SWF Smarkdown (Sept. 16/2002)

September 17, 2002

Stevens: A few hours before the show, Ben Hardy caught up with the NEW United States champion!

***The scene opens with an average sized "EARLIER TONIGHT" graphic in the lower left corner of the screen. Ben Hardy is seen in the empty arena, all the way up to the rafters. A few seats away is Tod deKindes, staring away at nothing, as is his usual method of mental preparation.***

Ben: I'm here with the new U.S. champion, Tod deKindes. Tod, big night for you last Friday. How DO you feel?

Tod: … I'm feeling just well enough to do it again tonight and take Tom Flesher's Lightheavyweight title, as well.

Ben: Well, you've certainly been on --…

Tod: Though I'm not here to talk about Tom Flesher tonight…

Ben: Y-- … you're not?

Tod: No. For a while I've been wanting to touch on a little subject that's been eating away at me. Ever since Apocalypse … You know what I mean, don't you?

Ben: …Right, that would be when Annie Eclectic turned her back on you guys to join the Magnificent Seven.

Tod: I just don't get it … She was a big part of this group. She taught us all about "honor among fighters" … *scoffs* I guess that doesn't mean much to her by now.

Ben: What do you plan to do about that?

Tod: This is not her … This is not the person I DARED to call my friend. Because she WAS my friend. Tonight, though, I know she'll be here. You can rest assured she'll be dealt with.

Ben: Also tonight, big rematch: you versus Tom Flesher, Lightweight title on the line! Any thoughts?

Tod: … I'll give him hell.

Ben: …Fair 'nuff.

***Scene ends as Ben simply gets up and away from his seat, leaving Tod to whatever he was doing …***

September 17, 2002

No-DQ Match

Silent vs. “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson

- Last week on Storm, a poorly-aimed chair shot from TNT cost Creative Control a victory. Stubby is none too pleased with Chilly Chilly Bang Bang holding the Tag Team titles as it is, and this little mishap is just too much for the commissioner to ignore. Rather than expend his stable's somewhat diminished manpower to extract his vengeance, Stubby has opted instead to book the errant Thompson in a match against the Slaughterer - a no-DQ match, of course.

Singles Match for the SWF Light-Heavyweight Title

Tom Flesher© vs. Tod deKindes

- His arrogance finally cost him big time on Storm when deKindes beat Flesher for the US Title. Now, for some reason, they have requested another match…this time, for the LHW time. The SWF booking team obliged because they were tired as all hell and didn’t feel like explaining that the fans may get tired of seeing Tom Flesher vs. Tod deKindes night after night. Wonder how many angry, hate-filled letters WFCC will receive for booking this match?

Hardcore Title Match

Jay Dawg© vs. Frost

- Jay Dawg retained his hardcore title on Storm against TNT, continuing his impressive reign. Well, since TNT got a shot, Frost thinks he deserves one as well, and JD being the hardcore god that he is, accepted the challenge from one half of Chilly Chilly Bang Bang. Some may say that JD needs some rest, but we here on CC say, no rest for the wicked. JD seems to have sent Lerrin Breggan down to the minor leagues without consulting with Stubby, so, at bit peeved to see his monster leave, Stubby thought this match was enough. He’s certainly not happy with M7 after that little mishap during the tag match on Storm, so, while he’s punishing JD a little, he’d really like to see JD pound the shit out of Frost for old times sake. JD has accepted his punishment in stride as he sees it as an opportunity to inflict harm and solidfy himself as the hardcore god, and will be looking forward to locking horns with Frost again.

- Match Description: DQ and countout rules are not in effect. Pinfalls may occur anywhere in the state of Nevada. HAHAHAHA...

Non-Title Singles Match

Chris Wilson vs. Z

- Z was just named the new leader of the Midnight Carnival, joining such legends as Suicide King and Edwin MacPhisto. However, he suffered a loss to the very talented Frost on Storm and really needs to show that he’s worthy of leading the SWF’s longest running stable. A win over the floundering ICTV champion would certainly give Z the confidence he needs to lead the fun-loving carnies.

MAIN EVENT

Non-Title Singles Match

El Luchadore Magnifico vs. Chris Raynor

- Chris Raynor suffered a huge defeat to Chris Wilson on Storm, but it was all due to a crushing chair shot by Edwin MacPhisto, who has taken a rather violent approach to the whole Raynor situation. ELM, who just recently defeated MacPhisto for the World Title, is just as unhappy with Raynor’s behavior of late as Edwin is. Raynor, of course, is still trying to get that match with Edwin at Genesis, and win over the world champion would go a long way in convincing Stubby that he deserves that match. Raynor had Wilson's help last time they locked up, but how will he fare one on one with the SWF World Heavyweight Champion?

September 17, 2002

The camera focuses in on Stubby P. McWeed, the SWF’s commissioner, as we return from a commercial break. Stubby seems intent on…rolling…something…on his desk…but before our vigilant cameraman can determine what, exactly, it is, someone bursts through his office door.

“What in the blue hell do you want??” yells a mildly flustered McWeed as he hurriedly brushes his paraphernalia off of his desk. “I’m a busy man, goddamn it. I’ve got things to see and people to…wait; I’ve got people to…damn it. What do you want?”

”I want an explanation, McWeed.”

The camera pans back to reveal none other than…

“Silent, Nathan, Ass-Clown, whatever the hell it is today, I’m not explaining a damn thing to you. Get out of my office. Now.”

The Silent One ignores Stubby’s direction, opting instead to seat himself on the corner of the commissioner’s desk. “Thank you, Stubby. It’s nice to see somebody so concerned about the talent these days.”

”I’d hardly call you talented, ass-clown. Injuring one of my top draws for no particularly good reason doesn’t make you a wrestler; it makes you a pain in my ass.”

“Please, McWeed. Settle down before you give yourself a heart attack. I’d hate to have to kill you before you explain this match to me.”

”Son, I was winning championships before you botched your first moonsault. Don’t you even THINK about coming into this office and threatening ME. I might be retired, but I can still take your cocky ass to school.”

Silent smiles calmly at the furious commissioner. “Really. And what wrestling hold do you know that will prevent me from cutting out your heart and feeding it to you?”

Stubby’s nostrils flare ridiculously at Silent’s threat…before he sits back down. “You know, you’re probably crazy enough to do that, aren’t you? Bo and JD would have your head on a plate, of course, but still….I would be, ah, inconvenienced by that. Why don’t you just ask whatever whiny little question you want to and leave me alone, psycho-boy.”

”Fair enough. Why in the hell am I booked against TNT? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m having a bit of a problem with Thoth and Edwin right now. You couldn’t have arranged something slightly more…appropriate?”

”Slow down, psycho-boy. That damn exploding imbecile cost my boys a match last week…but they’re a little busy tonight. However, somebody still needs to put Thompson in his place. Tell you what. I’ll make the match no-disqualification, just for you. Feel any better now?”

The Slaughterer grins as only he can. “Much, actually. I was having a rather bad night anyway. This will…alleviate…the stress quite nicely.”

Silent removes himself from the commissioner’s desk and turns to walk out the door…

“Hey, psycho-boy.”

Silent turns.

“Not that I expect you to be interested in joining Creative Control or anything…”

”I’m not.”

”Right, I know that. But, I’ll tell you what. You take care of TNT tonight, however you have to…you prove to be…ah…reliable…when situations like this come up…and I’ll see what I can do about those other problems of yours. You see what I’m saying?”

Silent pauses for a moment.

“Oh. You want me to cripple the people you’re scared of, or don’t have time for, and if I do it well, you’ll give me Edwin?”

The Slaughterer grins.

“Stubby…all you ever have to do is ask.”

Silent slams the door behind him, leaving a thoughtful-looking Stubby McWeed behind him.

“Damn. That boy ain’t right.”

September 17, 2002

An Annie Eclectic Rug “Cleaning” commercial comes to a close, and SWF Smarkdown returns in excellent fashion!

***BOOM***

An opening shot shows the interior of Caesar’s Place, where legions and legions of pyro emit from, hell, everywhere, to foreshadow the reinitiation of the show!

“WELCOME BACK, LADIES, GENTS, AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN, TO…” the familiar voice of Mark Stevens echoes.

***BOOM***

Stevens: “SWF SMARKDOWN!”

Riley: “Indeedy doo! We’ve already witnessed ONE randomly booked tag match tonight, and now, we’re ready for a slightly LESS randomly booked No Disqualification clash, between Taylor Thompson, and Silent!”

Stevens: “That’s right, we don’t want to waste any time…or words, so we go now to Funyon!”

The screen cuts to the ring, where traditional ring announcer Funyon resides, geared in his usual K-Mart wardrobe. Mic pressed against his lips, his booming voice rings out, nearly deafening every member of the audience.

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen and Bob Riley…the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Disqualification and Count-Out rules are NOT in effect! Introducing first…hailing from Phoenix, Arizona, weighing in at an eVil 248 pounds, he has been known as Christopher Richards; Damien Phillips; Michael Freeman; Nathan Kibagami, but the one name that makes all men, far and wide, twitch with fear…SILENT!”

Riley: “Hmm, I always wondered about all those aliases of his… maybe he got divorced, and has to keep changing his name to avoid alimony?”

Stevens: “I hardly think he--…dammit, I HATE when the lights go out like this. Ouch! Who just grabbed my ass!?”

Riley: “Don’t look at me, must have been…uh…the popcorn guy.”

Nothingness consumes the arena. No sound. No light. No feeling. Suddenly, an eerie fog begins to emit from the entrance ramp, illuminated only by a single flickering spotlight. The strange, sporadic tunes of Spineshank’s “Detached” blare from the PA system, and various clips of Silent hitting his Demonstar Drivers pulse on the Smarktron in time with the music’s melody. Between each clip, a nearly 20-foot Chinese character flashes on the Smarktron; the character of “Retribution.” The audience squints their eyes in order to grow accustomed to the wildly blinking strobe lights, and through the thick fog, all they can make out is the vague figure of Silent, emerging onto the entrance ramp. Coat billowing behind him, blood red tattoos embezzled in his skin, the Silent one morosely saunters down the entrance ramp. Silent reaches the ring, and slides under the bottom rope. The house lights come back on, and the extra luminosity gives the audience a chance to clearly observe Silent for the first time. They jeer him negatively, starting a mild “SILENT SUCKS!” chant, but the chant quickly dies down as Silent shoots the crowd an icy, emotionless glare of malevolence. He reaches into his trench coat, clutching at his infamous cane, and he pulls it out into plain view, setting it against a nearby turnbuckle.

Stevens: “Ah, and there’s Silent’s patented cane…you know, this match IS no-disqualification, and that cane could very well get involved in the match.”

Riley: “Well, the more violence, the merrier.”

Silent remains in the corner, shrugging his coat off of his shoulders, and hurling it towards the timekeeper’s table. He casually leans against the ring ropes, tying his bangs back behind his head into a ponytail, and glancing towards the entrance ramp, as his music comes to a stop.

Stevens: “Silent seems very concentrated on his match tonight. Having lost to the likes of Creative Control recently, I’m sure he’ll be looking to take out his anger on TNT tonight.”

Riley: “Well, Silent IS the complete package of the SWF. Ooooh…those chiseled abs, those beefy arm--…er…I’m getting off track. Back to Funyon!”

Funyon: “Secondly…wrestling out of Anaheim, California, weighing a dynamite 267 pounds, he is one half of the SWF Tag Team Champions, he is…‘TNT’ TAYLOR NICHOLAS THOMPSON!”

The crowd lets out a rather mixed reaction as a few "Oy's" signal the inauguration of AC/DC's "TNT." Half of the audience boos out of instinct, and half cheer for TNT to conquer the hated Silent, but an overall fervor regarding Taylor’s arrival is present in every fan’s mind. Suddenly, the entrance curtains begin to ruffle as a hulking figure emerges from the backstage area, stepping out into the sea of red and orange strobe-lights that floods the stage. The discontinuous lights clarify the towering mass, to reveal him as Taylor Nicholas Thompson! The letters "T-N-T" slink across the Smarktron just as a resounding "Watch me exploooooooooooode!!!!!" echoes throughout the arena, and Taylor begins briskly striding down the aisle-way, a confident expression plastered on his face. He hops up onto the ring apron, just long enough to raise a single arm of pride, and then steps through the ropes into the ring. TNT proceeds to pace over to each corner, letting out a cheer-drawing “KABOOM!” on each one, until he comes to the fourth and final ring post; the one that an impassive Silent reclines against. TNT stops dead in his tracks, simply gazing at his opponent, who retaliates with a heartless stare of his own. Referee Sexton Hardcastle, not wanting this to turn into an impromptu brawl, quickly signals for the ring bell, and the match officially gets underway!

***DINGDINGDING***

As if he were a bull just released from his cage, TNT immediately charges at Silent with a single arm outreached for a clothesline, but the Silent one just barely pivots to the side, causing TNT to go lumbering past! Silent ducks to the backside of Taylor, but Thompson, rather than crashing into the ring post, stops abruptly, and spins around to floor Silent with a stiff short clothesline!

Stevens: “Silent ducks a clothesline, but is nearly discombobulated with a second one!”

Riley: “All part of his master plan Mark…all part of his master plan!!! MWAHAHAHA!!!”

