SWF Smarkdown (Oct. 15/2002)

[Guest BA_Baracus]

[Loud music booms through the darkened arena.

 

Suddenly a series of 6 large yellowish pyros explode one after another from the left side of the stage to the right. As soon as they're done another bunch of orange-ish pyros burst across the stage from the right side back to the left as the Smarkdown logo appears on the SWF-tron.

 

After a few seconds the lights return, scan an excited audience then zoom in on the announcer's table...]

 

Mark Stevens - Once again I welcome you to SWF Smarkdown!

 

Bobby Riley - An extra special Tuesday night edition!

 

Stevens - Yes...extra special.

 

Riley - Because it's Tuesday.

 

Stevens - Well, on with the extra special SWF action!

[Guest BA_Baracus]

SINGLES MATCH

Frost vs. Ced Ordonez

- In a shocking upset, Ced Ordonez and Thoth defeated the seemingly dominant tag champions Frost and TNT. Frost is big, pissed off and is going to make Ced hurt.

 

FIRST BLOOD MATCH

Tod deKindes vs. Annie Eclectic

- Tod deKindes is now leading the series 2 – 0. Will Annie be able to reverse Tod’s momentum, or will he put an end to the whole series on Smarkdown.

Match Description: Regular DQ and count-out rules are not in effect. The first person to bleed anywhere on their body, loses the match.

 

NON-TITLE SINGLES MATCH

Sacred vs. Thoth

- Sacred is the new heavyweight champ, and Thoth is a wrestler many people feel should or could be the heavyweight champion. Will Thoth prove his worthiness this Monday by defeating Sacred?

 

TAG TEAM MATCH

El Luchadore Magnifico & CIA vs. Tom Flesher & Mak Francis

- Magnifico lost his heavyweight title on Storm, but he’ll try to bounce back against the seemingly unbeatable Flesher and the hot rookie, Mak Francis. CIA will team with Magnifico and try to get some vengeance for his loss to Francis at Genesis.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

The camera fades in on Smarkdown to a darken arena with “Esaka?” already blaring over the speakers. A spotlight shines down to illuminate a man standing on the entrance stage with a purple towel draped over his lowered head.

 

Funyon: “Introducing first, from Sacramento California and weighing in at 203 pounds. He is one half of the NEW SWF Tag Team Champions, CED…OR…DO… NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZZZ!”

 

The fans pop as the houselights turn back up. Ced tosses his head to send the towel hurtling in the air. He catches it on the way down and flings it into the stands with one swift motion. He jogs down the ramp, all eyes on the ring.

 

Stevens: “We waste no time in getting to our second match, pitting newly crowned tag champ Ced Ordonez against one of the men he and Thoth took the belts off of, Frost.”

 

Riley: “Ced did not beat him for those titles, Thoth pinned TNT. Ced has never defeated Frost mano e mano and never will.”

 

Ced hands his title belt to a ringside attendant and slides into the squared circle under the bottom rope. He proceeds to warm up as the music shifts, and so does the crowd response.

 

Funyon: “And his opponent, tipping the scales at 296 pounds and hailing from Reykjavik, Iceland. He is a member of the Magnificent 7 and the SWF Hardcore Champion, FRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSST!”

 

Frost sashays out from behind the ring curtain, a scowl locked on his face and a cigar clamped between his teeth.

 

Stevens: “Frost has new theme music.”

 

Riley: “That’s ‘Frost Wants to Kill Your Mamma,’ a specifically crafted tune just for him by Frost’s personal best friend, Dweezil Zappa.”

 

Stevens: “And he brags about that does he.”

 

Frost starts down the ramp as the chorus hits:

“Frost wants to kill your mamma

Frost wants to kill your mamma

Frost wants to burn your dad

He gets real mean when you make him mad”

 

A guitar solo blisters onward as Frost removes his Hardcore Title from around his waist and holds it up with one hand for Ordonez to see. Frost point at Ced in the ring and then up to the strap while shaking his head ‘no.’

 

Stevens: “We should mention that this is a non-title, straight singles match. The belt that Frost won off of Ced will not be on the line.”

 

Riley: “That’s because Ced doesn’t deserve a rematch. Stubby knows that, Frost knows that, I know that, too bad the loser himself doesn’t.”

 

Frost gives his belt to a ringside attendant and then grounds out his cigar on a nearby guardrail. A chubby fan in the front row wearing an El Luchadore Magnifico T-shirt gets in Frost’s face and yells until his kisser flushes a bright red. Frost chuckles calmly and flicks the doused cigar into the man’s chest. Security jumps to restrain the man as Frost ascends to the ring apron.

 

Stevens: “Primarily, I would say, it’s because Ash Ketchum won the number one contendership to the Hardcore belt on Storm against fellow Mag 7 member, Mak Francis.”

 

Riley: “Ash Ketchum…oooo…I quake in fear at the Poke Punk.”

 

Frost steps over the top rope and referee Anthony Michael Hall calls for the bell.

 

DING DING DING

 

Ced presses for the early advantage with a spinning heel kick to Frost’s chest. The big man backs up a step, but his eyes remain cold and focused as he shakes the blow off. Ordonez fires a roundhouse kick, but Frost deflects the foot and sends Ced spinning completely around. Ordonez drops down on his hands and fires his legs back in a mule kick. Frost pins the man’s ankles under his armpits and lifts him up parallel with the mat before slamming him down!

 

Stevens: “Ced tries to work his quick strike offense, but Frost counters with a face jam to take control.”

 

Riley: “Just say ‘kicking,’ because it’s all the man can do. I think secretly his last name is Grammatica.”

 

Frost twirls up to his feet and raises an arm of defiance at the vehement audience. Ced crawls around on the mat and tries to stumble up. Frost palms the back of his head and shoves it under his armpit.

 

Stevens: “Could it be? Is Frost lining up the Ice Pick already?”

 

Ced drops to his knees before Frost can firmly clasp the facelock and grips the grappler’s ankles. He sends the Icelandic Iceman crashing to his back with a fierce jerk on the double leg takedown.

 

Riley: “Frost had Ced beat with the Ice Pick on Friday, but Hall, the same referee here, couldn’t keep who was the legal man straight.”

 

Stevens: “Who was the legal man at the end of that match?”

 

Riley: “……… Chew your gum.”

 

Ordonez rockets to his feet and drops a series of elbows to Frost’s chest. The big man rolls away from Ced and starts to pull himself up by the ropes in the corner. Ced charges with a knee to the back and stays with that knee grinding into the spine as he hooks a chinlock.

 

Stevens: “Ced is working very tenaciously here, not giving Frost any room to breathe or battle.”

 

Frost still manages to make his feet with Ced dangling off his back by the chinlock. Frost steps out of the corner and falls straight back to squish Ordonez against the canvas.

 

Riley: “He’s also working very stupidly. Ced has to stick and move, when he gets close, that’s when Frost is most effective.”

 

Frost rolls up to his knees. He picks Ced up with a hand on his shoulder and the other between his legs and rises while flipping and twisting Ordonez through the air as one might brandish a sword. Frost holds Ced aloft for a split second and then finishes the tilt-a-whirl slam hard enough to shake the ring.

 

Stevens: “Frost could easily go for a cover here, but he’s not.”

 

Frost picks a weary Ced up and shoves him in a facelock.

 

Riley: “Frost wants to win with the Ice Pick. He’s sending a message to Ced and Ash and anyone else out there who wants a piece of him. He beats you when he wants, how he wants.”

 

Ced reaches up and grabs Frost’s arm with both hands. He pries himself out of the crook and rolls along the appendage to hook an armbar and drags Frost over to the mat! The fans pop as a shocked Frost races up, only to be snagged by Ced for another armdrag! Ordonez bounds up, ready to hit another one, but Frost rolls out to the floor for a breather.

 

Stevens: “Frost’s strategy of only wanting the Ice Pick is working against him so far, as is Ced’s speed and agility.”

