SJL Wrath, August 13th

[Guest crusen86]

SJL Wrath Tuesday, August 13

Arena: The Fleetcenter in Boston, Massachusetts (where else?)

 

HARDCORE MATCH

Chris Canuck vs. Cutthroat

- Chris Canuck is a n00b (which is why none of you have ever heard of him). He was able to beat Kivell in his match that got him accepted into the SJL, so he should be able to beat Cutthroat. Or will Cutthroat decide that it's time to get serious and start winning? Bah, probably not, but anything’s possible.

- Rules: Hardcore rules. No DQ or countout, pins count anywhere, inside or outside the arena.

 

REMATCH TIME!

Manson vs. Kamikaze

- Manson was infuriated over his loss to the up and coming Kamikaze, and Kamikaze was somewhat unhappy that part of his match disappeared due to technical difficulties. Because of this, Commissioner MacPhisto decided to grant a rematch to pacify these two men. Will the results be the same, or will Manson even the score and gain momentum leading toward his World Title shot?

- Rules: Standard rules, with DQ and countout in full effect. 1st fall wins.

 

EUROPEAN TITLE MATCH

Thor vs. Fugue

- No rest for the weary, as Thor, fresh off a title match against Hollywood Spike Jenkins, must defend his title against a member of the sWo, Fugue. Will the sWo utilize their strength in numbers and add another belt to their arsenal? Or will Thor use his incredible size to fend off Fugue?

- Rules: DQ and countout rules are in effect. 1st fall wins.

 

LOST AT SEA MATCH

Insane Luchador vs. CIA vs. Mike Van Siclen for #1 Contendership to the SJL World Title

- CIA is still upset over losing the World Title to Mak Francis, but before he can get that title back, he has to go through Mike Van Siclen of the rival sWo and Insane Luchador while learning a little American history at that. These three will tangle on the decks, in the galleys, and yes, on the poopdeck of America’s oldest warship, Old Ironsides, the USS Constitution. The winner will join Manson, who beat Insane Luchador on Crimson, in a triple threat against Mak Francis for the SJL World Title.

- Rules: An original Strangler creation (with a homage to LDP’s Miami Mayhem matches). The USS Constitution is a 200 year old warship made of oak used in the War of 1812. You don’t need floorplans or anything, just make it up. Do a little research just to see what it looks like, though. The three men will fight all over the ship, which will be anchored in water approximately 50 feet deep. As long as they remain on board the ship at all times, it’s legal. The last man standing on the boat is the winner.

[Guest crusen86]

FWIIIIIIIIIIISH!

 

BAM! BAM! BAM!

 

BOOOOOOOOM!

 

The camera pans the crowd giving a couple of fans the right to say that they were on television as SJL Wrath comes into the homes if its fan base.

 

“Good day mates and welcome to SJL WRATH live from The Fleetcenter in Boston, Massachusetts!” Blares the voice of Axis. “I’m Axis along side the Crown Prince of Flash and Panache, SWF World Heavyweight Champion Eddie MasPhistOOOOO and the man that made cheating an art form the Suicide KINGAAAAAH!”

 

“After a stunning show last week that involved a unified European Title defense and upset after upset. Kamikazes pinned SJL number one contender Manson.”

 

“And Manson will terminate this crazy wrestler with extreme prejudice.” Adds King in a boatful tone. “Well that remains to be seen King and we shall get that chance as I have booked a return match.”

 

“And in another shocker the inexperienced team of CIA. Thor and Spike Jenkins, who had to face each other earlier in the card, got the deciding pin fall in our main event six-man tag over the formerly well oiled machine that was the sWo.”

 

“Please Jenkins just got lucky as he crawled back into the ring after the border hopper illegally attacked the number one guy in the business!”

 

“But enough about them as neither of Jenkins or Francis are booked for today's event and boy do we have an excellent card lined up -”

 

[Whispered] ‘Are you Ready?’….

 

“Interrupted again…I get no respect…” mumbles Axis as this summer in the city’s JL anthom of greatness, Down with the Sickness blasts in the arena.

 

“What the hell is he doing here? He isn’t even on the card!”

 

Blue and White strobe lights flash as the Smarktron airs highlights of Mak Francis hitting the perfect kick on TNT. This is followed by a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis…

 

“I said it before but Mak Francis has to be pissed after finding out that he was pinned by Spike Jenkins…cleanly!” repeats Axis from last week’s main event.

 

[semi loud] ‘Are you Ready?’….

 

And a clip of his European Title 4 way match, and him forcing the Canadian Intelligence Agent to tap out, during a figure four leg lock. This is once again followed by a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis…

 

“Well you should never underestimate any opponent as Mak found that out the hard way.” Adds the not normally so insightful British color commentator. “And Spike Jenkins proved that he is a big time player in this fed by getting that deciding pin fall.”

 

[screamed] ‘CAUSE THE FRANCHISE HERE!’

 

“Please welcome -” Booms Funyon taking out an index card and half scoffs issuing a warning that stealing of heat getter is imminent. “Mr. Main Event, the next best thing to nobody and the hottest thing on your TV since porn, your Smarks Junior League World Heavyweight Champion…“The Franchise” MAAAAK FRANNNNNCIIIIIsssssss!”

 

“And here comes the World Champ and I bet Mak ain’t a happy man…” says King.

 

And with that Mak Francis explodes through the curtain in to put it lightly a bad mood. The Franchise stalks to the ring microphone in hand and rolls through the ropes pacing about the ring like a caged animal. The crowd boos as Francis has forced himself onto their show and he’s not even on the card.

 

“This is a GOD DAMN DISGRACE!” starts the irate World Champ.

 

“It’s a travesty of justice. It’s such a vile and despicable act that I won’t even utter the words that go with the action!” Francis paces back and forth around the ring looking queasy at just the mention of said vile and despicable act. He ends his pacing and leans against the ropes for affect. Mak restarts his speech locking eyes with a few particular fans in the audience and smirks. “I know you fans are upset as I look at your double chins wiggling in disgust because it may have been the biggest upset in SJL history! Roll the footage tech monkeys!”

 

And the SmarkTron flares up showing last Metal’s main event…

 

------------------------

 

One week ago SJL METAL…

 

Mak Francis rises to his feet, panting and bleeding. He climbs into the ring, behind C.I.A., as he grab’s C.I.A.’s shoulder and swings him around, only to be delivered a second Via Rail! C.I.A. goes straight down after the second stroke using his bad shoulder, as he rolls on the mat, trying to catch his breath from exhaustion!

 

The crowd goes ape shit as they break out in chants of their Canadian Hero! “C-I-A! C-I-A! C-I-A! C-I-A! C-I-A! C-I-A! C-I-A! C-I-A! C-I-A!” shouts the crowd in an ECDub esque chant. “Heh…the Smarks Junior League, folks, I guarantee you, the ONLY place where you will find a crowd of people chanting ‘C-I-A’!” Jokes the Suicide King.

 

“No time for Jokes, my evil loving friend!” Edwin says, “This match is intense…all three people are out cold in the ring and…wait…what the?”

 

Edwin pauses as he sees a figure stumble up on the outside of the ring. He almost falls backward, but he quickly slides under the bottom rope and roll into the ring. The man, “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins, stumbles to his knees, as he lies on top of the fallen body of Mak Francis, as the referee, shocked to see this, begins to count…

 

“Oh, no!” The Suicide King screams, “It couldn’t…”

 

O

 

N

 

E!

 

“OOOOONNNNNEEEEE!” screams the crowd. Matt Myers looks up, as he sees that his partner is being pinned! He stumbles to his knees…

 

“DO IT KID!” Edwin screams. “…But…but…this…isn’t fair…” The Suicide King stumbles…

 

T

 

 

W

 

 

O!

 

“TTTTTWWWWWOOOOO!” yells the hot crowd in anticipation. Matt Myers is close…so close…he jumps into the air…

 

“ONE MORE!” Axis screams. “But…there must be some mistake!” The Suicide King screams.

 

T

 

 

 

H

 

 

 

R

 

 

 

E

 

 

 

E!

 

“TTTTTHHHHHRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” goes the elated crowd as Matt Myers drops on top of Spike Jenkins with his elbow…but was it in time?!

“OH MY GOD! WHAT A FLUKE!” The Suicide King says.

 

“What happened?! Did he win?!” Axis says.

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

The referee rolls out of the ring, as he walks over to Funyon. The crowd is silent. He whispers into Funyon’s ear, as Funyon nods…

 

“Ladies and gentlemen…the JL referee has just informed me that…” Funyon says. He then puts the microphone up to his mouth again…“THE WINNERS OF THIS MATCH BY PIN FALL ARE C.I.A., THOR, AND “HOOOOLLLLYYYWWWOOOODDDD” SPPPIIIIKKKEEE JJJJJEEEENNNNKKKKIIIINNNSSSS!”

 

-------------------------

 

“What disgrace I can hardly look at it let alone talk about it but - ”. The audience interrupts him with a roar of approval in favor of “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins pin. Francis waits for the crowd to quiet before he continues.

 

“I…I Mak Francis…got – oh god I think I’m going to THROW UP!” Francis raises his hands and mock forces himself to stop from vomiting. “No I can do this…admittance is the first step of a three step process -”

 

“I Mak Francis have sinned because for a Grand Slam Champion, you peoples idol, the guy whose poster your sisters gets off on at night, even the ugly ones -”. The crowd really lays into the self proclaimed Franchise for that comment with various chants of animosity. “To have been pinned by some low class no talent jobber is Sacrilege!”

 

“And now comes the second step, which involves me kicking Jenkins ass from pillar to post, dumping him on his stoned out little head and getting the one, two, THREE!”

 

“So, “Holly-WOOD” get your ass out here right now! RIGHT NOW DAM-!”

 

Suddenly, "Peace Not Greed" by The Kottonmouth Kings plays over the PA, as the fans start to cheer. 'Hollywood' Spike Jenkins walks out from behind the entrance curtain, standing on the top of the stage, with a mic in his hand. The camera pans across random Hollywood signs in the crowd, and focuses back to Spike.

 

"There is the luckiest man in the world right there."

 

"How was he lucky?"

 

"What are you talking about? He pinned the world champion in a fluke. I mean, on his best day, and on Mak's worst day, he can NEVER beat Mak."

 

"Mak...Mak....Mak. It's so great to see you buddy. I mean, last time I saw you, was, ummm, let me think, Metal, I believe it was..."

 

"You know damn well it was on Metal. It was the luckiest day of your life, you punk."

 

"Mak, what's with all the anger? I mean, yeah, I beat you in the middle of the ring, one two three, but there is no reason for name calling."

 

"YOU GOT LUCKY. You can never beat me again. Your a no talent, no name, little punk. I am the Franchise. I am the Smarks Junior League World Heavyweight Champion. Something you will never be. And do you want to know why? Because you are a NOBODY. When I am a SOMEBODY."

 

"Well, Mak, why don't you put your title where your mouth is. How about, tonight, you defend your little world title, against me."

 

"You don't deserve a title shot. If you want a title shot, get in line. There is atleast twenty people who deserve a shot before you."

 

"What, are you scared Mak?"

 

"Of you? No way."

 

"You seem scared."

 

"IM not scared"

 

"You seem scared."

 

"IM not scared"

 

"But you seem scared"

 

"IM NOT SCARED DAMNIT. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

 

"Don't listen to him Mak! He is not worth the trouble" shouts the King.

 

"Mak, why are you getting so uptight? There is no reason to shout."

 

"Your an annoying...."

 

"Hey hey hey." Cutting the world champion off. "Why do you have to be calling me annoying? I come out here, try to be nice to you, try to accept your challenge..."

 

"What challenge?"

 

"Well, you said that I can never beat you. And I consider that a challenge, so I am here to accept it."

 

"You know what. I am sick of your little mind games. You want a match tonight. You got it. Me and you, one on one in a non title match."

 

"Non title? What's the matter with you? Scared that I can beat you again, but taking your title this time?"

 

"You cant beat me. You can never beat me."

 

"I already did...."

 

"It was a fluke. You know it. I know it. These fans know it."

 

"Dude, get over it. I beat you."

 

"You know what. I believe in my talent, that I am way better then you will ever be. So tonight, in this very ring, I will beat you, with my title on the line, in a one on one match."

 

"Ummm, Mak. You know what. I don't feel like wrestling you tonight."

 

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DONT FEEL LIKE WRESTLING ME TONIGHT?"

 

"Well, if it was going to be me against you for the world title, a one on one match is just soooo, normal. I mean, I would like a title match. But a normal match, ehhh. I rather wait to get a good ol' nice stipulation match with you. Just to make it a little bigger. Thanks anyway Mak."

 

Spike turns around, and begins to walk away...when....

 

"All right, all right. I understand that you want a big match, with a big stipulation, especially against me. And I know, I can beat you in any kind of match....."

 

"Well, you cant beat me in a six man tag match."

 

Mak looks around the crowd, with a pissed off look in his face.

 

"I know I didn't hear you say that..."

 

"Maybe I should speak louder. YOU.....CANT.........BEAT........ME........IN........A.......SIX.........MAN....

....TAG"

 

"That's it. I am not going to wait. I want you tonight. Any kind of match you want. I know I can beat you."

 

"Hmmm, any kind of match you say? Well, let me ask the crowd. Crowd.....do you want to see me, face Mak, One on One, for the World title....in a Cage match?"

 

The crowd pops.

 

"How about...a Ladder Match?"

 

The crowd pops louder.

 

"You know what. You fans are so great. Why not me and Mak fight out there with you. Mak, me and you, one on one tonight for the World title, in a falls count anywhere match."

 

"You want it? You got it. Boy kid, you have no idea what you got yourself into."

 

"Mak, I think I know very well what I got myself into. Now, before I leave, I am just going to give you a special gift I had made."

 

Spike turns his back to Mak, and looks up at the Smarks-TRON.

 

"Roll the footage boys."

 

Footage of Spike pinning Mak is show. It goes in slow motion as the referee makes the three count. It goes to another angle, showing Mak getting pinned, and the referee making the three count in slow motion. It goes to another angle, with Spike still pinning Mak, and the referee making the three count. The camera cuts back to Spike on the top of the entranceway.

 

"Remember Mak, all it takes is, One...Two...Three"

 

Mak looks on in disgust as the Boston crowd starts chanting "One Two Three" towards Mak. Mak walks around the ring, screaming at the crowd to shut up, but no matter what he says, they still chant "One Two Three" at him.

 

"Fans, what a shocker. Mak Francis, the Junior League World Champion, will defend his title tonight, in a FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE Match, against the man that pinned him on Metal, "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins."