Silent, a bit dazed but not completely stunned, sits up, evil intentions glimmering in his eyes. He spins to his feet, but TNT thinks fast, and unleashes a wild haymaker on his opponent! Silent blocks the hit with his arm, and delivers a quick kick to TNT’s gut, doubling him over. Silent takes advantage, hastily latching on a front facelock, and falling back with an evenflow DDT! The move’s momentum carries TNT over onto his back, and Silent quickly hops on top of him, hooking the leg for the cover. Sexton drops to his knees to make the count…

ONE!

…but doesn’t even reach two, as Taylor bench-presses his adversary right off of his chest! Both men kip up to their feet, once again trading malicious looks.

Stevens: “Picture-perfect evenflow DDT only gets a 1-count, but you can tell that TNT is still trying to shake some cobwebs loose.”

The two foes go into a premature lockup, Taylor gaining a bit of momentum due to his size and strength, while Silent holds his own with his ruthless aggression. They each struggle for footing, and Taylor, realizing that he’s gradually losing his impetus, fastens on a tight side headlock! Silent resists the hold, but TNT merely cinches up even more, and rushes forward a few feet, lunging into the air, and propelling Silent’s head into the mat with a running bulldog! He makes a loose cover, but Silent kicks out before the 1-count can even be made.

Riley: “Ooh! BURN! Silent just completely no-sold a bulldog!”

Stevens: “Maybe, but moves ALWAYS add up eventually, and I’m sure Silent will become more and more fatigued as the match goes on.”

TNT hops up to his feet, as does Silent, who lashes out with a stiff kick across Taylor’s head! Taylor falls to his knees, allowing Silent to deliver a roundhouse kick, but TNT drops to his stomach to avoid the offensive maneuver, and reaches for the Silent one’s legs, pulling them out from underneath him.

Stevens: “Double-leg takedown executed nicely by TNT, and he hurriedly inches around the body of Silent, until he reaches his neck, and locks on an airtight inverted facelock! The ref sees that Silent is pinned to the mat, and goes to count the pin…”

ONE!

Stevens: “…but Silent realizes his predicament, and kicks out before more than a 1-count can be made!”

Silent, attempting to escape from the hold, reaches for TNT’s dreadlocks, and tightens his fingers through his hair, pulling back! TNT lets out a yelp of pain, and releases the submission, as Silent creeps behind TNT, and latches on a rear waistlock. TNT jerks from left to right, trying to escape the soon-to-be German suplex, and thrusts two stiff elbows backwards, both plunging into Silent’s neck. Silent lets out a mild “GAH!” and loosens his hold a bit, allowing Taylor to spin around him, and lock on a waistlock of his own! This also doesn’t last long though, and Silent slips behind Taylor, refraining from attempting the German suplex, and instead pretzels his arms through TNT’s, locking on a firm full-nelson! Taylor doesn’t even have time to resist, as Silent barely even locks on the hold before instantly dropping onto his back, flipping TNT over with him! He maintains the full-nelson still, and once again makes his way to his feet, falling back another time, Taylor’s head and shoulders smashing into the mat! Silent bridges for the pin, and the referee begins the 3-count!

Stevens: “Two dragon suplexes in a ROW on the explosive one, but will they do the job!?”

ONE!

TWO!

Stevens: “NO! Taylor barely flips out of the pin attempt, before the final nail can be hammered into his proverbial coffin! They may have not lead to a win, but those suplexes sure did put things in Silent’s favor!”

Silent yanks TNT up to his feet, and drives a few elbows into his back to soften him up. He then pounces onto his back, locking on a double chickenwing, and attempts to take TNT down to the mat! TNT, being a stubborn brute, holds his ground, the sadistic Arizona resident relentlessly grasping onto his arms in a piggyback position!

Stevens: “Silent is trying to take TNT to the mat here with a double chickenwing, but to no avail as Taylor is frantically trying to stay on his feet!”

***SLAM***

In one last ditch effort, TNT falls backwards, sinking his opponent into the unforgiving mat, and forcing him to release the hold! Taylor rolls off of Silent, trying to collect himself. Silent meanwhile, lies on the ground for a good ten seconds, before sitting up, like a zombie! He regains a standing position, a slightly frustrated look on his face, obviously disappointed that he couldn’t take TNT down. His eyes dart left and right, as he contemplates his next action, until he finally spots his cane, resting against a nearby corner. He smirks as visions of violence and terror invade his mind, and he casually begins sauntering over to his dreaded cane. The lethargic TNT unexpectedly pops up to his feet however, his colossal form blocking Silent’s journey! Taylor darts at Silent with a surge of vigor, and grabs a hold of his neck, swinging to the side, and planting Silent’s head and collar into the unforgiving mat! Silent’s cranium bounces off of the canvas like a pinball, and he lies lifelessly on the mat, as Taylor, knowing he has to capitalize quickly, grabs a hold of Silent’s nondescript pants and hastily jerking him up to his feet!

Stevens: “Silent is slooooowly wearing down, as one may notice that, that time, he didn’t pop right up like the norm.”

Taylor grabs a hold of Silent’s head, shoving his opponent into a standing headscissors, and before Silent has time to recuperate, he flips him up onto his shoulders, spins around 180-degrees, and powerbombs him head-first onto the nearby ring post! Silent’s skull cracks on each and every turnbuckle pad, until he reaches the nadir of the post, where his skull shatters onto his very own cane!

Stevens: “OH MY GOD! TNT JUST POWERBOMBED SILENT RIGHT ONTO THAT RING POST, NEARLY DECAPITATING HIM!”

Riley: “Pfft, that’s amateur stuff for Silent. Silent can take ANYTHING, he’s like the Crow…except…not Bruce Lee’s son…yeah”

TNT refrains from making the cover, somehow knowing on instinct that Silent isn’t quite through yet, and instead slides under the bottom rope and out of the ring. He meanders over to wear the timekeeper is, and shoves the official out of his seat, and against the guardrail! TNT grins menacingly, and the audience cheers slightly, anticipating what the hell he’s doing. His intentions become painfully clear though, as he grips the end of the timekeeper’s chair, folds it, and starts headed back to the ring, where Silent has already recovered, gripping at his cane, and preparing for his oncoming opponent. Taylor steps up to the ring apron, observing the readied Silent, who abruptly pounces at Taylor with his cane ready to strike! TNT drops his head, and Silent’s cane slices through nothing but air. TNT, still on the apron, delivers a sudden yet stiff shoulder block to the gut of Silent. His mind wanders through a million possible maneuvers that he could pull off at this point, but narrows it down to two. He could either hit a sunset flip for the pin attempt…or absolutely EL KABONG~! the back of Silent’s head and neck with a chair.

Hmmm…

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM…

***ELKABONG***

With one scintillating swing, Taylor cracks his chair over the head of Silent! Silent stumbles back, still doubled over, and TNT drops the chair into the ring, the indentation of Silent’s skull formed in the steel. Then, in a very surprising act, TNT slingshots himself over the top rope with his legs spread to his left and right, and lands right over Silent’s head, locking him in a taut standing headscissors!

Riley: “Wha--? TNT just leapfrogged over the top rope! That’s impossible!”

Stevens: “It may seem that way Booby…but as you may know, Taylor actually wanted to be a high-flyer for a long time in his career. Though he eventually learned to use his size to his advantage, we occasionally can still see glints of his high-flying origins in his wrestling.”

Taylor tightens his legs around the Silent one’s head, and promptly hooks both of his arms. Silent, with all of his might, clutches the one thing that could save him from an inevitable Tiger Driver ’92, his cane, as TNT flips Silent up onto his shoulders…

Stevens: “Silent still has that cane in his hand! Can he somehow use it to stop TNT from hitting Dynamite!?”

Silent grabs at the long wooden shaft with both of his hands as Taylor holds him on his shoulders, ready to power him into the mat. With a smirk, the former Clansman raises the cane above his head…

***SLAM***

…but his plans are foiled by a merciless TNT, who drives him into the mat in a sit-out position! Silent’s grip on his staff greatly loosens, and his eyes shut due to the impact. The audience emits a roar of praise towards the dynamite warrior, as the referee drops to his knees to make the unavoidable 3-count!

Stevens: “A TASTE OF DYNAMITE PLANTS SILENT RIGHT ONTO HIS HURT NECK, AND THE 3-COUNT IS MERELY ACADEMIC!”

ONE!

TWO!

Riley: “If you kick out I’ll give you a cookie!!!”

Before Sexton even has a chance to slap the mat a final time, Silent briskly sits up, still in TNT’s lap, and his eyes snap open, revealing two cold, yet vengeful pupils.

Stevens: “SILENT JUST BASICALLY NO-SOLD A FUCKING TIGER DRIVER!”

Riley: “BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA--!”

Stevens: “Stop it.”

Riley: “Righto.”

TNT’s jaw gapes open, and his eyes widen as well, as Silent reaches back to gain momentum, and then absolutely liquidizes Thompson’s head with an astonishingly brutal cane shot! Taylor’s eyes roll up into the back of his head, and he falls lifelessly backwards, as Silent scrambles onto him, hooking his leg for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEE-NOOOOO!

TNT elevates his arm a mere fraction from the mat in a jerking motion, as if he were trying to swat at a fly buzzing above him! Silent’s eyes narrow with anger, as he slowly removes himself from the insane pyromaniac, and begins to pace back and forth across the ring, a bit worn down by now. He walks rather slowly, and massages the back of his neck with a single hand.

Stevens: “Silent seems to be breaking down VERY gradually here Bobby, and it won’t be long before his key skill, the ability to take massive amounts of pain, will have diminished completely.”

Riley: “Nonsense! Silent can last longer than a Twinkie in a supermarket, and he won’t be going down any time soon.”

The audience observes Silent, and can tell that he is slowly eroding with the punishment being given. Knowing that he has to end the match quickly, Silent stalks over to TNT, going to pull him up to his feet, but Taylor, who now seems to have recovered, quickly kips up to his feet with all the enthusiasm he can muster, and swiftly catches Silent in a front facelock! Silent wriggles to his left and right, a bit surprised by the recuperated tag champ, but it’s no use, and TNT falls backwards, propelling Silent’s head into the mat with a DDT! Silent grunts in anguish, and his neck folds inward upon collision, causing him to release his precious staff. Taylor spots the wooden shaft rolling away, and without delay, seizes it before Silent can recover. Silent himself, his neck in the worst of shape by now, barely manages to reach his knees, his eyes shifting from one side of the ring to the other in search of TNT.

“SURPRISE!”

***CRACK***

Thompson, who happened to be in the one nook that Silent didn’t look (behind him) lashes out with the Clannie’s own cane, and smashes it across his neck! Silent timbers stomach-first down to the mat, a small amount of blood trickling from his ear now, and a thick layer of glaze coating his icy blue eyes.

Stevens: “Yes Bobby, I’m SURE he’s just PLAYING dead now.”

Riley: “Yes, see, he’s just playing possum, so that TNT will lay off with that damn caning. Look, it’s working already! Taylor has stopped--…”

***CRACK***

With even more force than the first shot, Silent’s own cane comes snapping onto the back of his neck once more. His body doesn’t move much however, and he rolls over onto his back, and sits up, his eyes set on TNT.

Stevens: “I hate to say it, but you may have been right! Silent just sat up after two cane shots to his injured, previously broken, neck! He did so with a little less zeal than earlier, but still…I just can’t believe my eyes!”

Silent, now on his feet, stares a hole through TNT with a piercing glare, slowly advancing towards him with an aggressive look in his eye. Taylor withdraws back slightly, but realizes that HE’s the one with the cane, and he once again thrashes the staff across the side of Silent’s throat!

***CRACK***

Silent winces only slightly, continuing to approach TNT.

***CRACK***

A nervous Taylor hits one last shot with the cane, which is promptly shrugged off. Beads of sweat dribbling down his face; TNT gives up on the caning, and drops the shaft. He anxiously improvises an offensive plan, and reticently slips behind Silent, grabbing him under his chin and around his calf, and pulling him up onto his shoulders, back to back in an inverted fireman’s carry! Silent, immediately realizing that doom is upon him, tenses his body up in an attempt to escape! Taylor paces around the ring for a few seconds, eventually shuffling over to the chair that was introduced earlier, which lies near the edge of the ring. The explosive one roars with gusto, and the fans cheer and gasp at the same time, as Taylor falls to his side, and carelessly drives Silent’s head and neck onto the chair with a Burning Hammer!

Stevens: “OH MY GOD! THE DETONATOR RIGHT ONTO A CHAIR! SILENT COULD BE LEAGALLY DECEASED! HIS NECK COULD VERY WELL HAVE BEEN REBROKEN AFTER TAYLOR’S VERSION OF THE BURNING HAMMER!”

Riley [doubtfully]: “Uhh…go…Silent? You…can…uh…make…a comeback?”

Taylor lies on his stomach for a moment, and then army-crawls over to his enemy’s corpse. He stops short, and pokes at Silent’s face a few times (just in case.) Once he’s sure that Silent has been metaphorically and literally killed, cremated, and his ashes have been shot, TNT sighs with relief, draping a single arm over the Silent one, though a 3-count isn’t needed to tell the fans that the match is over.

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

***DINGDINGDING***

Funyon: “The winner of this bout, as a result of a pinfall, ‘TNT’ TAYLOR NICHOLAS THOMPSOOOOOON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [half cheers, half boos]”

Riley: “NO! SILENT WAS ROBBED! TNT HAD A HANDFUL OF TIGHTS!”