 

Hall leans over the ropes and yells at Frost to get back into the ring. Frost screams back and Hall begins his count out. Ced bends over with his hands on his knees and measures his adversary as he climbs up to the apron. Frost steps over the ring ropes and the two men circle each other.

 

Stevens: “Frost tries a clothesline…Ced ducks…DROP TOE HOLD…Ced drops an elbow and follows with a chinlock.”

 

Ced jams a knee into Frost’s back while ratcheting back on his neck. Frost grunts in pain and slaps at the referee to stay away as he attempts to get in close and check on him. Hall slaps Frost’s hands away.

 

Riley: “Usually wearing down a near 300 pound man and keeping him off his feet, is a good idea, but not when that man is a HOSS and the VELVET HAMMER!”

 

Stevens: “Well, your Velvet Hammer better watch himself in not getting disqualified. He isn’t going to push Hall around, nor Ced Ordonez.”

 

Frost gets his legs up underneath him and makes his knees. Ced stubbornly hangs onto the chinlock as Frost rises to his feet. Frost goes to fall back and smash Ced as he did last time, but the crafty cruiserweight lets go of the hold and jutes out of the way as the mighty oak of a man timbers down! The crowd explodes as Ced leaps into the air and tucks his legs up tight, exposing the pointy knobs of his knees. He plummets into Frost’s chest like a speeding meteor and scrambles for the cover.

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

THR-

 

Stevens: “The jumping double knee drop only gets 2 ½, but Frost is reeling from Ced outsmarting him at every turn.”

 

Riley: “I don’t think that’s possible, unless Frost screws his brain by drinking a quart of Drano. Ced is just getting lucky, like his two recent title wins. If the man proves to be any luckier, I’m taking him to Vegas. I’ll probably leave him out in the desert for dead when I go to leave though.”

 

The two men race up, but Ced keeps Frost at bay with a roundhouse kick to the leg. Frost drops down to one knee while Ordonez finishes his pivot around and back flips head over heels to drive the toe of his boot into the crown of Frost’s skull!

 

Stevens: “DOUBLE STRIKE! AND A SECOND COVER!”

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

THR-

 

Stevens: “Another kick out, another 2 ½, but the gas is draining out of the ice giant’s tank.”

 

Frost rises, winded and sweating, but catches Ced off guard with razor sharp chops to the chest. He drives the smaller man back to the corner, looks out at the hissing fans, and blisters an overhand slap to the top of Ced’s chest. The meaty slap echoes throughout the arena, but the stiff blow only serves to wake Ordonez up, who shows remarkable strength in reversing Frost into the corner and delivering an equally bruising slap himself.

 

Stevens: “Ooo…the two men trade blows, but Ced is giving just as good as he gets.”

 

Ordonez takes Frost by the wrist and whips him clear across the ring to the diagonal corner. Frost slumps in the turnbuckles and Ced runs a few steps before cart wheeling and back flipping across the mat for a springing back elbow. Frost bolts out of the corner and waistlocks Ced with one arm as he tries to finish the move. Frost rides Ced’s own momentum over his head for a German suplex! The back of Ced’s head wallops into the second turnbuckle and ricochets off to take a second sick bump on the canvas.

 

Riley: “Let’s see him give THAT one back. As I always tell these flippy-floppy nancy boys: pretty moves don’t win matches, high impact ones do.”

 

Stevens: “That’s something you don’t have to tell Frost. Ced looks to be in a world of pain with more on the way.”

 

Ordonez lies face down on the canvas, holding the back of his head and kicking the mat. Frost yanks Ced up by the seat of his purple tights and turns him around for a facelock. Frost deftly hoists him up high overhead, vertical with the mat. He stands there as if he could hold the smaller wrestler up all day, before jackhammering him straight into the mat headfirst!

 

Stevens: “Brainbuster! Frost is honing in on that neck, perhaps softening him up for the Ice Pick!”

 

Riley: “And perhaps Richard Simmons is a flaming homosexual. Duh.”

 

Stevens: “Well, if there’s anyone with good gaydar…”

 

Frost sits up and lets out a guttural bellow before standing with a hand locked onto Ced’s short, spiky hair. Hall chastises Frost for not making the sure pin and the two men jaw at each other, while Ced hangs limp in a front facelock.

 

Stevens: “Frost and Hall are exchanging some nasty words. Possible residue of Hall officiating the tag title match on Storm.”

 

Riley: “Or maybe Frost just doesn’t tolerate losers. The man went from being a Hollywood actor to being a referee in the SWF, and this wasn’t due to coke like Sexton Hardcastle, aka Corey Feldman.”

 

Ced wraps his right leg around Frost’s left and sneaks a hand around his waist. His eyes go wide as Ced sweeps him over to his back!

 

Riley: “That damn cheater! Doesn’t Hall have any morals and ethics?”

 

Stevens: “You saw Weird Science.”

 

The crowd pops as Ced kips out of the facelock and to his feet. Frost shoots to his knees and tries to stand, but Ced keeps him down with double Mongolian chops. Frost sways in place from the shots and Ordonez knocks him down with a knee to the chin. Ced drops an elbow for good measure and hooks the leg to cover.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-

 

Stevens: “Kick out! However, Ced is surging with adrenaline. He’s even pulling the mammoth man up with smooth effort.”

 

Ced underhooks the arms of the doubled over grappler and snaps him back with a double arm DDT! Ced sprawls out with his back on Frost’s chest and scurries to hook the leg.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-

 

Stevens: “NO! Frost creeps a foot on the ropes to barely save the loss.”

 

Riley: “I’m surprised Hall saw it. I’m more surprised he didn’t just kick it off. I always liked Judd Nelson better anyway.”

 

Ced trips up and beelines for the near ropes. He springs to the second strand while grasping the top.

 

Stevens: “Ced prepares for the Mark Out and this could seal the deal.”

 

Ordonez launches himself off, soaring majestically in the air, forcing his body to do things that most can’t even dream of. He vaults high over the canvas and locks his legs ramrod straight as he twists around. Frost holds his legs up in the air and steadies himself with his hands on his waist. Ordonez can do nothing to slow his decent and plows into Frost, soles of boots to soles of boots! Ced is fired back into the air and flips along his previous arc. He lands on his feet in a picture perfect landing like an Olympic gymnast finishing a routine. Frost stands up on rubbery legs and Ced charges.

 

Stevens: “FINAL SURGE II! THE COVER!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE-

 

Riley: “SHOULDER UP! SHOULDER UP!”

 

Stevens: “A unique counter attempt by Frost on the Mark out, by putting his own legs up and hoping to jam Ced’s, but the lithe man was able to recover and score the near victory… HE’S GOING FOR THE MARK OUT AGAIN!”

 

Ced leaps off of Frost and vaults to the near second rope once more. He loses no time or movement in this attempt and swiftly hurls himself off. However, Frost is still more stunned than hurt and rolls out of the way. Ced lands feet first on the canvas; a little shakier legged than before as he fights for balance. Frost pops up and snags Ced by the wrist. He yanks him in close and floors him with an explosive clothesline!

 

Riley: “HELL FREEZES OVER! And that is exactly what would happen if Hall lets Ced steal this one.”

 

Stevens: “Both men are down, but moving. We always say the way to beat Frost is with quick, stiff strikes to prevent him getting his power moves off, but Ced is really using that game plan better than anyone I have ever seen.”

 

The two weary warriors stand and Ordonez flicks out a weak thrust kick. Frost catches the leg and holds it, trying to gain his breath and figure out what to do. Ced hops in place twice and pinwheels up and over to flatten Frost with a kick to the back of the head!

 

Stevens: “A well timed enzuiguiri by Ced and he’s pointing to the near top rope.”

 

Cheers rifle through the crowd as they follow Ced’s line of thinking and watch him ascend to the top turnbuckle. He turns to face Frost and lays in wake for him to make his feet.

 

Stevens: “Thoth won the tag titles on a cross body. Ced might be going for some poetic justice here.”

