponent neutralized for the moment, Flesher stands up and re-clinches the headlock. Then, he arches back, pulling Wildchild over by his neck and slamming him to the mat on his back with the Cement Mixer! He floats over as the Caribbean sensation lays on his back and gets to his feet. With no sign that Wildchild is going to move, Flesher leans down and nails him with a fistdrop! Wildchild stays on the mat, and the former World Champion rolls out of the ring. “And already, Tom Flesher is bound for the outside,” says Cyclone Comet. “Good for him,” Riley says. “I don’t think much of him these days, but at least he’s going for the gold early on instead of waiting it out.” “I believe the suitcase is steel,” says Comet. “It’s more of a silver than a gold.” “What the heck is in that briefcase, anyway?” asks Riley. “It’s clearly an autographed photo of Edwin MacPhisto for the winner,” replies Comet, “and one of Lerrin Breggan for the loser.” “I think you’ve got it backwards,” Riley protests. “Nope.” Flesher, standing on the outside, takes one of the smaller ladders and folds it in half. He turns toward the ring, only to see the Tropical Tumbler on his feet and running to the opposite ropes! Surprised, Flesher drops the ladder, and before he knows it, Wildchild vaults over the top rope and dives at him with a tope suicida! He nails Flesher, and the two wrestlers spill to the concrete floor! Wildchild pops back up, knowing how to roll with the impact of his own high-flying moves. Flesher stays down for a few more seconds as WC climbs the stairs and positions himself on the apron, his back to Flesher. As soon as he looks over his shoulder and sees the Superior One on his feet, he launches himself backwards and takes him back to the concrete with a ring-apron moonsault! The fans burst into cheers as Wildchild jumps back to his feet! He lifts the ladder off the floor and slides it under the bottom rope, prompting a cheer from the fans! Wildchild climbs onto the apron, ready to set up the ladder in the ring and go for the briefcase! Tom Flesher, however, has other ideas. He charges to the apron, grabbing Wildchild’s ankle and pulling it out from under him! WC falls to the concrete, slamming his face against the apron. The fans boo Flesher’s attack, but Flesher slides back into the ring and ignores the reaction. “The fans are not reacting to Tom Flesher’s offence the way that perhaps he had planned,” says Comet. “However, one must keep in mind that there are no rules in a ladder match, so Flesher is, shall we say, keeping kosher.” “And the fans are patsies anyway,” adds Riley. Wildchild stays on his knees for a moment to regroup from the apron strike. Flesher, meanwhile, takes the ladder. Rather than set it up in the center of the ring, he drags it to the corner and props it up against the turnbuckles. Meanwhile, Wildchild pulls himself to his feet on the apron and rolls into the ring. Flesher is there to meet him with a kick to the head and lifts him to his feet. He once again grabs a handful of dreadlocks in each fist and guides the high flyer toward the corner with the ladder in it. He grabs WC by the head and ducks his head down, ready to suplex him into the ladder! Wildchild, though, sees it coming and blocks the suplex by grapevining Flesher’s leg! Flesher tries again, but Wildchild blocks the suplex again! This time, he steps back and quickly pivots, whipping Flesher to the opposite corner! The fans applaud as Wildchild sprints to the corner and leaps off the mat. He twists in the air, prompting a huge pop from the crowd as he nails Flesher with an avalanche! “Bluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuue CRUSH!” shouts Comet! “Wildchild hits his trademark twisting body splash, and Tom Flesher can’t possibly be feeling good after that!” Wildchild regains his balance as Flesher starts to get his wind back. Capitalizing on the momentary advantage, the Caribbean Cruiser grabs Flesher and whips him across the ring again, this time sending him into the ladder! Flesher hits back-first, shaking the ladder! He staggers forward, holding his back, and drops painfully to his knees. As Tom tries to regroup, WC sprints past him and grabs the ladder, setting it up a few feet from the corner. He scales the ladder, going a few rungs up as Flesher starts to get back to his feet. Just as Flesher stands up, Wildchild leaps off the ladder, grabs his head and nails him with a skull-crushing bulldog! The fans burst into cheers as Flesher collapses on the mat. Wildchild grabs him by the arm and pulls him a few feet further from the ladder, then starts climbing again. Flesher, oblivious to what’s going on, simply looks around to try to get his bearings back. Meanwhile, Wildchild pauses about three quarters of the way up the ladder, then holds his arms out to the side. The fans stand up, screaming, and Wildchild leaps off the ladder! He twists in the air, his arms extended in the crucifix position, and lands hard on the Superior One’s back! The fans cheer loudly as the former World Champion cries out in pain, and Wildchild rolls off, exhilarated from the flight! “And Wildchild hits the Andros Drop!” yells Comet. “He veritably destructified Flesher’s back with that splash!” “Sure, blindside the guy,” chastises Riley. “That’s not very sporting.” “Again, the ladder match has no rules, of sportsmanship or otherwise, Robert. Keep that in mind.” Wildchild gets back to his feet, pumped up and knowing that he’s about to make the first climb of the match! He moves the ladder to the center of the ring, making sure it’s directly underneath the briefcase, and then begins to climb! As he gets up the first few rungs, Tom Flesher rolls over onto his back and sits up. Wildchild continues climbing, blithely oblivious to Flesher being awake. Although stiff from the crushing Andros Drop, Flesher gets to his knees and staggers to the ladder, shaking it just enough that Wildchild stops to look down. Flesher then grabs him by the left leg and yanks him off the ladder, pulling him back to the mat! The crowd explodes in boos, and Flesher simply knocks the wobbly Wildchild back to the mat with a palm strike! He backs up a few feet as Wildchild starts to stand back up. As soon as he puts weight on his left leg, though, Flesher unleashes a dropkick that takes the knee out from under him! As Wildchild lays on the mat, Flesher stands next to the ladder and knocks the support struts out of their straight position, then pushes the ladder over. Folding itself, the