Ace309

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, hey, that'd save space too.

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

Hey, look! A discussion broke out over here!

Yeah, but is he tenured?

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

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

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

Some cad called opening promo.

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

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

An additional promo has been added.

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

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

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF SMARKDOWN! Live, Monday, August 14th, from Rexall Place in Edmonton, Alberta! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- MAIN EVENT - TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS Charlie "Grappler" Matthews and Tom Flesher ©© vs. Two Skinny White Guys (Michael Stephens © and Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix) --> After ripping the tag division apart one by one, Two Skinny White Guys have been groomed to challenge the absolutely magnificent team of Matthews and Flesher! Will the new Cruiserweight Champion defeat his number-one contender? Can he show the Heavyweight Champion that his challenge was for real? Or will Charlie Matthews' oft-injured neck come back to bite him again? It's the top talent in the SWF today, and it's YOUR main event! Rules: Standard. USE THE TAG ROPES! Word Limit: 6000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP - I QUIT MATCH Bruce Blank © vs. "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu (#1 Contender) --> Pop the colla, Bruce Blank! He's being remade and conducting himself as befits one of the SWF's top competitors. He's straying from his ultraviolent past, but this I Quit match might bring out the best in him... or the worst. Akira Kaibatsu won this contendership at Ground Zero, but promptly lost a Returning Contestant Decision match to Spike Jenkins, who waits in the wings for the winner of this match! Who gets the... uh, honor? Yes, that'll do.... of fighting the Spoon? Rules: A stick mic will be available for the wrestlers' use. The first wrestler to make his opponent say "I Quit" into the microphone wins the match and the International Championship. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Evolution -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- #1 CONTENDER MATCH - WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP Jimmy the Doom © vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke --> After a lengthy absence from the SWF, Jay Hawke made a triumphant return to his former glory by outlasting Bruce Blank in a ten-minute Hardcore Challenge on Lockdown! Joe Peters was so impressed that he decided to give Hawke a chance to fight his way back to the top of the rankings by facing off with top-ranked Jimmy the Doom! Rules: Standard. This is NOT an order of contendership match - only the winner becomes #1 Contender. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: hhh6294 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT MATCH Birdman vs. "Iron" Mike Cross --> Birdman made an impressive return on Lockdown, dispatching Martin Hunt in his usual fashion. Michael Cross didn't have as much luck, as he suffered a tough loss to Tom Flesher via the King Cobra submission. Two talented cruiserweights face off, and the winner? The Fans! God, that was terrible. Rules: Standard with cruiserweight addenda. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Longdogger_Pete -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- MOVIN' ON UP! TO THE EAST SIDE! Nemesis vs. "The Ace" Pierre Donette --> Pierre Donette was slated to wrestle a dark match on Lockdown, and because it was a dark match, it wasn't seen on the television broadcast. Nonetheless, Joe Peters is impressed with his natural talent and sees him as someone who could be at the top of the promotion. Nemesis - the Nemeses? - is coming off a strong win against Manson, and is looking to move up the card. This is going to be a barnburner for sure! Rules: Standard Word Limit: 4500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- OPENING BOUT JJ Johnson vs. Manson --> JJ requested this match. Frankly, since he's ranked so low, we figured we'd throw him a bone. Rules: Standard Word Limit: 4000 Send to: hhh6294 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: Dual Champion Tom Flesher! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NOTES: As always, if you want a match, request it in this thread and see if you have a taker.