 

Riley: “That was Thoth, not Ced and he almost lost the match on that move.”

 

Frost woozily makes his feet and stumbles around like a punch-drunk fighter. Frost looks up as a shadow drifts across him to view Ced Ordonez, his body spread out firm and flat, gunning straight for him. Frost endeavors to pick Ced out of the air, but he has the momentum of gravity on his side and the two men fall to the mat upon impact with Ordonez on top!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE-

 

Frost reverses the pinfall with a handful of tights in his grip.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE-

 

Stevens: “NO! CED SHAKES HIM OFF AND FROST IS LIVID!”

 

Frost bolts to his feet and right into the ref’s face. Hall holds up two fingers and thrusts his shoulder out to signify that Ced got it up. Frost yells back at Hall with the intensity of a blast furnace, but Hall stands his ground and screams back. Frost loses it and pushes Hall! Hall looks indignant and darts forward to shove Frost back! Ced gets up on all fours and crawls over to shoot a hand up between Frost’s legs and schoolboys him over!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE-

 

Frost rolls the rest of the way over and to his feet. Ced rolls up as well……and right into a facelock!

 

Riley: “ICE PICK!”

 

Ced’s head is buried into the canvas and he flops over comatose to his back.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

DING DING DING

 

Funyon: “And here is your winner, by pinfall, FRRRRRRROOOOOOOOSSSSSSSST!”

 

The fans boo as Frost stands up. Hall tries to take Frost’s arm to rise in victory, but he shakes the man off in disgust and raises it himself.

 

Riley: “It’s nice to see justice done in the end. That lifts Hall over Emilio Estevez in my book.”

 

Stevens: “Hall could not argue with what was clearly in front of his face. Ced gave a remarkable effort as usual, but the cunning ring general with his brute strength pulled it out in the end. We’ll be back after this.”

[Guest BA_Baracus]

The Cincinnatti crowd murmurs boredly as they wait for a match, a backstage segment, anything, when...

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, A Few Minutes With Tom Flesher!"

 

The words "SUPERIORITY COMPLEX" and "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN" appear in blue on the all-white SmarkTron. With an explosion of blue pyro and smoke, "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin begins to blare thoughout the arena. Through the cloud of smoke, out walks Tom Flesher, in grey suit, white shirt and blue tie, the outfit accentuated by his ICTV Title slung over his shoulder and his black fedora sitting on his head. He begins to stride to the ring, when....

 

Out of the smoke, out walks Mak Francis! Mak is dressed identically to Tom, except that his tie is green... and, more notably, Mak's fedora is a less dynamic grey. Together, the Mag-7 members walk to the ring. When they get there, they enter and Flesher motions for a microphone.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen," says Flesher, "let's make a quick correction. No, this won't be A Few Minutes With Tom Flesher. And no, it's not going to be A Few Minutes With Tom Flesher And The Franchise. Hey, Mak... tell 'em who they're spending a few minutes with."

 

"Tom, I can't TELL you how happy i am to be out here tonight. Not only am I 100% Franchisable, as always... not only do I look DAMN good in this suit... but I'm gonna be tagging up with my main man, the Superior One, the ICTV Champion, Mr. Tom Flesher, tonight to stick it to the Midnight Carnival. So who are we? We're the Magnificent Seven... of course. And we're the Franchise and the Superior One... no doubt. But you know what? I'm from the greatest town in the world, Philly, PA... and Tom, he's representing Buffalo. We're not just anyone, bro... we're the **cking EAST... COAST... LEGACY!"

 

The fans burst into a chorus of boos. Flesher smirks and nods approvingly. "That's right, Mak... tonight, we're going to get in the ring with El Luchadore Magnifico and CIA. We've got Magnifico... I believe I've dealt with him once already. What was the end result? Home 2, Visitor 1. And I walked away with the SWF Light Heavyweight Championship. Hell, I WOULD have slaughtered Magnifico for the World Title, if he'd just held onto it for more than a cup of coffee." Flesher pauses to allow the crowd to boo him, then continues. "And... my Franchisable teammate has MORE than shown his dominance over or friendly but clueless neighbor to the north. All in all, I'd say we're i good shape. Of course, Mak and I are ALWAYS in good shape, amiright?"

 

Mak nods, cranking out a few quick jumping jacks before he says, "Tonight, Midnight Carnival, Carnivale Internationale, whatever you assholes wanna call yourselves... you're gonna get reamed by the East Coast Legacy, and you're gonna get a good, old-fashioned East Coast **ck You!"

 

The fans continue booing. Suddenly, they burst into cheers as "Little Mac's Confession" bursts out over the speakers! Much to Flesher's chagrin, Thoth throws the velvet curtain aside.

 

"Oh, well look, Mak," says Flesher. "It's THOTH." The Balancer continues walking down the ramp, Tag Team Title belt strapped around his waist, with his fellow Bemani Cross Wizard Ced Ordonez following behind. "And he brought his little friend with him. Isn't that CUTE, Mak? Isn't it just adorable?"

 

Thoth motions for, and is given, a microphone. He and Ced step into the ring, circling around Flesher and Francis. Finally, Thoth pauses and looks Flesher up and down. "Suguraku ne shiteyaru, Durandal... I'll make this fast. I brought you here to the SWF... and always remember, he who gives can take away. It's all in the essential balance of things." Thoth looks expectantly at Flesher.

 

"Thoth. Or... should I just call you Yur- Yuch- Yich- screw that, we'll stick with Thoth. You call yourself the Balancer. You claim that you brought me to the SWF... I would have gotten here on my own. It doesn't matter what strings you think you pulled, what you think you did to help my career..." Flesher starts to turn red, obviously getting progressively angrier. "It doesn't matter that you saddled me with a STUPID... GODDAMN GOTH GIMMICK for a month of my career! YOU RUINED MY SJL WORLD TITLE REIGN! And you... you say you HELPED my career?!" Flesher takes a moment to compose himself and clears his throat. "I just don't have time for someone who can't get past my junior member. Thoth, you lost to Mak, and you lost to him cleanly. When you prove to me you can hang with the big dogs, like the East Coast Legacy... well, I'll be happy to afford you some of my time then. As it is, as far as I'm concerned, you and Cedric can go play your little dancing game. This time slot's for the big boys."

 

With that, Thoth calmly, cooly raises his hand up and flicks his wrist, knocking Flesher's prized black fedora off his head and sending it fluttering impotently to the mat. Flesher stares at Thoth, beet red, unable to comprehend what just happened. He looks down at the fedora, a gift from Chris Wilson, and then back up at Thoth.... and he lunges at Thoth with a stiff palm strike! Thoth simply steps back, leaving Flesher stumbling awkwardly. Thoth then nods calmly and steps back out of the ring, his eyes on Flesher the whole time.

 

"Bring it on, Tom," he says collectedly. "Bring it on."

[Guest BA_Baracus]

***Back on the air, the US Bank Center is eagerly awaiting match #3 of our Best Of Five series.***

 

Stevens: All right, folks, coming up next: Match number three of the Series, which is an unforgiving First Blood Match. (as the graphic helpfully explains this all to the home viewer) The U.S. champion, Tod deKindes, now has what seems to be an insurmountable two to nothing lead. If Annie Eclectic wants to maintain some hope in winning the title, she absolutely HAS to win this one here tonight!

 

Riley: (scouring the crowd) Can you believe this?! These humanoids in the audience actually brought brooms with them!!

 

Stevens: Indeed, as Tod is looking at the possibility of a sweep and a successful defense of his title. That match is coming up next, but for now; Ben Hardy is standing with the Light Heavyweight champion.

 

***Cut to backstage, where the intrepid interviewer stands alongside the aforementionned champion, in front of the interview area. She doesn't appear worried, as she's more busy on shining up her title belt with her forearm… ***

 

Ben: All right guys, I'm here with Light Heavyweight champion Annie Eclectic. Annie, this is it. You're behind in the Series 2 - 0, tonight you HAVE to win this First Blood Match if you wanna have a chance to win the U.S. title. Any special strategy coming into this match?