 

"Spike played mind games with Mak, tricking him into a falls count anywhere match for the title." says Axis

 

"Why do you all think Mak is in trouble? He knows exactly what he is doing."

 

"I don't think so Kingy." replies Edwin.

 

The camera cuts to Mak in the middle of the ring, screaming at the fans, as we cut to the first commercial break of SJL Wrath.

[Guest crusen86]

Edwin: Ok, I've just decided that due to the extra world title match tonight, there will be no match between Chris Canuck and Cutthroat. Time constriants are a bitch, eh?

 

Axis: Damn, that's a shame. I heard Canuck was a star.

 

King: You heard wrong. He's Canadian, hence fool. Plus, who the hell wants to see Cutthroat?

 

Axis: Good point.

 

Edwin: Break. Again.

[Guest crusen86]

SJL Wrath returns to the Fleetcenter in Boston, Massachusetts. The arena is surprisingly empty, as most of the fans have huddled around a small transistor TV where the Red Sox/Mariners game is blazing out. Suddenly, Trot Nixon flares a line drive into right field, sending the fans in the area into a frenzy. King, Edwin, and Axis look up, confused by the actions of the fans.

 

King: Why the hell do people even bother coming if they’re gonna watch the Sox game?

 

Edwin: And to think, these are the non-diehards who didn’t travel 3000 miles to Seattle.

 

Axis: Whatever. Anyways, our next match is a crazy d00d named Kamikaze versus a crazy d00d named Manson. I’m sure their mothers think that this match will be fascinating, instead of the rest of our fans realizing that we’ve already seen this match last Thursday!

 

King: RED SOX SUCK!

 

The entire arena turns, staring at King. The gloating look on his face is quickly replaced with sheer terror as hundreds of fans jump the guardrail and sprint for King. King leaps up, utters a girlish shriek, and sprints toward the ramp, being followed closely by all the fans. A chant of “NOOO-MAHHHHHH! NOOO-MAHHHHHH!” starts to roll throughout the arena as King disappears, with the fans hot on his tail. As he disappears, Manson appears on the top of the stage, with the tunes of “Move, Bitch” by Ludacris blaring through the arena. Manson looks up, unhappy at the choice of music, as Edwin wanders into the audience, looking for a 3rd commentator.

 

Axis: I get the feeling a lot of people wish that he’d just move and get out of the way….I mean, he’s been active for almost three whole weeks! Time for a 4 month break! Damn, why is no one here to listen to my quality lines? This ALWAYS happens!

 

As “Move, Bitch” ends, “Crazy” by Britney Spears begins to rock through the arena as Kamikaze appears on the top of the entrance ramp, to ZERO reaction from the crowd, who continue to watch the game. Kamikaze looks up, somewhat disappointed, before he walks down the ramp. As he reaches the halfway point, the fans all burst into boos.

 

Axis: What the hell happened there?

 

As Axis tries to figure it out, Edwin comes leaping over the guardrail straight into the announce seat.

 

Edwin: Tony Clark hit into a double play….what a bum. Anyways, I found a third commentator, and he’s just as evil as King! It’s the Boston Strangler in his hometown!

 

Strangler, wearing a Pedro jersey, climbs into the third seat, and wrinkles his face. “Damn, this seat even SMELLS like King. Anyways, good to see you, boys. Glad to make an appearance in my hometown, even when it has to come during a match between two pathetic, no-showing, pieces of trash like Kamikaze and Manson.”

 

Axis: I know, but imagine how we feel, having to see them on a regular basis! It’s pure torture!

 

Strangler: I feel your pain!

 

Edwin: Do you? Do you really?

 

Strangler: Ow! Yeah, I do, but only because you kicked me in the shin, you little girl!

 

Suddenly, “Retribution (Front 242 Remix)” by Front Line Assembly plays over the PA, and Silent begins stalking down the ramp. Manson and Kamikaze look at each other like they just shit their pants as Silent, dressed in a ref shirt and holding his cane, slides into the ring. Funyon, still standing in the ring, starts to FINALLY say something.

 

Funyon: This match is a “Keep Your Lunch Down” match, and it is scheduled for two out of three falls! The rules of this match are as follows: Both men will be placed in a spinning dryer until one of them pukes. Then they shall be kicked repeatedly in the balls by female bodybuilders until one of them pukes. Then, you must stare at Cutthroat, who is wearing nothing but a thong, until you throw up. The first man to puke three times is our winner!

 

Manson and Kamikaze both look absolutely horrified at the stip, as do the men at the announce table.

 

Strangler: I know that they’re no-showing trash, but this is just sick!

 

Edwin: I know! We’re gonna have to see Cutthroat in a thong….

 

Axis: I swear, I should just retire back to Australia and my shed-building business.

 

Suddenly, two gigantic dryers appear in the ring, being pushed out by Derek Jeter, as this is the only job he can get, seeing as how he SUCKS! JETER SUCKS! What a piece of trash! But Strangler digresses. Silent cocks his cane and stares evilly at Manson and Kamikaze, who jump into the dryers, grateful to have a piece of glass between them and Silent. Silent presses the buttons, and the dryers leap into action. The two men scream as the metal drums pound away at them.

 

Strangler: That can’t be fun.

 

Edwin: It looks rather fun to me. WHEEEEEE!

 

Strangler: But you’re an English loonie.

 

Axis: Now you see what I deal with.

 

Silent looks intently at the two men, who are trying to free themselves. Suddenly, Manson gags, and the window of his dryer is covered with a dripping yellow-ish liquid. Silent signals for the bell and stops Kamikaze’s dryer, but leaves Manson’s running for the time being.

 

Funyon: The winner of the first fall….KAMI-KAAAAAAAAAAAZE!

 

Edwin: Delightful! The drama is simply amazing?

 

Axis: You find this good?

 

Edwin: Well, I think it’s better than having to actually read a match one of these two jobbers wrote.

 

Strangler: Yeah, it’s like watching a Devil Rays/Padres game. SMELL THE RATINGS!

 

As the female bodybuilders start down the ramp, Silent stops Manson’s dryer, and pulls out the puke-soaked bastard. He gives him a quick whack with the cane, and then slides out to the outside, where he walks over to Edwin. Edwin looks up, ready for a fight, but Silent extends his hand, which MacPhisto accepts in a handshake.

 

Axis: What the hell is going on? These two men hate each other!

 

Strangler: You see, Axis, I think that the hatred these men feel for no-showing trash like these two men is so great, that they can put aside their differences and come together to gives these losers what they deserve.

 

Axis: This magic moment…

 

As Axis begins to sing, causing the three men to cover their ears, the bodybuilders hit the ring. Both ladies line up as Manson and Kamikaze look at each other with a look of dismay. Both ladies shoot out and slam their feet into their nuts, sending howls echoing through the quiet arena. The ladies rear back, and swing out again…..and again…..and again. By now, both men are crying like little girls on the mat, and screaming for their mothers. As both ladies send particularly nasty shots into the groins of Manson and Kamikaze, Kamikaze gags, then pukes all over the ring. Silent, involved in a discussion with Edwin over the correct temperature to bake a lemon meringue pie, notices, and calls for the bell. The bodybuilders smile at each other and leave the two quivering wrestlers and a couple piles of puke lying in the arena.

 

Funyon: The winner of the second fall…..MAAAAAAAANSON!

 

Axis: Well, this is fun in a not fun kind of way.

 

Strangler: Anyone got any beer?

 

Edwin: Funny, that was always King’s line.

 

Suddenly, the most horrible, revolting sight imaginable enters the arena: Cutthroat in a thong. All the fans whirl around, see it, and immediately whirl back, barfing onto the floor. The arena is filled with boos and puking as Cutthroat struts down to the ring, his hand on his hip. He slides into the ring, and stands over the two men, who haven’t seen him yet. Both men slowly raise their heads, and see Cutthroat running his hands over his body. Immediately, both men puke even harder than the fans, splattering the puke all over the ring.

 

Funyon: The third fall has been declared a draw, and your winner is: no one! And your losers, Kamikaze and Manson!

 

Axis: How can you have two losers and no winners? What is this, the MLB All-Star Game?

 

Strangler: Well, both of these men are losers for no-showing to begin with, so I guess it’s fitting.

 

Edwin: Good point, Stranglepants.

 

Suddenly, Silent and Edwin get up and slide into the ring. Cutthroat is still standing there until Silent liashes out, breaking his cane over Cutthroat’s back. Cutthroat falls to the mat and rolls to the outside as Manson and Kamikaze struggle to breathe. Silent grabs Kamikaze and drags him into position for the Demonstar Driver as Edwin grabs Manson and hooks him into the Union Jack. Edwin and Silent then deliver the finishers, sending the pathetic no-showing JL jobbers crashing to the mat. Edwin and Silent look up, high-five each other, and then grab the other man. Silent quickly delivers the Demonstar to Manson as Edwin destroys Kamikaze with the Union Jack. As both men crumple to the mat, Edwin and Silent shake hands, then walk up the announce ramp, chatting about the stock market.

 

Axis: MacPhisto! Come back! We have real matches left!

 

Strangler: Let ‘em go.

 

Axis: Whatever. He’ll magically reappear after the commercial break anyways, as will King. The crowd will be full and focused on the event, and I’ll give a crap. Amazing what commercials can do. Anyways, stay tuned after this message from the Boston Strangler, saying that a no-show on his watch is a BAD IDEA!

[Guest crusen86]

A camera high atop a building pans over the Boston street, taking in the snarling traffic and meandering people, the elevated tracks of the Green Line and finally the spotlight-illuminated facade of the Fleet Center itself. Then the view switches to the perennial trio of SJL announcers at their ringside table. "Welcome back to SJL Wrath!" Axis proclaims. "It's been a hellacious show so far, but we're not done yet!"

 

"Wow! Weren't those two matches INTENSE?!?" Edwin bounces in his seat.

 

"Yeah, sure," the Suicide King sneers. "Some Canadian, Cutthroat, the recently-renamed Manson and that OTHER nutjob, Kamikaze." The King yawns ostentatiously, then smiles. "But you can wake up now, 'cause next up is a match between the sadistic, symphonic master of pain, FUGUE!...and some other guy, Thor."

 

"Some other GOD, you mean," Edwin puts in. "A god who, a week and a half ago on Crimson, defeated this very man to unify the European Title and the Television Title into--the EUROVISION TITLE!" He grins widely.

 

The King opens his mouth to respond, but then blinks at Edwin. "The 'Eurovision' title?"

 

Edwin's response is cut off by piercing organ strains. The arena dims and white strobes flash psychedelically as the crowd's murmurs build into an upswell of boos. Suddenly there is a flash of blinding pyro and the music segues into "Ashes in the Fall", the sWo theme. The lights come up to reveal Fugue, standing serenely on the metal entranceway. Black trenchcoat billowing behind him, Fugue stalks down the ramp to the ring. He grins at the jeering and waving fans to either side from behind his dark sunglasses.

 

Funyon quickly scrambles into the ring, his suit momentarily blinding audience members in the first few rows. "The following contest is scheduled for ONE fall," he booms. "And it is a EUROPEAN TITLE MATCH! Introducing first, representing the sWo...weighing in at 181 pounds, from PENNsylvania, Philadelphiaaaaaa...FUUUUGUE!" Fugue grins as the boos from the audience redouble in intensity.

 

"You know, the sWo have given Fugue something I never thought he'd have!" the King comments as Fugue reaches the apron.

 

"What's that, King?" Axis asks, because someone has to.

 

"Fashion sense!"

 

"You call THAT fashion sense?" Edwin snorts.

 

Fugue slips into the ring and strolls back and forth, studying the fans. He slips off his coat to reveal, on his shirt, a stylized white flame surmounting the letters 'sWo'. Stowing the coat and sunglasses carelessly at ringside, Fugue goes back to his inspection of the crowd, his dark eyes gleaming. As he turns, a large 'sWo' logo is revealed on the back of his shirt as well.

 

Suddenly the lights go black again, and a blue spotlight shines down on the metal ramp. The opening chords of KISS' "God of Thunder" blast through the speakers as a lightning bolt strikes the entrance way, filling it with smoke. The crowd goes wild as Thor steps through the curtain, Unified Title belt slung over his shoulder. The thunder god keeps careful watch on his opponent in the ring as he walks down the ramp, but still takes a moment or two to slap hands with some eager fans.

 

"And the CHAMPION," Funyon continues to boom over the cheering crowd. "Weighing in at a massive 345 pounds, making his way to the ring from the Halls of Asgard...THOOOOOR!!!"

 

"Thor looks divine as always!" Edwin proclaims. The other two announcers stare at him.

 

Thor hops up onto the apron, then steps over the top rope into the ring. He smiles just slightly as he looks at Fugue...then he raises the title belt to the audience. The fans respond with a wave of acclimation. Thor hands the belt to the referee, Eddy Long, not taking his eyes off the grinning Fugue.

 

DINGINGING!

 

"And we're off once again!" Axis says.

 

In the ring, Thor and Fugue go toe to toe, staring at each other. Thor smiles down more than twelve inches at his opponent, and Fugue grins right back up.

 

"You can just feel the intensity in those stares," Axis says. "These two men have met many times before, they know each other so well!"

 

"Wasn't it only three times or so, Axis?" the King asks.

 

"Hush, King!" Edwin snaps. "Don't throw Axis off his groove!"

 

Fugue suddenly leaps up and grapples with the larger man, but Thor shrugs off the attempt and cinches his arm around Fugue's neck. Fugue flails his arms, pushing at his opponent. Thor rears back and slams an elbow down on Fugue's head, then releases the musician and runs across the ring to bounce off the ropes--Fugue suddenly jumps up and slams his feet into Thor's stomach, sending the big man reeling. Thor shakes his head and recovers, then charges back at his standing opponent. He throws his arm out for a clothesline, and Fugue is slammed down again. The crowd comes alive as Thor presses himself down onto Fugue's chest--One, Two and Fugue kicks out.

 

"Thor gets the first pin attempt of the match!" Axis commentates.

 

"Go, Thor!" Edwin cheers and waves a small flag.

 

Fugue slithers out of Thor's grasp and scampers across the ring. He bounces off the ropes and runs back, building up speed before launching himself shoulder-first at the bigger man. Thor staggers as Fugue ricochets off his chest, then the thunder god rights himself and glowers at his opponent. Fugue grins and runs the ropes again, only to meet a huge clothesline from Thor as he charges forward. Fugue twitches on the ground and tries to squirm away, but Thor catches him by the arm.

 

"What power!" Axis says. "Thor puts so much power into that clothesline!"