ladder falls down onto the Caribbean Cruiser! The crowd roundly boos Flesher, who simply shrugs as if to say, “Well, it was there.” “There’s that killer instinct he’s been missing!” chortles Bobby Riley. “Let me tell you, that’s one way to keep a guy who should have stayed in the circus on the mat! Just knock the damn ladder right onto him!” “Wildchild may be injured,” says Comet gravely. “The Caribbean Cruiser appears to now be the Caribbean Crepe.” Flesher, smirking, picks the ladder back up as Wildchild lays on the mat holding his ribs. The Superior One walks over to the corner and props the ladder up against the turnbuckle, just as he had earlier in the match. He turns back to the center of the ring and grabs Wildchild again, clamping down on his front headlock. He shuffles back, ducking his head under Wildchild’s arm and hoisting him into the air for a vertical suplex. He holds the Bahama Bomber upside down for a few seconds, and as all the blood rushes to WC’s head, he begins to struggle. Flesher decides to simply cut his losses and falls backwards, slamming Wildchild into the steel ladder with the stalling suplex! The crowd cringes in collective as WC hits the steel hard and then slides down, landing in an uncomfortable heap on his head and neck. Flesher, though, is eager to help him up. He lifts Wildchild by his legs and hooks them into the rungs of the ladder, holding him in the Tree of Woe position. From there, Flesher steps back to the center. He measures the distance to his incapacitated opponent, and then charges to the corner. He slams into Wildchild’s left knee with a Yakuza kick, and the Human Hurricane cries out in pain! Flesher, warmed by his own sense of self-satisfaction, steps back and starts a golf clap for himself. The crowd, however, does not join in. “And listen to the reaction of the crowd,” says Cyclone Comet gravely. “The fans are not impressed with Flesher’s continual bullying of Wildchild, nor will they applaud him for attacking the spunky acrobat.” “That just shows you what kind of sheep these fans are,” Riley says with a sigh. “They love it when Flesher acts like a dick to anyone and everyone, as long as they don’t think the guy he’s bullying deserves it more. Seriously, could they get any more fickle? It disgusts me, Comet. It does.” Flesher unhooks Wildchild’s legs and lets him once again slump to the mat. He drags the limp form of his opponent to the center of the ring and hooks one leg. Lifting it off the mat, he crosses the legs… and fires off a salute to the briefcase hanging above the ring! The crowd pops in spite of their distaste for Flesher’s actions throughout the match, and Flesher falls back, locking on the crooked figure-four leglock! “And we have Flesher with the Cross Lightning,” calls Comet. “Once again, unlike the legendary ladder-submission match in which Flesher was defeated by the legendary El Luchadore Magnifico, Tom Flesher can’t win this match by forcing Wildchild to submit. Rather, he gains only the mental advantage that comes with dominant control of an opponent.” “Well, if that’s not shortsighted then I don’t know what is,” Riley says. “Flesher’s also gaining the very obvious upper hand of not having Wildchild climb as quickly as he could if he wasn’t injured. Clearly, Flesher’s trying to slow down the Bahama Bitch and keep him from making it to the top of the ladder.” Wildchild writhes in pain as Flesher cranks the Cross Lightning. He tightens the hold, and props himself up on his hands. Then, with Wildchild still in obvious pain, Flesher begins pulling himself to the ropes. The crowd begins chanting, “WILD-CHILD! WILD-CHILD!” to fire the Tropical Tumbler up, but Flesher ignores them as he reaches out and grabs the middle rope with both hands. Even as the fans continue chanting for Wildchild, many begin booing Flesher as he flagrantly abuses the no-disqualification provision of the ladder match rules, increasing the pressure of the Cross Lightning hold with every second that goes by! Wildchild sits up, crying out in pain, but Flesher simply keeps the hold on! Remorseless, he holds himself off the mat completely, trying to destroy his opponent’s leg! “Flesher is using a practice that is… questionable, at best,” says Cyclone Comet, an air of concern permeating his even voice. “This may be a ladder match, but of course certain techniques are illegal for the safety of the competitors, and I worry that this may be one of them.” “You’re the one who keeps telling me there aren’t any rules, bucko,” Riley replies. “If you want to say that, then say it, but stick to your guns.” “Well, there’s a difference between…” “A little consistency, Comet. That’s all I ask.” Flesher continues the hold, and finally, much to the dismay of the fans, Wildchild collapses onto the mat! The fans groan, not disappointed in Wildchild for passing out, but disappointed that the end came from such a clear abuse of the rules! Flesher releases the hold, and with the fans booing, walks over to the corner to get the ladder. The camera zooms in on Wildchild, who carefully opens one eye and watches Flesher’s motion. “Is he…?” Riley asks, incredulous. “Shh! I think he is,” whispers Comet, “and keep your mouth shut about it. You wouldn’t want Wildchild ruining your possum act.” Flesher carries the ladder to the middle of the ring and sets it up, ignoring any sign of motion from Wildchild. The Caribbean Cruiser, for his part, stays completely still, being very careful not to draw attention to himself. Flesher begins climbing the ladder, getting a few steps up as Wildchild shuffles a few feet at a time to it. As Flesher nears the halfway mark of the ladder, Wildchild sits up and grabs him by the ankle! He stands up, trying to pull Flesher down off the ladder, but the former World Champion holds tightly to the ladder. Wildchild yanks even harder, though, and pulls Flesher to the mat. Tom lands comfortably on his feet and steps into a shotei. He nails Wildchild, who staggers backwards. Flesher catches him, however, before he can hit the ropes – once again, making sure Wildchild moves where he wants him to at the speed he wants him to. Holding his adversary by the wrist, Flesher pivots and whips WC into the corner! Wildchild hits hard, and Flesher follows him in at top speed, nailing him with a Yakuza kick! Wildchild absorbs the impact and, failing to support himself on the ropes, falls onto his BUTT in the corner. Immediately, the fans begin to boo as Flesher cocks his leg and plants his boot firmly on