 

Annie: Strategy? … "Special" strategy?? Ben, I do not NEED any strategy to beat Tod deKindes in a so-called First Blood Match! I have him right where I want! Now you've seen Genesis, haven't you?

 

Ben: Right.

 

Annie: And you saw me pin Tod's shoulders on the mat 1 - 2 - 3, have you not?

 

Ben: Well … that DID garner a lot of controversy, to be honest, since both referees saw a different of shoulders being pinned.

 

Annie: (shoots a look towards him) … Listen, tool. I should already BE the U.S. champion! I won this match fair and square! I CAN beat Tod!! And tonight, I WILL beat Tod!

 

Ben: All right, other than that; what many people would like to know, and what I'm sure Tod deKindes would like to know, is this supposed information you have pertaining to one "Sara". I mean, geez, you even went as far as painting her name in blood on his chest!

 

***Annie's smirk grows just a little bit more devious.***

 

Annie: Wouldn't you all like to know … I'm sure Tod is also eager to find out. But if you must know; no, he didn't kill her or rape her dead body. (turns to the camera) Matter of fact, she's alive and well, Tod. And I'm SURE she's very eager to find out what you've been up to …Then again, is she really, after what happened …

 

Ben: … Well, I'm sure you'll be willing to provide more detail in the future, but in the meantim-- WATCH OUT!!

 

***Ben Hardy barely has enough time to move as the camera catches a glimpse of a trenchcoated figure plowing Annie into a wall!***

 

Riley: What the hell?!

 

Stevens: That's Tod deKindes!! He couldn't take it anymore and now he's taking it to Annie!

 

***In the process, Tod relieves himself of his trenchcoat while peppering Annie with endless series of right hands. Grabbing her by the head, he sends her violently into the standard issue Klangy Metal Poles. He dives right after her with intent of more pain infliction, but the Usual Suspects start filing in and attempting to separate the two.***

 

Stevens: This is chaos! Our officials can barely keep it under control!!

 

***Tod takes a second to shove off an official or two and kindly rearrange Eddy Long's face with his fist.***

 

Riley: Even the referees are getting it! This is great!!

 

***Annie uses that split second to her advantage as she grabs her handy Light Heavyweight title belt and NAILS Tod in the face with it! She grabs Tod by the hair and sends him face first into a nearby door. As the officials are more busy tending to their downed colleagues, Annie once again grabs Tod by the hair and takes him further away, only to bash his head on an anvil case! She quickly picks him back up and sends him staggering into another nearby table. ***

 

Stevens: And these two have a match coming up!!

 

Riley: I'd say this IS the match, right there!

 

***Tod retakes control with a knee lift to the gut. He grabs Annie by the head and they get to walking. Spotting more offices and windows, Tod raises Annie's head high up in the air, and sends it crashing against an office door!***

 

Stevens: Hold on, they're getting dangerously too close to that big window here…

 

***Indeed, as they're right next to a large window giving into an office or storage room of some sort. Tod corners Annie on a nearby door and starts to wail away on her with another series of punches. More officials and referees come back on the scene, as they try to peel off Tod from Annie. He pops a road agent in the mouth and threatens the same thing to Mark Hebner. Annie suddenly gouges Tod in the eyes to retake the advantage. She grabs him by the hair and the seat of the pants and gives a good swing …***

 

Stevens: No, come on … !!

 

Stevens: Incoming!!

 

***The dangerously too close window suddenly comes into play …***

 

*KEE - RASSSSH!!*

 

Stevens: Good God!! Tod deKindes just went through that window!! He could be seriously hurt!!

 

***Everyone suddenly stops short to survey the damage. Even Annie, who's not sure if she should continue the damage. What's left of the Usual Suspects are quick to converge in on the fallen Tod, as the announcers get quiet all of a sudden. ***

 

***Fade to commercial.***

 

…

 

***A series of commercial hyping the upcoming SJL and SWF dates are shown, along with a few local ads.***

 

…

 

***When we come back, we see Tod lying down on the floor, covered in cuts and small gashes, all trickling with blood.***

 

Stevens: Folks, if you've just joined us … we've just witness Tod deKindes being thrown through a window by Annie Eclectic, and this is the result of it. Annie has long since left the area, but Tod is currently being tended to by our officials.

 

Riley: (as the replays roll) It all went from a simple Annie interview, to Tod brutally attacking her, to her throwing him through a window. If you ask me, he got what he deserved!

 

Stevens: Whether he deserved it or not is not the question right now, as Tod looks questionnable for his match tonight!

 

***Mark Hebner confirms that as he gives some instructions to a nearby stagehand.***

 

Hebner: Go out to ringside and tell 'em there's no match! The guy ain't in no shape to wrestle!!

 

Riley: What?!

 

Stevens: It looks like the match'll be postponed, Bobby! Good call, guys!

 

Riley: Oh, come ON!! If you ask me, they should wheel Tod all the way to the ring and give Annie the win ON THE SPOT!!

 

Stevens: They're gonna send Tod to the hospital to receive some medical attention, all right?! This match does NOT look like it'll take place tonight! We apologize, fans. Back after this …

 

***As we fade to another commercial break, we leave with the EMT's slowly getting Tod on the gurney and taking him away, being mindful of his numerous fresh cuts and injuries… ***

[Guest BA_Baracus]

The camera zooms around the arena... and zooms around some more, because by god, that’s what cameras do! Yes, they do a bunch of other things, but cameras, by nature, are fanciful creatures... and dammit this is the best I can do at four in the morning. Here’s Stevens in Riley.

 

“The post-Genesis tidal wave just keeps getting bigger!” exclaims Stevens. “This past Storm... New champion!” he says, unable to keep the emotions contained.

 

“Yup... factual, undisputable information is the one thing we can agree on! And Sacred did in fact, defeat El Luchadore Magnifico to break the so-called glass ceiling to become the newest champion of our federation. He joins a long long list of people... sadly, I am not on this list.”

 

“And I am!” remarks Stevens. “Anyway, Sacred has been the talk of the town for the past couple of days, and tonight, he has his first match as a champion.”

 

“His opponent is no stranger to the current champ, either. They had a ladder match a few months back, that saw Sacred winning to become the Intercontinental Television Champion. Now, he’s one half of the newly-crowned Tag Team Champions. I’m talking about Thoth, who always has something to prove... and right now, he needs to prove to me that he can come up with a better name for a tag team. Bemani Cross Wizards? I don’t get it.”

 

“Well, see, Bemani is the name of-”

 

“Hey, what did I just say?”

 

“But you-”

 

“I said I didn’t get it. I never said I wanted to get it.”

 

“Ohhh... oh. Damn, you’re a freak sometimes.”

 

“Sometimes?” replies Riley, flabbergasted. “I better work on my technique, then.”

 

The camera cuts over to Funyon, a man who still has some sanity left in his bones. He raises the mic to his lips, ready to do the job that he is beloved for the world over.

 

“The following contest is a non-title match, and it is scheduled for one fall!” “Little Mac’s Confession” starts to play as the Smarktron shows a silhouette of the Balancer, the camera angle changing, zooming in, showing him from the side, but as the riff drops it, the arena lights up, and the last thing the Smarktron shows is the smirk of the Balancer before the lights strobe.

 

“Introducing first, from Aechiba, Japan, weighing in at 236 pounds... he is one half of the new S-W-F Tag Team Champions... THOOOOTH!”

 

Thoth, with his new shiny gold belt firmly around his waist, smiles as he walks down the ramp, occasionally running a hand across the sleek metal as he climbs into the ring. He takes his belt off and places it on the announcers’ desk, glaring at Riley as he does.

 

“What?! It’s not like I’m going to have sex with the leather belt straps?”