“Ladies and gentlemen it is now time for the main event of the evening!” YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! “This match is a special 10 minute Hardcore challenge” Funyon explains as the Canadian crowd cheers for the big man. ”Into the distance, a ribbon of black Stretched to the point of no turning back” “Introducing first the man that just has to survive the match for 10 minutes. From the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing in at 215 pounds...he is a 2 times International Champion, "The Dean of Professional Wrestling"...JAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWKE!!” JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! ”A flight of fancy on a windswept field Standing alone my senses reeled” A single spotlights shines on the Dean of Professional Wrestling as he walks down the aisle with the extravagant robe sparkling in the lights as a confident looking Jay Hawke strides towards the ring. “He’s looking pretty sure of himself considering what he’s about to get into” Mak says as Hawke walks up the ring steps. “A guy with his credentials can never be considered an underdog Mak, never” King replies. “But his credentials are all from WRESTLING, this won’t be anything like that at all it’ll be an all out fight” Mak points out referring to the nature of tonight’s challenge. ”A fatal attraction holding me fast, how Can I escape this irresistible grasp?” Hawke steps into the ring, still wearing his robe as the crowd mercilessly boos him as he arrogantly tugs on the top rope to test it’s strength. Funyon waits for his cue and then puts the microphone up to his mouth once more. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND his opponent, hailing from Mobile Alabama he is the reigning SWF International Champion, the self-proclaimed “King of Pain” BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!” WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! ”Well every time that I come home nobody wants to let me be Seems that all the friends I got just got to come interrogate me Well I appreciate your feelings and I don't want to pass you by But I don’t ask you about your business don't ask me about mine” The jeers and the boos intensify as the big man steps through the curtains, show shovel in one hand, chain wrapped around the other as he looks fired up and ready to tear someone limb from limb. Despite the efforts of both Joseph Peters and St. John Smith Bruce is wearing his usual wrestling outfit complete with blood spattered jeans and the beat up cowboy hat. “Coming out armed, that’s very smart” King says admiring Bruce for not screwing around. “He certainly looks fired up King” Mak comments as Bruce puts the censors on overtime by stating a few home truths about his opponent. “This could very well be his last Hardcore match in a very long time, he’s going to make the most of it” King explains. “Hawke is in major trouble” is the only conclusion Mak can come to. ”Well it's true I love the money And I love my brand new car I like drinking the best of whiskey Playin’ in a Honky Tonk bar” WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! “Neither of these seem to really connect well with the fans” Mak says as he tries to figure out if he should just call Bruce “Controversial” and claim that he’s really the fan favorite tonight or not. “Bah these sheep wouldn’t know a good wrestler if he walked up to them and hit them over the head with a bat” Hawke doesn’t look perturbed by the weapons that Bruce are brandishing but instead gets right in the International champion’s face and starts to tell him how he thinks the world should be run. Bruce just grins as he grips the chain even tighter, chomping at the bit to get this match underway. When Bruce turns his head to demand that referee Eddy Long rings the bell Jay Hawke becomes a flurry of action as he pulls a lead pipe out from the sleeve of the robe and swings at Bruce *THUD!* Fortunately for Bruce he’s able to shift his weight enough to avoid being hit in the head by the lead pipe but he does take a very hard blow to the left shoulder, a blow so hard that it knocks the big man down instantly. Hawke yells at the referee that he needs to ring the bell and then grins when he hears it. * DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!