Stevens: “TNT pulls out the win, FINALLY, as he absolutely brains Silent’s injured neck into that chair with the Burning Hammer that he calls the Detonator! Silent doesn’t seem to be responding to anything as of right now…but I’m sure we’ll have some medics down here shortly. Meanwhile, we’ll be right back!”

The final image onscreen is that of a bloodied Silent, not moving at all, and a relieved TNT, who rolls off of his opponent, and acquires a “I knew I could win all along” look on his face, as he eggs on the fan’s slight cheers.

September 17, 2002

SWF Smarkdown returns from commercial, and the camera shows Grand Slam Mark Stevens as he announces, "We're back in Las Vegas!!"

"Would you please get your HAND off my leg!!" yells Riley.

Stevens continues, "Our tour of Las Vegas, Nevada is still going strong this week! We had a spectacular Storm program last Friday evening, and tonight is no different!"

"Same crap, different pile!!"

"But coming up next, the rematch! Last Friday night, we saw the US Title change hands when Tod deKindes defeated Tom Flesher in the middle of the ring!"

A video clip on the SmarkTron helpfully reminds the viewers of Tod's triumphant title win, via an avalanche-style Spirit Breaker.

"Hold on now!" interrupts Riley. "That decision is still under protest! It's being officially contested!"

"By who??"

"By me!! I went to see Stubby in his office... there was this funny smell, and he couldn't seem to tear himself away from his box of Triscuits... BUT!! I'm going to appeal this all the way to The Dames and Areacode if I have to!"

Stevens chuckles to himsef. "…Right. In the meantime, Tod deKindes has challenged Tom for his OTHER title! Tonight, the Light Heavyweight Title is on the line, but the same can't be said for Tod's US Title."

"People work in mysterious ways, Grand Canyon, and Lord knows Tom Flesher has GOT to have a plan tonight."

"Well, without further ado, let's take you to the ring."

As the cameras sweep the Caesar's Palace crowds, ring announcer Funyon steps into the ring, gives a quick nod to Mark Hebner and clears his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for ONE fall and it is for the SWF Light Heavyweight Championship!!" The Light Heavyweight Title graphic helpfully sails across the screen, accompanied by photos of Tom Flesher on the left and Tod deKindes on the right. "Introducing first, the challenger…"

The XF9 logo materializes itself onto the Smarktron, as Slipknot's "I Am Hated" fires up from the speakers. The lights turn into a blinding, array of strobelights and smoke comes from the entranceway.

"From Muenchen, Germany, weighing in 223 lbs; he is the SWF United States Heavyweight Champion: Tod - deeeee - Kiiiinnnnn - deeeeeessss!!" Out walks Tod, US belt strapped proudly around his waist, partially hidden by his trench coat. He stops halfway down the ramp to acknowledge his fellow Todheads with a quick, knowing nod of the head, before sliding his body under the bottom rope to enter the ring. He unstraps the belt from his waist and climbs up to the second rope, holding up his newly-won prize, all while releasing a mighty roar to the fans. He hands off the belt to Mark Hebner, while relieving himself of his unnecessary entrance accoutrements.

"As you can see," says Stevens, "Tod's had a whole weekend to rest up that knee of his, and as you can see, he seems to be walking fine on it. Is it truly 100% or does Tod know something that we don't, Bobby?"

"Are you KIDDING me? His knee is shot! It's busted all to HELL!! You've seen the punishment he took last Friday! There's NO way he can be 100%!!"

A couple of stretches in the ropes later, Tod is ready for the opposition, as Funyon speaks once again. "And his opponent…" Funyon pulls a 3x5 card out of his pocket and clears his throat as the lights dim, the intro to "I Am The Man" begins to play and two columns of blue fireworks shoot out next to the entrance. With an explosion, the vocals start, and when the smoke clears, Flesher is standing solo on the platform. As always, his head is turned to the left, and he holds his chin thoughtfully with the Light Heavyweight Title strapped around his waist. After a second or two, he turns and walks down the ramp purposefully. When he gets to the ring, he removes his belt and slings it over his shoulder, posing proudly in the centre.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight... in this very ring... you see the man who can go to any craps table and roll an instant seven. He can sit down at any blackjack table and be dealt an automatic 21. But tonight, you're going to see him hit the jackpot by dropping Tod deKindes on his head until three bars show up on his screen, and then going out and pulling the lever to score three cherries. Ladies and gentlemen, bow down to the man who gets comped in all your best hotel rooms, bow down to the glory that is YOUR Light Heavyweight Champion, he's the Superior One, Tom Flesher!"

Flesher bows, then kisses the Light Heavyweight belt before handing it off to Mark Hebner. Hebner holds the belt up, then hands it off over the top rope and signals for the bell.

DING DING DING!!!!!!

With that, Flesher charges across the ring and hits Tod with a sucker Yakuza kick! Tod immediately crumbles into a heap, and Flesher drops down on him with a diving headbutt! He drops down onto Tod and starts unloading with shoteis as Grand Slam shouts, "What a cowardly way to start the match! Tod deKindes wasn't ready for that!"

"Oh, come on, Mark. The best things in life come when you're not expecting them! Why, that's what makes it exciting!"

"I don't think Tod's too excited right now!"

Riley looks up and sees Flesher in a mounted pounding position and chuckles. "Well, I certainly... er... watch the damn match!"

Flesher throws a final shotei to knock Tod silly for a moment, then stands up. He lifts Tod up and locks up a front chancery hold, then lifts him up for a brainbuster. Tod, keeping some semblance of his wits about him, grapevines the leg and blocks the suplex. Tom tries again to lift him, but Tod blocks the suplex again. Finally, Tod reverses the motion and lifts Tom, hitting a snap suplex! He follows that up by rolling through and lifting Tom up, then slamming him forward with a front suplex, and finally lifts Flesher up and drops him gut-first across the top rope! The fans pop as Stevens calls, "Sara Sequence, and the momentum here has changed considerably!"

Tod stays by the ropes as Flesher shakes himself off the ropes and regains his footing on the apron. Tod grabs the top rope and, with a mighty pull, slingshots Tom back into the ring. Tom hits the mat back-first, and Tod drops onto him for

ONE!

but no more, as the Light Heavyweight Champion kicks out. The camera zooms in on his expression, which seems to say "This isn't going as well as I'd hoped." He doesn't have time to expand on that thought, though, as Tod immediately lifts him up and locks on a front facelock to go for a DDT. Quickly and fluidly, Tom clamps down on the arm, pulls it through and immediately drops down on Tod's exposed leg. He pulls the leg in to set up a single-leg takedown, then follows through with a leg trip to take Tod to his back on the mat. Tom keeps the leg and continues with a spinning toehold to set up a figure-four leglock, but as he comes around, Tod catches him in a small package! The fans pop as Hebner counts

ONE!

TWO!

but Tom kicks out, looking more pissed with every second. He gets back to his feet, clearly very upset, and is met with a knife-edge chop across the chest!

WHOO!

and another

WHOO!

and, why not? One more!

WHOO!

Flesher backs into the corner, and as Tod follows him in to continue raining blows down on him, Tom just brings up his guard and blocks as much as he can. Hebner comes into the corner and forces Tod to back out. Flesher, holding his hands up as if to say "I have done NOTHING wrong," waits for Hebner to turn his back and then unloads with a full, open-handed bitchslap that goes right over Hebner's head and catches Tod on the cheek. Tod immediately charges forward, but Hebner manages to hold him back. Tod sighs and dutifully steps back.

"Tod deKindes is certainly showing a lot of respect for the referee," says Stevens.

"Well sure. He's got firsthand experience with them, and he knows you have to cater to people who are not only blind but also profoundly disabled."

"Was there any point to that dig on referees?"

"None in particular, no."

Riley and Stevens look full-face at the camera for an uncomfortable pause, then Stevens coughs, "Just watch the match, Bobby."

As soon as Mark Hebner gets out of the way, Tom steps forward and slaps Tod again... but this time the Euro-Canadian grabs the arm, wrenches it and uses it to pull Flesher forward into an evenflow DDT! Flesher's head hits the mat and he immediately falls over onto his back. Tod covers him for

ONE!

TWO!

but no more! Flesher kicks out and rolls to his stomach. He looks like he just wants to get the hell out of there, but Tod precludes any escape by immediately cow-chaining Flesher's arm through his legs and standing up, signalling the Spirit Breaker! "The fans are on their feet!" shouts Stevens. "This is the move that put Flesher down for the count last week!"

"I believe that was a MODIFIED Spirit Breaker, Mark."

"Oh, give it a rest! Tod deKindes is about to become a double champion!"

Tod lifts Flesher up, but before he can pivot Tom into position for the Michinoku Driver, Tom breaks the pumphandle grip, shifts his weight and floats over Tod's shoulder! Flesher lands on his feet behind deKindes and makes a run for it, sliding out of the ring. He grabs the Light Heavyweight Title and, shoving the ring officials out of the way, starts to walk out!

"What a coward!" Stevens is livid. In the ring, Tod leans over the ropes, unsure what to do as Flesher simply turns his back on the match and walks out. Mark Hebner starts counting, but Flesher continues walking. The fans begin chanting "GO GET HIM! GO GET HIM!" but Tod doesn't leave the ring.

As Hebner gets to "FIVE!" Tod finally acquiesces. He slides out of the ring and charges up the ramp after Flesher. Flesher looks back over his shoulder, sees Tod booking after him, and runs as fast as he can toward the back. He charges through the curtain, disappearing into the back. A few seconds later, Tod gets to the curtain when someone pulls it aside, stopping Tod in his tracks...

AND THEN LEVELS HIM WITH A KENDO STICK!

"ANNIE ECLECTIC! It was a setup! Oh, the humanity!"

Riley giggles. "That'll teach Tod to just go chasing blindly after his aspirations!"

Annie lifts her kendo stick up and brings it down hard on Tod's head, sending another loud CRACK echoing through Caesar's Palace. She brings the stick up again, but road agents KJ Sanchez, Daniel Fernley and Mr. Galatea grab her and pull her back before she can hammer Tod again.

"A setup! It was a by god setup!"

"I don't know, Mark. It's not like Tom and Annie have had anything to do with each other since the Clan... except when Tom broke her face, of course."

"It was too clean, Bobby. It was clearly planned out."

"Ah, give the chick some credit. She was a Magnificent Seven mole all along... she's perfectly capable of planning out an attack on her own."

As Tod is helped to his feet, Stevens says, "Time will tell... this one is officially a no-contest. Let's go to commercial."

September 17, 2002

Storm returns to a cheering crowd and a hyper Mark Stevens letting the ones at home know that the show is back on with style. It is followed shortly as the entrance theme of “Cities on Flame with Rock ‘n Roll” by Blue Oyster Cult hits the speakers to a loud, negative ovation.

Funyon: “The following contest is for the hardcore title!”

Out through the curtain walks a 297-pound current tag team champion…

“He hails from Reykjavik, Iceland! He stands at Six feet Nine inches and weighs in at 297 pounds! A member of the Magnificent Seven and one half of the SWF tag team champions Chilly Chilly Bang Bang…FROST!!!”

His slow purposeful stride takes him to the ring, a Santa Clara 1830 hanging off his lips and the tag team gold fastened around his waist.

Stevens: “You may recall that these two had an incredible hardcore battle just over two months ago… with Jay Dawg getting the win and foreshadowing his future title of the King of hardcore. However this match isn’t made out of respect but pure anger! Jay Dawg seriously hurt and humiliated TNT just last Storm in their hardcore battle… which naturally angered TNT’s heterosexual lifemate, Frost.”

Riley: “That may be true… but Frost and TNT did a COMPLETELY UNFORGIVEABLE deed.”

Stevens: “To Jay Dawg at least… Frost and TNT cost Jay Dawg and Perfect Bo a match against Ash Ketchum and Xero, what looked to be an accident… but Jay Dawg was pinned for the first time in over a month by Ash Ketchum… and that just doesn’t sit well with the Dawgmeister.”

Frost finishes his stroll to the ring and steps onto the ring apron then over the rope, shooting his clenched fist into the air and gets a reaction filled with boos, some cheers, and a small portion of drunken girls shouting their phone numbers. He pulls the Cigar out of his mouth and grinds it out on the ring post and tosses it to the crowd, then removes his tag team title. He doesn’t have much time to celebrate though, as multiple fireworks explode around the arena, rafters and entrance ramp. The lights go out...

"THIS

IS

MAH

HOUSE!!"

The voice cues the timing for Rammstein’s “Du Haste” as it echoes through the arena. The Heavy beats thunder across the arena as JD steps through the curtains, his head down. The hardcore title around his waist, however he is without his giant chain and bo staff. He walks to the top of the ramp, slowly raising his head allowing Funyon to do his bit.

Funyon: “And his opponent! He hails from Vancouver, BC! He stands at Six feet four inches and weighs in at 250 pounds! The SWF HARDCORE champion… JAMIE ‘JAY DAWG’ DRAZON!!!”

JD slowly raises his head, and to Frost’s surprise, the eyelids rise to show the malicious expression. Jay Dawg grins sadistically as he sprints down the ramp, wasting no time as he dives under the ropes, and before Frost can attack him, he grabs both of his legs and pulls them out with a double leg takedown. Jay Dawg follows quickly by punching Frost in the face. Flailing like a psychotic before being drugged, JD hits Frost with lefts and rights that look like a man punching ground beef after five to ten seconds. JD pulls Frost to his feet and wastes no time lifting his knee into his gut. JD fires an uppercut, catching Frost stiffly in the sternum.