 

“...” says Stevens. Thoth rolls back into the ring, rolling out his shoulders and flexing his lats... waiting for the challenge to present itself as his theme music fades. The Smarktron goes fuzzy, pictures of despair, hate, death and destruction fill the screen... as the static fades, Stabbing Westward’s “Save Yourself” kicks up, the arena taking a sheen of black and white. There are no shades of gray, only light and dark as the best in the world steps out onto the ramp.

 

“And his opponent, from Adelaide, Australia, weighing in at 231 pounds... he is the S-W-F... Champion... SAAAAAACRED!”

 

The champion walks closer to the ring, wearing an even shinier, bigger, and all around more impressive belt than Thoth had. He takes it off, and hands it to the ref, who places it with the timekeeper.

 

“Remember folks,” says Stevens, directed towards the television audience, “This is a non-title match, so Sacred has nothing to lose... still though, I’d expect Thoth to wrestle his ass off, because it could mean a title shot down the road.”

 

“The last time these two met, they both had very different outlooks on life... Sacred was a lot more depressed, and Thoth was a lot more evil. Times change, people change... but you can always count on three things: Porn, taxes, and a good fight!”

 

“Umm... Riley, I thought it was death and taxes.”

 

“Well, some people don’t die. They just evolve.”

 

The lights change back to their normal color, and Sacred takes on a different, human-colored hue.

 

*DING DING DING*

 

Sacred dusts off, and cracks his neck out. Thoth approaches in a crouched wrestling stance, and Sacred responds in kind, stepping forward and forcing a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Sacred gets the early advantage, wrenching the arm and holding it tight, painfully twisting the muscles and sinews. He wrenches it again, standing in front of and to the side of the Balancer. He uses his own arm as a pivot point to bend Thoth’s arm around.

 

“Sacred, showing his highly impressive technical background, stopping Thoth in his tracks with a basic arm wrench!”

 

Thoth uses his free hand to try and escape, but Sacred has him cinched tight... it’s painful to move, even in the slightest... Sacred closes in, hooking Thoth’s body, and takes him over with a Fireman’s carry, segueing into a cross-arm breaker. Thoth grits his teeth, trying to fight through the pain.

 

“You know,” observes Stevens, “Sacred isn’t pulling hard enough, like he means it, on that hold. I think he’s trying to get inside Thoth’s head, to prove that he’s a better wrestler.”

 

“Well, In 1 on 1 contests, Sacred’s one up on Thoth. That should be enough mind games right there to someone like Thoth, who tends to dwell on the past.”

 

Sacred lets go of the arm and quickly gets to his feet, peering down at the Balancer, who is clutching at his shoulder and his elbow. He grimaces back at Sacred, who smiles smugly. Pulling himself up to his feet, Thoth looks the worse for wear, but nevertheless, he moves toward Sacred, who steps in suddenly, ramming his forearm into Thoth’s shoulder, driving the Balancer back in pain. Adding a degree of insult to injury, he whips him to the far corner, where the Balancer bounces off violently, clutching at his shoulder frantically. Stevens stumbles for words, trying to find an explanation for the situation. “I think... he took the impact on his shoulder that Sacred just worked over...” Thoth winces in pain as Sacred rolls him over and pushes his shoulders, including the one that’s injured to the mat...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR- And the referee sees the foot on the rope... Sacred gets up reluctantly, but not before laying one singular stomp to the shoulder... Thoth uncharacteristically yells out in pain, before Sacred picks him up and hooks him for a suplex, getting him over with ease and slamming him down on the canvas. He stomps away on Thoth, who doesn’t do too much other than cringe and flail in a fetal position on the ground. Sacred looks depressed as he kicks around the piece of meat on the floor. Now angered, he pulls him up by the hair, slaps him in the face, and yells some words into his face that the camera’s microphone doesn’t pick up. Flecks of spittle catch on the Balancer’s face and hair... building a fire in the soul of Thoth! His body tenses up as he escapes the grasp of Sacred and throws a punch... which Sacred dodges, countering with a Black Number One which knocks the wind out of Thoth and puts him on the mat hard.

 

“Just as Thoth was about to mount some offense, Sacred stays one step ahead.”

 

“The last time these two met, they were fairly evenly matched... but today, Thoth is Sacred’s ripe and smooth prison bitch.”

 

“Riley... look. You’re gay. We get it. You don’t have to keep doing this gay innuendo, alright? You’re gay.”

 

“No, I’m not, Mark Stevens, and while I have nothing against the queer community... I’m saddened, and just a little upset that you think I am.”

 

“You’re a freak, Riley.” Stevens goes back to shuffling papers while Sacred continues to dominate Thoth in a one-sided match as of so far, with any offense he feels like using at that moment. Another cover...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR- Another kickout, though it is painful for Thoth to do so. Sacred pushes him back down and covers again, getting a two count before Thoth is forced to painfully escape the pinfall again. He goes for another cover, but the referee admonishes him for unsportsmanlike behavior. Quizzically, Sacred picks Thoth up slowly. “Since when did we have sportsmanlike conduct in the federation?” asks Riley, rhetorically. Sacred whips Thoth into the ropes, who comes back just as the Aussie leaps into the air and brings his knee down for Thoth to run into. The Balancer falls over again, in pain, but the energy is being drained away from his as well. Another cover by the Sacred One.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH- Kickout by Thoth... a weak one. Sacred senses blood... and he wears a look of disappointment. He doesn’t understand why Thoth is lagging, why he was so easy to beat... maybe things are easier now that he’s the champion. Boot to the gut, hook the arm, front facelock...

 

And Thoth comes overhead with a reverse Enzuigiri that catches Sacred right in the GODDAMN FACE. He falls down into the canvas... and Thoth just stands there, hurt and surprised... before he realizes he has to make the cover! The ref counts...

 

ONE!

 

...

 

TWO!

 

...

 

And Sacred kicks out! The crowd winces and sighs, as Thoth feels a combination of pain and frustration while Sacred lies on his side... quickly coming to...

 

“While Thoth and the crowd had their hopes up... that was only the mirst move Thoth snuck in this match... it’s going to take a LOT more than that to defeat the world champion.”

 

Thoth pulls Sacred up... gently, as the pain is still fresh. Whip to the ropes. Sacred runs a little lopsided, the kick to the having having scrambled his brains. Off the rebound now... Thoth falls to the mat and catches Sacred in a drop-toe hold, floating over into a front chancery, locking his head with his stronger (at the moment) left arm. The Aussie struggles, but Thoth has been practicing his chaneries, shoving a knee into his face and holding it here, leaning all kinds of body weight on Sacred, for him to try and push back towards or escape from. Thoth can feel Sacred struggling, but he holds tight, also struggling by the same token. The referee asks the champion if he gives up, but Sacred, insulted by that notion, struggles even harder, then uses his head. He grabs one of Thoth’s legs, forcing the Balancer... off-balance, then uses what little time he has preciously by restoring his vertical stature and landing some forearm blows that disorient Thoth long enough for Sacred to scoop him up and land a Michinoku Driver. He holds the leg tight as the ref leans down to count...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR- And Thoth rolls over, lifting the shoulder. He lies on his side, panting as Sacred releases the leg and spins up to his feet, looking down. His feet start to move before the rest of his body does, as he goes into the ropes, comes bounding back, and leaps up, coverting his horizontal momentum to vertical height, and drops a leg across the check. Thoth shudders, bounces up, and then settles back into the canvas, while Sacred hooks the leg once again.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR- Again, another kickout. “So far, this really has been a one-sided matchup... I wouldn’t expect Thoth to be doing this badly, do you think he’s playing possum, Riley?”

 

“Thoth, you know, he really isn’t the kind of guy to play possum. He takes the fight right to you, letting you know he means to kick your ass. But maybe, this whole sissy thing with the Bemani Cross Wizards has Thoth thinking about his next tea party than this match with the friggin’ World Champ.”

 

“Gee Riley, didn’t know you liked to insult your own kind.”