* [09:59] Jay doesn’t seem to be in too great of a hurry as he slowly unties the belt on his robe and then takes it off. Once it’s completely off Hawke throws the robe over Bruce’s head before striking the big man in the back 2 more times with the lead pipe. “Well damn I didn’t expect Hawke to take the advantage right off the bat” Mak says with surprise as Hawke casually puts his boot on the side of Bruce’s face and pushes the big man back to the ground again. “He’s Jay Freaking Hawke Mak, his mind is his greatest weapon” King says “You don’t think he was coming out here unprepared? I’ll bet you anything that he’s watched all of Bruce’s Hardcore matches so that he knows what to expect” the King says as Hawke saunters around Bruce, not attacking just taking his sweet time in there. “Hiding a lead pipe didn’t hurt either” “Never has Mak, it never has” The Dean of Professional wrestling stands with one foot on either side of Bruce’s body as he bends down and slides the lead pipe under Bruce’s throat, making sure that the robe is still covering his face. Then with a grace and elegance hardly ever seen in Hardcore matches Hawke drops backwards onto his posterior pulling back on the lead pipe and thus also Bruce’s head as he begins to choke out the King of Pain. “He’s not going to just sit back and let the time run out Mak! Hawke is here to beat Bruce at his own game!” King says excitedly as the crowd boos Hawke’s antics JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! We can’t see Bruce’s face but if we could it would probably be turning blue right about now as Hawke has Bruce’s airflow expertly cut off with the lead pipe. The big man searches the canvas blindly hoping to find something to help him break out of the choke hold before it’s too late. Bruce gets his hand on the snow shovel, grabs it and then blindly swings it over his head catching Hawke on the side of the head with it. *BWAP!* Hawke releases his hold on the lead pipe and falls backwards clutching the right side of his head in agony. Blank gets up on his knees, throws the robe to one side and then stares at Hawke with murder in his eyes as his facial color returns to normal now that he can breathe again. “He can’t rest for too long here King, he’s on a very tight deadline” Mak says. “Look at Jay, he’s got all the time in the world” King says with a grin as Hawke rolls to the floor to try and get the spots out of his vision. “Oh of course HE does” Mak says with a disgusted snort. When Bruce gets back to his feet he immediately rushes over and tries to grab Hawke by the hair before he gets too far away from the ring. Hawke quickly counters by poking the big man in the eyes and then reaches in to sweep Bruce’s massive legs. With a mischievous grin Hawke pulls Bruce over to the corner and then rams the big man’s right leg into the ringpost *SMACK!!* After bouncing the knee off the steel Hawke twists one of Bruce’s legs over in front of the other, hooks it with his own and then falls backwards while locking a ring post assisted figure four on Bruce Blank. “TOTALLY LEGAL!” King yells out before Mak can even complain. “Yeah but not very well applied” Mak points out Hawke is off center thus the pressure on Bruce’s legs is not really that great but that doesn’t seem to bother the Dean of Wrestling as he holds on to Bruce’s foot as he lays back on the mat. “Does he look like he cares Mak?” King says as Hawke taps the side of his head “Oh you bastard! You cheap bastard!” “What did I do now Mak?” King replies in confusion. “Not you, him, Hawke – he’s just stalling for time now” Mak says as the camera catches a shot of Hawke peaking at the clock on the SWF-Tron [07:30] Tries as he might Bruce can’t shake Hawke off, his legs are trapped around the ring post unless he can think of a way to get Hawke to break the ringpost assisted figure four. Not being known for his subtlety Bruce does what he does best – reaches for a weapon. This time it’s the heavy steel chain that he grabs and winds around his hand a few times. Hawke has no idea what’s going on in the ring he’s just pleased that the time is ticking by. *WHOOOOOOOOOOOO-CHANG!!* He’s much less pleased with Bruce swinging the chain like it was a whip and striking Hawke across the chest and arm. “Holy shit he could have split Hawke’s head open if he had hit in 5 inches to the right” Mak says with dread in his voice. “That’s one way to break the hold” King calmly calls as Bruce is released from the submission hold. Once he’s free Bruce slides under the bottom rope and gets to the floor. After testing his legs to see how hurt they are Bruce grabs the chain and wraps about half of it around his massive right forearm. The moment Hawke gets back to his feet Bruce comes at him with a steel chain assisted Lariat that Hawke is fortunate enough to duck under and thus save his own hide. Then he grabs the loose end of the chain as Bruce runs past him and pulls on it, only for Bruce to put on the brakes, turn around and totally level Jay Hawke with a left handed Lariat so stiff that it could star in several porn movies. *POW!!* HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! Bruce stands over the fallen Jay Hawke for a moment and rubs his hands in anticipation of the ass kicking he’s planning for his opponent. Bruce wraps the chain tightly around his fist as the crowd boos. WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! Once his fist is sufficiently wrapped up in steel Bruce drops to the ground, driving his fist into Hawke’s forehead. And then again *KA-CHING!!