the face of the Bahama Bomber! He scrapes his boot across Wildchild’s face, and the cruiser puts his hands up to try to cover his face from further assault. Flesher, though, callously kicks his hands away and bootscrapes him again! Wildchild once again tries to defend the bootscrape, but Flesher kicks him stiffly in the jaw. He backs up six or seven steps and then sprints back to the corner, nailing Wildchild in the face so hard that Flesher nearly flies out of the ring! He grabs the middle rope and pulls himself back into the ring, dusting himself off and politely golf-clapping for himself. Once again, the crowd boos him loudly. “Tom Flesher is taking control of this match and running with it!” says Bobby Riley. “Let me tell you, I can’t stand the kid, but it’s nice to see him back and working for the win.” “You make a good point,” says Comet. “Flesher is showing the element of killer instinct that he has been lacking recently, and in so doing has taken control of the match. However, one cannot say with certainty that the fans or the commissioner are enjoying this display by the Superior One.” With Wildchild neutralized, however, Flesher couldn’t care less how the fans feel about his strategy. He strolls over to the ladder and begins climbing, starting to make his way toward the briefcase. He climbs a few steps up, and Wildchild sees him, realizing that he needs to stop Flesher from reaching the top of the ladder. Flesher scrambles up the ladder, getting closer to the top with every passing second. Wildchild, desperate, slides out to the ring apron. As Flesher sees him out of the corner of his eye, Wildchild runs on adrenaline and grabs the top rope. He pulls himself onto the cable and leaps off, then nails the side of the ladder with a springboard dropkick! With a look of terror on his face, Flesher feels the ladder falling to the side, teetering like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. With nowhere to go, Flesher simply holds on to the ladder as it falls to the side. The side of the ladder lands on the top rope, and Flesher falls to the concrete with a splat! The fans burst into cheers as Wildchild gets back to his feet, leaning against the ropes to try to regain his stamina. “And young Dominic LaCroix sends Tom Flesher to the outside with a clever use of one of the six simple machines, the lever!” shills Comet. “Sadly, I cannot foresee Wildchild incorporating the inclined plane or the hydraulic press into this match, but remember, fans, THERE is your reason to study during wood shop.” “Screw wood shop,” sneers Riley. “There’s nothing wrong with taking home ec. The skills are so much more useful!” “Is that where you got that frilly apron, Robert?” “Bite me.” “I would, but I doubt you’d be as tender as your pie crust, no matter how flaky you show yourself to be each and every time you open your mouth.” Wildchild, with his wind back, moves the ladder to a neutral corner as Flesher begins to crawl toward another cornerpost. The Human Hurricane sees him and his eyes light up. He pumps his fist in the air and sprints toward the corner opposite the ladder. He climbs to the top turnbuckle, and the fans go absolutely crazy as he begins to sprint across the top rope! He demonstrates catlike reflexes and the balance of an experienced tightrope walker as he runs down the rope and reaches the turnbuckle, then leaps off! He dives onto Flesher, somersaulting in the air and coming down onto his back with a flying splash! Flesher flattens out on the thin matting of the concrete, and the fans stand up, chanting “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” “And there’s the Andros Dive!” shouts Cyclone Comet. “This man is willing to put his own body on the line and do whatever it takes to win this match, regardless of the fact that he has no idea what might even be in that briefcase!” “I’m thinking it’s probably a diamond-studded Rolex,” says Riley. “Maybe it’s the keys to a PT Cruiser or something, though.” “You’re a month late on that,” Comet deadpans. “What? Next you’ll be telling me they canceled the Escape from Alcatraz match!” Flesher and Wildchild stay on the matting for a few more seconds, with each man having expended a significant portion of his energy. Wildchild, however, gets back to his feet much more quickly. Flesher stays on the concrete floor in a heap, his chest heaving as he tries to regain his senses. Wildchild looks into the ring and sees the ladder in the corner, and then looks across the ring to see the two other ladders standing side by side. One is the size of the ladder already in the ring; one is several feet taller. Wildchild knows which one he wants. “And Wildchild makes a beeline for the higher ladder!” says Comet. “He’s going for the one that will bring him closer to the briefcase and make it easier to get the prize therein.” “Oh, he just wants to jump off it and break his neck, the little tool,” says Riley. “I tell ya, it’s all fun and games until somebody loses an eye.” Wildchild folds the extra-tall ladder in half and slides it into the ring a few feet at a time. All the while, Tom Flesher stays on the outside, starting to get back to his feet. WC slides back into the ring and lifts the ladder, setting it up in the center. He moves it a few feet, making sure to adjust it so that it’s directly under the briefcase. Flesher, meanwhile, reaches Kilroylike over the apron, looking in to see his adversary near the ladder. Wildchild begins his climb, ascending slowly due to fatigue and the lingering effects of the Cross Lightning leglock. He takes a few steps as Flesher slides into the ring and crawls toward the ladder. Still hurting from the Andros Dive, the Superior One staggers toward the ladder and reaches for Wildchild’s ankle just as the Tropical Tumbler pulls it out of reach! He continues climbing, and Flesher pulls himself a few feet off the mat, reaching again for his opponent’s leg. He manages to snag it this time and pulls himself to his feet, then tries to pull Wildchild off the ladder again! The Island Warrior, though, holds tightly to the steel frame of the ladder. Flesher tries even harder to yank him once again to the mat, but Wildchild keeps his grip. When Flesher finally relents, Wildchild jumps off of his own accord and spins around, nailing Flesher in the temple with a well-placed gamengiri! Flesher staggers backwards as Wildchild lands on his feet on the mat. He backs into the ropes and bounces back slightly, moving forwards and walking right into an armdrag