 

Thoth rolls over onto his stomach, trying to half-heartedly get away from Sacred, and perhaps get to his feet... but his perceptions of both time and distance have been dulled. Sacred rams some forearms which to Thoth, no longer seem like forearms that a human would throw, but steel bars that are repeatedly rammed in his face. His eyes glaze over as Sacred whips him to the ropes, running to the opposite side himself and throwing a flying forearm... which Thoth instinctively ducks! They run past each other to the other side where Thoth leaps, stopping his momentum and thowing it into Sacred’s... and a BIG arm drag takes Sacred way over and to the mat. Thoth shakes the cobwebs out, picks Sacred up, and whips him to the corner. Warming up, he charges forward... leaps... and sticks out his right knee for Sacred to press his face and chest into! He stumbles out and starts to topple over, but not before Thoth hits a snap mare, knocking Sacred on his ass! Thoth backs up... the crowd knows what’s coming... he drives the knee into the back of Sacred’s head! The ref counts as Thoth rolls back around to make a pinfall...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

And the crowd starts booing! The announcers react...

 

“It’s Tom Flesher! What’s he doing here?”

 

Flesher rolls into the ring, drops a double axhandle on the back of Thoth’s head, and quickly leaves while the referee calls for the disqualification.

 

“Here is your winner, by disqualification... THOTH!” announcers Funyon, but it’s moot.

 

“Dammit, this match didn’t even have time to get off the ground!” steams Stevens. No music plays as Tom Flesher walks backwards up the ramp as Thoth rushes to the edge of the ring, his arms sore...

 

“Dammit... dammit to hell! Tom Flesher didn’t even want to give Thoth the satisfaction of winning a match, especially one against the World Champ!”

 

“After M7 lost the tag belts to Thoth and Ced, Flesher must’ve taken it personally... so this war continues...”

 

“I guess it does, Riley... up next, that man is in our tag team main event... ELM and CIA versus Tom and Mak! The battle of the three letter names, up next!”

 

Starwipe as Tom’s laughing face fills the screen... or does it? Suddenly, from out of the crowd, a seemingly random female fan comes out over the guardrail... and Tom doesn’t see her!

 

“Who is that? Is that a fan? Can we get some security out here?”

 

Tom is laughing and doesn’t notice the woman crouch behind him, and leap up with a pair of flykicks... aimed right at the back of his head! Flesher goes down as security charges after her... but she’s too fast, evading security and running through the crowd again, as the men in uniform look dumbfounded.

 

“Who was that? And what did she have against Tom Flesher?”

 

“I dunno, Riley, and fans, do not cross over that barricade, as it’s for your protection... but I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her...”

 

The camera focuses on the mysterious woman, as the fans try to grab at her clothes while she evades them. The interrupted starwipe finally gets its chance to shine, taking us to a land of commercial breaks.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

Fade in on the SmarkTron, showing pictures of El Luchadore Magnifico and CIA on the left, with Tom Flesher and Mak Francis on the right. Below, the words "TAG MATCH... CARNIVAL vs. MAG-7... MAIN EVENT" scroll. Finally, the camera pans over to the announce table.

 

"Folks, welcome back to SWF Smarkdown!"

 

"Bah... just get to the match, Grand Piano. I want my Flesher fix."

 

"Well, we have a great match-up with a lot of history. The two members of the Midnight Carnival have each seen a lot of action with their Magnificent Seven opponents, so expect this one to be a barnburner! Let's go to the ring!"

 

Funyon, in the ring, announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall, and it is the MAIN EVENT!"

 

Suddenly, the lights fade into blackness as a soft female voice whispers, "Midnight Carnival." The SmarkTron flashes blazing white with the beat of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Love Rollercoaster."

 

"I love this song," gushes Mark Stevens.

 

"Ah, shut up," grumbles Riley.

 

The words "Rollercoaster... of love..." echo through the stadium. The laser lights flare out into a blue haze across the entrance ramp as El Luchadore Magnifico and CIA enter the arena.

 

"Making their way to ringside at combined weight of 430 pounds, everyone's favorite pair of completely legal immigrants... EL LUCHADORE MAGNIFICO.... CIA... the MIDNIGHT CARNIVAL!"

 

"The Luchador is coming off a hard World Title loss to Sacred," says Stevens, "and CIA is a man looking to avenge his first WF loss to Mak Francis. Both men want to get a win tonight for the new Carnival."

 

CIA and Magnifico enter the ring to cheers from the crowd. They look unusually serious, and don't work the crowd much. Rather, they just stretch out and discuss strategy. Suddenly....

 

"HERE WE ARE... BORN TO BE KINGS... WE'RE THE PRINCES OF THE U-NI-VERSE..."

 

The Magnificent Seven theme blasts through the arena as Tom Flesher and Mak Francis appear on the stage. The two strike Flesher's normal "Thinking-I'm-Great" pose, back-to-back. As a magnificent pyrotechnic display goes off in the background, they walk to the ring.

 

"Making their way to the ring at a combined weight of 438 pounds, representing the Magnificent 7... Tom Flesher... Mak Francis… the EAST COAST LEGACY!"

"Tonight," says Stevens, "Tom Flesher and Mak Francis look to prove that dominance in the tag division is a Mag-7 staple."

 

The Mag-7 leader and his charge slowly enter the ring and ELM stands ready to go against Mak Francis.

 

"Well here's tonight's main event, Team Carnival taking on the new East Coast Legacy."

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

The Franchise and El Luchadore Magnifico circle each other trying to find an opening for attack. The spectators, quiet to this point, are on the edge of their seats awaiting the main event action. Mak obliges them and dives at the left leg of Magnifico, who deftly sidesteps, avoiding the single leg takedown. Francis jumps up from bended knee as Mags moves forward and the two men interlock for a collar and elbow tie up. Mak suddenly stops the grapple and grabs the Luchadore by his wrist, dropping to his knees and flipping ELM over his broad shoulders for a fireman’s carry takedown – but ELM gracefully floats over and lands on his feet. Magnifico, now in full control of the situation, rotates and pulls down on the arm of Francis with a lightening fast arm wringer- but the Franchise ducks and rolls forward before doing a headstand front flip, which breaks Magnifico’s hold and allows Francis to score with an arm wringer of his own.

 

“Both of these grapplers showing some great athleticism and counter wrestling.”

 

“I just never get tired of seeing that reversal, Mark,” adds Bobby Riley, just about as giddy as a schoolgirl in heat (and they can get very giddy). “The Franchise is like poetry in motion or a swan in flight or some other damn crap like that.”

 

 

“How eloquent of you Bobby…” answers Mark offhandedly, dismissing Riley's mini-gush about Mak's Franchisability.

 

The Franchise, a little cocky after his sweet counter, bends ELM’s elbow back and forces it upwards, pinning it to his back in a hammerlock. Francis kicks away at the pit of ELM’s left knee and after two shots brings everyone's favorite fully legal immigrant to a knee.

 

“With all the flippy floppy Lucha-library stuff that Magnifico does attacking his legs is a great plan.”

 

“That is a great plan, Bobby... amazing that you'd think of that," says Stevens with an eye roll. "The question is, though, can the cocky upstart actually execute it?”

 

“Well, he IS one half of the best tag team ever... only rivaled by their M7 counterparts Chilly Chilly Bang Bang. They're the goddam East Coast Legacy, and both quite Franchisable too! We should just build the promotion around them and watch the profit roll in!”

 

"Why me?" Stevens asks to nobody in particular as Mak Francis, seemingly quite pleased with himself, continues his attack on the knee. In addition to that complicated attack, Mak also attempts and succeeds in executing a standing bicep curl with his unoccupied arm. This of course catches the crowd's attention and they start up a wonderful little dueling chant.

 

“FRANCIS SUCKS! FLESHER’S COCK!”

 

“FRANCIS SUCKS! FLESHER’S COCK!”

 

“Okay, okay, I might have THOUGHT about-” starts Riley, but Mark quickly interrupts his partner.