 

"It's a Clothesline From...uh...Asgard!" Edwin proclaims.

 

King shakes his head. "What I'm wondering about is...why does Fugue's shirt have that fire on it?"

 

"Oh, the fire is the symbol of Loki, malicious trickster god and nemesis of Thor, though he could technically be termed his 'blood-uncle'," Edwin replies.

 

Both announcers stare at Edwin open-mouthed.

 

Thor pulls Fugue up into the air again, then drives him down hard onto his outstretched knee in a backbreaker. The fans collectively wince and then cheer at the brutality. Fugue twitches spasmodically as he lies on the mat, and Thor pushes him down once again. Eddy Long slides in, One, Two and Fugue manages to get a shoulder up. Thor shakes his head and Fugue suddenly lashes out with a punch to Thor's jaw. The big man winces as Eddy Long yells to Fugue about his attack. Ignoring the referee, Fugue gets into a crouch and lashes out with a sweeping kick, striking Thor's right knee. The god goes down and Fugue leaps up from the mat, turning over in a complete somersault and landing back-first on Thor. The musician lies on Thor's massive chest and Eddy Long quickly counts again, One, Two and Thor throws Fugue off of him!

 

"A lucha-esque standing senton from Fugue!" Axis exclaims. "He got his first near fall of the contest, showing off his incredible quickness!"

 

"Of course, Thor pushed him off like he was nothing," Edwin puts in.

 

Thor sits up, taking a moment to rub at his right shoulder. Fugue doesn't let up, however, as he aims a hard kick right at Thor's shoulder blade. The SMACK echoes through the arena--Thor groans in pain, and Fugue quickly wraps his legs around the god's right arm, falling back and dragging them both to the mat.

 

"Fugue's going after Thor's right shoulder!" Axis comments. "So many of Fugue's holds go after those arms!"

 

The King snickers. "And you can't very well throw someone around without using your arms!"

 

Thor writhes and pushes at the mat. Eddy Long kneels down to ask Thor for a submission--but the god bellows in anger, sending the official scampering away. Grimacing mightily, Thor pushes at the mat with his legs, tensing his muscles...pulling his arm off the canvas, the surprised Fugue with it! A huge cheer builds from the crowd as Thor turns completely over, hauling Fugue through the air and finally slamming him down on the other side. Fugue hits his head on the mat and Thor pulls his arm free, standing to wild cheers and sporadic "GOD OF THUNDER!" chants.

 

"My GOD!" Axis marks. "What INCREDIBLE power from Thor!"

 

"What was that you were saying about using arms, Kingy?" Edwin asks innocently.

 

Thor raises his arms and lets out a roar, the crowd responding with a roar of their own. He reaches down and grabs Fugue's long hair, pulling him up. Ignoring the smaller man's struggles, Thor pulls Fugue's head down and then hauls him up onto his shoulders. Thor turns slightly and falls forward, slamming Fugue down hard on his back. He grabs Fugue's legs and pushes forward, Eddy Long slides down to count--One, Two and Fugue twitches his shoulder off the canvas.

 

"An incredible powerbomb, and another near fall from Thor!" Axis cries.

 

Thor stands, staring down his nose as his fallen opponent. He stomps forward and kicks Fugue derisively in the back, and the musician rolls under the ropes and falls out of the ring. Thor steps over the top rope, brushing away the entreaties of Eddy Long.

 

"Thor pursues Fugue out of the ring!" Axis narrates.

 

"He should know better than to do that!" the King grins.

 

Thor hops down to the floor and reaches down to grab Fugue around the neck. Fugue quickly fights back with punches to the gut--and a bit lower, as Thor suddenly doubles over. Fugue steps back and grins to the audience, who boo loudly (especially the males). Eddy Long leans over the ropes to yell at the musician, who professes innocence. The referee contents himself with starting a ten-count. Fugue slips his own legs around Thor's and spins his body, throwing Thor down to land shoulder-first on the steel ring steps! The god grits his teeth in pain, the camera focusing closely on his twisted expression.

 

"I don't believe it! That was a low blow!" Axis rages.

 

"Well, who can say, really?" the King muses. "Thor had Fugue all tied up, the camera angle was bad--hell, I know the ref couldn't see anything. Nice drop toe-hold, by the way."

 

"Damn it, what kind of a referee is Eddy Long!" Axis continues.

 

Edwin guiltily puts away his 'Crazy Larry's Discount Sports Officials' catalog.

 

Fugue approaches Thor again, but the god quickly pushes himself to his feet. Fugue steps back in surprise, then turns and runs. The cheers grow in intensity as Thor runs around the ring--then stops. A grin growing on his face, Thor walks to the apron and rolls back into the ring. Eddy Long continues his counting, having reached 6...7...8...Fugue rolls back into the ring and the count is broken. Thor grins across the ring at his opponent, who smiles back in acknowledgement. A smattering of applause breaks out from the audience as the two men regard each other.

 

"Looks like Thor was too smart for Fugue there!" Axis says. "And could we be seeing--RESPECT between these two competitors?"

 

"Oh, yeah, Thor respects Fugue," Edwin snorts. "At least Fugue's capacity for violence. Like he'd respect a big nasty ice giant!"

 

"And I think Fugue is just naturally a happy person," the King adds.

 

The two men charge at each other--quick as a snake Fugue catches Thor's right arm and twists it in a wristlock. Thor growls, then sets himself and whips his arm around in a reversal. Fugue turns a complete flip in the air and lands shakily on his feet, stumbling back and releasing the hold. Fans in the front row hold up signs: "8.1", "9.0", "8.5", "3.2".

 

"Damn those Yugoslavian judges!" the King yells.

 

Fugue runs forward again and catches Thor around the waist. The thunder god growls and kicks at Fugue, eventually shaking him off. Thor grabs Fugue around the neck with both hands, the crowd cheering as Thor hoists the struggling Fugue into the air--then slams him down once again. One, Two and Fugue pulls his shoulder off the mat once again!

 

"The Divine Hammer!" Axis yells.

 

"The Baldo Bomb!" the King puts in.

 

"The Meshugganator!" Edwin cheers.

 

Fugue rolls back, crawling away. Thor gets to his feet quickly, a dark scowl on his face. He lunges forward and grabs Fugue again, picking the skinny musician up bodily. Fugue struggles, writhing in Thor's grasp, but the god raises him up and then slams him down on his back. Thor presses down in a cover, One, Two and Fugue kicks out again!

 

"Powerful slam from Thor!" Axis says. "May not be pretty, but it certainly got the job done!"

 

Fugue scrambles out of Thor's grasp and scurries away. Thor pursues him to the side of the ring--Fugue rolls onto the apron and stands outside the ropes. Thor grabs his hair again, but Fugue jumps away from the ring, pulling Thor's right arm down over the rope. The god grimaces and shakes out his arm, then steps over the rope to hop outside again.

 

"Fugue lures Thor outside with another attack on that arm!" Axis says.

 

"But Thor has been punishing Fugue's back and shoulders during this whole match!" Edwin counters. "Even Fugue's gotta be feeling THAT!"

 

"A good heel always finds a way to win," the King asserts.

 

Fugue aims a kick at Thor's chest--Thor tries to block, but is pushed against the apron. He rallies quickly and lands a punch on Fugue's face. The musician reels and Thor reaches down to grab him, hauling him bodily up over his head. Intense cheers build as Thor turns to face the audience, pressing Fugue high in the air. Thor grins out over the audience, basking in the admiration of the fans. Suddenly Fugue's hand shoots downward--Thor twitches his head away, but Fugue's hand lashes out at Thor's right elbow. The thunder god staggers and releases Fugue, letting him fall all the way to the mat, bouncing on the floor.

 

"Thor tried that move last match!" Axis says. "He thought he had Fugue scouted, but Fugue STILL countered!"

 

"And ended up getting dropped ten feet to the ground," Edwin notes.

 

Thor shakes his head and rubs his shoulder again. Fugue gets to his feet, dazed and stumbling, and charges the god with a swift slap to the chest. Thor reels and Fugue slaps him again, then grabs Thor's right arm and falls to the ground, yanking hard. Thor groans and goes to his knees, pushing Fugue away. The musician scrambles back into the ring, aiming his grin at the yelling Eddy Long for a moment. Fugue slinks over to the corner, waiting. Thor grabs the apron and pulls himself to his feet--and Fugue grabs his arm, slipping out of the ring and wrapping Thor's elbow around the ring post. Jeers and outraged boos rain down as Fugue whips Thor's arm around the unforgiving steel, making him grunt loudly in pain. Fugue grins ferally and pulls at Thor's arm again, wrenching it against the metal. The increasingly frustrated Eddy Long leans over and yells at Fugue, starting a count. One, Two, Three, Four, Fi--and Fugue finally releases, Thor staggering backward away from the corner.

 

"What a sadistic hold by the maniacal Fugue!" Axis cries over the derision of the fans.

 

"Ah, the ringpost-assisted hold. What memories..." The Suicide King sniffs and wipes away a tear.

 

Fugue hops into the ring and stands up near Eddy Long. The referee pauses in his tirade and moves away, and Fugue follows, staring him down. He chases the official to the other side of the ring and then bounces off the ropes, running back and diving headfirst over the ropes to slam bodily into Thor. Both men go down in a heap as fans lean over the barrier and slap them encouragingly.

 

Fugue wrenches himself to his feet, swaying dazedly. He stumbles to the apron and rolls into the ring, standing. Eddy Long cowers in his corner as Fugue just stands there, gazing out at nothing--then he shakes his head and runs toward the ropes. The noise from the audience builds again as Fugue runs across the ring and leaps over in a beautiful somersault--but Thor actually catches Fugue in midair! The seven-foot-tall god staggers, turns, then falls to his knees...incidentally throwing Fugue down onto his back outside the ring.

 

"INCREDIBLE!" Axis yells. "Thor caught Fugue in the midst of his somersault plancha and turned it into a powerbomb!"

 

"Nothing can stop Thor!" Edwin says confidently. "Fugue went to the well once too often!"

 

"Except Fugue!" the King counters. "That wasn't a counter! Thor barely managed to survive that move!"

 

Eddy Long ventures out from his corner and gazes helplessly out at the carnage, listening to the "HOLY SHIT!" chant from the audience. He begins the count. One...two...Both men stir on the mats, trying to get to their feet. Three...Four...Five...Fugue scrabbles for a handhold on the apron, Thor close behind. The crowd cheers wildly for both men. Six...Fugue rolls into the ring, crawling to an opposite corner. Seven, Eight--and Thor slips in as well, gasping on the mat. Applause rains down from the fans. Eddy Long looks around, raises his arms to start another ten-count--but the two warriors push themselves to their feet, their eyes locked across the ring.

 

"What INTENSITY~ this match has!" Axis yells.

 

"Whee! INTENSITY!" Edwin says gleefully, unfortunately unable to manage a tilde of his own.

 

Fugue moves backward and bounces against the ropes. Thor runs the ropes as well and the competitors approach each other--Thor launches himself forward and connects feet-first with Fugue. The musician spins around the air before splattering to the mat, and Thor grimaces as he catches himself. Fugue finally hoists himself to his feet, running the ropes yet again--Thor gets up to meet the charge and Fugue launches a dropkick of his own, this one aimed low...at Thor's knee. The god goes down again, but manages an uppercut to fend off the approach of Fugue. Thor gets to his feet and grabs Fugue around the chest, then slams him down onto his back.

 

"UUUUUURAAAAAANAAAAGEEEEEE!" Axis cheers.

 

Fugue rolls away and pushes himself to his feet, Thor staring in surprise at the quick recovery. The musician suddenly rushes forward and slams shoulder-first into Thor. The big man is hardly moved, and quickly retaliates with an elbow--but not quick enough as Fugue spins shakily in a kick to Thor's head. Thor staggers from the force of the blow but manages to catch Fugue by the arm, wincing slightly as he hauls him around in an Irish whip. Fugue bounces off the ropes and runs back into Thor's huge outstretched boot. Thor pauses--and looks at the crowd. The fans come alive in anticipation as Thor slaps his hands together!

 

"OH MY GOD!" Edwin squeals. "Could it be?!?"

 

Thor lumbers against the ropes, walking back and leaping into the air over his opponent--and crashes down, his leg impacting Fugue's chest. The crowd goes wild, and Thor covers once again--One, Two, Th--No, Fugue kicks out!

 

"WILL YOU LOOK AT THAT!" Axis marks. "Fugue kicked out of the legdrop!"

 

"...well...yeah," the King says. "It's just a legdrop."

 

The crowd boos roundly as Fugue tries to squirm away from his tormentor. Thor measures the blow, then pulls Fugue around and hits an uppercut, kneeling down as he punches. Fugue reels, but fires off a punch of his own to Thor's shoulder. Thor staggers and tries to aim another punch, but Fugue ducks the blow and fires off another two jabs.

 

"Fugue's floatin' like a butterfly and stingin' like a bee!" the King says.

 

"How dare you profane the great Ali's name by comparing Fugue to him!" Edwin snaps.

 

"Hey, I'm the Suicide King! I profane anyone I want!" the King replies with a grin.

 

Fugue suddenly drops out of Thor's vision--using his momentum to haul on Thor's leg. The god stumbles and falls to his knees, and Fugue takes advantage by leaping up and landing knee-first on Thor's shoulder. Thor's body jerks with pain and Fugue rolls him over, collapsing onto Thor in a cover. Eddy Long gets into position once again, One, Two and Thor pushes Fugue off of him.

 

"Thor still has a lot of fight in him!" Axis proclaims.

 

"Yes, but...how much, *exactly*?" the King ponders.

 

Thor grabs Fugue again and whips him into the corner. Thor grimaces at the effort, but Fugue spasms in pain as he hits the turnbuckle. Thor quickly steps forward and pulls the shirt right off Fugue's wiry body, rearing back and whipping his hand across Fugue's bare chest. The musician doubles over as the crowd screams "WHOOO!", then slips down to the ground and slithers between Thor's legs to escape. Thor bellows with anger and turns to pursue.

 

"Thor keeps on bringing the punishment!" Axis narrates.

 

"Damn, I think Fugue needs to get some sun!" Edwin comments.

 

Fugue scrambles to his feet and runs across the ring, bouncing off the ropes. Thor charges forward but Fugue suddenly throws himself downward and rams into Thor's legs. The god stumbles and falls onto the mat, landing heavily on his right arm. He convulses in pain and tries to push himself up, but Fugue quickly stands and kicks him in the ribs. The god groans, but continues trying to stand--Fugue ignores Eddy Long's entreaties and kicks again, finally leaping up and landing knee-first on Thor's shoulder. Thor slumps onto his stomach and Fugue catches his right arm, the crowd coming alive as he positions himself over Thor's back to entangle Thor's other arm in his legs.