takeover that puts him squarely on the mat! Wildchild gets back to his feet and sprints across the ring, hitting the ropes and bouncing off. As Flesher lays on the mat, Wildchild leaps over him and hits the opposite ropes, then springs off the middle one! He arches back, landing on Flesher with an Asai moonsault and drawing cheers from the crowd! “Asai moonsault, and Tom Flesher’s wind has been knocked right out of him!” shouts Comet. “Wildchild maintains his composure and his balance, and it leads him to putting the Superior Citizen flat on his back!” “Ooooooh, so he can flip and flop. Big freaking deal. If I wanted to watch diving, I’d turn on figure skating!” Flesher stays on the mat, and Wildchild makes his way over to the ladder. Once again, he starts his ascent. This time, however, he stops a few feet up to shake out the left leg. He hops back down to the mat and, looking concerned, checks the range of motion on the leg. Flesher lays on the mat, still motionless, as Wildchild worriedly makes sure his leg will bear weight. A few seconds later, he starts back up the ladder. This time, he climbs more confidently, though just as slowly. Flesher sits up, groggy, and once again looks up to see Wildchild on the ladder. He shakes his head and stands up, frantic to get to the ladder… before dropping to one knee and holding onto his ribs. The fans burst into cheers! Wildchild, though, continues climbing, determined to make it to the top of the ladder! “Come on, Wildchild!” shills Cyclone Comet. “You can make it! The briefcase is within your reach!” Flesher, running on adrenaline, presses on, standing back up and grabbing the ladder. He shakes it, but Wildchild is unaffected. With the first line of defense cracked, Flesher moves on to plan B and begins to scale the ladder himself! He reaches up, holding on to Wildchild’s ankle and trying to keep him from making it any further up the ladder. Wildchild tries to continue climbing, but the extra 213 pounds are too much. Flesher quickly pulls himself up to his level and… “Oh my,” murmurs Comet. “Alright!” grins Riley. … grabs Wildchild around the hips, slapping on an airtight waistlock! As the fans gasp in unison, Flesher plants his feet on one of the rungs and arches backwards, pulling the Bahama Bomber off of the ladder and sending him slamming into the mat with a German suplex! The fans break into an “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” chant as Flesher and Wildchild remain on the mat, neither competitor moving aside from the rising and falling of his chest! “Tom Flesher executes a picture-perfect German suplex that takes Wildchild off of the ladder,” says Comet. “Both men hit the mat hard, and judging by the amount of damage each man has had to absorb, it could be a coin flip to decide who will make it to his feet first!” “Even so, Tom Flesher is in better shape,” says Riley. “Wildchild’s leg is really going to hamper him for the rest of the match, while Flesher’s minor back problems coming back to haunt him is nothing new. He’s worked through it before and I’m sure he’s going to fight his way back to the top and open the briefcase of mystery!” “You know, I’ve been thinking,” says Comet, “and I think the briefcase contains two tickets plus arrangements for accommodations in Jamaica. One of these men will have earned a well-deserved vacation after fighting through hell to win this match!” “Oh?” Riley rolls his eyes. “And who’s he going to take with him, Ann Onita?” “Amy Craven, obviously.” Flesher rolls over onto his stomach. He pushes himself up to his knees as the stunned Wildchild lays on the mat, still not moving. Flesher takes a second to shake his head, trying to shrug off the cobwebs. He pulls himself to his feet, using the ladder, and staggers for a few steps to make sure he’s still able to continue. “And Flesher is showing that perhaps his niggling back problems and the general beating he’s taken throughout this match may be more of a problem than you think,” Comet says. “He looks as if he’s been to hell and back, and he’s nowhere near ready to wrap this match up.” “You’ll see soon enough, when he gets to the top and brings that briefcase back to the mat with him. Then Grand Slam will open it up, and you know what’s going to be in there?” “I honestly have no idea.” “Nazi gold. I’m telling ya, it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Comet raises an eyebrow and starts to speak, but thinks better of it. Flesher, finally able to continue, walks over to WC, who is now slowly beginning to stir. Flesher grabs him by the hair, lifting him into a front facelock and quickly ducking his head down. Wildchild puts up a weak struggly, but as out of it as he is, he isn’t able to keep Flesher from lifting him into the air. Tom holds him upside down, once again stalling with the Human Hurricane upside down. “Tom takes his time, the Tropical Tumbler turned topsy turvy,” says Comet gravely. “Truly a terrible travail.” “Come on,” groans Riley. “You agreed to avoid alliteration.” “Always,” says Comet. All the while, Flesher holds Wildchild upside down, and finally falls to the mat! He sends Wildchild crashing to the canvas with an absolutely skull-crushing brainbuster! The fans boo as Wildchild flattens out on the mat, and Flesher simply sits up. He rests for a second, still beat-up, and holds on to the ladder. He begins to climb, moving slowly. “Flesher, of course, is fatigued as badly as Wildchild is,” says Comet. “Though slightly more mobile, in theory, Flesher’s battered back won’t be anything to write home about.” Nonetheless, Flesher gradually makes his way up the ladder. He climbs slowly but surely, a rung at a time, conquering the ladder half a foot by half a foot. Wildchild lays on the mat, watching but unable to do anything about it. Flesher slowly makes his way up the ladder, finally breaking the halfway point. With that, the Human Hurricane looks up longingly, worried, anguished at the idea that Tom Flesher could be ready to snatch the match away from him. “Flesher’s climbing the ladder,” says Riley, “and he’s getting closer and closer to those tickets for the Yanni concert!” “And they’re fighting FOR that?” Comet cocks an eyebrow. “I’d be more inclined to believe it’s a restraining order against a certain commentator.” “I keep TELLING you, they fired NTD over a YEAR ago!” Wildchild stays on the mat, trying to get to his feet, and the crowd begins to chant for him. “WILD-CHILD! WILD-CHILD!” Flesher leans on the ladder, exhausted, as Wildchild