 

“The crowd's letting MAK FRANCIS know just what they think about him.”

 

“Oh… well that’s just an out and out lie then, Skid Mark.”

 

“I guess you'd know, Booby.”

 

Mak’s gaze turns insanely angry, bringing an abrupt halt to his posing and momentarily forcing him to forget about grounding Magnifico. Francis lifts ELM up to his feet and into the air for a hammerlocked backdrop suplex. He stalls for a brief moment- but that’s just long enough for the former World Champion to wrap his arm around Francis’s neck, pull him over his shoulder and execute a jumping snap mare that sends the Franchise flying and finally crashing to the mat.

 

Francis scrambles up to his feet and rushes forward right into an ELM right hand that nearly busts his nose. While Mak holds his ailing nostrils, Mags grabs his wrist and launches him towards the rope with an Irish whip. Francis hits the cable and bounds back, ducking under a leap frog. ELM lands and turns, taking a step forward before attacking with a dropkick– but Mak holds onto the ropes and ELM hits nothing but air. Francis smothers the downed Luchador, quickly snatching an ankle lock, but ELM counters by rolling to his back and then kicking Mak square in the jaw! Mak crashes to the mat.

 

“Everything Francis can come up with has been countered by Magnifico! He must be wondering if he’s even in the former champs’ league.”

 

“Please. He’s Franchisable AND teaming with Tom Flesher. That almost guarantees victory for the East Side!” Riley twists his hands into a 'W,' then tilts them to the side so they look like an 'E.' “Word to your mother, Marky-Mark!”

 

Francis stands up, rubbing his jaw, as he and the Luchadore go into another collar and elbow tie-up. Francis scores a knee to the gut and slides into a side headlock, followed up with a back waist lock. Surprised, the still-stunned Magnifico doesn't think to counter.

 

“He deserves this, Mak! Dump him on his dirty little head for trying to show you up!”

 

Francis launches Magnifico overhead with a filthy German suplex meant to drop him on his noggin. As Magnifico drops to his impending doom, Francis points to his head like he’s gods’ gift to MENSA. ELM shifts his weight, though, and flips through to land on his feet. A quick shift of weight shows the left knee is okay, and the Luchadore backs into the ropes. Francis turns to see just how badly Magnifico landed on his head and, with his hands raised, lets out a loud WHOOO– but half way through the taunt he gets caught with a flying body scissors! Francis lowers both hands around ELM’s knees and tries to counter with a wheelbarrow suplex, but Mags pushes his weight forward and latches onto the self-proclaimed Franchise’s legs…

 

 

 

...

 

 

 

 

...Ending up on top of Mak with a Victory roll! White drops to count as the self proclaimed Franchise struggles to get free!

 

 

ONE

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

THR- "NO! Only a two count, but boy was that close! The first pinfall attempt of this match and it was almost over before it started. In the end Francis gets a shoulder up and the match continues.”

 

“Impartial my ass, you're about as corrupt as they come! You’re happy that your Carnie friend has Mak all flustered.”

 

“Please... you’re the guy with a Tom Flesher shrine, not me.”

 

As Magnifico stands up, the crowd starts chanting for CIA to get into the match. ELM, crowd whore that he is, walks over towards his corner and tags in the Canadian-Dream-turned-Carnie. Meanwhile, Mak crawls away from the former champ and scurries over to his corner, tagging in Flesher and getting the hell out of dodge.

 

“Well, it looks like Francis wants no parts of CIA tonight.”

 

“Mak just wanted to give Tom his shot at making Mags tap again, but he tagged out as soon as he felt the Superiority emanating from Flesher.”

 

“I can’t believe you. That is by far THE dumbest thing I’ve heard you say so far tonight.”

 

“You know you’re just a closet Flesher fan. They call it a 'superiority complex' and its okay to admit it. I had one too, until I came out…”

 

“Now THAT I can believe... but I think they THIS a fetish.”

 

Flesher and CIA dispense with the pleasantries and get to business with a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Flesher, the more technically sound member of the two, gains the advantage by spinning into an armwringer. CIA pats his shoulder before tucking rolling backwards and kipping up to break the hold and get an arm wringer of his own. Now standing to the side of Flesher, he releases the hold and slaps on a headlock... but he's quickly forced to let go after a brutal shotei to the ribs. As CIA backs off, Flesher slides around behind him and makes CIA eat mat with a go-behind takedown.

 

"Nice takedown by Flesher and it seems as if the tables have been turned. Magnifico was able to counter all of Francis's attacks, and Flesher's doing the same to the other bumpee."

 

"Nobody beats Flesher on the mat. Nobody!"

 

Tom continues his chain by yanking CIA’s feet from under him. Flesher floats over top and locks in a front chancery, paintbrushing the back of the masked Canadian’s head for added affect. On the apron, Mak bounces up and down on the ropes, pointing and laughing. Flesher looks over to Mike White and waves him over as CIA starts to push himself up from the canvas. “Hey, don’t I have him in a front chancery?” White looks at Flesher funny but plays along anyway. “Yeah so?” Flesher looks at him like he’s gone crazy. “Well... aren’t you gonna ask him?! This is a painful move! He might submit!” White just sighs. “...it’s a damn front facelock!” Tom smirks before answering again. “I know! So why aren’t you asking him?”

 

Luckily, CIA ends the debate by getting to his feet and catching his allegedly superior foe completely by surprise with a Northern Lights suplex! White drops to the mat and makes the count.

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

But Flesher breaks the bridge by nailing the Canadian in his ribs. They roll away from each other and get to their feet at the same time. The masked Canadian lunges forward and hits a right-handed palm thrust. Flesher takes it like a champ and lands two consecutive shoteis of his own, each backing CIA up a little more.

 

“Dueling SHOTEI~!”

 

“Calm down, Bobby…”

 

CIA feels the momentum shifting, so as Flesher blazes in for another palm strike he plants and spins for a roaring elbow. Flesher ducks and fires back with a vicous left hand palm to the stomach, doubling CIA over. The Superior One loads up on his right leg before coming across the face of CIA and nearly knocking a tooth loose.

 

“Rolling Shotei~! Tilde and all!”

 

“…” Mark just lets that one slide, rolling his eyes and hoping against hope that Riley will become an intelligent life form by the end of the show.

 

CIA stumbles from the impact of the roaring shotei and Tom capitalizes by Irish whipping him. CIA hits the far ropes and is forced to jump over Flesher upon his return, streaking for the near ropes and getting popped in the back with a knee for Mak Francis. CIA’s eyes open wide as Francis turns around and hops off the apron just before his long time rival can get him. Mak stares out at the crowd, shrugging his shoulders to a healthy amount of boos. With CIA distracted, the Magnificent Seven leader stalks behind, grabs CIA and lifts him up for a backdrop driver! CIA crashes to the canvas on his neck and and shoulders in the middle of the ring. Flesher bridges as Riley screams, "BACKDROPPAH~!" and practically creams himself. White falls to the mat for

 

ONE

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

El Luchadore Magnifico comes through the ropes...

 

 

 

 

 

THR-

 

 

 

And Magnifico dives in to break the count!!

 

"My main man, the Superior One, has put lots of men away with that move."

 

"Bobby... are you finally coming out?"

 

"What? Didn't I already say it? It's okay Mark... I... have a Superiority complex."

 

Grand Slam nearly falls out of his chair at Riley's comment as Mike White is forced to usher ELM out of the ring. Mak takes this opportunity to get in the ring and ELM protests the cheating tactics, but White’s sights are on him. Tom stands up, and then both men run to opposite ropes getting before stopping and twisting their bodies for a double corkscrew elbow to CIA's ribcage. Francis quickly rises to his feet and leaps, pumping his fists and laughing like a hyena. Magnifico finally gives up and is about to exit the ring when Flesher gets to his feet and strokes his chin thoughtfully... then claps his hands together to simulate a tag.

 

“The East Coast Legacy has picked a point of attack and just will not let up, even if it means cheating.”