 

"The Minor Chord!" Axis yells. "One of Fugue's favorite deadly weapons!"

 

"And Thor's arm has been taking so much damage in this match!" the King says. "He may have to tap out right here!"

 

Eddy Long slides down to gesture and yell at Thor, asking for submission. Thor shakes his head, and Fugue's grin is wild as he wrenches back on both Thor's arms. The crowd is deafening as they yell their support for the beloved thunder god, willing him to slip out, to stand, to win...

 

...And suddenly, Thor convulses. He pulls his knees under him, sets one foot on the ground--and pushes himself upward. Fugue stares in shock as he is lifted up off the ground, holding tightly onto Thor's arms. The thunder god gets to his feet but wavers, staggers...and slowly topples backward.

 

CRASH!

 

"OH MY GOD!" Axis yells as the crowd cheers deafeningly. "Thor just landed ON TOP OF FUGUE!"

 

"Thor squashed him like a COCKROACH!" Edwin yells with glee.

 

The King almost swallows his tongue. "I can't BELIEVE this! GET UP, FUGUE!"

 

Both men lie gasping on the mat, Fugue having released Thor's arms. Eddy Long hovers helplessly over the wreckage, unable to count because Fugue is on his stomach. Finally, after long moments, Thor rolls off of Fugue and gets to his hands and knees. Fugue twitches and begins to crawl desperately for the ropes.

 

"FUGUE IS STILL MOVING!" Axis yells. "What will it TAKE to put this man down?!?"

 

"Maybe some DIVINE INTERVENTION!" Edwin cries.

 

Thor gets to his feet, and Fugue pulls himself up with the ropes. The musician turns to regard his opponent--blinking several times before he can focus across the ring. His grin widens once again as he regards the battered Thor, then he bounces off the ropes and charges. Thor looks up and moves to meet Fugue. He turns to the side to protect his arm--but Fugue dives for Thor's knee, chop-blocking him down. Thor stumbles, and Fugue kicks the knee again, sending Thor onto his back. Fugue shakes his head and pants for a moment, and Thor suddenly sits up to a swelling cheer. Rallying himself, Fugue runs past Thor to hit the ropes behind him, charging back and grabbing Thor's head as he leaps upward in a somersault. Thor convulses and clutches at his neck--and Fugue lands heavily on his back, curling up in pain.

 

"Fugue hurts HIMSELF with that necksnap!" Axis cries. "His back has gone through so much in this match!"

 

Thor sees his opponent's pain and pushes himself to his feet, grabbing at the musician. Fugue struggles and suddenly slips behind Thor, grabbing for his arms. Fugue catches Thor's right arm, torquing it--but the god spins away from the pressure, whipping his left arm around to slam into Fugue's back. Thor grabs Fugue around the waist, and suddenly the crowd begins to cheer wildly as Thor hoists Fugue onto his shoulder.

 

"Thor's going for the RAGNAROK!" Axis yells. "He countered Fugue's Coda and is going for his OWN finisher! The European Title is about to be DECIDED!"

 

"And NOBODY kicks out of this one!" Edwin cries.

 

Thor pulls Fugue down into the piledriver position, but the musician begins to struggle. Thor staggers as Fugue's elbow drives into his arm, trying to hold and squeeze the smaller man. Thor's grip begins to slip and he loses hold of Fugue, leaping forward to turn the move into a straightforward slam. He lies there, panting, and Eddy Long slides down to count...but Fugue's foot has slipped under the rope! The referee points this out and Thor growls in frustration, standing once again. He grabs Fugue's arm and hauls him to the center of the ring, giving him a kick in the ribs for good measure, then moves to the corner.

 

"THOR MISSES THE RAGNAROK!" Axis screams. "And now he's going for his CRACK OF THUNDER!"

 

"And, like before, NOBODY--"

 

"WE GET THE POINT, EDWIN!" the King snarls.

 

Thor steps over the ropes and begins to climb the turnbuckle, the crowd growing deafening as he ascends. Then he stops with one foot on the middle rope and one on the top--looking back and forth at the crowd, flashbulbs going off from every direction.

 

"Thor's waiting! Is he looking for something?!?" Axis asks.

 

"INDECISION!" the King proclaims. "He doesn't know if he's about to win or lose!"

 

"COME ON, THOR!" Edwin yells. "WE ALL KNOW YOU CAN DO IT!"

 

Thor suddenly begins moving again, pushing himself to the top of the ropes. He stands, illuminated in stroboscopic white light, raising his arms to the fans...and LEAPS into the air, massive frame flying through the air to crash down in the center of the ring, the entire structure shaking--

 

--as Thor slams into the mat, missing the rolling Fugue by inches.

 

"FUGUE DODGED THE CRACK OF THUNDER!" Axis screams over the hysterical fans. "THOR LANDED RIGHT ON HIS RIGHT ARM!"

 

"GET UP, THOR!" Edwin yells. "IT CAN'T END LIKE THIS!"

 

"GO FOR IT, FUGUE!" the King cries. "THIS IS YOUR BIG CHANCE!"

 

Both men struggle to their feet and turn to face each other. Thor desperately lashes out with his left hand, and Fugue barely ducks. Thor aims a quick kick at Fugue's gut and grabs with his right--but Fugue catches the arm and slips around the big man. Thor tries to turn but is too slow, and Fugue reaches around to grab Thor's left arm as well, pulling them both backward. The fans cheer deafeningly for the thunder god, Fugue pulls grimly at Thor's arms, trying to lock his hands together--Thor finally relaxes for a moment, the pain overwhelming him, and Fugue cinches in the double chickenwing hold. He stumbles backward and leaps, dragging Thor down to land in a sitting position...and then the musician finally manages to flip forward, his weight pulling Thor down.

 

"FUGUE HITS THE CODA AND LOCKS IN HARMONY!" Axis yells apoplectically.

 

"BUT THIS HOLD IS WRENCHING AT FUGUE'S BACK TOO!" Edwin cries, trying to make himself heard over the crowd. "WHICH OF THESE MEN WILL BREAK FIRST?!?"

 

"FUGUE'S GOT IT LOCKED IN!" the King yells over his fellow announcers. "THIS MATCH IS OVER!!!"

 

Eddy Long nervously sidles down to gesture at Thor, wincing at the waves of noise rolling over him. Fugue stares up at the light, panting heavily, his face fixed in a gruesome grin. Thor struggles, pulling with his left arm--Fugue shifts slightly, his feet slip away from the bridge position, but he still will not release the hold. Thor pushes with his feet, tries to lean back but all to no avail, as the sadistic Fugue pulls relentlessly at his arms. The camera zooms in on Thor's face, capturing the pain--and finally he nods, and Eddy Long signals quickly for the bell.

 

DINGINGING!

 

Fugue releases his hands and slumps down, his arms unlacing themselves from Thor's. A mighty groan and Thor slumps onto his back, mighty chest rising and falling quickly. Fugue rolls off his opponent and curls up in a fetal position on the mat.

 

"YOUR WINNER!" Funyon booms as the familiar sWo music blasts from the speakers, intermingled with the jeers of the crowd. "And NEW European CHAMPIOOOOOON...FUUUUUGUE!" Eddy Long pulls gingerly at one of Fugue's arms. The musician squirms away, then turns back to stare at the referee. Reality finally penetrating his mind, Fugue pushes himself to a kneeling position. The referee grabs Fugue's arm and raises it, holding the championship belt up as well.

 

Axis wipes his forehead with a towel. "What an INCREDIBLE match that was!" he says, breathing heavily even though he wasn't doing anything more strenuous than yelling. "It was damn close--but Fugue earned a hard-fought victory over the more-than-mortal Thor!"

 

"That sick, sadistic bastard!" Edwin spits.

 

The King shakes his head and sighs. "Well, Fugue made me proud tonight. And I bet he made his sWo friends proud too!"

 

"Speaking of which!" Axis pipes up, slipping smoothly back into hype mode. "Stay tuned after this commercial break for our special LOST AT SEA MATCH, deciding who will face the sWo's Mak Francis in a shot at his WORLD TITLE! Don't go away!" He grins as the feed fades.

[Guest crusen86]

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says everybody’s FAVORITE play-by-play man, Axis, “welcome BACK… to S-J-L Wrath!”

 

“We’ve had one hell of a show so far…” the kooky Brit, Edwin MacPhisto, exclaims, “and in fact, we just saw Thor take on Fugue for the European title!”

 

“Coming up next, though,” interjects the Suicide King with all the evilness he can muster, “we have Insane Luchadore, tweener extraordinaire, facing off with CIA, that dipwad Canadian, and Mike Van Siclen, everybody’s hero, in a Lost at Sea match!”

 

“I think you’ve got it backwards King…” Edwin shoots at King. “It’s everybody’s favorite Canadian, CIA, against Mike Van Siclen, the dipwad!”

 

“No it’s not.”

 

“Yes it is.”

 

Axis sighs. “Well, thankfully for you people this three-man team is not commentating… instead, we’re going to send it over to our commentators at Old Ironsides, Ben Hardy and Mr. Galatea, who tonight is inhabiting the body of the Hville Thugg! They will explain to you the rules of tonight’s match. Ben, can you hear us?”

 

Our camera view switches to Ben Hardy, who sits next to the Hville Thugg (who tonight is being inhabited by Mr. Galatea). Hardy checks his headset, and then we can hear his voice. “I can hear you Axis. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s Ben Hardy live alongside Mr. Galatea, and tonight we are your special commentators for the Lost at Sea match!”

 

Galatea moves Thugg’s head and smiles. “I’m going to enjoy calling this match while your mother blows me.”

 

Hardy blinks. “Come again?”

 

Galatea cracks a bigger smile. “I think you heard me.”

 

Hardy sighs. “Anyway, the stipulations for this contest are as follows. Our three competitors tonight, Insane Luchadore, Mike Van Siclen, and the Canadian Intelligence Agent will brawl all over this ancient ship, Old Ironsides. This ship is FILLED with history, like the time JD saw a white liquid that he thought was semen…”

 

“So he drank it?” Galatea interjects.

 

“Uh, heh-heh,” replies Hardy, “I’m not sure. Nonetheless, this ship is also home to Captain Cook’s virginity!”

 

“Really?”

 

“I don’t know, dammit, it’s a myth! Anyway, to eliminate an opponent, the competitor must throw his foe overboard! And the last man not taking a bath in the big fishpond will win the match and go on to face Manson and Mak Francis in a triple-threat match on… Metal!”

 

“How exciting, Hardy,” Galatea says, “but Thugg’s brain says he wants to see someone up in someone else’s grill, so can we please get to the match?”

 

“Sure thing, Mr. G, we’re just waiting for Funyon to arrive in the Smarkopter… yes, there he is now!”

 

A helicopter lands on the deck of Old Ironsides, and out of it steps Funyon, who waves to all the people standing near the tourist’s entrance to the ship that make up tonight’s “audience”. Funyon grabs a microphone tossed to him by the mighty Johnny Generic, which he raises to his lips.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s contest is a Lost at Sea match for number one contendership to the Smarks Junior League WORLD title! Introducing first, weighing in at one-hundred and ninety-five pounds, he stands at six feet, three inches tall, hailing from Easton, Pennsylvania, the Insane Luchadore, ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN-DREW… RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK-MEEEEEEEEEN!”

 

The crowd gives IL a mixed reaction as he walks down the ramp and onto the ship as “Wait And Bleed” by Slipknot is played over the ship’s speaker system. Luchadore poses a bit before turning to pacing the ship’s deck, thinking about the upcoming match.

 

“The second entrant into this Lost at Sea match, he hails from Harrison, Illinois, weighing in at two-hundred and thirty-seven pounds, standing at six feet, four inches tall, the Amazin’ one himself, representing the Smarks World Order, MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE VA-AN SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC-LEEEEEEEEEEN!”

 

The crowd lets loose with a rainstorm of boos as “Natural High” blares throughout the tinny speakers. Mike Van Siclen slowly walks down the ramp, pointing at random people and smiling at them as he steps aboard the ship, posing at the crowd as the boo mercilessly. Mike smiles some more, walking around the ship and trying to familiarize himself with it.

 

“And finally, he hails from Ottawa, Ontario, Canada,” the crowd roars expectantly, “weighing in at two-hundred and thirty-seven pounds,” the crowd roars even louder, “standing at six feet, four inches tall,” the volume raises even more, but Funyon is not finished, “The CAAAAAAAAAAN-EH-DI-AN INTEEEEEEEEEEEEEELIGENCE AGENT!” The crowd roars as Funyon mutters, “what an oxymoron,” before climbing back into the Smarkopter and flying home. CIA suddenly appears on the ramp, and the crowd goes nuts! He walks down the ramp, smiling, as “Secret Agent Man” plays over the speakers. CIA grabs a microphone and picks it up, beginning to speak.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” CIA poses for a moment, basking in the cheers that are directed towards him. "Greetings from the frozen north! Buy yourself a Canadian Beer, and get ready to have your eyes opened!” CIA extends his arms out to the sides, Canadian flag dangling from the undersides of each arm, before bringing the microphone to his lips and tossing his head back one last time. "Raise your voices up, let the people smile! Cause I'm here, and I'm bringing the CANADIAN STYLE!" Removing his jacket, CIA drapes it over the edge of the boat, smiling as he waits for referee Anthony Michael Hall to begin the match.

 

“These people are on their feet, let the match begin!”

 

“Your mother’s on her knees, Hardy.”

 

Ben Hardy shudders at that thought as Hall signals for the bell.

 

-:Ding:-:Ding:-:Ding:-

 

“And this match is underway!”

 

“I can feel the excitement.”

 

CIA, MVS, and IL all meet in the middle of the deck, staring each other down as the crowd is electrically charged, waiting for the action to initiate. It takes a little while, but Mike breaks away from the stare, and IL pounces, tying up with Van Siclen and quickly putting him into a hammerlock! CIA grabs IL from behind, however, and puts him into a sleeper! IL doesn’t break the hold on MVS, however, and Van Siclen chooses to break it himself with AUTHORI-TAH!, or to those of you who are normal, a back-kick low blow.

 

“That kick must’ve felt brutal!”

 

“Well, yeah… they’re his nuts, man.”