gets to his feet. The fans cheer him on, firing him up as he stands up and ducks under the ropes. Breathing hard, he desperately grabs the top rope and leans back. “WILD-CHILD! WILD-CHILD!” Tom reaches up, continuing his climb, but out of nowhere, Wildchild springs off the top rope and hits him with a dropkick to the side Flesher falls off the ladder, turning in mid-air due to the force of the hit. As Wildchild lands on the mat, relatively unarmed, Flesher overshoots his landing and ends up across the top rope, head hanging over the apron and toward the floor! Wildchild looks up and immediately springs to his feet. Running on adrenaline, he sprints toward Flesher, jumps up and dropkicks him hard in the behind, sending Flesher spilling over the top rope and prompting a cheer from the fans! “And Tom Flesher takes it right in the gluteus maximus,” deadpans Comet. “I’ve never seen anything more exciting in my life,” murmurs Riley. “Wildchild is fired up on the cheers of these fans, but he’s moving much too fast,” Comet continues. “He needs to take a moment to regroup, or else he’ll burn out in no time, and then he’ll never open the briefcase and reveal the lost fifth gospel locked inside.” “You think it’s a Dead Sea scroll?” “Well, it’s certainly not the lost Nazi battle plans for an invasion of Canada.” Flesher lays on the outside, and Wildchild steps toward the ropes. “WILD-CHILD! WILD-CHILD!” Clearly hurting, Wildchild is still inspired by the chants for him. He picks up speed, sprinting to the ropes, and despite a cockeyed run caused by the cramping left leg, he makes a courageous run toward Flesher, who stands up, bleary-eyed and confused, on the concrete! Wildchild jumps, vaulting over the top rope and spinning around in a corkscrew plancha, flying through the air and finally hitting the concrete with a sickening SPLAT as Flesher just barely avoids him! Flesher, barely alive enough to have survived the exertion of sidestepping, makes a point to walk down Wildchild’s body, treading down his spine, before slumping against the apron. “And Tom Flesher comes out ahead, but just barely,” says Comet. “Neither of these two looks very good at the moment, but one of them must continue and climb the ladder for there to be a winner.” “Eh, send ’em both home,” says Riley. “Let’s get the Maori Badass out here to kick some roundeye rump.” Flesher drags himself back into the ring, knowing that with his adversary on the floor he’ll have a significant advantage. Slowly, he moves to the ladder. He drags himself across the canvas, stopping to lean on the ladder in order to catch his breath. “And once again, Flesher shows that he doesn’t have the stamina necessary to climb for the briefcase at this point,” says Comet, a hint of sadness in his voice. “He has all the time in the world to make this climb, but he is simply unable to.” “Come on,” Riley growls. “Flesh, don’t fail me now!” Slowly, Flesher begins the long, slow climb up the skyscraper-like ladder. He moves one rung at a time, a snail’s pace, unable to go any faster. Outside, Wildchild drags himself into the ring, trying desperately to keep up with Flesher. Flesher lurches up, one step at a time as Wildchild drags himself to the opposite side. He begins climbing, relying on his upper body and using his legs only for support as his left leg quivers. Flesher slogs on, and Wildchild, desperate to keep Flesher from winning the match, fights on, climbing faster and faster! Finally, Wildchild and Flesher are face-to-face just below the top of the ladder! Unable to use any of his standard high-flying moves, Wildchild throws a punch that grazes Flesher! Tom answers back with a palm strike, stunning his opponent! They throw strikes back and forth, each man reeling a few times, until Flesher finally grabs Wildchild by the dreadlocks and bashes his head against the steel of the ladder! He neutralizes Wildchild and begins to pull his head through the opening between the rungs! “What on earth could Flesher be doing?” queries Comet. “Watch and learn,” chuckles Riley. “Oh, brother, is this gonna be good.” Flesher, with one hand on each side of Wildchild’s head, pulls him through the ladder and, pausing, uses a precious extra second to bitchslap the Caribbean Cruiser! SMACK!!!! The crowd bursts into a chorus of boos as Flesher climbs up the ladder, bracing on Wildchild’s back in order to continue the climb. At the top, though, he doesn’t reach up for the briefcase. Rather, he reaches over and crosses Wildchild’s legs together at the knee. He threads his arms through, locking his hands and stepping back into Wildchild’s upper back! He pulls back, executing a Superior Stretch in the ladder! The fans begin to chant the familiar… “YOU SUCK DICK! YOU SUCK DICK!” “Tom Flesher ties up the Superior Stretch,” shouts Comet, trying to drown out the loud chanting by the fans, “at the very top of the ladder! Possibly a tactical mistake, as surely in this time he could have reached the briefcase and become the sole owner of the midget dwelling inside.” “You just don’t understand cruiserweight wrestling, Comet,” says Riley haughtily. “Obviously, Flesher is doing this to reassert his dominance over Wildchild, as well as further working on that left leg. You’ve already seen it begin to cramp… why would you assume Flesher wouldn’t try to destroy it completely?” “Well, for one, I think Flesher just wants to get to the briefcase.” “Why? It’s so much more fun to beat on a gymnast who thinks he can wrestle,” Riley says. “Besides, you and I both know the only thing in that briefcase is the registration and insurance paperwork for Coy West’s RV.” “My money is on a certificate for a free briefcase,” says Comet. “That one’s looking very beat-up.” Flesher continues forcing Wildchild’s legs backwards, even as WC grimaces in pain. He braces his arms on the rung of the ladder just below him and flails his legs, trying to pump hard enough to kick Flesher off! However, the pain and distraction of having Flesher standing on his back is simply too much for Wildchild, whose face screws up into a mask of agony. He grabs the rung below him and, one more time, tightens his grip. Knowing that he doesn’t have much more left, he resolves to make this one count. He kicks his legs, using every ounce of strength left in his body, and finally succeeds! Flesher is pulled over the top, and as he tries to hold on to Wildchild’s legs to stay on the ladder, the Caribbean Cruiserweight kicks once more to send him crumbling to the mat in a