Stevens: “What is with the intensity so early!?”

Riley: “Jay Dawg was pinned by Ash because of these men!”

JD pushes Frost into the ropes, then snaps back, launching the much larger man into the corner. CRACK!!! Frost’s body thunders off the turnbuckles and starts to stumble out… only to be crushed right back in by a hardcore freight train! JD steps back from the avalanche and lets Frost’s body cave in from underneath of him. Frost falls to the mat, sitting in the corner and if JD wore a giant thong and had a huge ass, he’d be in trouble… but he doesn’t… so he just kicks Frost in the head. JD grabs onto the top rope for balance, as he proceeds to stomp in the face of Frost.

Riley: “Jesus Jay Dawg! You’re going to turn him into jello!”

JD finally sticks his foot underneath of Frost’s jaw, and grabbing the top rope and pulling on it, the leverage goes right into choking Frost! The Chilly Chilly of the tag champs proceeds to gag and swing his arms about.

Stevens: “You have to remember that this is hardcore, no DQ! Jay Dawg can choke him to unconsciousness right here!”

The match isn’t going to end that way though, as JD releases the choke and immediately slides out of the ring. He goes straight for the chairs, grabbing two of them, he throws them right into the ring. JD slides into the ring seconds after, grabbing one of the chairs. He folds up the steel weapon and waits for Frost to get up out of the corner.

Stevens: “Two things! One… it was a chairshot that did JD in just last Storm! Two… Jay Dawg viciously beat Frost with a chair the last time they fought!”

Riley: “Who can forget that Early Winter, and the Swandive Headbutt! Highlights of the year I tellz yeah!”

Frost finally pulls him up from the slight beating he got, and can’t even prepare for the much worse aspect… CRACK!! An overhead chairshot right to his head! Frost drops to one knee as JD taunts him to get up for some more. Frost lunges out of the corner, throwing out his size 18 boot and connecting into the face of JD! JD drops the chair and staggers backward, wondering the license number of the truck that just hit him.

Stevens: “Frost didn’t get all of that boot… but it’s still quite amazing that JD is still standing!”

Frost, who is still a little woozy from the earlier bit, pulls out the cavalry and lifts up Jay Dawg’s left arm… the fans gasp as Frost swings hard, and drives his fist right into Jay Dawg’s heart. The fight leaves him as JD drops to his knees, then falls forward, only to brace his fall by his hands.

Stevens: “The Touch of Frost! That was hit extremely early!”

Frost grabs the unfolded chair and stands it on its four legs. He grabs the other chair, unfolds it to see a bit of a dent in the seat, and stands it on its four legs as well. Frost pulls JD into a standing headscissors and underhooks both of his arms. JD snaps free though, and lifts high, back body dropping the 297-pound Icelandic monster over his head and right through the two chairs!

Stevens: “Jay Dawg just countered the Early Winter!”

Frost holds the back of his kidneys as JD pulls him up a bit. He grabs the back of the white hair covered scalp, and slams it face first into one of the chairs. As Frost lets his head hang over the chair, JD jumps straight up and high into the air, extending his leg and drops it straight across the neck of Frost. The sheer weight of Frost and JD which is over 547-pounds, collapses the chair, with its top landing over Frost’s head and the bottom right under! JD rolls backward, and lets the eyes roll into the back of his head as he grabs the other chair, folding it up and slams it into the chair covered Frost!

Stevens: “Ok this is déjà vu!”

JD lifts the chair up once more, and viciously slams it into the back of Frost’s head! JD lets the chair rest over top of Frost’s head and walks to the corner. He climbs to the top and looks down maliciously at the tag champeen. JD extends his arms out and flies forward, soaring through the air and…

SMACK!!

An image of JD lying with a chair in his face, while Frost roll over with a chair still wrapped over his head…

Stevens: “Whoa! Frosty dodged the surefire death!”

Riley: “Let’s see that in a replay!”

JD leaps off the turnbuckle… Frost moves with the chair strapped over his head… and JD hits face first into the chair… slamming with so much force that the people in the washroom can hear it.

Stevens: “That is just sick! I think you could hear Jay Dawg’s face being rearranged!”

Frost sits up off the mat, pulling the chair off his head and mild bruising begins to develop. He throws the chair out of the way and turns his head toward JD, who is pressing himself off the mat. Frost shakes his head off and crawls to JD. He pulls JD off the mat and drapes his arm across Jay Dawg’s chest. The set up for the Ice Shelf is cut short though, as JD fires two stiff elbows right into Frost’s head. Jay Dawg bounces off the ropes and dives at Frost with a cross body… but Frost catches him in mid air and powers him up over his head with a gorilla press and throws him forward! Jay Dawg lands just shy of the ropes, the impact of his chest crashing into the mat from ten feet is quite painful to the ears of many fans.

Stevens: “Insane amounts of power from this Icelandic Monster!”

Riley: “I can’t believe that Frost couldn’t throw him out of the ring!”

Stevens: “It looks like he has another plan!”

JD holds his chest with one arm and grabs the ropes with the other. He pulls himself off the mat as Frost stands on the other end, leaning forward and gently bouncing off the ramps. JD finally makes it to his feet and Frost leaves the ropes… sprinting full force to Jay Dawg, just as the hardcore champ turns around, he barely has time to spot a tree trunk of an arm drive right into his chest with the biggest damn lariat ever! Jay Dawg is knocked clearly over the rope… landing on his back and rolls clearly over, doing a slight headstand, then crashes onto the outside mat onto his chest in result of the Hell Freezes Over!

Stevens: “Did you see the impact of that!”

Frost stares down at JD on the outside, letting his jaw hang out only to show his teeth. Small dribbles of blood can be seen hanging from his lip as he steps through the ropes. Standing on the ring apron, Frost holds his arm up. He points with his one finger to JD, then leaps off the apron, extending his arm and driving it into the vertebrae of Jay Dawg with an elbow drop! Jay Dawg begins to twitch as Frost slowly turns him over, holding the arms down and hooking the leg, he looks on as the ref slides outside for the count.

One…

Two…

Thr… No! Jay Dawg gets the shoulder up off the mat. Frost pushes the shoulders back into the mat.

One…

Two…

Thre…Jay Dawg gets the shoulder up once more!

Stevens: “Two very close falls for the Icelandic monster!”

Frost shakes his head at the second pin attempt and pulls Jay Dawg off the mat. He proceeds to grab the hardcore champ’s wrist and Irish whips him into the railing… Jay Dawg crashes into it and stumbles back, right into an inverted facelock… JD struggles, but Frost stiffly drop him into the mat with reverse DDT! The sickening thud of Jay Dawg’s head hitting the mat is rather brutal as Frost makes the cover by draping his arm over top.

ONE…

TWO…

THRE…NOPE!! Jay Dawg kicks out once more.

Stevens: “Some very close falls… at this pace… we will see a new hardcore champion!”

Jay Dawg starts to sit up as Frost assists him to his feet. Suddenly, JD strikes him in the ribs with a knee. Before Frost can retaliate, he is promptly facelocked and spun around, driven into the outside ramp with sickening force!

Stevens: “Not only did he land on the ramp, but on the slope! That adds even more pain to the move!”

JD slowly rolls over and drapes his arm over top of Frost’s chest.

ONE…

TWO…

TH…No! Frost gets his shoulder up.

Jay Dawg sits up once more, shaking his head as he pulls Frost into a front waistlock. Jay Dawg pulls hard and lifts high into the air, tossing Frost over his head with a belly-to-belly suplex… Frost’s shoulders land first and his body caves in onto the ramp. Jay Dawg rolls over onto his hands and knees and begins to crawl up the ramp. As the hair hangs over his face and the sweat drips down, he slowly crawls forward and lets himself fall over top of Frost’s shoulder, pulling back on one of the legs and gravity takes it’s toll as JD hooks on tight.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…NO!!! Frost barely lifts his shoulder up off the ramp!

Stevens: “That is amazing strength by Frost! Not only did he kick out of that suplex, but he had to do it with both his weight and Jay Dawg’s weight, plus the leverage of the ramp against him!”

Riley: “Never underestimate the power of these Icelandic gods!”

Jay Dawg lifts his head up in disbelief and the ref reminds him that it was two. Jay Dawg peals Frost off the ramp and with a handful of tights he drags him up the ramp. Jay Dawg grabs the back of Frost’s neck and throws him into the steel SmarkTron structure! Frost staggers off the ramp and Jay Dawg rushes for him striking out his arm and connecting with a reverse elbow!

Stevens: “They are taking it up the stage! This battle can go anywhere now that they aren’t confined to a cage!”

Frost stays standing and once more, Jay Dawg rushes for him, only to get a hand clutched around his neck. Frost coldly stares into the closed eyes of JD, as he threatens the chokeslam. Frost lifts but Jay Dawg latches his legs around Frost’s left leg, and Frost can’t lift any higher. Jay Dawg pops Frost with a right hand, knocking Frost back a step. Frost fires back with a stiff punch to Jay Dawg’s rib, knocking the air out and gutwrench waistlocks him. Frost powers up and flips Jay Dawg to the back and falls down himself with a gutwrench suplex.

Stevens: “It’s Frost’s ballgame now, look at his eyes!”

The piercing blue eyes are clearly visible as he sits up and looks to the ceiling. Frost gets to his feet and looks up once more, pointing to the ceiling.

Frost: “BRING IT DOWN!!! IT’S TIME!!!”

Suddenly, the sounds of mechanics can be head, and lowered from the ceiling, supported by at least eight cables, is a giant glass pane structure. The length is clearly over 15 feet, and the width is about seven feet. In the center of it, are illustrations of winter weather, such as snow and ice.

Stevens: “Oh my god! That’s Frost’s favourite weapon… modified to a more extreme size!”

The fans gasp at the enormous structure, as it rests on the edge of the stage, tilting at a 45-degree angle. Frost once more looks down at JD and pulls him up into a standing headscissors, underhooking his arms. Frost lifts him off the ramp and onto his shoulders, deep below the glass is table after table, four of them side by side. Frost walks forward, the arms of JD still underhooked.

Stevens: “No way! No way! No way!”

Riley: “This will make him a hardcore champ no doubt!”

Stevens: “The Early Winter through that giant glass pane, and possibly through the tables below! This is insane!”

Jay Dawg finally begins a struggle, headbutting Frost in the forehead. Finally he reaches his head down and bites down over his nose. Frost caves in but lands on his knees as Jay Dawg lands on his feet. JD rushes for Frost, but the hardcore champ is picked up and slammed back down into the steel ramp with a spinebuster!

Stevens: “And Frost looks to destroy the hardcore champion!”

Frost once more stands over JD, shaking his head. He lifts his arm over his throat, and slices his thumb across it. He turns his body to the curtains and suddenly sees an idiot run out and clothesline him! Frost staggers back and gets a boot to the gut. Ash pulls Frost back and lifts him onto his shoulders, spins the man back and drops him into the ramp with a sit out neckbreaker! Frost crashes into the ramp and rolls toward his glass pane structure.

Stevens: “It’s Ash Ketchum!”

Riley: “He has a lot of nerve coming out here with these two!”

Ash takes a step back through the curtains and the fans boo, thinking he is gone, but quickly turn to cheers as Ash comes out with a Pokemania Fist Helmet. They would pop like funky monkey bitches, but this isn’t Ash’s match, so they just cheer for the doofus. He places the helmet on his head and rushes for Frost…

Stevens: “Oh god!”

…diving in the air…

Riley: “Watch out Frost!”

… His head pointed out…

Stevens: “Dear god!”

…And he drives his head into the forehead of Frost and knocks him flying backward with the Ketchum Torpedo! Frost flies backward so hard that he hits the top seven feet of his glass structure… and guess what…

IT CAVES IN!!!

As the glass shatters below him… Frost falls…

…falls…

…still falling…

CRASH!!!

Right through two of the tables! The shattered bits of glass rain over top of Frost as if it was raining men on TNT’s wedding day.

Stevens: “Oh my god… Frost just went though the glass, then fell ten feet. Ladies and gentlemen… This has gone too far.”

Ash Ketchum looks down, as Frost lies limp in between the carnage of tables and broken glass. Bits of worry over takes him but it is replaced by simple anger.

Stevens: “Ash Ketchum has been pushed too far!”

Riley: “Not far enough! He should be pushed… off a cliff!”

Ash steps on the bottom half of the glass, the stuff that is still left and pushes it in, but it doesn’t break. He turns around and…

CRACK!!

Receives a front kick to the jaw that knocks him to one knee. Jay Dawg looks down at Ash and pulls him to his feet, grabbing him by the straps around his chest and holds him up in the air.

Jamie: “You son of a bitch! Stay out of my god damn business!”

He drops Ash and pivots backward, kicking him in the jaw with a backward mule kick! Ash drops to his knees and Jay Dawg takes five steps back, jamming his feet into the mat then lightly hops on his feet… dancing for the opportunity to kick Ash in the head. The pokemania fist helmet slowly hangs from his head as he gets to his feet… and Jay Dawg stomps his foot into the mat… once… twice… three times… then thrusts forward, leaping in the air, and kicks Ash in the head with the Thai Roundhouse! Ash drops to the ramp as the helmet falls off his head… Ash crashes onto his chest and the helmet rolls to Jay Dawg’s feet.

Stevens: “Oh no! Somebody help Ash!”

Riley: “Like they helped Frost!”