 

IL grabs his tortured testes, but he still has the sleeper to deal with, and CIA doesn’t look like he’s going to break it… until MVS forces him to, catching him in the face with a hard forearm! CIA lets go immediately, leaving IL to massage his manhood as Van Siclen pummels his near-look-alike across the jaw with forearms. The crowd counts along, getting up to about twelve before MVS stops, posing for the benefit of the now-jeering crowd before winding up and looking for the huge forearm…

 

“And MVS catches nothing – but – AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIR!”

 

“Air is a noun, and it is what Ben Hardy puts into his blow-up doll at home.”

 

“You realize you’re probably not allowed to say that on the air.”

 

“I’m fuckin’ dead, man. Why do I care?”

 

CIA has ducked Van Siclen’s forearm, going behind Mike and grabbing his arm with his left hand, pulling it behind his neck and lifting Mike’s legs with his muscular right arm before falling back with a hellacious backdrop onto the wood, which almost immediately splinters into Mike’s backside! Van Siclen instinctively rolls over, clutching his back.

 

“Backdrop by CIA!”

 

“I can feel the excitement and smell the ratings. No, wait, I can’t.”

 

CIA looks at Van Siclen’s downed body and lifts it up, again wrapping Mike’s arm around his neck and again lifting him up by the legs, looking for another backdrop, but he’s rudely interrupted by the Insane Luchadore, who lays a heavy dropkick to CIA’s back! The Canadian drops Mike and grabs his own back, falling stomach-first to the wooden deck of the boat.

 

“CIA looks for another backdrop, but he pays the PRICE!”

 

“I hear the going rate for your mom is fifteen cents, Hardy.”

 

Van Siclen stands up, dusting himself off a bit before staring at IL coldly, Rickmen only returning the glare. The two lock up, and IL gets the upper hand, putting Van Siclen into a quick hammerlock! But Mike reverses, putting IL into a hammerlock of his own! Of course, all of this good fun is broken up as CIA comes to, clubbering Mike in the back of the head with a huge double axe handle! Mike falls, dazed, and CIA grabs IL, giving him a quick DDT!

 

“CIA is cleanin’ house, BAH GAWD!”

 

“You cheap knockoff. And speaking of ‘knocking’… heh-heh.”

 

“Die.”

 

CIA grabs IL roughly, picking him up and putting him into a Dragon sleeper! IL’s face twists into a mask of pain as he struggles against the submission maneuver, used solely to wear down IL enough so that CIA can throw the Insane one overboard. However, one knows what usually happens in multi-man matches when submissions are applied, and true to form, Mike Van Siclen comes out of nowhere and spears CIA, who nearly rips IL’s arm out of its socket in the process! Mike furiously punches at CIA as IL grabs his shoulder in pain.

 

“Mike Van Siclen indirectly saves IL, while at the same time taking out CIA!”

 

“Ouch, man, that sleeper must’ve, like, hurt…”

 

Van Siclen eases off of CIA, but just as quickly has the Canadian by the hair and is pulling him over to the stairs that lead to the gun deck! With a sick smile, Mike grabs CIA by the top of his tights and, holding onto the hair hold, throws him down the stairs! CIA crumples in a heap at the bottom, but he lands on his back, and his chest bobs up and down, breathing slowly. With another sick smile, Mike turns around atop the stairs and does a backflip off, landing in what would be perfect position for a Moonsault right across CIA’s chest…

 

BUT HE ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY!

 

“VAN SICLEN MISSES! He tries to roll high, but it backfires on him!”

 

“His ribs must be on fire like a poo poo platter, man!”

 

The Canadian is on his feet in a flash and grabs the hurting Illinois native from behind and getting ready to give him a full-nelson suplex, when out of the corner of his eye he spots IL atop the stairs! Rickmen leaps off and catches both CIA and MVS with a beautiful Plancha, knocking all three to the wooden floor of the gun deck!

 

“PLANCHA BY IL! He just knocked out all three of them!”

 

“That must’ve hurt worse zipping your <censored> up in your fly!”

 

IL stands up quickly, surveying both MVS and CIA and deciding that he has a better chance of taking out the masked Canadian than the unmasked American. He grabs CIA and pulls him to his feet, wrapping his arm around CIA’s neck in bulldog position, then running towards the staircase that leads to the berth deck!

 

“HE WOULDN’T! HE COULDN’T! HE… oh, fuck, he did.”

 

What our wonderfully fruity play-by-play man is referring to is the Luchadore leaping off of the top stair, and bringing both him and CIA all…

 

The way…

 

Down…

 

BOOM! The noise of the impact of IL’s ass and CIA’s noggin on the wood of the berth deck actually echoes, as CIA just got hit by a Falling Bulldog!

 

“FALLING BULLDOG FROM THE GUN DECK TO THE BERTH DECK BY IL!”

 

“The Insane one is cleaning house, kinda like I cleaned your mother’s cooter last night!”

 

“…how juvenile…”

 

The berth deck, for those of you who don’t know, is the deck where all the men aboard the ship slept. So it’s a natural that there are hammocks all over the place, which would be an excellent spot for hitting an aerial move off of. Funny I should bring that up right as IL climbs into one of them, standing uneasily on the swinging sheet as he takes aim at his target: CIA, who lay stomach-up, the force of the Falling Bulldog having bounced him over. Now, IL leaps off!, doing a tremendous flip in the air and getting ready to land, stretched out on top of CIA…

 

“REJECTION! CIA rolls out of the way of that telegraphed 450* splash, and now looks to gain the upper hand!”

 

“Yes, but you’re ignoring the real question.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Where the hell is MVS?”

 

Good question, but as with all good questions we’ll get an answer, as the *stomp-stomp-stomp* on the stairs is pretty much a dead giveaway as to where MVS is. CIA, who stood up as he rolled out of the way of Andrew Rickmen, now turns around to see who it is, although he knows the answer… Mike Van Siclen, with a full head of steam, looking to just about kill CIA with a spinning wheelkick to the head… so, naturally, CIA HITS THE DECK~!, and MVS goes flying over him, landing on his back in pain, and agony. CIA stands up, surveying the broken bodies around him, and mutters, “I need a Molson.”

 

“CIA knocks both of his competitors out, and he doesn’t even do anything! It’s brilliant!”

 

“No, what’s brilliant is my wit. What’s luck is CIA.”

 

It’s CIA’s turn, now, to choose which one of his foes he has a better shot at beating, and he chooses IL this time. He lifts Rickmen to his feet, and gives him an Irish whip straight into one of the hammocks, which does the clothesline for him! CIA picks up Van Siclen and whips him the other way into another hammock, which does the clotheslining for him yet again! CIA grabs Van Siclen and leads him up the stairs to the gun deck like he’s a retarded child and he’s the teacher, knowing that IL will follow when he regains his senses.

 

“Some clever moves there by CIA, letting his surroundings do the work for him!”

 

“Yes, clever indeed. Can we get to the part where CIA shoots a cannon into Mike’s face? Thugg wants some bloodshed.”

 

Galatea is close to the result of the next encounter, as CIA catches Mike with a quick shoulder jawbreaker to make Mike dizzy and set up his next move. CIA goes over to one of the numerous cannons on the gun deck and gets a 32 pounder, pulling it and turning it around so that the barrel is pointing at Mike. Putting all his might into the push, CIA moves the big black metal structure forward and aims it right for Van Siclen’s stomach! CHA-CHING! Mike stumbles back a long ways, and CIA leaves his station as gun-manner, instead going to MVS and leading him up the stairs to the main deck!

 

“We’re back on top, baby, and things can only get more dangerous!”

 

“Not really. They were just on a fucking gun deck. You don’t get more dangerous than that.”

 

CIA and Mike reach the top of the staircase and the Canadian drags Mike over near the edge, hoping to throw Mike overboard right away, but Van Siclen puts his head underneath CIA’s jaw and catches him with a Sitout Jawbreaker! CIA goes down, and Mike grabs him by the legs, spreading them apart and coming down in between with both legs!

 

“Sitout Jawbreaker into a Double Leg Wishbone by Van Siclen, one of his signature combinations!”

 

“I’m sure all these people in beautiful Boston, Massachusetts want both mine and the Thugg’s autographs!”

 

The Boston crowd roars as Van Siclen grabs CIA by the hair, pulling him to his feet and putting him in DDT position! He raises one arm, playing to the booing crowd, and smiles broadly, obviously not expecting anything to go awry right here. But how wrong he is, for as he whirls around, looking for the Code Red, he gets clobbered in the face by an IL forearm! He staggers back a few feet, touching his now-bleeding lip, and charges IL. The two lock up, Van Siclen gaining the upper hand and powering IL back, pressing him against the side of the ship! Mike lets go of the lock-up, lifting up IL’s chin and catching him with a chop!

 

“WHOOOOO!”

 

“Hardy, you’re the only one saying that.”

 

“So?”

 

“Just making sure you knew.”

 

Another chop!

 

“WHOOOOO!”

 

Mike ceases the chopping, letting IL do what he’s been doing, standing groggily. But suddenly, Van Siclen grabs him roughly by the hair! The Amazin’ One sticks IL’s head between his legs and signals for a powerbomb!

 

“Oh no! Mike’s going to powerbomb Rickmen over the edge of the boat!”

 

Well, that’s what you’d expect… but no! IL manages to break free of the powerbomb hold, and lays down across Mike’s chest, in position for a Hurricanrana!

 

“But the Insane one reverses into Hurricanrana position!”

 

Mike, however, is smarter than you’d expect, as instead of standing there, waiting to be Hurricanranaed overboard like a dumbfounded cow staring into the headlights of a runaway train, he grabs IL in a waistlock and jumps, turning a quarter-spin in the air so that both men are completely horizontal, Mike’s 237 pounds on top of IL, who is facing down at the wood of the boat…

 

“STYLES CLASH! STYLES CLASH ONTO THE BOAT BY VAN SICLEN!”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to hate him?”

 

Mike stands up as IL rolls over, clutching his ribcage, where they’ve probably just been shattered! Mike refuses to show compassion, however, as he goes to lift IL up…

 

BUT IS PUT INTO A REAR WAISTLOCK BY CIA! The Intelligence Agent lifts Mike up and slams him down back first onto the unforgiving wood of the boat with a hard release German suplex! Mike grabs his shoulders and upper back, selling the move like a champ as IL lays on the ground next to him, still nearly unconscious from the brutal Styles Clash.

 

“RELEASE BELLY-TO-BACK ON VAN SICLEN!”

 

“Ouch. Don’t get so excited, Hardy, it didn’t hurt –that- much.”

 

“What are you talking about? Mike just got dropped stomach-first!”

 

“So?”

 

CIA stands up, surveying his handiwork… IL lying on the ground, clutching his ribs from the brutal Styles Clash by Van Siclen… Van Siclen, also, laying on the ground clutching his ribcage from the release belly-to-back suplex by he himself, CIA… and the Canadian one goes to pick up Van Siclen, to eliminate him, and all things resembling the New Sound. He grabs Mike’s long blonde hair, picking him up and going to throw him overboard…

 

“OH MY GOD! It’s Fugue! Fugue just nailed CIA in the face with that wooden chair!”

 

“OH MY GOD!”

 

“You don’t have to mock me, Galatea.”

 

“I wasn’t, but I just received a news flash: Jay Dawg sucks!”

 

CIA stumbles back about five feet, and releases his grip on Van Siclen, who himself stumbles over to the side of the boat and grabs onto it to support himself. Meanwhile, Fugue goes behind CIA, grabbing him in a double chickenwing and lifting him up, sitting out and slamming the Canadian straight down onto his ass with the Coda!

 

“CODA! CODA ON CIA BY FUGUE!”

 

“Ooooooh, my friend would call that a tag, baby.”

 

“No need to mock the WWE’s inferior diva now.”

 

“BREAK A NECK, FUGUE!”

 

Fugue stands up coolly, yelling over to Mike with all the ease of riding a bike down a hill, “Let’s throw this motherfucker overboard!”

 

Mike shoots the musical maniac a cold look, narrowing his eyes and staring at Mak in near-rage. “I can do it myself… get the hell off this boat.”

 

The real-life Tony Herrera looks at Van Siclen, startled. “But, Mike, I was trying to…”

 

Mike cuts him off with a glare and a yell. “GET OFF THE BOAT!”

 

“NO!”

 

Mike shoves Fugue hard across the chest, the musical madman stumbling back from a combination of shock at Mike’s aggression and just pain from an unusually hard shove as the two stablemates begin to brawl, Fugue gaining the upper hand and clocking Mike with a right hand! Van Siclen stumbles back a few feet, and Fugue grabs Mike under the jaw, right hand coming across with a WHOOOOOO! Chop! And another! And another! The small crowd is electric as Mak goes for an open-handed chop on Van Siclen…

 

BUT MIKE GRABS HIS WRIST! Fugue looks at Mike, stunned, as Van Siclen pulls him into a Rock Bottom! Mike stands up, hold unbroken… another Rock Bottom!

 

“DOUBLE DOWN BY VAN SICLEN! He just showed Fugue why you don’t mess with MVS.”

 

“I’m shocked at your catchphrase-envy, Hardy. Especially considering that that’s not his catchphrase. Although it should be.”

 

Mike stands up, looking down coldly at his stablemate. He kicks at Fugue, and seeing him unmoving, goes over to pick up the Canadian Intelligence Agent…

 

BUT GETS BLINDSIDED FROM BEHIND BY IL! The Insanest of them all grabs Mike in a Full Nelson, quickly jumping onto the edge of the boat, looking for the Brink of Insanity! The next few moments seem to pass in slow motion… IL standing dumbfounded almost as CIA comes out of nowhere, with the wooden chair that Fugue was in possession of, and using it to smash IL in the skull… IL releasing the full nelson hold on Van Siclen, standing, tottering even on the side of the ship… another smash with a chair, and yet Rickmen is still valiantly holding on with his feet… one more smash with the chair sends Rickmen over the edge, and he slowly, ever-so-slowly, tumbles down ten… twenty… thirty… forty… fifty feet, into the cold Boston harbor water…

 

SPLASH!

 

“CIA JUST THREW IL OFF THE BOAT! IL tried to work one of his top-rope moves on this boat, and it cost him dearly! GOODNIGHT IRENE!”

 

“…Goodnight Irene?”

 

“Forget about that, Galatea, CIA just threw IL off of the USS Constitution, and now we’re down to just Mike Van Siclen against the Canadian Intelligence Agent!”

 

CIA and Mike look at each other, hate resonating in their eyes… CIA, the Canadian who has fought so valiantly against the New Sound and their leader, Mak Francis… Mike Van Siclen, the sWo sellout that just took out Fugue… the two share both a bond and a mutual hate, and as the two lock up thoughts of this must be echoing in their minds!