heap! Immediately, the crowd begins chanting again… “WILD-CHILD! WILD-CHILD!” “And the fans are on their feet!” says Cyclone Comet as the Bahama Bomber shimmies backwards and plants his feet back on the ladder. Shaken up, he tries to stay calm but can’t help pumping his fist to get the crowd going again! The crowd absolutely explodes, cheering Wildchild on as he steps up one more rung! He looks down, however, and sees Tom Flesher getting back to his feet. With a deep breath, Wildchild does the only thing he can do. He moonsaults. The fans say nothing as Wildchild arches backwards, floating backwards as if on air. The flashbulbs pop as time seems to freeze, Wildchild upside down, his back arched perfectly. Flesher stands on the mat, knowing that he’s about to be hit with a devastating move but unable to stop it. On impact, both Flesher and Wildchild hit the mat, one joined, crumbled heap of cruiserweight rubble. The fans burst into cheers. “And Wildchild shows his heart and soul!” shouts Comet. “I fell in love with that heart and soul when he was a rookie in the Junior League, and I knew it would keep him in the game tonight!” “Oh, but it’s okay for HIM to hit Flesher instead of going for the briefcase containing tickets to the Super Bowl?” “Why would he want Super Bowl tickets, Robert? The game started hours ago.” Riley raises an eyebrow. “Uh…. Well…. Ah, shove it up your ass and die.” “I doubt the briefcase will fit, and in any case it’s quite high in the air.” Meanwhile, Bobby whimpers, “What am I going to do with MY tickets?” Wildchild gets up, moving as Comet said on heart and soul alone. He gets to the ladder, seeming to be miles in the air, and starts to climb. His chest heaves up and down as he ascends, showing his excitement and fatigue. Flesher, however, isn’t willing to let him climb all the way up. He follows him to the ladder, battered but unwilling to give up. He chases Wilchild a few feet up and grabs his leg, trying to hold him down. Wildchild kicks him away with his right leg, but as soon as he does, Flesher grabs on to the left ankle again and tries to pull him down. He succeeds in dragging the Tropical Tumbler down two rungs, but Wildchild kicks him frantically. Trying to save his own neck, WC boots Flesher desperately and manages to kick him away. Flesher, defeated, hits the ropes. Knowing he can’t compete with Wildchild on the same ladder, Flesher sprints over to the corner where the second, smaller ladder is propped up. Moving as quickly as he can, he drags it to the center of the ring and sets it up! Wildchild pauses, staring quizzically at Flesher and wondering if he’s gone absolutely batty. Flesher, however, gets the ladder set up and begins climbing. With his second wind, Flesher begins climbing. Rung by rung, he catches up with Wildchild and slugs him in the back of the head with a palm! Wildchild tries to kick Flesher off with his closest leg, but Flesher grabs on to the other ladder for support! Wildchild stuns him again with a kick, but Flesher turns to face him, holding the ladder with one hand and resting one foot on the rung with the others in the air. Wildchild faces Flesher the same way, trying to kick him away. Tom, though, catches the leg and tries to hit a dragon screw! The fans gasp, but Wildchild holds on to the ladder and hits a gravity-defying kick to the side of the head with his free leg! As the fans and the commentators gasp, Wildchild kicks his other leg up above Flesher’s shoulder and crosses his ankles behind his head! Flesher panics, knowing exactly what’s happening, but Wildchild shows no remorse! He releases his grip on the ladder and falls backwards, executing a picture-perfect hurricanrana from the ladder to the mat! Both wrestlers land on the canvas, and the fans burst into another chant… “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” “Wildchild counters with the only thing he could do,” says Cyclone Comet, “and executes a rana from the top of the ladder to the canvas! I think Flesher might be DEAD!” “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” Flesher lays on the mat, with Wildchild on top of him. Wildchild stands up, shaking out his left knee. He looks uncomfortable, but starts back to the ladder. He realizes, however, that he can’t move as fast as he normally could. He feels as if something is dragging him away. He looks down and sees Tom Flesher, clinging to his leg to keep him from getting to the ladder! The fans boo as Flesher holds on to the injured leg, keeping Wildchild from winning the match. Wildchild tries to kick him away, but Flesher stands up, still holding the leg. Wildchild, caught on one leg, simply hops ineffectually as Flesher falls to the side, executing a dragon screw! Wildchild, hoping to minimize the impact, rolls through, whipping Flesher to the mat with him! Flesher, in desperation, moves his grip up his opponent’s leg, hooking him at the knee. He continues up Wildchild’s body, finally hooking him behind the head while threading the other arm through his thighs. The Bahama Bomber backs away and plants his feet, trying to escape Flesher’s grip, but the Superior One maintains his hold and stands up with his opponent. Keeping the hand behind Wildchild’s head, Flesher slams a hand back down with another meathook strike! WIldchild, fatigued and stunned, is unable to fight as Flesher snags an arm, threads it through his legs and arches back with his pumphandle exploder ’98! Wildchild hits the mat with the crown of his head and falls forward, finally coming to rest on his back! “Logical Disconnect!” shouts Riley. “Clearly, if Flesher and Wildchild are in the ring together, then I like whiskey! It’s disconnected, baby!” “I swear, Robert, you’re just one walking, talking nonsequitur.” “You’re only saying that because I’m black.” Flesher, tired but invigorated by the excitement of having nearly broken his opponent’s neck, moves toward the ladder. Oddly, he drags Wildchild with him, and much to the crowd’s chagrin, he lifts the Caribbean Cruiser onto his oxlike shoulders as he begins to climb the ladder. “What in the name of Moses is Flesher doing?” asks Cyclone Comet. “By carrying Wildchild with him, he’s only increasing the amount of weight to carry up that enormous ladder in order to reach the briefcase and the pair of thong underwear in it.” “Mistress Sarah’s?” Riley speculates. “None other.” Flesher, a look of determination on his face, carries Wildchild all the way up the ladder, slowly. Rung by rung, he hauls the Human