Jay Dawg’s facial expression exchanges to pure mischief as he looks to the crowd, wide eyed and kicks the helmet deep into the crowd. He pulls Ash up off the ramp and into a standing headscissors. He crosses the arms over his neck and walks toward the glass… he lifts Ash up off the ramp and into an inverted position… steps forward… then slams the XF9 member into the glass pane with a modified JD’s Revenge! JD lands on his knees as Ash lands on the glass chest first… and guess what… it collapses…

Ash falls on his front down off the ramp…

…falling…

CRASH!!!

Chest first through the other two tables and the knee over top of Frost!

Stevens: “Holy shit! Ash was just driven through that same glass as Frost was!”

Jay Dawg looks down at the two men in between the tables and glass. He shakes his head as he looks at the structure, a bit of glass around the jagged edges… he takes a few steps back then rushes forward, diving off the cage like a swan…

He soars through the air with his arms outstretched…

Falling he looks down, positioning himself over top of Frost…

SMACK!!!

“HOLY SHIT!!”

Jay Dawg slowly lifts his head and drapes his arm over Frost’s chest…

“HOLY SHIT!!”

The ref runs down off the ramp…

“HOLY SHIT!!”

Stevens: “I can’t believe it! Despite the ruckage down there! Jay Dawg hit a swandive headbutt on top of Frost and his legs hit Ash!”

Riley: “Now that is replayable!”

A replay of Jay Dawg flying through the air, in slow motion, and driving his upper body into Frost and lower body into Ash. The ref finally makes his way to the carnage and makes the count… the “HOLY SHIT!!” chants as strong as ever.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE!!!

“Du Haste” hits the speakers and the fans can’t help but applaud the sickeningly painful battle.

Funyon: “The winner of this match and STILL SWF HARDCORE CHAMPION!!! JAY DAWG!!!”

The ref raises Jay Dawg’s hand and the hardcore champ slowly lifts his head, shaking it as the camera picks up his dialogue.

“I told them not to fuck with me… bitches.”

The sweat and blood begins to pour as Jay Dawg gets to his feet, holding his chest and the hardcore title presented to him, he raises it onto his shoulder.

Stevens: “What a battle between Jay Dawg and Frost… but if we see another battle from these men… I don’t think we can afford the medical bills!”

Riley: “If the crowd stays this hot, I don’t think Stubby will give a shit! Money is money!”

Stevens: “I’m inclined to agree with you… what a battle. Stay tuned though folks! We are not finished yet!”

A last image of Jay Dawg holding his title and his chest as the show cuts to a commercial.

September 17, 2002

“From Caesar’s Place, in Las Vegas, we are live and in living colour on Smarkdown!” Back from the commercial break, ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens enthusiastically greets the fans!

“Viva Las Vegas, baybee!” Echoes his broadcast partner, Bobby Riley! “Man, and I thought Reno was good… this is like something out of a dream! Slots! Cards! Craps! Free drinks! A list of winnings a mile long! And let me assure you good folks at home, “Sin City, USA” really does live up to its name, heh heh…”

“Uh-huh. AC/DC clubs that good, eh?”

“Shut UP, Stevens.”

Mark merely smiles, then turns his attention back to the camera. “Ahem. Regardless, it’s been a great night of action so far! Silent and TNT took one-another on in a brutal no-dq contest, that--”

“—That had a finish TOO HOT to be discussed right now!” Riley cuts-in “You’ll have to catch the 10 O’clock replay of Smarkdown, kids!”

Stevens glowers. “Right… anyway, and then, just previous, Jay Dawg faced Frost in another brutal match for his Hardcore title, where--”

Riley interrupts again, “—Where the outcome was SO SHOCKING, that… that I just can’t bear to have it spoken again, Mark! Think of my heart condition!”

‘Grand Slam’ gives Riley a sour look, before putting on a big smile. “And lest we forget, that **** classic Light-Heavyweight title match that ended with INCREDIBLE FINISH of “The Superior Riley Magnet” Tom Flesher walking out on Tod deKindes.”

“Bah. Eat me, Mark.”

“You’d like that, Riley.” Shoots back Mark. “That aside, up next we have a sure to be interesting contest… current ICTV champion and Magnificent Seven leader Chris Wilson has been mired in a slump as of late; while exactly one week ago, Edwin MacPhisto stepped down as leader of the Midnight Carnival, and handed it over to Z!”

“Again, I ask: What was HE thinking?” Eggs Riley. “Now, you’re probably wondering what these two things have to do with each other… well, quite simply, Z and Wilson are going to meet up next, in what is sure to be an unmitigated squash!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Riley…” Starts Mark, “Judging from that promo he gave a while earlier in the show, Z has shaken off the loss to Frost, and is ready, willing and more than able to settle into the role of Midnight Carnival lead—Look out! Here comes trouble…”

"Ah....Ah.ah.....ah....ah.ah...ah..."

“I am the king of this city, top down, windows up, puffing like diddy…”

The music cues up right as Mark finishes speaking. The hum of the fans turns to heavy boos. The southern rhymes bump across the stereo. The house lights drop, the smoke swirls from the entrance, and the manipulative mastermind himself enters from behind the curtain. Adjusting his fashionable shades and leather trench coat, Wilson unstraps the ICTV title from around his waist, and places it over his shoulder. He duly notes, files, and ignores the wash of heat that comes over the entrance, before Chris steps down the aisle…

Inside the ring, Funyon picks up his mic, and…

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for ONE fall, and introducing first… from Miami Florida, weighing in at 273 pounds… he is the current SWF Intercontinental-Television champion, and the LEADER of the Magnificent Seven… CRHIS… WILLLLLSOOOOON!!”

The fans jeer mercilessly at the name, Wilson not really giving one good goddamn. Climbing slowly up the steps, Wilson makes his way onto the apron, his ruby Juliet Oakley’s shimmering as he scans the crowd… and raises his hands up, ICTV title in one fist, soaking in the raw emotion as the fans re-double their hatred! The mastermind smirks, before dropping his arms, and stepping through the ropes and into the ring.

“Oh, man…” Riley sounds overwhelmed, “Isn’t that astounding! I mean look at the… professionalism of Wilson’s entrance! I’m breathless at the sight of his… presence!”

“…”

“What? WHAT!?”

“…riiiiight.” Mark nods, very astutely. “As mentioned earlier, Wilson has not been his usual dominating self recently. On Storm, he picked up his first win in two matches over Chris Raynor… with an assist from Edwin, of all people!”

“MacPhisto and Wilson!? It’s a conspiracy!”

“Feh. Don’t be an idiot, Riley. It’s pretty obvious that Edwin is taking this whole Raynor debacle VERY seriously.”

Handing off his sunglasses and coat to the referee, complete with the Razor Ramon speech, Wilson turns to look at the entrance… as the cheery pop funk of ‘Epic’ explodes~! The crowd pops all funky monkey, as Funyon raises the microphone again…

“And his opponent! Weighing in at 229 pounds, and hailing from Trenton, New Jersey! He is the NEW leader of the MIDNIGHT CARNIVAL… ZEEEEEEEE!!”

“Damn! Listen to the crowd, Riley! They’re really getting behind the new Carnie leader!”

“Yes.” Bobby nods. “Shame they’re about to be disappointed—again.”

The Zedman cometh, tossing aside the curtain and making a steady gait down the aisle! A look of odd focus is etched into his face, as he’s absent in tagging the hands of the fans along the aisle. His new—or more accurately, more refined—look of haggard jean shorts w/ visible knee pads, a black Midnight Carnival shirt, with the sleeves of a blue undershirt visible, and plain boots seemingly complements his mind-set for this match. His ever-present camo jacket over his shoulders, Z reaches the ring, looking into the eyes of the amused-looking Wilson… before suddenly bolting under the ropes and into the ring! Wilson reacts quickly, flooring Z with a rapid-fire left hook, and the ref scrambles to call for the bell!

**DING! DING! DING!**

“And they’re not wasting any time, Bobby!” Hollers Stevens!

“Wilson’s a very quick and efficient type of guy.” Begins Riley, “He knows it’s bound to be an unmitigated squash, so why bother wasting any time?”

Stevens blinks. “Riley, your idea of ‘quick and efficient’ is not taking showers just because ‘I’ll get dirty again anyway.’”

And Riley huffs, Z rapidly pulls himself up off the mat, only to be smacked back down with another of Wilson’s hard punches! Z hauls himself up again, quickly, once again getting blitzed by Wilson as he throws another hook, and a hard jab into the face of Z! The new Carnival leader backs into the ropes, and Wilson takes full advantage, shooting him off to the opposite set!

“Whoo! Crisp Irish Whip from Wilson, almost knocking Funyon right off the apron!” Riley calls, chuckling a bit!

“Funyon’s lax bailing and high-tailing skills aside, Wilson’s ready for the reverberating Z, going for a quick standing clothesline… that the one-letter wonder quickly ducks under!” Mark calls, tensely. “Wilson spins on his heel—and quickly ducks under a clothesline of Z’s own! Z ricochets back again--” Mark is abruptly cut off…

As Riley jumps in! “--As Wilson springs up a forward with the Miami Sidekick!”

“…that Z tucks and rolls under!” Finishes Stevens with a grin, getting in on the interruption game, too.

Z quickly pulls himself to his feet off the roll, and bounces himself off the ropes again, charging at Wilson. The master manipulator is rather discombobulated at the moment, and wobbly turns back toward Z, telegraphing a back drop—that Z counters by hopping over, tucking his ankles under Wilson’s arms for the extra pull to get him over in the…

“Sunset Flip!” Yells Mark! “The ref drops!”

The crowd, a buzz from the quick exchange that started off the math, chants loudly with the count!

ONE!

TWO—NO!

“No dice.” Says Mark. “A clean kickout there.”

“What? And you expected any less?” Riley oozes smarm. “Wilson’s far too good to go down to the first pin of the match.”

“Well, you have admit that that sequence had Wilson right off his game.”

“Game?” Riley scoffs. “Puh-LEASE. Wilson’s game is tactical thermonuclear warfare. Z’s game is scrabble.” Riley pauses, before regarding Mark slyly. “Come clean, Stevens. How much did you bet on this match?”

Z uneasily rolls to his feet, slightly flustered that his first pin attempt didn’t do the trick. The eVil One, however, is quick to his feet, looking unfazed. Wilson stands ready in the centre of the ring, circling the alphabetical one, as Z brushes his bangs out his eyes, and focuses in on Wilson as well. Wilson digs his boots into the mat, reaching out, desiring a test of strength… and Z obliges, leaning in, as the two jockey for position! It takes nary a moment for Wilson’s obvious power advantage to be seen, as he forces Z’s arms down, pushing the one-letter wonder backward. The crowd begins to crow negatively, as Z bites his lip, grips his fingers tighter with Wilson, and digs his feet into the mat to try and force him off!

“Almost as SHOCKING as the outcomes of the last matches—which I still can’t tell you about, by the way—Z is LOSING the test to strength.” Riley speaks, before doing an extra-exaggerated yawn for effect.

“Well, I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Bobby!” Exclaims Mark. “Not if this crowd has anything to do with it!”

A slight, “Let’s go Z! Let’s go Z!” chant picks up, the crowd urging on their favourite blue-haired rascal of a son. “And you know what else, Riley? I think the emotion is starting to take effect!”

Stevens second exclamation holds true, as in the ring, Z actually appears to be gaining ground on Wilson! Z grits his teeth, and growls in effort, and he urges Chris’s hands up higher… and higher…

“Just a little bit farther, and Z’ll have evened this out!”

“Thought if that’s true, Mark… why is Wilson smiling?”

Z sees it too—looking through his blue bangs, etched into the face of the magnificent leader… is a complacent grin. Z blinks, but is suddenly doubled over as Wilson shoots a boot into his stomach! The crowd’s chant abruptly fades, replaced by harsh jeering! Wilson pays it no mind, keeping a tight grip on Z’s hands, before shoveling a second boot into his breadbox!

“Ugh.” Mark Stevens grimaces. “That was cheap.”

“Ha!” Riley chortles. “Cheap? Perhaps. Legal? 100%! Beautiful? Absolutely! God bless the Carnie manipulating and smashing!”

Riley pauses.

“Not that it’s hard with Z.”

“Good to know your open minded, bias free, journalistic integrity is intact…”

In the ring, Z sputters, having just been the recipient of a third rocket-powered toe kick to the gut. With his disgusting, smug smirk curled firmly into his lips, Chrissy Stardust breaks a hand from Z, and gives a little wave to the crowd…

…before Z’s now free hand shoots up, ripping its nails across Wilson’s face! The hollers in protest, and Z quickly downplays, before grabbing hold of Wilson’s other arm and twisting it behind him in an arm-wringer! Wilson groans in pain, clutching at his shoulder as Z torques on it!

“Heh, heh, heh. To quote a phrase for Magnificent Meatmaster, ‘don’t get cocky, or it’s gonna get rocky.’” Mark chuckles, while Riley simmers.

“Bah! Z should just consider it a token gesture!” Riley dismisses. “Mark you, better than anyone else, should know that Wilson is far more than just kicky-punchy. The man is an encyclopedia of wrestling holds! You don’t think he can reverse a simple arm-wringer?! He’s a walking Britannica!”