* Bruce doesn’t bother to get up after the second fist drop but instead just rears back and clobbers Hawke once more *KA-CHING!!* “Oh my god he’s going to make mince meat out of Hawke” Mak says as Bruce’s last blow cut Hawke open sending two streaks of crimson running down the Dean of Pro Wrestling’s forehead. “Crap!!” “What’s the matter King?” “Damn it I don’t know if I should root for Hawke or Blank now” King says obviously have a problem picking a favorite in the heel Vs heel match. “Here is an idea, be impartial” Mak says [05:00] When the half way point of the challenge is announce Bruce realizes that he needs to stop toying with Hawke and try to put him away. He grabs Hawke by the hair and the trunks and throws him into the ring only to follow right behind him. Cover!! ONE!! TWOO!! FOOT ON THE ROPES!! Hawke may have had his brains rattled, his head busted open but he’s still connected with what’s going on enough to put his boot on the bottom rope. The foot on the rope pisses Bruce off who quickly hooks the leg previously on the rope and then rolls back putting all his weight on top of Hawke ONE!! TWOO!! THR-KICKOUT!!! Bruce doesn’t bother with a third pin-fall attempt he knows that it’s a lost cause right now and instead gets back to his feet. The frustrated champion grabs Hawke’s discarded robe, gets a good grip on it and then *RRRSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHH!!* “That was a thousand dollar robe!!” King laments as Bruce turns the beautiful robe into rags by tearing it down the middle. “Oh that’s just petty!” But it’s more than just petty as Bruce quickly wraps half of the robe around Hawke’s neck and then pulls his opponent off the mat. With one hand on the remains of the robe to control Hawke and the other on his trunks Bruce has no problems in tossing Hawke over the top rope so that he ends up hanging off the apron by the neck. Bruce tightens his grip on the rope and puts a foot on the middle rope to give him added leverage as he quite literally tries to hang Hawke with his own robe. FUCK YOU BRUCE!! FUCK YOU BRUCE!! FUCK YOU BRUCE!! “I know that there aren’t supposed to be any rules here but that’s too much, someone stop the damn match before we have a fatality in the ring!” Mak yells out wishing that he had the use of his legs so that he could jump in and break it up. “There is only about three minutes or so left and then it’ll be over Mak, just turn your head if it’s too brutal for you. . . cupcake” King says as he laughs. Hawke’s arms and legs flail in desperation as he tries to get some much needed air into his lungs and after a little bit he manages to actually sit on the apron to break the strain on his neck if only for a second. A second is all he needs to slip a hand under the robe noose and loosen it enough to breathe. [02:30] Instead of trying to hang Hawke again Bruce changes tactics and pulls Hawke back inside the ring where he keeps him under control with a series of double axe handle blows to the back of the head that drives the Dean of Pro Wrestling into the canvas. After the axe handles comes the cowboy boot shots to the shoulder and the back of Hawke’s head as Bruce lets lose in a speed hardly ever seen from the big man. “My god Hawke’s face is like three inches UNDER the canvas” “I think Bruce was entirely too damn cocky and arrogant going into this thinking it was no big deal, well it’s a big freaking deal now isn’t it?” Mak exclaims as Bruce tries to inflict the maximum amount of pain in the shorts possible time. “Then he’s an idiot, Hawke wouldn’t have held the title for that long if he couldn’t adapt” King replies. Bruce picks Hawke up, places him on the top turnbuckle with his back to the ring, then he traps Hawke’s right leg under the top turnbuckle and pulls him down into the Tree of Woe, trapped helplessly upside down in the corner. Bruce backs up 4 or 5 steps and then gets a head of steam *WHAM!!* The entire ring shakes as Bruce throws all his weight into Jay Hawke driving his knee into Hawke’s sternum and the side of his cowboy boot into Hawke’s face. Then for good measure he backs up and *WHAM!!* Sandwiches Hawke in the corner once more with a single-minded determination of a level that Bruce hasn’t never displayed before. With the clock rapidly ticking down Bruce takes a moment to roll out of the ring, grab Funyon by the shirt and then toss the big man out of his chair so that Bruce can grab it and use it on Hawke. Meanwhile Hawke is keeping himself busy with 3 things, being trapped upside down, hurting and turning the nice clean canvas corner a ghastly shade of dark crimson as he’s been busted open so badly that blood drips from his hair in large, chilling drops. “Oh man I’m not sure if Hawke will survive this match after all” King says retracting his previously confident statement. “It’s just over a minute or so away but I got to agree with you, it looks really bad” Mak concurs. After tossing the chair into the ring Bruce quickly enters as well, grabbing Hawke’s foot to release him from the ropes, dropping him to the canvas like a bad habit. [01:00] “Don’t toy with him!!” the Suicide King yells out as Bruce puts the chair on top of Hawke as he lays face down on the canvas. Bruce raises his boot and then brings it down hard on the back of the chair *THWACK!