 

“Listen to the crowd! They’re electric after what happened to IL, and they know that anything can happen here!”

 

“Yes, but most likely what will happen is that CIA will kill Mike Van Siclen. And then your mother will be <censored> by me.”

 

“Censors! Censors! Did you catch that? We apologize in advance!”

 

Van Siclen gains the upper hand in the lock-up, pushing CIA against the edge of the boat and grabs CIA by the head, putting his feet into the gut of his near-mirror image and falling backwards, CIA getting pushed up into the air by Mike’s feet, which hits the Agent with a brutal Monkey Flip! CIA grabs his back and Mike goes to work even more, lifting CIA to his feet by the hair and grabbing the Canadian by the head, putting him into DDT position!

 

“What could Mike be looking for here? The Russian Roulette, or the Code Red?”

 

“Probably both. In hospitals, the signal for a Russian roulette victim is a Code Red.”

 

“No it isn’t.”

 

“You’re probably right. I never was a nurse.”

 

Well, as it turns out it doesn’t matter what MVS is looking for, as CIA gives Mike a brutal elbow to the gut, causing the Illinois native to back up a foot or so, and release the hold to boot. Mike grabs his ribs a little bit as CIA charges him and hits him with a Bionic Elbow right across the jaw! Van Siclen goes down and is soon clutching this instead, as all semblance of psychology is lost in this match… it’s all about damaging your opponent, something which CIA is doing to Van Siclen right now.

 

“A NICE Bionic Elbow out of the DDT hold by CIA, and he’s starting to shift the tide on Van Siclen!”

 

“The tide has shifted, the curtains lifted, and MVS is getting his ass WHUPPED! U bring the ass and I bring the whuppin’, if you smell what the Galatea is cookin’!”

 

“Zuh?”

 

CIA poses Canadian-style for the hundred or so fans, who cheer for him even through the frigid Boston night. The Agent goes to pick Van Siclen up, and sticks his head between his legs in preparation for either a powerbomb or a pedigree!

 

“Your mother put me in this position last night, Hardy!”

 

“Die, Galatea. Just die.”

 

“I could kick your puny ass with a broken neck, Hardy. And Pornmasta Thugg agrees with me.”

 

CIA attempts to lift Mike up for a powerbomb… but Mike reverses! He lifts CIA up in what would normally be a back body-drop, but Mike grabs CIA’s legs, leaving him hanging upside-down across Van Siclen’s back in Alabama Slam position… and the icing on the cake is sitting out, slamming CIA’s head forcefully into the wood of Ol’ Ironsides with a vicious Van Slaminator! The crowd pops for the move but then boos at the damage as Van Siclen stands up, grinning broadly and flexing his muscles for the benefit of the jeering crowd.

 

“VAN SLAMINATOR!!! VAN SLAMINATOR ON CIA!”

 

“Hardy, you’ve marked out more in the last ten minutes than 60,000 teenage girls do during the average Hardy Boyz match. Please stop.”

 

Mike poses a bit, playing to the crowd, flexing his muscles as the harsh crowd boos him mercilessly. He poses so much, in fact, he misses CIA standing up and applying a standing crossface to the Amazin’ one! CIA brings Mike’s head down, sitting out himself and slamming the back of Mike’s head against the cold wood of the USS Constitution with a MASSIVE Crossface Halo! Mike, however, is SO pumped up from this match that he bounces right back up, only instead of fighting CIA like a man he bails down the staircase!

 

“VAN SICLEN JUST DITCHED! He got hit with his own finisher, but he’s running on adrenaline right now, and that’s one hella powerful fuel!”

 

“I think you’re missing the obvious question, Hardy, which is what the hell is Mike doing below deck… again?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Neither, it appears, does CIA, as he curiously walks down the staircase, calling out “Oh, Mi-i-i-i-ike, where ARRRRRRE you?” Of course, he finishes walking down the stairs and turns around, out in the open on the gun deck of the boat. CIA can’t seem to find MVS… who is hiding behind one of the cannons, which is turned around and aimed right at CIA. Uh-oh. CIA is looking right at Mike but doesn’t know it, but Van Siclen makes his presence felt, putting all of his might into a loud “KIYAAAA!” and pushing the cannon forward, building up momentum as he rams it right into CIA’s stomach!

 

“HOLY SHIT! CIA just got nailed in the stomach by that cannon, propelled by MVS!”

 

“Uh, ouch.”

 

CIA stumbles back several feet, but to his credit doesn’t go down, just grabs his ribs in sheer agony. Of course, what he doesn’t realize is how close he is to the camboose, or the large stove where all the food is cooked. Of course, it’s not fired up right now, but as a large, black, nearly-solid metal structure, you would think CIA would know better than to go near there. However, his brains must be scrambled, as he lingers around there, dizzy from the cannon shot, as Mike lets loose with another Tarzanesque yell and pushes the cannon forward once again… and catches CIA in the gut with it! The momentum of the cannon pushes even farther forward and SANDWICHES CIA BETWEEN THE CANNON AND THE CAMBOOSE! The cannon backs up a few feet post-impact, but the damage is already done as CIA crumples to the deck in a heap, clutching his probably-broken ribs.

 

“CIA JUST GOT SQUASHED BETWEEN THE CANNON AND THE CAMBOOSE!”

 

“Well, this one’s over. Call Hardy’s mom, because she needs to start singing.”

 

Van Siclen grabs CIA by the hair, roughly pulling his counterpart to his feet. The Amazin’ one calmly pulls CIA up the flight of stairs and drags him over to the side of the boat. Mike goes to throw CIA overboard… but the Intelligence Agent kicks him square in the gut! Before MVS even knows what’s happening CIA puts Mike in a half-nelson and grapevines his inside leg, bringing him down with the Stroke, or as CIA calls it the Via Rail!

 

“VIA RAIL! VIA RAIL ON VAN SICLEN!”

 

“IT’S OVER!”

 

“We know, Gala-“

 

“IT’S OVER IT’S OVER IT’S OVER IT’S OVER IT’S OVER IT’S OVER IT’S OVER IT’S OVER IT’S OVER IT’S OVER!”

 

“…jeez, Mr. G, don’t mock Stone Cold or anything.”

 

“What?”

 

The Canadian Intelligence Agent goes down in a heap, the effort of giving Mike the Via Rail taking every last bit of energy out of him. Slowly, both 6’4”, 237 pound, blondes get to their feet, Mike finding his balance only a half-second before CIA, but this is enough to be able to gain control of the match. Mike barely knows what to do right now, so he does the first thing that comes to mind… kicks CIA in the jumblies! CIA clutches his sack and goes down to his back, and Mike, sensing the blood in the water, looks to go in for the kill, and he climbs up onto the railing of the ship!

 

“Mike’s looking to put the exclamation point on this match, but he could end up writing a horror novel!”

 

“And that’s the bottom line, because the Hville Galatea said so!”

 

Mike, knowing that CIA could pop up and knock him off at any moment, immediately leaps off of the railing! He does a backflip in midair… pumps the legs and arms… and looks down at his victim, looking to finish him off with the Siclen’s Gambit…

 

I know what you’re thinking…

 

Does he hit it?

 

 

Is this what will finish CIA off?

 

 

 

Or will it do just that to MVS?

 

 

 

 

Keep reading…

 

 

 

 

 

You’re almost there…

 

 

 

 

 

AND MISSES THE CANADIAN! Van Siclen immediately bounces off, clutching his ribcage, as CIA stands up, picking up MVS quickly and giving him another Via Rail!

 

“MIKE MISSES THE SICLEN’S GAMBIT, AND GETS HIT BY THE VIA RAIL!”

 

“All CIA has to do throw Mike overboard, and this match will finally be over!”

 

“Will -mercifully- be over, you mean.”

 

CIA grabs Mike by his long blonde locks, dragging him over to the edge of the boat. He lifts the Amazin’ one onto his feet and brings out one arm to clothesline Mike over… but Mike ducks! CIA spins around from the momentum, and as he comes full circle Mike hits him with his fist straight in the jumblies! CIA grabs his terrorized testes, but this leaves him wide open for the clothesline overboard from Van Siclen! CIA does a backflip over the edge and pirouettes softly in midair, landing in the water with a huge splash!

 

“IT’S OVER!”

 

“IT’S OVER!”

 

-:Ding:-:Ding:-:Ding:-

 

Ben Hardy stands up on the announce table and begins to speak. “Your winner, and NEW number one contender to the Smarks Junior League WORLD title… The Amazin’ One, MIIIIIIIIKE VA-AN SIIIIIIIIIC-LEEEEEN!”

 

Hardy sits down and engages Galatea in conversation. That was a hell of a good match, earmarked by spots galore!”

 

“Mike, CIA, and Andrew gave it their all tonight, and Mike just happened to have the more zip to the trip tonight.”

 

“We’ll send it back to Axis, Edwin, and King at the arena. Axis?”

 

Switch to a view of the standing crowd at the FleetCenter in Boston, Massachusetts, where Axis, Edwin MacPhisto, and the Suicide King sit behind their desk.

 

“Ben!” Axis shouts over the buzzing crowd. “I’m not sure if you can see the crowd, but these fans here in the FleetCenter are giving a standing ovation right now.”

 

“Indeed they are, Axis,” Edwin chimes in. “They were going especially nuts for all the spots in the gun deck, which was priceless…”

 

“Ah, yes, the area where Mike took control of his own destiny with that cannon,” the Suicide King softly states. “If it had been me I would’ve taken that cannon and hit CIA AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN until his stomach was a mess of blood and bone and tendon and there was no flesh…”

 

Edwin puts a reassuring hand on King’s shoulder. “Calm down, son.”

 

Axis shakes his head. “Well, folks, stay tuned, because we have more SJL action for you right after this!”

 

A shot of the roaring crowd is shown as the show fades to commercial…

[Guest crusen86]

The camera pans the audience giving the SJL faithful their well deserved fame but who really cares about them as this is shill WF The Superior One Tom Flesher day; “Superiority = RATINGZ~!”, “Best Heat Getter In The Business”, “Nothing can Bust Taamo’s ego”, “Put you on your back faster than Funneling Tequila = Best shirt tag EVER” and finally “Double Champs rule just ask Mak Francis”. Finally the camera zooms in on the commentary booth with the best trio in the business…well SWF…well SJL…maybe…Axis, Edwin MacPhisto and the Suicide King.

 

“Hello and welcome back to SJL Crimson. I’m Axis and to my left and right respectively are Edwin MacPhisto and the Suicide King.”

 

“What no extra wordage for our names. Even MARK does the introductions properly in the WF…”

 

“Why don’t you cry about it Kingy?”

 

“And tonight we are bringing you an impromptu match set up at the request of our World Heavyweight Champion!”

 

“Mak requested a match non title of course against the man who scored a pin fall over him in the last shows main event.”

 

“Well the request was his but the match stipulations are in favor of the challenger “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins who has baited Francis into a falls count anywhere match…for the SJL World Title.”

 

“Jenkins played to Francis’s main weakness his pride and got everything he wanted, especially a SJL World Title shot all over a pin in a six man tag!”

 

“No worries though as the pin was a fluke and Jenkins isn’t half the grappler that the Franchise is.”

 

“Well I think that “Hollywood” is out to prove something to Francis and everybody else. Am I the only person that thinks he has a shot?”

 

“No shed boy over here agrees with you…”

 

And interrupting the fine banter between the announce table comes "Peace Not Greed" by Kottonmouth Kings playing over the PA as the different color lights flash all over the arena.

 

“This impromptu contest is a NO disqualification, falls count anywhere match, for the Smarks Junior League World Heavyweight Title…” Starts Funyon in Michael Buffer mode.

 

They all focus in, as 'Hollywood' Spike Jenkins walks out, from behind the entrance curtains. Hollywood walks down the ramp and poses a bit, as the lights start to flash all over the arena again. Hollywood slides into the ring, from under the bottom rope. Hollywood walks over to a corner, and hops onto the middle turnbuckle, and poses for the crowd. Hollywood jumps back and lands on his feet.

 

“The challenger, making his way to ringside…from Hollywood California…weighing in at 220 pounds…“Hollywood” SPIKE JEENKIIIIINsssssssss!”

 

“And here comes the 1-2-3 kid himself.” Says King who is quickly reprimanded by Edwin. “Kingy that’s gimmick infringement!”

 

“Well as we already discussed Spike got the pin in the main event last week over the world champion after a CIA Via Rail de-railed both Myers and Francis!”

 

“Damn that Canadian…his name is an oxymoron.”

 

“The only oxymoron is you calling people oxymoron’s, ZING!”

 

[Whispered] ‘Are you Ready?’….

 

“Well here comes one pissed off World Champion…” Mentions Axis.

 

“This match is scheduled for one fall and is for the Smarks Junior League World Heavyweight Title.” Booms Funyon the SJL’s Michael Buffer clone.

 

Blue and White strobe lights flash as the SMARKStron airs highlights of Mak Francis hitting the perfect kick on TNT. This is followed by a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis…

 

[semi loud] ‘Are you Ready?’….

 

“And you wouldn’t be if some jobber could claim that they pinned you. He was just a beat down bitch of the sWo’s and then all of a sudden he’s pinning the best in the business. Where does he get off pulling crap like that?”

 

And a clip of his European Title 4 way match, and him forcing the Canadian Intelligence Agent to tap out, during a figure four-leg lock. This is once again followed by a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis…

 

“Once again you do your job well as I can’t even come up with a witty response to refute your stupidity…” Adds a baffled Edwin MacPhisto.

 

“Heel commentator for dummies. Learn the lines of the great Suicide King and shock face color men into submission! ONLY $29.95 S & H $ 5.95!”

 

[screamed] ‘CAUSE THE FRANCHISE HERE!’

 

“And his opponent, making his way to ringside at 225 pounds…hailing from the city of brotherly hate…” Funyon looks down at an index card and just shakes his head no. “Due to stealing of the Superior Heat getter™ I cannot continue with this introduction so he just your SJL World Heavyweight Champeen “The Franchise” MAK FRANNNNNIICssssssssss!”

 

Francis runs down to the ring, steel chair in hand and slides in ready to ring the crap out of “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins bell. Francis gets to his feet and takes a wild swing at the head of the upstart Jenkins – but Hollywood ducks under the attack.

 

“Well, Mak’s really going after Jenkins from the get go.”