“Britannica? I would’ve pictured Chris more as Encarta…”

However, Wilson, never one to disappoint, tries his damndest to make Riley look prophetic. Reaching as far over as he can with his free hand, trying… to get hold… of Z… to screw… out… of… …of…--No! Z has none of that, quickly stepping back out of reach, and then ducking under Wilson’s arm a second time, twisting, cranking, SKEWING the arm! Wilson lets out another yell of pain, as Z continues to work his arm. Finally getting fed up with being worked over by such a simple maneuver, Wilson takes a step forward, and uses his power advantage to yank Z within grabbing distance! Quickly, the Magnificent Malignant grasps Z’s arm and twists himself out of the arm-wrench—but instead of reversing into his own version, Wilson fancies one more turn, bringing Z’s arm down right in front of him. And dropping one hand from the hold, Wilson brings it up, and…

**SLAP!**

…cracks Z straight across the cheek with it! Wilson thunders with an arrogant, triumphant “HA-HA!”, as Z flops to the canvas, clutching his cheek!

“Oh… Wilson… Wilson just SLAPPED Z!” Shouts Mark, in full ‘take-easy-offense’ mode this evening.

“Meh,” Starts Riley, “I don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, hasn’t Z been getting that from EVERYONE in his life? I mean, even that 7-year-old-girl in attendance last week gave him a pretty good one!”

“Erm… wasn’t that Flesher, though?”

“Yeah, Z got it good.”

“Flesher.”

“Z.”

“Flesher.”

“Z.”

“Flesher.”

“Z!”

Back to the match… still clutching his cheek, Z scampers into the corner, using the ropes to pull himself up to his feet. Wilson, of course, isn’t going to have ANY of that ‘Z recovering by himself’ nonsense, and taking a handful of Z’s cyan locks, yanks him to his feet proper. With Z slouched in the turnbuckle, Wilson measures him up… before burrowing a kick square into the stomach of the one-letter wonder! The crowd boo’s, Z sputters, and Wilson sneers confidently. Grabbing the ropes for more leverage, Chris snaps a second kick into the stomach of Z! A third! A fourth! A fifth!

“Flesher!”

“Z!!”

“FLESHER!!”

“RABBIT SEASON!”

“DUCK SEASON!”

“RABBIT SEASON!!”

“DUCK SEASON!!”

With every stomp, Z slumps lower and lower into the turnbuckle. A sixth kick! A seventh! An eighth!

“RABBIT SEASON!”

“DUCK SEASON!!”

“Hey, uh, excuse me?” A rather stocky man, with medium length brown hair and a Chicago Bears jersey leans over the railing, in between Mark and Bobby. “You two DO know that it’s football season, right?”

Pause.

**Crack!**

“RILEY! You just punched a fan!”

“He insulted me!”

“What!? How!?”

“He was a Bears fan!”

Stevens buries his face in his hands and murmurs something about lawsuits, and turns his attention back to the match. And by this point, Chris Wilson has completed in stompin’ a mudhole in Z and walking that sumbitch dry. Pulling the hazy Carnie up to his feet, Wilson aims him at the opposite turnbuckle, and hurls him at it, full force! Z barrels down on the turnbuckle, SMASHING into it back first, flipping over the top rope, and splatting down on the apron! The sheer force of the whip causing him to do a full flip on impact!

The new Carnie leader groggily pulls himself up to his feet on the apron, barely able to make out the washy sounds of the crowd… telling him… telling him to… telling him to… duck? Acting on instinct, Z does as told, dropping to the apron… and narrowly missing Wilson trying to chop his head off with a running for arm! Wilson stops short of the ropes, as Z quickly clears the cobwebs out, springing up from where he is, and shouldering Wilson in the gut, through the second rope! Chris doubles-over, and Z quickly latches on to the top-rope, slingshotting back in, and…

“Z’s going for another Sunset Flip on Wilson, from the apron to the inside!” Calls Stevens. “Not as fluent as the first one, though, as Z’s struggling to get Wilson over…”

“And he FAILS!” Exclaims Riley, sounding disturbingly giddy! “Wilson’s got hold of the top rope, stopping himself from tumbling back! You have to be a lot smarter than that to beat Wilson! Trying to use the same move TWICE in a match… yessh!”

“Yes, yes… psychology and so on.” Mark waves dismissively. “Anyway—Wilson lets go! He drops right on top of Z!”

The eVil one turns right to the ref, shouting at him to “Count it!” The referee is more than happy to oblige, dropping down and counting for…

ONE!

TWO!

THRE—NO!

The crowd roars as Z kicks out! Wilson looks less than totally enthused. Not giving the one-letter wonder even a moment to get any wind, Wilson slides off the awkward pin, pressing down against Z in a regular lateral press! COUNT!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-E-E—NO!

“That’s two! Two consecutive pins by Wilson! You have to remember, folks, that it takes an extreme amount of energy to kick out of pinfall situations.” Informs Mark.

“Thank you, professor Stevens.” Riley oozes sarcasam. “I’d ask for another pearl of wisdom… but Wilson’s going for a hat trick! Third pin, with the leg hooked!”

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-E-E-E—NOOO!

The crowd pops funkah monkah, as Z once again manages to succeed in kicking out, jarring his shoulders off the mat! Too frustrated to continue with more pinfall attempts, Wilson hauls Z the huffing off of the canvas, backing him into the nearest turnbuckle… and lining him up with the opposite one, once again! Wilson sizes up, then THROWS~! sending Z bearing down on the turnbuckle yet again! He collides hard with the padding, though not with enough force to send himself toppling over the ropes again. Z slumps in the corner, gazing, with blurry eyes, at Wilson, as he digs his feet in… then runs at Z! In a blur of motion, Z almost pours himself out of the corner, into a puddle on the mat, as Wilson SPEARS~!... NOTHING BUT POST! Z tires to capitalize on what may be his only real advantage at this point, ducking behind Wilson and grabbing his thigh, dropping him backwards for a schoolboy rollup! The crowd roars as the ref counts…

“This could be all over, right here!” Shouts Mark! “Z taking advantage of his own pinning predicament for--”

ONE!

TWO!!

THRE-E-E-E—NO! The crowd expels a collective gasp.

“Oh! Oh my god! S—so close!” Riley pants, clutching at his chest. “I… I don’t think I can TAKE something like that! Wilson, don’t scare me again!”

“Uh… huh.” Mark responds… uneasily? “Anyway, Z managing to telegraph Wilson’s oncoming train of a spear.”

“And honestly, how the hell did he do THAT!?”

“Well, you know what you said… ‘two of the same moves in a match… yeeesh.’ This apply to Irish Whips too, Riley?”

“…arrrgh. Shut up, Mark.”

Somewhat stunned, and still trying to soothe his shoulder, Wilson groggily rises… whilst Z quickly rolls out of the rollup attempt and toward the turnbuckle, hopping to his feet, and clambering up to the top. The audience beings to buzz in anticipation, as Z perches on the top, sizing up Wilson… waiting for him to just turn around… and then leaps off!

…

…and is CAUGHT HANDILY by Wilson, who takes several steps back from the impact of Z against him, but keeps his balance!

“Dear god!” Shouts ‘Grand Slam’! “I knew Wilson was pretty strong, but… he just caught a 230 pound man out of the air!”

“I know!” Riley gushes. “Isn’t he just so AWESOME!?”

“Well, Wilson has Z clinched to him laterally… I wonder if he’s going to go for a Fallaway Slam?”

Holding on to Z(Who kicks feebly, in a rather humorous display), Wilson surveys the crowd, judging from their emotion what would be the best response… And in a moment, he comes to his decision…

…and sets Z safely on his feet.

Mark blinks. “What in--?”

**SLAP!**

“God DAMN!” Shouts Stevens! “Wilson set Z down just so he could.. . for the second time! Wilson slapped Z for the second time in this match!”

“Heh, heh, heh… that sort of shit can get you shot in Mexico, you know.”

The crowd rains hate down on the ring, but Wilson doesn’t really seem to care. As Z collapses onto his knee, clutching his cheek (again), Wilson insensitively hauls him up onto his feet, bouncing him off the ropes, and trying for a standing clothesline… that Z stumbles under.

Bobby blinks. “Mark… are we in rerun mode or something?”

“I don’t think so, Bobby… though if this is going to work out as I forsee it working out… this ought to be good.”

Z shoots back at the still-turning form of Wilson, aiming to tear his head off with the Arm Grenade that missed the first time… but much like in life, history is doomed to repeat itself as Wilson ducks under again! Z looks to bound off the ropes for a third time… but instead of going for the Miami Sidekick, Wilson decides to bounce off the ropes himself! The crowd light up with the fast exchange, as Wilson and Z charge one another…

…and Wilson lunges at Z, trying for a huge running grapple…

…that meets NOTHING BUT AIR~!

...as Wilson looks around, down, and then finally, and the crowd’s persistent cheering, behind him…

…to see Z, having slipped through his legs and popped up behind him.

…flipping him the… double-bird, of all things?

Wilson blinks.

Z smirks… before rocketing a short KICK into Wilson’s stomach!

WHAM! Chris doubles over!

The crowd roars. The announcers yell. It all happens in a split second.

As Z takes hold of Wilson’s head, and drops him neck first onto his shoulder, right into the STUNNER~! The crowd pops HUGE at the sight of a certain Mr. Williams finisher, as Wilson flies off of Z’s shoulder, thunking to the mat. Out of it.

“Holy crap!” Bellows Mark! “Z just… he just…”

“He just gave Wilson the freaking Stone Cold Stunner. Yes, Mark.” Bobby finish for Stevens. Flat. Monotone.

Pause.

“Where the hell did he learn that!?”

“Well, I don’t think it matters, Riley! What matters is that Wilson is OUT, this crowd is ELECTRIC, and Z just has to make the cover!”

“No…”

And with that, the rather wasted Z crawls toward Wilson, flopping down on him for the cover. The ref drops! The crowd counts!

ONE!

“NO! No, no, no!”

TWO!!

“NO! THIS! ISN’T! HAPPENING!”

THRE-E-E-E-E-E-E-E!!!

**DING! DING! DING!**

“Arrgh!”

“Epic” funks, as the crowd lets loose with a big pop, as Z just sort of soaks in it. Which is about all he can do, being all exhausted in the ring and all. On the outside, Funyon picks up his mic, and…

“The winner of this match… as a result of a PINFALL… ZEEEEEE!”

“Oh, no! NO NO NO! Mark, please god, tell me this is all a dream!”

“Oh, you only wish Riley. It’s as real as it gets. Z has just upset as former world heavyweight champion, and the current ICTV champion!”

“…WHY, GOD!?”

“…and oh yes, lest I foget, the current leader of the Magnificent Seven!”

“ARRGH!”

Stevens grins, obviously quite content in his torment of Riley. “Heh, heh, heh… step right up to the Carnival, indeed. And SPEAKING of which, up next in the main event, ELM versus Raynor! Don’t go ANYWHERE!”

The camera gives one last shot of the ring, with Z celebrating, ‘Epic’ pulsing, as we fade to PRODUCTS YOU most obviously DESPERATELY NEED~!

September 17, 2002

The camera suddenly cuts to the backstage area, where-

"-Ben Hardy is standing by... with Edwin MacPhisto! Take it away, Hardy!"

"Thanks, Stevens. I'm here with Edwin MacPhisto-"

Hardy has to stop for a moment as the Caesar's Palace crowd drowns out all sound with a sickeningly loud bout of cheering! Edwin gives an "Aw shucks" look to the camera.

"I'm here with Edwin, and Mac Daddy, I just wanted to ask you about your actions last week."

"My actions last week?"

Edwin assumes the thinking position, trying to remember for the life of him...

"Ah yes! My actions! By that you mean my opening a hole in Raynor's head large enough to stick... something large in?"

"Yes, I-"

"Well I'll tell you, Hardy," Edwin says, chipper as ever, as he takes the microphone from Ben. "Just the week before, I was defending the SWF World Title against everyone's favorite COMPLETELY LEGAL Carnival Resident, when the Caveman decided he wanted to come out and play. He suckered me in, I took it, and I lost the title."

Edwin turns from Hardy to the camera, facing the crowd and everyone watching now as he continues.

"Do you know what it feels like, Raynor? To have something you've fought for, something you've bled for, just ripped away from you?" A grin pops up from out of nowhere. "Of course you do! Or at least you should, considering I robbed you of your shot at the big time last week! It's a little thing I like to call "eye for an eye."

Now Edwin's disposition turns slightly sourer - "You worked your ass off for that shot. You took it to Wilson with everything you had. You put your life, your soul... you put EVERYTHING into getting that shot. So I took it from you. Just like you took the title, that I put EVERYTHING I had into, from me." Edwin suddenly brightens up again.

"So how does it feel, Raynor? Not so good, huh? I mean, here's the one thing you wanted more than anything else in the world... and *POOF*... it's gone! I certainly can relate to the feeling, but being as batty as your are right now, I'm sure I came out ahead on this little exchange." He turns back to Hardy. "That good enough?"

Hardy takes the microphone back. "Good enough for me!"

"Good. If you don't mind then, I've got to go-"

"RRAAAAAGH!"

*CRACK*

Edwin MacPhisto slumps to the ground, and Hardy runs screaming like a girl! The camera pans over to see Chris Raynor, and-

"He's got a damn chair, Riley!"

"Good! About time someone shut Edwin up!"