Hurricane like a sack of potatoes up the ladder, bringing him to the top of the world and looking down on creation. At the zenith of the ladder, Flesher sits Wildchild on the top and pauses, throwing a stiff palm strike. A few of the fans, knowing what’s coming, begin to cheer, and a few boo as loudly as they can… because now, Tom Flesher reaches up and applies a front facelock. “No,” gasps Comet. “No, he wouldn’t dream of using that move from that high up! He may be a bully, he may be a jerk, but Tom Flesher is not a homicidal maniac! No, he wouldn’t…” “He would!” beams Bobby Riley. “He’s got it all set up, and now, from the top of the ladder to the canvas, we’re going to see the Boilermaker to end all Boilermakers!” Riley cackles, and Comet simply sighs plaintively. Flesher tightens his grip. He looks out at the crowd, a hint of fear in his eyes. He seems to be remembering the last time he nearly hit the Boilermaker in a match, when Ejiro Fasaki countered it with an Orange Crush at the Christmas pay-per-view to take away the SWF World Championship. He takes a deep breath, stirring up all the constitution he can muster, and closes his eyes. WHAM!!!! The crowd bursts into cheers as Wildchild throws a stiff right forearm blow, staggering the unsuspecting Flesher! They scream out loud as he lands another one, but holds the teetering Superior One as he nearly falls off the ladder! The fans begin to chant again… “WILD-CHILD! WILD-CHILD!” as the Bahamaniac stands up and, without wasting a second, dives over Flesher! He hooks him around the waist as he executes a picture-perfect sunset flip, balancing out as he falls at terminal velocity to the mat! He bends his knees, pulling Flesher over and dragging him down into a power bomb! The fans scream! They yell! They leap to their feet! They chant! “WILD-CHILD! WILD-CHILD!” SPLAT!!!! Flesher lands on the mat, slamming down on his back, neck and shoulders, and the fans go absolutely apeshit! “BAHAMA BOMB!!!!!” screams Comet. “WILDCHILD, THE HUMAN HURRICANE, HITS THE BAHAMA BOMB OFF THE TOP OF THE LADDER! HE COUNTERS THE BOILERMAKER AND NAILS THE BAHAMA BOMB! ALL HE HAS TO DO IS CLIMB THE LADDER!” “And get the sweet, sweet pudding within, right?” Riley grumbles. “Come on, Tom, get up!” Wildchild stands up, his eyes lighting up with joy. He puts one foot on the ladder, then brings the other up to the next rung. As he climbs, the fans stand up, applauding unanimously. Mark Stevens, at the timekeeper’s table, joins them in the standing ovation. As Wildchild reaches the apex, Tom Flesher sits up, hazy, groggy. He sees his opponent standing on top of the ladder, reaching for the steel cable holding the briefcase and unclipping it. Flesher, realizing that he has no hope, hangs his head. He slides back to a neutral corner, looking as if he’s about to be sick. Unopposed, Wildchild climbs down the ladder, holding the briefcase, and Mark Stevens motions for the bell to be rung. DING DING DING!!!! “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens walks to the ring, climbing the stairs in. Flesher slides under the bottom rope, crouching in a heap on the floor and trying to stay out of the camera’s way. His head hangs in shame, even as Grand Slam enters the ring with a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Mark Stevens, “the winner of this match… WIIIIIIILDCHILD!!!!!!!” The fans, once again, applaud. “There is, however, one more matter to attend to,” says a smiling Grand Slam, reaching into his suit coat pocket and withdrawing a small key. “The briefcase,” Comet reminds the audience. “Come on,” says Riley. “It’s just the Book of Todd. You and I both know that.” “Now,” Stevens continues, looking at the absolutely exhausted Wildchild leaning against the ladder, “I know that you were disappointed when I told you that the Light Heavyweight Title would not be making its return tonight. Unfortunately, as I’m sure Comet and Riley informed the home viewers, El Luchadore Magnifico took it with him when he returned to Mexico. Therefore, I can only hope that this consolation prize will make you as happy as the Light Heavyweight Title would have.” Stevens puts the key into the lock and unlocks it. Leaving the briefcase closed, he hands it to Wildchild. “I’d be pleased if you’d do the honors, Dominic.” Wildchild savors the moment, bittersweet. He is, without a doubt, the best cruiserweight wrestler in the SWF, but what trophy could mean nearly as much as the Light Heavyweight Title? He opens the briefcase… and his eyes light up. His jaw drops, and he drops the briefcase to the mat, pulling out his prize. The brand-new SWF Cruiserweight Championship belt! The crowd, simply put, explodes! Wildchild holds the belt in the air as Cyclone Comet shouts, “YOUR WINNER AND NEW SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION, WILDCHILD! WHO CAN BELIEVE IT?! DOMINIC LACROIX FOUGHT HIS WAY UP FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE LADDER AND TONIGHT HE TAKES HOME A BRAND-NEW TITLE BELT! FOLLOWING IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF EL LUCHADORE MAGNIFICO, HE DEFEATS THE DOMINANT TOM FLESHER IN A LADDER MATCH AND TAKES HOME THE GOLD!!!!!” Grand Slam steps forward, smiling. “May I?” He takes the belt and, with Wildchild’s permission, straps it around the Caribbean Cruiserweight Champion’s waist! The crowd continues applauding as Grand Slam raises Wildchild’s arm, and the two men embrace. “Thank you, Dominic, for giving your heart and soul to the SWF. Defend the belt honorably, and in good health.” Wildchild, still too stunned and thrilled to speak, raises his arms once more. He and Stevens walk up the aisle, one after the other, and to the back. The crowd quiets down. Flesher, for his part, finally stands up. His head hung low, his hands on his hips, he looks not so much in disbelief but simply disappointed in himself. He shakes his head sadly, seeing the Cruiserweight Championship slip through his fingers. Then, with nothing else to do, he begins the lonely stroll up the ramp. The fans applaud Flesher, once again cheering him despite the boos during the match. In fact, as he walks slowly up the ramp and to the curtain, they stand. They applaud him for fighting for the win, fighting even in defeat. They applaud him for putting his body on the line, not even knowing that if he won he’d have once again reigned atop the light heavyweight division. As Flesher walks through the curtain, he leaves a standing ovation and walks into the cold silence of defeat.