 

And Hollywood connects with a dropkick to the Franchise’s back pushing him stumbling towards the ropes. Francis, irate that he missed the first time rushes forward again chair ready to swing…

 

…

 

But he’s force to duck a spinning heel kick…

 

And as Mak spins around he bangs the steel chair on the ground twice ready to strike – but as he swings the chair – he gets nailed with high impact superkick slamming the chair into his face. Francis goes down hard holding his head in pain, rolling over and out of the ring to regain his composure as Jenkins motions him to bring it on.

 

“SUPERKICK INTO THE STEEL CHAIR BY SPIKE JENKNIS!!”

 

“DQ HIM DAMNIT!”

 

“But King the match is no disqualification, falls count anywhere AND the bell hasn’t even rung yet!”

 

“…Shut up Axis. You’re always the voice of reason. Well mister play by play, listen to reason…and understand just why you love the cock!”

 

Francis stands up cradling his head as a few trickles of blood seep down his forehead. As he rubs the blood away with the back of his fist his anger gets the better of him and he slides back into the ring in a hurry. “Wow, Francis takes a potato shot early on to the noggin, and is already starting to bleed for a minor cut.”

 

The referee quickly asks for the bell as Francis bull rushes in after “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins….

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

But Jenkins sidesteps the attack and pulls him to the mat with a surprisingly nasty looking drop toehold. Jenkins gets back to his feet quickly and as Francis finally gets up to one knee the quicker than a hiccup Jenkins bounces off the near ropes and steps on his knee diving into the air and driving his leg into the back of Mak Francis’s skull. The Franchise once again eats the canvas causing a small blood spot to appear on the mat as the crowd roars in approval of the high flyer.

 

“Dangerous Wizardah~!”

 

“Stop it with the PURO Edwin!”

 

“And Spike is back up to his vertical base. He lines him up and connects with a spinning 420 leg drop to the back of his neck. He rolls Francis over – he’s going for the pin!”

 

ONE

 

“I wonder where he came up with that signature name.”

 

“What happens April 20th every year, Edwin.”

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

 

“Taxes?”

 

“I HATE YOU SO MUCH!!”

 

“And a kick out by Francis at two and a half. Hollywood Spike Jenkins really has the world champ reeling with his fast paced and unorthodox offensive style.”

 

“A lot of high impact moves and agile kicks are in this youngsters arsenal. He’s got Mak all in a tizzy.”

 

“Please if anything Mak is just waiting for and opportunity to counter.” Contradicts the Suicide King. “The Insane Luchador Andrew Rickmen was much a faster and seasoned veteran and what happened to him…he got his arm nearly torn out of its socket!”

 

“Well the one advantage that Spike has over Rickmen is that he was in complete control of Francis from the beginning. He had the Franchise angry and used that to get the match he wanted with the stipulations he wanted.”

 

“But No DQ with Mak Francis is like signing your own death warrant. Not as bad as facing me but then again what is?”

 

The Franchise rolls away from Spike Jenkins and gets to the ropes but his opponent is right on him until the ref forces him back. The self proclaimed Franchise picks himself up to his feet using the ropes and holds the back of his head while Jenkins stands in the center of the ring. Francis and Jenkins meet mid way connected in a collar and elbow tie-up. Francis takes advantage using his difference in strength and pulls Spike forward into a deep knee stroke to the gut. He follows it up with a side headlock, which Jenkins tries to pry loose of the hold – but Francis spins around behind him wrenching in a hammerlock – which is quickly reversed by Jenkins but Francis scores with a back elbow and ends up back in a side headlock.

 

“And they’re back where they started with a merry go round of counters!”

 

Francis grinds in the headlock and then takes Jenkins over in a headlock takedown snapping him to the mat. Francis releases the hold and floats around into a reverse chin lock effectively grounding the high flyer.

 

“Mak finally able to show why he is a NCAA National Champion by taking this kid to wrestling school.”

 

“After all the fast paced action this chin lock finally allows him to control the match tempo.”

 

But with the crowd rallying behind him Spike gets to one knee waving his hand in the air. The crowd lets loose a roar after an elbow is buried deep into the stomach of Francis and another elbow connects with its target forcing a release of the hold. Spike latches onto Francis arm and Irish whips him towards the corner – but Francis reverses and throws “Hollywood” into the aforementioned corner, following him in readying to nail him with a stiff clothesline – but Spike jumps onto middle rope and springboards off the turnbuckle into a back kick.

 

“Some type of springboard kick from “Hollywood” takes Francis down.”

 

Spike sprints from his position as Francis sits up and drags his head down in a rolling neck breaker. And follows up with the cover…

 

ONE

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

THR-

 

“And a kick out from Francis. He just can’t get a handle on this unorthodox style that Spike Jenkins is bring to the table.”

 

“Yeah, Mak has gotten hardly any offensive attacks. He needs to catch a breather and think his strategy over.”

 

“I keep telling you that Mak is just luring these guys into false sense of security so that they’re easy pickings.”

 

“Jenkins has a real shot to win this match. He has the mental advantage and -”

 

“He’s so hopped up on grass that he can’t feel any pain! I’d say he’s done more drugs than Danny Williams!”

 

“And Spike Jenkins stalks behind Francis waiting for him to rise…Highlighter! – No Francis with back elbows to break it up and he locks in a chicken wing dropping to the mat with a kneeling jawbreaker. What a counter to the Highlighter!!”

 

“What’d I tell you two? Mak’s always luring weakling into a false sense of security.”

 

“I must admit that was a bloody nice counter.”

 

And Francis grabs the leg of Spike Jenkins and goes to work on it with a couple elbow drops and kicks to the joint. The crowd sits on their hands in wait of Spike Jenkins triumphant come back which happens as Francis makes the ultimate mistake of picking him up to his feet for a shin breaker...

 

…

 

Which, as if anybody didn’t already know, gets countered by a few well-placed hard right hands. And Spike goes to rebound off the ropes but he doesn’t have his normal agility so he cannot dodge the low dropkick to his knee.

 

As quickly as he can Francis tries to pretzels Spike’s leg into the shape of a four but in a change of pace it looks like he’ll attempts to step over into a Texas Clover leaf.

 

“Superior Stretch attempt by the Franchise!”

 

“Well If Funyon won’t let Francis steal his heat getter I guess he had to steal his move.”

 

“That’s fair.”

 

But Spike is quick to react and kicks Francis off him forcing him to stumble into the corner. Hollywood is back up to his feet and even though his knee is in pain he rushes over and jumps on the now facing him Franchise, falling backward and executing a rolling corner monkey flip.

 

“Spike back on the offensive -” And “OHHHHHHH” goes the crowd as Jenkins snaps a stiff knock out kick to the back of Francis’s head. The sheer force of the kick causes a loud smack sound to emanated throughout the arena as Francis eats canvas for the third time in this match. Hollywood rolls him over and goes for the cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE-

 

“No Francis once again gets the shoulder up!”

 

“Spike now more than ever needs to hit that one impact move that’ll put Francis down for good.”

 

Jenkins takes Edwin’s advice and lifts Francis to his feet Irish whipping him into the ropes – and upon his return Jenkins lands on the shoulders of Francis executing a standing Hurricanrana – but Francis fights off the first attempt and spins three hundred and sixty degrees looking to hit a powerbomb – but Spike attempt a second time after some right hands pulling Francis down but he doesn’t have enough leverage to get him over. This leads to Spike getting chucked to the mat face first in an inverted wheel barrel suplex!

 

“DAMN…that’d be a new move!”

 

“Some type of wheel barrel suplex but I couldn’t go further in depth than that…”

 

“And you call yourself a play-by-play man you fosters loving freak!”

 

“Could you describe the move better?”

 

“…” Is the only response he gets. “I thought so!”

 

And Francis after a nice counter moves back into his methodical pace picking on the shoulder of Jenkins by bringing him to his feet and executing a arm wringer – which gets reversed by Jenkins who has been showing a great deal of technical prowess this match – but Francis has a counter of his own with a forward roll and a headstand flip up into a new arm wringer which he parleys into a hammerlock.

 

“Francis’s only offense has been coming off counters. Hopefully he’ll be able to get in some high impact offense.”

 

And Francis obliges with a high angle German suplex while still holding onto the hammerlock. Jenkins neck hits the mat hard and unprotected as Francis tries to lift him up for a second suplex!

 

“Francis attempting Rolling Hammerlock German suplexes and BAH GOD I”VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT!”

 

“Chill JR, you’re killing my ears and the TV crowd doesn’t need it oversold that much!”

 

“Uh…Yeah.” Adds Edwin ignoring King. “Lately Mak’s been adding hammerlocks to his suplexes to increase the amount of damage to their shoulders and neck. Quite a viscous way to singling out a body part but it set’s up his finishers very well.”

 

And Francis ends his rolling hammerlock German’s as he elevates Spike Jenkins straight up into a hammerlock backdrop suplex finishing the combo and practically breaking Spike’s shoulder in the process but doesn’t go for the cover.

 

“Why the hell isn’t Francis going for the cover…”

 

Instead with Jenkins on his back and his shoulder in pain Francis flips him over readying him for a submission maneuver.

 

“I think he’s going to make him tap out. What better way to prove that you’re superior than to force an opponent to cry out in agony and give up!”

 

And true to Suicide King’s words, Francis is on all four grappling with Jenkins to place him in the step over toe hold with a cross face but Jenkins quickly hooks one arm around the Franchise’s neck and one in between his legs. Then the kid known as “Hollywood”, shoulder feeling like it’s out of his socket, hops over Mak Francis and lands on his back/side flipping the Franchise over into a pinning predicament. Jenkins tries with all his might to claps his hands together, so that he hooks the leg tightly but his arms are a little too short…

 

O

N

E

 

 

T

 

W

 

O

 

 

 

T

 

 

H

 

 

R

 

 

E

 

 

E!

 

 

 

 

“FRANCIS GETS A SHOULDER UP! I THOUGHT IT WAS ALL OVER AFTER THAT PIN!!”

 

And just like that Mak Francis rolls out of the ring not even looking back at the young wrestler still cradling his shoulder and waves his hands at the referee. An audible shout of “Screw this he ain’t even worthy of my time. When he wins a title, tell him to get back in line.” is picked up by the TV cameras. True to his words Mak Francis walks to the back leaving a stunned referee and the injured “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins in the ring.

 

“Your right Mak, Jenkins damn sure isn’t worth your time.”

 

“I think Francis forgot about the falls count anywhere stip…”

 

“It seems that way and Spike Jenkins is up and about to find out!”

 

The camera’s cut backstage, showing Mak Francis walking around. Of all people, Cutthroat walks up to Mak.

 

“Hey Mak, don’t you have a match now?”

 

“Get out of my way damnit…”

 

“Oh shit…”

 

With that, Mak turns around, only to get smacked over the top of the head with a miniature road sign that was just lying around the arena by Spike Jenkins, sending him to the floor. Spike quickly falls over onto Mak, as the referee comes running up to them.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR….

 

“Mak just barely kicked out.”

 

“Oh no, Mak! Get back to the ring! Don’t fight him back there!”

 

“Mak is a technical wrestler. He is defiantly at a disadvantage brawling back there with Spike.”

 

Spike gets to his feet quickly, as Mak turns onto all fours. Mak starts to crawl away from his competitor. Spike follows him, waiting for the time to strike. Mak rises to his feet, turning towards Spike, and throws a wild left hand at Spike’s face. Spike throws his right arm up; blocking his punch, then swings his left at Mak, nailing him across the face with a left hand. Mak falls back stunned, as Spike throws his left arm across Mak’s chest, getting a “WHOOO” from the crowd, while they watch this whole thing on the SMARKStron. Mak throws another wild left, but Spike blocks it again with his right arm, and hits Mak with another left hand. Spike wields back, and smacks Mak across the chest again with his left hand. Spike grabs Mak’s wrist, and whips him into a nearby wall. Mak bounces back from the impact, and gets hit across the chest with another left hand by Spike, knocking him to the floor. Spike quickly goes for the cover.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TW….

 

“Mak with a shoulder up.”

 

“Mak never expected to be in much trouble that he is in right now. The youngster, Spike Jenkins, is really taking it to the world champion.”

 

“Well, no duh” says the King.

 

Both Mak and Spike are on there feet, as Mak is trying to run away from Spike. Mak turns around, but is met with a right hand by Spike, knocking him backwards into a hallway. Spike hits Mak with another right hand, and Mak fall back, slamming into the double doors behind him, opening the doors, knocking him to the ground. Mak crawls into the room, as Spike follows behind him.

 

“They are in the men’s locker room!”

 

“Mak! Fight back!”

 

Mak rises to his feet, but is met with a quick kick to the gut by Spike, who follows up with a swinging roundhouse kick to Mak’s face, knocking him over to the floor.

 

“Spike Jenkins using those stiff kicks of his to take advantage of the situation.”

 

“Hey, what is Spike doing?”

 

“Well, Spike just pulled out a blue duffle bag that was in his locker. Spike just pulled out two small, thin cans out of the bag….”

 

“THAT’S SILLY STRING! HE CANT USE SILLY STRING ON THE WORLD CHAMPION!” screams the King.

 

Spike pops the caps off the cans, and shakes them wildly, as Mak pulls himself to his feet. Mak turns to Spike, and Spike sprays the red and blue silly string into Mak’s face, blinding him. Mak falls to his knees, trying to get it out of his face, as Spike sprays the rest of the silly string onto Mak’s body. Spike throws the cans out of the way, and goes back into the bag.

 

“Oh god no…”

 

“Is he pulling out what I think he is pulling out?” Edwin wonders.

 

“Yeah, he is…” says the King sarcastically.

 

Spike lifts up a green, glass bong, the size of his head. Spike gives it a quick kiss

 

…

 

Before throwing it onto the ground, breaking it into a million small pieces.

 

“Why did Spike break his own bong?”

 

“Mak just got to his feet, but Spike hit him with a quick kick to the gut. Spike grabs a hold of Mak, and lifts him up into the air, and SUPLEX ONTO THE GLASS!”

 

“NOOOOOOOO”

 

Mak rolls around in pain, as he tries to swipe the glass off his back. Spike quickly turns Mak onto his back, and tries to win the World Title.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE….

 

“Mak just getting a shoulder up in time.”

 

“Spike is really taking it to Mak. We may see a new world champion.”

 

“If Spike wins the world title, I am quitting my job.”

 

“GO SPIKE GO!” screams Edwin.

 

“Ha Ha, very funny.”

 

Spike pulls Mak Francis up to his feet, and gives him a swift knee to the gut, forcing him over. Spike turns Mak over, and locks him in a dragon sleeper type position. Spike waves his arm over Mak, signaling for the Roll the Joint…

 

--

 

But Mak quickly turns around, now locked in a DDT position by Spike, but instead, lifts Spike into the air, holding him around the waist, and drops Spike down, back first onto the glass in a northern lights suplex, while still bridging Spike.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH……

 

Spike nails Mak in the ribs, knocking Mak off of him, stopping the count.