Raynor flings the chair away and picks Edwin up by his hair, and begins to drag him down the hallway! The cameraman makes the quick pursuit, and other cameras suddenly begin to flood the hallway for the best shots! Raynor pulls Edwin's head back and SLAMS it into the concrete wall, then he holds Edwin's face to the wall and starts walking again, raking the poor Mac Daddy's face against the concrete! Finally they reach an open area, where the wall gives way to more space. Raynor pulls Edwin away from the wall, one hand holding his hair and the other grabs him by the seat of his pants-

"Oh no, somebody stop this!"

*CRASH*

-and he HEAVES EDWIN HEAD-FIRST INTO A SODA MACHINE! The front panel shatters, and now has a large hole in the front, where Edwin's head rests, and where the rest of his body hangs from!

"Raynor just put Edwin right through the soda machine! Someone get him out of there!"

"And it was Pepsi Blue, too!" adds Riley. "Insult to injury!"

Edwin's body falls sideways and his head is dragged out, bloodied almost beyong recognition. Raynor swipes at the officials trying to help, keeping them away! He then grabs Edwin by the trenchcoat and pulls him up, right to his face...

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

He slams Edwin's head against the machine!"

"YOU THINK YOU CAN-"

Raynor suddenly flies offscreen, and takes down a few officials before crashing into the wall! The camera turns back-

"It's Magnifico!" shouts Mark, and the crowd erupts as the pissed off Mexican covers Edwin as the medical team arrives, then goes stalking for Raynor! The ex-Carny is on his knees, touching his head where it hit the wall, but he suddenly bolts upright and charges for Magnifco-

-Magnifico falls and clips Raynor over with a drop-toehold! Raynor's head hits the floor with a sickening *THUD*! Uterring Spanish obscenities at an incredibly high rate, he drags Raynor up by the hair and heads down the hallway!

"Chris Raynor and Magnifico are brawling backstage - we've got to go to commercials, but we'll try to keep the cameras on them! Stay with us!"

September 17, 2002

“And here they come!” shouts Mark as Smarkdown! Comes back on the air! Magnifico flings open the curtain from beneath the Smarktron and drags Raynor out with him onto the stage, to a tremendous roar!

“What the hell is Funyon doing?!” Riley asks, agitated.

“The following non-title contest-”

“I don’t believe this.”

“-is scheduled for one faaaall! Coming down the aisle, at… uh… screw this!”

Funyon leaps over the top rope as Raynor gets rolled inside, and Magnifico quickly follows him in!

*DING DING DING*

“And this match has officially started!”

“No fair!” protests Riley. “Raynor got jumped backstage!”

“Magnifico was sticking up for Edwin! What, you think he planned this?!”

“Of course I-”

“Don’t answer that, Riley.”

Raynor begins scrambling for the opposite ropes, looking mildly retarded at the moment, but the before he can make it Magnifico grabs his leg and pulls him back towards the middle of the ring! He then hops over and drops an elbow on the back of Raynor’s head, driving it into the canvas, disorienting him further. ELM gets up to his feet and runs for the ropes as Raynor makes it to one knee-

“-and Magnifico… dropkick to the side of the head! Raynor’s dropped like a sack of potatoes… and here’s a quick cover!”

ONE!

TW- Raynor gets the shoulder up!

Magnifico pops like firecracker up to his feet and goes running at the ropes again. Raynor begins rolling, and he makes it under the ropes and falls in a heap on the outside. Magnifico stops in the middle of the ring, a tad miffed.

“Ha! He rolled away! So you can’t hurt him! Yea!”

“…”

“Oh shut up, Mark, I’m tired. Go bad guy!”

The referee is leaning through the ropes, shouting at Raynor to come back in the ring. Raynor stumbles to his feet and into the apron, but he can’t bring himself to climb back in just yet… Magnifico looks away, then his quickly snaps back!

“Double take!”

His eyes light up at the absolute perfect setup… and he runs into the ropes! Coming back, Raynor’s just starting to look up when Magnifico baseball slides between the referee’s legs right into Raynor! The crowd goes nuts as the referee jumps away, and begins berating Magnifico for the stunt! ELM pays him no heed and waits as Raynor slowly gets up again, then he springs over the top rope onto the apron, then onto the second rope, then back into Raynor with a flying cross-body!”

“And Magnifico crosses the border! He’s brought his A-Game tonight, wouldn’t you say, Riley?”

“It’s all part of Raynor’s master plan! He’s drawing him in!”

Magnifico rolls off of Raynor and pauses, winded after the splash… he takes a moment to collect himself, then gets to his feet and grabs Raynor by the hair, and he begins to drag him around ringside. He stops right next to the steel steps, and shouts something unintelligible to the fans, then pulls Raynor’s head back and-

*THUD*

“Cheater! DQ him, ref! Raynor wins! Raynor wins!”

“What referee do you know DQ’s for that?”

“… well, a good one would!”

Raynor would be falling to the floor with his eyes rolling up into his head right now, but Magnifico won’t let him! He keeps a firm hold on Raynor’s hair and yanks him back up, then slams it down again-

*THUD*

A bright red spot begins to slowly form on the bandage covering Raynor’s forehead! Magnifico pulls him aside and rolls him back into the ring, and slides in himself, narrowly avoiding the ten-count! The referee offers some cold words which no one pays attention to, because honestly, who listens to the ref? Anywho, Magnifico drags Raynor up again and stands to his back, and locks his arms!

“It could be over right here! Magnifico going for the Baja California Crusher!”

Magnifico adjusts some adjustments, then goes running for the ropes… he climbs up the first, the second-

“OOOOOOOH!”

Raynor gets his arms free and pushes with his back, and Magnifico goes flying over the top rope, and he drops straight down to the floor, back first!

“Bahahaha! I toldja, Mark! It’s all part of his plan!”

“I think you’re even crazier than he is, Bobby, but that was a beautiful counter! Magnifico was trying to end this early-”

“-because he’s scared!”

“-but in this case it didn’t pay off!”

Raynor falls to his knees in the ring, and he pokes and prods at the bandage on his forehead, making sure it’s still ok. The tiniest trickle of blood comes down from it, so he pushes the adhesive back into his head as hard as he can, determined to make it stick tight for the rest of the match. On the outside, Magnifico is slowly getting up, but one hand has gone to favoring his back.

“This could be a huge advantage for Raynor - despite being knocked silly backstage, it looks like he managed to damage Magnifico where it counts!”

Satisfied for now with the state of his bandage, Raynor clambers up to his feet and straightens himself out, then goes for the ropes. The referee gives up trying to stop him. He swings one leg over the top, then the other, then hops down off the apron-

-Magnifico swings his free hand up, catching Raynor mid-air with a stinging Knife-Edge chop!

“Oh God,” Riley mutters, right before having to hear…

“WHOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Raynor falls back against the apron and covers his chest, but Magnifco forces his arms aside and-

*SMACK*

“WHOOOOOOOOO!”

*SMACK*

“WHOOOOOOOOO!”

*SMA-*

Raynor catches Magnifico’s hand! He steps away from the apron and spins Magnifico around, then releases his hand, sending him hurtling, back first, right into the-

*CRASH-THUD-CLANG-TUMBLE-TUMBLE!*

“-Steel Steps! Magnifico’s got to get back in the ring!”

Raynor agrees with this, as he drags Magnifico up and rolls him into the ring. Both of Magnifico’s hands now go towards favoring his back, making the whole “getting up” process rather hard to do. He makes it up to one knee before Raynor gets in after him and applies grabs him from behind, around the waist! He picks Magnifico up to his feet, then pulls him up and over into a German Suplex, bridged for the pin!

ONE!

TWO- Magnifico rolls backwards, out of the pin!

Raynor quickly rolls to his feet and turns around, ready for anything… but it doesn’t look like Magnifico’s going anywhere. Raynor touches the bandage on his head again, the half-walks half-staggers over to Magnifico.

“Well, inadvertent or not, Raynor’s targeting the back of Magnifico seems to be working, Bobby.”

“Inadvertent?! He knew Magnifico would go for the finisher, remember? Sheesh, I’ve gotta tell you everything.”

“It was a desperation counter and you know it.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to admit it, though.”

Raynor stoops down over Magnifico-

-and falls right into a small package!

ONE!

TWO!

T

H

R

E- Raynor just barely breaks free! Both men pop to their feet simultaneously, and Magnifico charges-

*WHAM*

-right into a devastating clothesline! Raynor grabs the ropes and takes a moment to re-energize as Magnifico tries frantically to come up with a new gameplan.

“Well he wouldn’t have to resort to desperation counters if someone hadn’t jumped him backstage.”

“At least you’re admitting it now…”

“… damn you and your mind tricks, Stevens! Damn you!”

“And Raynor knows it’s imperative that he do well here - I don’t think Edwin’s going to be interfering tonight, so this is his chance to make up for the Wilson mishap.”

Raynor manages to shake the cobwebs, and he turns back now to Magnifico, who’s on his knees and getting higher. Raynor quickly cuts that short by hitting a knee-lift into Magnifico’s chin, knocking him up and back into the corner. Raynor pulls him out by the arm, scoops him up, then drapes his legs on either side of the post!

“Bobby, just this once, please don’t say it-”

“TREE OF WOOOOOOOOE!”

“… I hate you.”

Raynor backs off, taking a quick warmup lap around the inside of the ring, before strolling back to Magnifico-

-Magnifico puts his hands on the middle rope and pushes himself off! Almost too fast to see, he kicks his legs up off the top rope and wraps them around Raynor’s head, spins the both of them around, and he Hurricanrana’s him back across the ring!

“See Stevens? THAT was a Desperation counter! Raynor’s was calculated!”

“My ass that was Desperation. Magnifico knew exactly why he was doing, since Raynor wasted so much time in getting there!”

Raynor follows through in the roll and gets to his feet, but the moment he’s up Magnifico collides with him, driving him back into the opposite corner! Magnifico backs up, then takes a running start, leaps, and splashes Raynor in the corner! He takes Raynor by the hand immediately after and whips him across the ring, to the other corner, and runs right after him - a second splash! He takes Raynor’s hand again and sends him back to the original corner, and running right after him he hits a third and final splash! Raynor stumbles out crosslegged, then stands straight up…

… and falls straight down! Magnifico rolls him over for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

T

H

R- Raynor kicks out!

“The champion almost had him there!”

Raynor rolls over onto his side, and again begins picking at the bandage as Magnifico backs away for a moment. Raynor gets up to one foot, one knee, so Magnifico moves in and boots him in the gut, hooks the arm… he grits his teeth, pulls, and swings Raynor over him and down in a quick Snap-Suplex! He pops to his feet and takes a moment to play for the crowd, then points to the nearest corner!

“Magnifico’s going up!”

“No, Mark, Magnifico’s goin’ DOWN!”

“I meant up to the top rope.”

“Oh… carry on then.”

Magnifico springs over the top rope and lands on the apron, then walks over to the turnbuckle and heads on up. He doesn’t see now that Raynor has rolled onto his side, and now… up to one knee! Mags gets up top and checks his footing, then looks out to see Raynor stumbling up to his feet. Quick change of plans, Magnifico thinks to himself… Missile Dropkick time! Sporting a grin the size of… well… Mexico, Magnifico, crouches down for a moment, scouting for his moment, and when it comes he springs off and kicks out!

“Aaaaand….”

*THUD*

“Nobody home!” shouts Mark, as the crowd goes Awwww! Raynor dove out of the way, and Magnifico just punishes his back further!”

“A REAL man could get up from that, Mark!”

Both men now are climbing up, climbing up, climbing up… they reach their feet at the same time - Magnifico stumbles over to the corner and puts his back to it to rest, while Raynor looks around for something to hold him up. Still far from the ropes, and staggers and nearly falls over heading for them. Magnifico sprints out from behind him, determined to stop him-

*WHOOSH*

“OH!” cries Mark, wincing at the sight. “Raynor had Magnifico scouted perfectly, and he caught him with a HARD reverse elbow! Raynor looks down at Magnifico and smirks, and suddenly he can walk just fine again.

“He suckered Magnifico in! When you can sucker the World Champion, you know you’ve got talent!”

“Bobby, that almost sounded very wrong coming from you.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Never mind. In any case, if Raynor wants to have a chance here, he’s got to bring Magnifico down to his pace - slow and steady. If Magnifico connects with any more of his high-risk offense - well, considering what the Springboard Crossbody and Hurricanrana already did… Raynor would be finished quick, I think.”

Magnifico is trying to get back to his own pace, starting with getting to his knees, but another knee lift to the side of Mags’ head puts him back down on the mat. The ex-Carny then rolls Magnifico onto his stomach, and runs into the ropes. Coming off, he stops and jumps straight up, driving both knees (and all his weight) right into the small of Magnifico’s back! The poor luchadore throws both hands to his back and cries out in pain, and begins rolling away.

“MAG-NI-FI-CO!” *clap clap clapclapclap*

Raynor snarls at the crowd, those lousy Vegas ingrates… why he oughtaaaa… drop another elbow across Magnifico’s back to spite them! And he does! Magnifico’s hands claw at the canvas, trying to find a hold to pull himself away but not having much luck. Raynor grabs him by the foot and pulls him back towards the middle of the ring, drops another elbow across Magnifico’s back, then floats over and locks a front-headlock to bring Mags up to his feet. When they’re both up, he jams his knee into Magnifico’s midsection as a precaution, then releases the headlock and grabs his hand instead - he turns it into the front hammerlock, then grabs ELM’s other arm, and flips him up and over!

“Beautiful Northern Lights Suplex - into the cover!”

ONE!

TWO!

T

H

R- Magnifico fires his shoulder up, and the crowd begins to rally behind him again!