* And then a second stomp followed by a third, fourth and fifth *THWACK!* *THWACK!* *THWACK!* *THWACK!* When Bruce turns to the crowd for a second and grins from ear to ear over the pain he’s inflicting on his opponent the crowd totally loses it YOU SICK FUCK!! YOU SICK FUCK!! YOU SICK FUCK!! YOU SICK FUCK!! Bruce kicks the chair off Hawke, rolls him over and then drops to his knees with both hands square on Hawke’s chest. ONE!! TWOO!! THR-HALFANINCH!! Somehow Jay Hawke is actually able to raise his right shoulder about half an inch off the canvas, hardly enough room for an ant to crawl under it but enough to break the count. Bruce quickly drops his entire weight down on Hawke, especially on the right shoulder as he goes for another cover ONE!! TWOO!! THR-HOWTHEHELL?? “I can’t believe Eddy Long didn’t count to three!” King yells out outraged over the officiating “If the shoulder isn’t down you can’t count King” Mak says in a snooty superior voice that makes the Suicide King feel like throttling Mak. [00:30] With Funyon leading the crowd in the count down Bruce almost leaps back to his feet and then grabs the limp, beaten, bloodied Jay Hawke by the hair and tries to pull him up. Hawke demonstrates what the expression “dead weight” means as he’s totally unresponsive as Bruce tries to pull him up to his feet. It’s not until Bruce reaches down and grabs his opponent around the stomach that he’s able to finally move him. “They should just stop this now because Hawke is out!” Mak says “He kicked out, he can’t be totally out of it. . . but I must admit it’s close” King says with a worried tone in his voice as Bruce lifts Jay Hawke up in a power bomb position. [00:15] Bruce manages to steady himself and get Hawke into the correct position with the limp opponent up on his shoulders. [00:10] Bruce runs forward with a running power bomb in mind. [00:09] Aimed straight at the chair Bruce leaps through the air [00:08] Driving Jay Hawke forward in a power bomb position [00:07] *THWACK!!* [00:06] The impact is felt in the first few rows as Jay Hawke strikes the chair back first [00:05] And bounces over on his side from the momentum of it all. [00:04] Bruce grabs Hawke by the shoulder and flips him over [00:03] Frantically covering his opponent as he keeps an eye on the clock hoping to beat it. [00:02] ONE!! [00:01] TWOO!!! [00:00] * DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!* THRE-TOOLATE!! “He pinned Hawke but it was just a second too late to actually matter” Mak explains as the crowd roars in disapproval of Bruce’s antics. “He did it?? I mean HE DID IT!!” King says first surprised, then with confidence “As I predicted all along” Bruce is livid! He’s cannot believe that he was a split second too late and that Jay Hawke just made him look like a giant ass! And Bruce damn well doesn’t need anyone’s help with that! The International Champion just sits on the canvas in a state of shock until the announcement is made. “Ladies and gentlemen Jay Hawke survived the FULL TEN MINUTES!!” Funyon explains as the crowd weren’t sure if the count was actually on time or not. Once the announcement is made Bruce finally snaps out of it and gets back to his feet. He stands there for a moment with his hands on his hips, looking down at Jay Hawke as if he’s trying to figure out what to do. “Man you’ve GOT to respect Hawke for that display, I mean I don’t really like the man but DAMN!” Mak says. “I’ve always respected Jay Hawke, I guess the question is – does Bruce?” King says as they both watch what’s going on in the ring. WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! Bruce stands there for a moment then he turns his back on Hawke and leaves the ring, something which actually draws a pop from the crowd as they all expected Bruce to attack Hawke. Instead he rolls to the floor, grabs the International title off the time keeper’s table and then heads back into the ring with HIS gold under his arm. “What is he doing?” Bruce unstraps the belt and drapes it across the canvas right in front of where Hawke is laying. Then he gets down to one knee, grabs Hawke by the hair and raises his head so that he can see the gold. “You see that? That’s as close as you’ll EVER get to it again!” Bruce says and then punches Hawke in the jaw BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “Oh come on he’s helpless!!” Mak yells out “I can’t really think of a better time to hit someone Mak” King replies. The last shot is Bruce picking up the International title, tapping it before pointing to himself. *Fade*