 

“Mak almost beat Spike there. A northern lights suplex straight onto the glass.”

 

“Yes, that is why Mak Francis is the world champion. Because he is smart. He used Spike’s own stupidity against him.”

 

“Sure King….”

 

“Mak is now on his feet, and is going through Spike’s blue duffle bag. And he pulls out Spike’s Walkman?”

 

“Is Mak going to listen to some Music?”

 

“You’re an idiot for even suggesting that.”

 

“Yeah, well uhh…anyway”

 

Spike rises to his feet, but the Walkman that Mak was holding is cracked over the top of his head, and Spike collapses to the floor.

 

“Now THAT was entertaining.”

 

“Mak owes Spike a new walkman now.”

 

“Well, Mak going for the cover now.”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR…..

 

“No! Spike gets a shoulder up. Spike will never stop fighting!”

 

“He has to stop fighting sooner or later.”

 

“He has the heart of a lion. He will never give up.”

 

Mak pulls Hollywood up to his feet by the hair, and drags him through the doors they entered through. Mak pulls Spike down the halls, and into the main backstage area. Mak pulls on Spike’s hair, dragging him across the backstage area. They walk up to another set of double doors, and Mak throws Spike through them. Mak stalks Spike, into the hallway Spike is laying in. Mak grabs Spike by the hair and drags him down the hall. They walk up to another set of doors, and Mak throws Spike into them, knocking the doors open, and Spike falling to the floor.

 

“Mak just threw Spike through those doors. There are fans all over the place. They are right outside the arena, in the concession stands area!”

 

“These two are brawling all over the arena.”

 

Spike crawls away from Mak, and crawls up to a concession stand selling SJL Merchandise. Spike gets to his feet, and Mak charges at him, but Spike lifts Mak into the air, and hot shots him across the concession stand. Spike climbs onto the concession stand, sitting there, and wrapping his legs around Mak’s body, putting a vice around him, holding him in place. The teenager working at the concession stand hands Spike an official SJL “Cutthroat” t-shirt, and Spike wraps it around Mak’s throat, trying to choke him, but the shirt rips in half, thanks to its cheap material. Spike throws the shirt away, and the teenager hands Spike an official SJL “C.I.A.” t-shirt. The fans circle around Spike and Mak, as Spike wraps the t-shirt around Mak’s neck, choking him with it.

 

“Spike is choking Mak out with that t-shirt.”

 

“That OFFICIAL SJL T-SHIRT. You cant buy it at SWF events, No, ONLY AT SJL.”

 

“Why are your promoting the SJL?”

 

“Because I like my royalty checks.”

 

Mak starts to walk away from the concession stand, with Spike on his back, choking him with the t-shirt. Mak walks up to a food stand, and runs backwards into the side of it, ramming Spike back first into it. Spike drops from Mak’s back, and stands there, leaning against the food stand. Mak falls forward, trying to catch his breath.

 

“Bottom like, Mak is smart. He knows how to beat Spike. All you have to do is out smart him. And that is what Mak is doing.

 

“Well Mak is back up, and charges at Spike, but Spike just spit beer into Mak’s eyes!”

 

“I think Spike just out smarted Mak there.”

 

“Shut up Edwin…”

 

Mak stumbles back holding his eyes, but is hit in the top of the head with the plastic cup full of beer, that Spike was just holding. Spike reaches behind the food stand, and pulls out a corn dog on a stick. Spike takes a bite out of the corn dog, and smacks Mak upside the head with the rest of the corn dog. Mak stumbles back, as Spike reaches behind the food stand again, and pulls out a case of nachos. Spike opens the little case of nacho cheese, and throws it into Mak’s face, getting cheese all over him.

 

“What the….”

 

“Spike is having his own little food fight with Mak.”

 

“This isn’t a wrestling match, damnit.”

 

Mak tries to wipe off the cheese from his face, but Spike pours a cup of cold soda over the back of his head, letting it get all over Mak.

 

“No matter what happens after this match, Mak Francis is going to end up really sticky.”

 

“Yes, thank you Mr. Obvious.”

 

Hollywood grabs Mak by his hair, and pulls Mak near the entrance doors to the arena. Spike kicks the doors open and throws Mak out of the arena!!!

 

“He just threw the world champion out of the arena. That is not right!” screams the King.

 

“Spike is so close to winning the world title. He can feel it.”

 

“Oh Shut Up!”

 

Mak stumbles down the steps of the arena down into the sidewalk outside the arena. Spike soon follows him down the steps, but Mak sees him coming, and runs down the street. The cameraman follows Mak, as he runs up to a little brown building. Mak throws open the door, and runs in, soon Spike follows behind him into the building. The camera focuses on the words in scripted on the window of the building…

 

 

 

“Cheers”

 

 

 

 

The camera opens up in the building, showing people sitting around a bar. The door into the bar flings open, and Mak Francis runs in, out of breath…

 

 

“Hey Kingy, doesn’t that place look kind of…umm, familiar?”

 

“Yeah, but from where….?”

 

Right behind Mak, the door opens, and Spike Jenkins walks in. Mak throws a wild right punch at him, but Spike ducks under it, and slides behind Mak. Mak turns to Spike, but is caught off guard by a roundhouse kick to the face, knocking Mak to the floor. Spike looks around the bar, as a song starts playing….

 

 

 

 

 

“Sometimes You Want to Go…

 

 

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

And There Always Glad You Came

 

You Want To Go

Where People Know

People Are All the Same

 

You Want to Go

Where Everybody Knows Your Name!

 

Where Everybody Knows Your Name!!!

And There Always Glad You Came.

 

Where Everybody Knows Your Name!!!!

And There Always Glad You Came…

 

 

 

“Uhh King. I think I remember where that place is from….”

 

“Me too…”

 

“Cheers Mates!” says Axis with much enthusiasm.

 

“Did Mak and Spike time travel to the early Nineties?”

 

Some lady with an apron on walks up to Spike.

 

“Hey, No Fighting in Here!”

 

“OH MY GOD! RHEA PERLMAN?”

 

“Rhea who? My name is Carla…”

 

“Ummm, that was the name of your character on Cheers.”

 

“Character? I think you have had too much to drink tonight.”

 

“I uhh…HEY! TED DANSON? Can I have your autograph?”

 

“Who? Me? I’m not Ted Danson kid. My name is Sam.”

 

“Umm. What the hell is going on?”

 

“Hello. I am Huckleberry Tiberius Boyd. Nice to meet you.”

 

“What? Your Woody Harrelson.”

 

“Yes, they call me Woody around here.”

 

“Ok, you know what, this is scary.”

 

“Hey, aren’t you that wrestler, Spike Jenkins?”

 

“Yeah….”

 

“Wow, IM a big fan of yours. Want a beer, it’s on the house?”

 

Spike looks around worries at the people….

 

“Ahh, who am I to turn down a beer.”

 

Spike walks around the bar, and sits next to two fat guys.

 

“Hey, I am…”

 

“Yeah, I know you Cliff.”

 

“Oh….”

 

Cliff goes back to drinking his beer.

 

“I am….”

 

“Yeah. Norm.”

 

“Do you work for the government?”

 

“What makes you ask that?”

 

“Well, you know all our names…”

 

“No, I don’t work for the government.”

 

Sam puts a glass mug full of beer in front of Spike…

 

“Thanks Ted…err…Sam.”

 

“No problem kid”

 

Spike chugs the beer, as Mak slowly walks around the bar towards him.

 

“Oh yeah, my match.”

 

Spike gets out of his chair, and walks over to Mak. Spike cracks the mug over Mak’s head, breaking it into little pieces. Mak grabs his forehead in pain, as he starts to bleed. Spike grabs Mak by the hair, and pulls him around the bar, towards the door. Spike opens the door, and throws Mak out, turning back to the people in the bar.

 

“I’ll see you later.”

 

“There is a beer waiting for you when you come back” says Sam as Spike walks out the door, and up the stairs.

 

“WOW” says a shocked Edwin

 

“That was weird…” says a confused King.

 

“That was very fun.”

 

Both King and Edwin look at Axis.

 

“What?”

 

Back outside the arena, Mak crawls out of the bar, and into the streets, as the crowd circles around him. Spike walks out of the bar, and follows the crawling Mak into the parking garage for the wrestlers in the building.

 

“They are finally back in the arena.”

 

“But in the parking garage.” Edwin points out.

 

Mak rises to his feet in the parking garage, and leans up against a truck that stores the ring equipment. Mak stands there trying to catch his breath, when he looks around…

 

 

 

--

 

 

 

And sees nothing. Mak backs away from the truck, as people rush up behind him, scaring him near to death. Mak turns around, and is met by several of his sWo stable mates, Y2K, Fugue, and Matt Myers.

 

“Where is he?” says an exhausted Mak.

 

“Mak, we have been looking all over for you”

 

“Where is he?”

 

“Spike? We don’t know, we were looking for him too.” Says Myers.

 

 

--

 

 

 

Y2K points up, and all the sWo members, minus MVS look up at the top of the truck, as ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins moonsaults off of it, landing onto all the members of the sWo, knocking them all over.

 

“Spike just took all of the sWo, except for Mike, with a moonsault off the top of the truck.”

 

“These two are really going at it. Tooth and Nail.”

 

“MAK!!! YOU CAN’T LOSE THE TITLE TO HIM!!!”

 

Spike rises to his knees, and crawls to Mak, and lays on top of him, as the referee, who has followed them the whole match, dives into position.

 

O

 

N

 

E!

 

“OOOOONNNNNEEEEE!” screams the crowd. Matt Myers looks up, as he sees that his partner, and world champion is being pinned! He stumbles to his knees…

 

“HE IS GONNA DO IT AGAIN! NEW WORLD CHAMPION!” Edwin screams. “NOOOOOOOOOO” The Suicide King screams at the top of his lungs…

 

T

 

 

W

 

 

O!

 

“TTTTTWWWWWOOOOO!” yells the hot crowd in anticipation. Matt Myers is close…so close…he jumps into the air…

 

“ONE MORE! HE IS GOING TO PIN MAK ONCE AGAIN,” Axis screams.

 

T

 

 

 

H

 

 

 

R

 

 

 

E

 

 

 

E!

 

“TTTTTHHHHHRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” goes the elated crowd as Matt Myers drops on top of Spike Jenkins with his elbow…but was it in time?!

 

“NOT AGAIN. DEAR GOD NOT AGAIN” The Suicide King screams.

 

“What happened?! Did he win?!” Axis says.

 

The referee gets to his feet, and yells out…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TWO!!!!!!”

 

 

 

“Myers finally stopped the count. Dear God, that was too close.” Says an out of breath King.

 

“If it wasn’t for Matt, Spike would be the world champion right now.”

 

“He had Mak pinned for the second time.”

 

“Then why isn’t he world champion if he had Mak pinned?”

 

“Because the sWo had to help their world champion.”

 

Spike crawls off of Mak, and the rest of the members of the sWo, except for Mak, who is still down, circle around Spike, kicking him on the ground.

 

“Why do the sWo have to interfere?”

 

“Because it’s only right for what happened in that Cheer’s bar….”

 

“Maybe we should never mention that again…”

 

“Your probably right..”

 

The sWo continues there beat down on Spike, but from out of nowhere, Thor runs out from behind them, and nails Y2K in the back of the head, with a right hand. The sWo leave Spike, and go to fight Thor, but Thor fights them off.

 

“Thor is saving Spike!”

 

“Thor isn’t a superhero! Well, he kind of is…but…ahh you know what I mean.” Says the confused King.

 

“Thor was in that six man tag last week, where Spike first pinned Mak.” Axis points out.

 

“Yeah, Spike pinned Mak, IN A FLUKE. We All Know.”

 

Thor fights off the sWo members, but Mak comes up from behind him, with the SJL World Title over his head, ready to strike it down across Thor. Thor quickly turns around, looking at Mak, stopping Mak dead in his tracks. Thor kicks Mak in the gut, knocking the belt out of his hand, and to almost knocking him over. Thor pulls Mak in between his legs, and wraps his arms around Mak’s waist.

 

“Ragnorak to Mak! On the concrete floor!” says an excited Axis

 

“MAK, NOOOOOOOO”

 

 

 

 

--

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before Thor can lift Mak up, the World Title is slammed across Thor’s face, knocking him to the floor, unconscious. Mak falls over, as the camera goes to the person holding the world title….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“HOLLYWOOD” SPIKE JENKINS!!!!!!

 

 

“OH MY GOD, WHAT IS GOING ON?” screams Edwin

 

“What the…”

 

“Spike just nailed Thor with the world title…”

 

The sWo members, Fugue, Matt Myers, and Y2K circle around Thor, kicking him, as Spike pulls Mak to his feet.

 

“Fans, We are out of time. After a crazy Falls Count Anywhere Match between Spike Jenkins, and Mak Francis for the Junior League World Championship, and a crazy ending to match. What is going to happen next with Spike Jenkins, Thor, CIA, and the sWo? Stay tuned for Crimson, to find out what will happen next!” says an enthusiastic, but shocked Edwin.

 

The screen fades to black, as the sWo continue there beat down on Thor, while Mak and Spike look on.

[Guest crusen86]

First up tonight, Mak accepts a challenge to defend his world title in a falls count anywhere match against Spike Jenkins! Oooo!

 

HARDCORE MATCH

Chris Canuck vs. Cutthroat

- Oh, no time for this match! No! IE double fuckin' no show.

 

REMATCH TIME!

Manson vs. Kamikaze

- Kids, there's a lesson here - don't no show if you still want a viable character. Oh, and Manson's #1 contendership has been cancelled. For now.

 

EUROPEAN TITLE MATCH

Thor vs. Fugue

- Fugue makes Thor tap like the bitch he is to become the new European champion.

 

LOST AT SEA MATCH

Insane Luchador vs. CIA vs. Mike Van Siclen for #1 Contendership to the SJL World Title

- In what was a very close call, MVS finally wins a biggish one by chucking CIA to Jaws.

 

WORLD TITLE MATCH

Mak Francis vs. Spike Jenkins

- A no contest co written match... But I think that hitting Thor across the head with a belt generally means joining the sWo.

 

So, the three matches that were there were indeed quality matches. However, when two matches out of a booked 4 are no showed, it's not at all good. Grrr. Lucky the ME was there to save it. But well done to those who showed.