Oh, you're one of those Amish people.

Obviously the answer is to stop writing promos entirely.

Hear hear. Martinis for all.

I'm so glad I didn't have to write the fuck this year. It would have made my brain hurt like no other.

I try.

Oh, Wildchild. There's always Cutthroat.

10,165 and in just at the buzzer. Judging by WC's wordcount and his standard quality even if he's hepped up on goofballs, we're going to give King another migraine. I can hope, anyway.

Just take some valium. It'll help.

6,081 so far. Not nearly finished.

Ehhh. I still hate Batista.

I GET MY PONY?! ::skips around the room singing the "My Little Pony" theme::

First Elimination: Spike Winner: Grappler Matthews Pin Scored On: Janus Final 3: Janus, Grappler, Dace Final Word Count: 24,350 No-shows: Twelve

For a promo that was put together mostly through the effort of others, it was an excellent read. If not a writer, you're an excellent research librarian.

You mostly jobbed to Mr. Bukkake. He's like Mr. Galatea, only moreso.

Rando, the rules of the Clusterfuck clearly state that Xero's stats are to be fudged. He's 212 pounds and does nothing but DDTs and leg lariats. His theme is "Master of Puppets" because that's what I remember it being briefly. I command you to wipe his stats from your memory effective immediately.

Haven't started yet, but it warms my heart to see my slogan being used.

"The Superior One" Tom Flesher vs. The Wildchild - No prediction, but the briefcase contains spoiler text not functioning Sacred vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix - Sacred, because as much as I like Landon, it's fucking Sacred. CLUSTERFUCK 4. Dace Night - Just call it a hunch. "Deathwish" Danny Williams vs. Va'aiga - I think Danny's just got this one. Va'aiga's good, but Danny's just that much better. ::holds hands an arm's length apart::

It's a secret club and you're not invited. *Replaces Puroresu board title with 'The Ancient Society of No Spikes'*

*adds a section to his match in which Thugg inexplicably appears in the ring, only to be thrown over the top by Shortdogger Ian*