“And you said he couldn’t hang with the big boys.” Riley says, mockingly.

“I said nothing of the sort, you twit. I said I didn’t know - I know he’s good, but all things considered, especially his current state of mind, I don’t know yet if he’s THAT good.”

“He beat YOU, remember.”

“… did you just compliment me?!”

“… shit… I did, didn’t I?”

“In any event, he does seem to be holding his own against Magnifico right now.”

”CAR-NI-VAL!

CAR-NI-VAL!

Raynor grabs Magnifico by the hair and yanks him up hard, possibly helping to speed up the balding process. The sweeps over to the side of ELM and puts an arm on the back of his head, then intertwines their legs.

“Forward Legsweep Setup-”

But Magnifico clocks Raynor in the jaw with his free elbow! Raynor puts his other hand on Magnifico’s head and pushes down, trying to get the quick sweep off, but Magnifico gets his leg free and he ducks away! Raynor almost loses his balance from sweeping something that isn’t there, and by the time he collects himself Magnifico is up and-

*SMACK*

“WHOOOOOOOO!”

“-firing off a sizzling knife-edge chop!”

Raynor is sent stumbling back by the one blow, all the way back into the corner! He quickly steps out, remember the last time he was there, but the wily Mexican is on him with impressive second-wind speed, taking him by the arm and throwing him into the ropes, then running the opposite way! Raynor hits his ropes and comes charging back just as Magnifico does the same, but Mags leaps off his right foot and dives forward, spinning mid-air and connecting with a Diving Reverse Elbow that sends Raynor down to the canvas! Magnifico lands on all fours and quickly scrambles into the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

T- Raynor kicks out!

Still going strong, Mags pops to his feet and runs for the ropes as Raynor rolls to his knees. The ex-Carny makes it to his feet and stumbles in a half circle, and his eyes go wide as he sees a pissed off Mexican’s feet flying right at him-

*WHAM*

“Springboard Dropkick by Magnifico! And another cover!”

ONE!

TWO!

T

H

R

E- Raynor just BARELY gets the shoulder up! Again Magnifico goes running, the ropes his tag team partner it seems, as Raynor clambers up to his feet - ELM comes off strong-

Raynor quickly bends down and backdrops him up, then adjusts Magnifico mid-air and plants him with a Samoan drop!

“Mountain Bomb stops Magnifico in his tracks, just as he was getting the pace back to the way he wanted it!”

Raynor pops to his feet… and falls right back over! He swears profusely (and loud enough for the camera to pick up) and crawls for the ropes, as Magnifico does the same. They end up on opposite sides of the ring, clinging to the ropes for dear life as they try to stand.

“Raynor just stops him every time!” Riley says with a smirk, and he begins to dance in his seat.

“This thing is far from over, Riley. Magnifico is the World Champion for a reason.”

Raynor’s up to his feet first, and he turns to see Magnifico pulling himself up to his knees. Raynor lines himself up and takes a fast dash towards him, and the crowd goes nuts trying to warn Magnifico-

-Mags drops and rolls out of the ring! Raynor had lifted his knee to drive into Magnifico’s head, but it hit’s nothing! Raynor hits the ropes chest first at full force, and the resulting momentum change throws him back across the ring! He flails and kicks and stumbles, but still ends up falling down! Magnifico quickly slides back into the ring and grabs Raynor just as he’s up to his feet, then jumps and grabs Raynor’s head, digs his feet into the ex-Carny’s stomach, and rolls back!

“Nooooo!” shouts Riley, in his best slow motion voice.

“Yes!” Mark shouts, along with the fans. “Magnifico monkey-flips Raynor, who outweighs him like hell, and he’s still up in a flash!”

Magnifico is up quick, but one hand is to his back again. He hobbles as fast as he can over to Raynor and uses his free arm to drop a fierce elbow across the turncoat’s throat, then he makes another cover!

ONE!

TWO!

T

H

R

E

E- NO! Raynor JUST kicks out! Magnifico gets off, and Raynor immediately tries to roll away!

“The World Champion’s got Raynor on the run!” says Mark, as Magnifico signals to the crowd, and draws a HUGE response! “It looks like he’s ready to put Raynor away for REAL, this time!”

Raynor rolls to his knees holds the ropes for dear life as Magnifico comes stalking in behind him. Magnifico bends down and-

-gets an elbow to the gut! Raynor, quick like a bunny rabbit, grabs Magnifico’s arm and floats behind him, wrapping it around his neck!

“No! Objectivity be damned, COME ON Magnifico!” shouts Mark, on the edge of his seat.

“Tool.”

Raynor grabs Magnifico’s other arm and double wraps it as well, then pulls him out towards the center of the ring-

*THUD*

-and drives him down on his back! Raynor rolls Mags onto his stomach and floats over onto his back, locking in THE GRUDGE!

“Damn it!” shouts Mark, as the Magnifico fans again begain to rally. “Come on Magnifico, you can get out of this!”

Magnifico begins frantically rolling to his left, then his right, then his left, then his right… Raynor responds by sitting up and jerking Magnifico’s arms, and subsequently his head, neck, and back, up as far back as they can go! ELM emit’s a muffled scream, then drops his head down to the mat, his feet kicking the canvas in pain and frustration!

“This would be so beautiful, Mark!” says Riley, giddy as a schoolgirl. “If Raynor made the World Champion TAP OUT? I… well I just don’t know what I’d do!”

Raynor’s eyes suddenly dart out and about. Something’s up… We weren’t facing this direction a minute ago… He looks back to see Magnifico digging his feet into the mat and… yes, he’s turning them! Raynor cinches the hold on harder, but Magnifico’s feet keep turning them, and his right foot is getting dangerously close to the ropes…

“Just a few more seconds, Raynor! Keep it locked in!”

“Just a few more seconds, Magnifico! You’re almost there!”

…

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

“YES!” shouts Mark, pounding the desk. “His feet found the ropes!”

“That’s a sissy rule.”

Raynor begrudgingly (no pun intended) releases the hold and gets to his feet, while Magnifico moans in agony. Raynor moves away as the referee goes down to check…

“Damn that Kivell! Raynor needs to follow up now!”

Raynor tries to muscle his way in, but Matty shoves him back and utilizes THE FINGER POINT! Even Raynor is no match, and he succumbs to the referee’s wishes. Kivell returns to Magnifico for a few more seconds, asking if he wants to continue. Finally he backs off, and Raynor leans down-

-Magnifico’s right arm flies up and wraps around Raynor’s head, and at the same time he kips up! He jumps and pushes both feet off the second rope, spins around, TORNADO DDT!

“YES! YES! Magnifico buys himself some much needed time!”

Magnifico and Raynor lay side by side in the center of the ring, neither one moving… wait, that’s wrong! Magnifico slowly begins to turn on his side, and he falls across Raynor and drops an arm over him!

ONE!

“This is it!”

TWO!

“Kick out, Raynor!”

T

H

R

E

E- NO! Raynor kicks out! Raynor kicks out!

Both men now sloooooowly begin to roll across the ring, as the referee counts…

ONE!

TWO!

“This match can still go either way, folks! Magnifico’s got heart like no other, but Raynor’s not going to quit anytime soon!”

THREE!

FOUR!

Raynor’s found the bottom rope, and he hugs it. Magnifico is still searching…

FIVE!

Got it!

SIX!

Raynor goes straight for the top rope, swiping and missing…

SEVEN!

He grabs it! Magnifico is taking the safer road by going to the middle…

EIGHT!

In one quick motion, Raynor gets his other hand on the top rope and he pulls himself straight upright. He immediately falls into the corner, and a friendly reminder in the form of another line of blood running down to his eye prompts him to mess with his bandage again.

NINE!

Magnifico’s up to his knees, but hearing NINE! he makes a desperate grab at the top rope…

… and makes it! He yanks it and pulls himself upright just before ten, earning a hearty round of applause from the audience!

“Whoever gets the first shot in here has the clear advantage!”

“Well duh, Mark.”

Raynor heads for Magnifico, very slowly since he’s using the top rope as a crutch, but he’s getting there. Magnifico rolls along the ropes, finally ending up in the corner… Raynor gets in front of him and kicks up-

-Magnifico catches his foot! Raynor’s left trying to frantically keep his balance, so Magnifico climbs up to the second rope, still holding his foot, then he pushes it straight up, and Raynor flips onto his back! Mags then leaps off the second turnbuckle, Frogging mid-air into the Splash!

“A second rope Frogsplash-”

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

“And Magnifico is RIGHT BACK UP!”

“How does he do it, Mark?! HOW?!”

On what must be his fifty-third wind, Magnifico is up again! Raynor, getting rejuvenated once more, manages to stagger to his feet-

Magnifico quickly rears his arm back, before driving it forward, slashing into Raynor’s chest with a Knife-Edge Chop! The incredible SMACK! that emanates off of Chris’ chest is nearly drowned out by the WHOOO!ing of the crowd, as Magnifico rears back once more and delivers another Chop! SMACK! WHOOO! Raynor grips his chest with one arm, shocked from the pain, as ELM grabs his free arm and tries to whip Chris across the ring. However, Raynor manages to reverse it, sending Magnifico rushing towards the far ropes. ELM bounces off and rushes back towards his opponent, and as he approaches, Raynor throws his foot into the air, driving it straight into the luchadore’s face with a Big Boot! The fans OHHH! in unison, surprised at this turn of events as Magnifico snaps back to the mat, his hands covering his face. Raynor stands above the luchadore for a few seconds, breathing deeply and still trying to shake off Magnifico’s pre-match attack. After the refreshing break, Chris reaches down, grabs ELM by his hair, and painfully pulls him upwards, the luchadore writhing under his grasp as he pulls. Once Magnifico is on his feet, Raynor traps him in a Suplex position, and then lifts the luchadore straight up into the air, beginning his set-up for the Acid Rayn!

“Hah!” Riley laughts. “Even when Magnifico cheats, Raynor can still kick his ass! Prepare for the Acid Rayn! Bust out the lead raincoats!”

“The Carnie turncoat has Magnifico right where he wants him!”

Raynor holds Magnifico perpendicular to the mat for a few seconds, impressing many and drawing boos out of even more, before pushing ELM forward, ready to finish him off! But in the middle of the pushing process, Magnifico manages to break free of Chris’ grasp, landing on his feet right behind Raynor with his back facing his opponent’s! The very seconds ELM hits the mat, he reaches back, grabs Chris’ arms as if for a Backslide, and then charges towards the nearest corner, Raynor in tow! A loud pop rises from the stands as Magnifico rushes up the turnbuckles, pushing backwards off of the top turnbuckle and flipping over Chris’ head! Magnifico lands knees-first on the mat, slamming Raynor’s skull into the canvas with a Baja California Crusher!

“WHOA!” Stevens is forced to yell over the INSANE roar of the crowd! “Out of nowhere, Magnifico reverses Acid Rayn into the Baja California Crusher! And Raynor’s forehead has been busted open once more!

“Goddamn cheating luchadores! Magnifico should have been ejected from the building the minute he laid his hands on Raynor!”

“You were fine with it when Raynor was winning!”

“Don’t change the subject!”

Magnifico remains on his knees for a second, looking a little shocked himself that he landed the Crusher, before grabbing Raynor by his shoulders and slowly turning him onto his back. As the blood runs freely down Chris’s forehead, ELM drapes his body over Raynor’s chest, making the cover as the fans cheer like mad! The ref slides into position and begins counting, his hand slapping the mat as Magnifico lies limp on Raynor’s chest...

ONE...

TWO...

T

H

R

E

!!

The ref springs to his feet and signals for the bell, which only makes the crowd happier.

*DING DING DING*

“Magnifico wins! Magnifico wins!”

The wily Mexican leaps to his feet and promptly falls down again, with the exhaustion now setting in - but it doesn’t matter, as the sight and sounds of the fans give him the strength he needs to get back to his feet!

“Your winner, by pinfall...El Luchadooooooorre Magnificooooooo!!

“Sickening, Mark,” Riley says with disgust. “Will Raynor ever get a fair shot in this league?

“Gimme a freaking break, Riley! Magnifico was only avenging Edwin for what Raynor did to him before the match! ELM’s actions were completely understandable!”

“Bullshit, Stevens! They were sneaky, underhanded, and totally irresponsible!”

“Sounds like your kinda wrestler, Riley.”

“… Hey, now that I think about it-”

“Raynor got the upper hand on Edwin tonight, but it came back to bite him on the ass in the end! Folks, we’re fresh out of time, so that’s it for SWF Smarkdown! Tune in Friday night for Storm, everybody! G’night!

As the announcers cut their feed, the fans continue to jump and scream for joy! The final image broadcasted is that of El Luchadore Magnifico, rolling off of Chris Raynor, whose forehead drips with blood...

September 17, 2002

No-DQ Match

Silent vs. “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson

- TNT beats that no-selling bastard Silent!

Singles Match for the SWF Light-Heavyweight Title

- Tom walks out on the match and leads Tod right into an ambush by Annie Eclectic (wasn't she supposed to have a match?).

Hardcore Title Match

- Dawg puts everyone and their mother through tables in fun and exciting ways then wins the match.

Non-Title Singles Match

Chris Wilson vs. Z

- Your winner...Z? You're kidding. Really?

MAIN EVENT

Non-Title Singles Match

El Luchadore Magnifico vs. Chris Raynor

- The champ with a hard fought victory...

SWF Smarkdown (Sept. 16/2002)

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