 

White walks toward them and claps his hands as if they tagged in while Mak rubs the toe of his boot over the head of CIA. Flesher yells something to Francis and the duo laugh a little before Tom grabs the Dream's leg and turns him over onto his stomach in a Boston crab... and Francis takes a seat on CIA's back, stroking his chin!!

 

“First that illegal double team and now this crap!”

 

** ONE **

 

 

“That’s the sign of a Superior tag team. They can outclass any team any day they want.”

 

 

** TWO **

 

 

“But this is just complete disrespect. How can you justify them doing this to CIA?”

 

 

** THREE **

 

 

“They’re an East Coast Legacy, shouldn’t that be enough?”

 

 

And Flesher finally ends the crab, letting CIA's legs fall limply to the mat. Tom and Mak jump into the air and execute a picture-perfect high five before White ushers him out. “What a bunch of assholes!” yells a pissed off Grand Slam, who loses his trademark professionalism for a hot second.

 

“But Mark... they’re cool assholes!”

 

“If you don’t quiet down I’m going to grind your bones into fairy dust!”

 

.... and Riley shuts right up. In the ring, Mak pulls CIA to his feet and turns him towards Magnifico. CIA looks to his stablemate as Francis buries a forearm right into his side. CIA stumbles toward his corner as Francis hits another kidney strike!

 

“Heh, at this rate the Canadian border-hopper will be pissing blood for a week!”

 

Francis grabs CIA by the waist band and nails one for the road before he grapevines the leg and drives him to the mat with a side Russian legsweep. Francis moves into a lax cover as White counts

 

ONE

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

“NO! CIA has too much willpower to give up now. All he needs is a tag to Magnifico, who’s a ball of energy right now!”

 

Riley perks. "Ball? Oh, wait..."

 

Mak grabs CIA off the cover and pulls him to his feet. Angling toward the Mag-7 corner, he slaps on an abdominal stretch and reaches, grabbing Flesher's hand for extra leverage. As CIA writhes in pain, White gets up from his kneeling position to see Tom Flesher clasp his hands behind his back and start whistling. Francis asks White to question CIA again, which he does, allowing him and Flesher to clasp hands once again.

 

“This is oldschool, and they’re working it to perfection. With all the stuff they’ve done to CIA, they invented a new paradigm of tag team wrestling. They CHEAT TO WIN~!”

 

"And they don't even speak Spanish!" adds Mark Stevens, unable to pass up a good punchline.

 

"Spanish- what the hell are you talking about, fool?"

 

"*sigh*... never mind."

 

CIA cries out again, and this time the ref is quick to check. He catches them in the act and slaps Mak to break the hold. Francis lets go indignantly and CIA, pulling energy from god knows where, grabs Mak and falls forward into a STROKE!

 

“IT'S GOING VIA RAIL!” yells Grand Slam, acting on his first name.

 

CIA and Mak are down as the crowd rises to their feet, chanting “CIA! CIA!” The Canadian Dream crawls towards his corner, and a juiced-up Mags pounds the turnbuckle pad ready to go en fuego. Flesher tries his damnedest to step into the ring and stop CIA, but White corners him as Francis desperately grabs the Canadians foot from his belly. CIA dives... but Mak holds him back. He drags the fatigued Carnie back to the center of the ring and, with a quick elbowdrop into the ribs, holds him down while he tags Flesher in.

 

Flesher struts out and grabs CIA, then throws him to the ropes. He throws his Doc Marten boot into the air and waits patiently to nail CIA with a Yakuza kick. As CIA rebounds, though, the Canadian ducks and comes up behind Flesher. As Flesher turns around...

 

"Bam! CIA just hammers Tom Flesher with a Bionic Elbow!" Stevens is clearly pleased for his quasi-stablemate. "Flesher collapses to the mat, and CIA starts toward the corner!"

 

"That damn Canuck and his loaded elbow pad!"

 

"He's not wearing an elbow pad!"

 

"Well sure, NOW he's not!"

 

CIA stumbles to the corner, but as he leans in to make the tag, Flesher grabs the official's pantleg. The referee looks down at Flesher, who thinks fast and says, "Are disqualifications in effect tonight?" CIA makes the tag just as the referee yells "Yes, of course!" El Luchadore Magnifico enters the ring and CIA starts to exit when the ref turns back around. From the corner, Mak Francis yells "No tag!" The official agrees and ushers Magnifico back to the corner. Above the excited Spanish chattering, he motions for CIA to reenter the ring.

 

"What a cowardly display!"

 

"Now what could you possibly see wrong with that exchange?"

 

"It's not fair!"

 

"Life's not fair... Case in point, that stupid-looking hat you've got on."

 

Dejectedly, CIA slides back into the ring. Seizing the opportunity, Flesher takes hold and whips him into the East Coast Legacy corner. Tom charges in after him. Mak grabs CIA's arms and holds them behind the ringpost as Flesher nails the intelligence agent with a running palm strike. On contact, CIA nearly collapses. Flesher tags out to Mak, who enters as Tom bitchslaps the junior Carnie.

 

"I've got to question the intelligence of that," says Stevens. "After all, CIA's mask must absorb a lot of that punishment and slapping the Canadian Intelligence Agent is only going to piss him off."

 

"Pffft. And what's he going to do- sic Pierre on Tom?"

 

Mak squares up on CIA as Flesher holds his arms behind the ringpost, just as Mak had done for him. With that, Mak begins unloading kicks to CIA's left side. Slamming his boots into CIA's ribs over and over, Mak takes a perverse kind of pleasure in the agony that CIA displays. The referee sees Flesher holding CIA's arms and comes over to reprimand the leader of the Magnificent Seven. Flesher raises his hands into the air and says, "I have done NOTHING wrong!" As he distracts the referee, Mak nails a stiff knee to the groin and then proceeds to choke CIA by pressing his forearm against the Canadian Intelligence Agent's throat. After at least ten seconds of choking and a loud protest by El Luchadore Magnifico, the referee turns around and shouts at Mak Francis to release the illegal chokehold. Mak refuses, and the ref administers his standard five count.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

Finally, Mak releases the old as CIA starts to turn blue. Mak quickly tags out to Flesher, who runs over to the adjacent corner. With that, Mak spins his adversary around, applies a cobra clutch and throws him overhead with the Million Dollar Suplex. CIA lands on his stomach, and Mak quickly rolls him onto his back in time to leave the ring before the five count. Tom Flesher leaps off the top rope, angles out and brings his knees and elbows together just before he lands on CIA's injured chest with a diving senton! He covers CIA for

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THR- NO! CIA kicks out, and Flesher looks stunned! Without thinking, he blurts out, "How can he kick out after a Million Dollar Plex and a senton? PLUS all that choking?!" The crowd pops as the referee looks at Flesher and immediately starts yelling at him. Flesher backs away, hands in the air in the classic "I'm innocent!" pose. All the while, though, CIA is crawling toward the corner. With every second, he makes it an inch further, and finally....

 

"CIA HAS MADE THE TAG!" shouts "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens. "CIA has tagged out to El Luchadore Magnifico, and the Midnight Carnival has gotten its second wind!"

 

To an incredibly loud pop from the crowd, El Luchadore Magnifico springs into the ring and charges for Tom Flesher. The Superior One tries to back away, but before he can get out of the way, Magnifico nails him with a rolling koppo kick! Flesher falls backwards into the corner, and Magnifico follows him in with a dropkick to the chest! Flesher attempts to beg off, but Magnifico just continues belting him with knife-edge chops that echo through the arena. Mak Francis enters the ring and starts to charge at Magnifico, but the Luchadore spins around and nails him with a knife-edge chop to the throat! The crowd goes wild as Francis staggers backward, and Magnifico shuffles toward him to nail him with a superkick! Francis crumbles to the mat and Flesher holds his chest pitifully as Magnifico strikes a quick pose in the center, prompting an even louder round of applause from the capacity crowd.

 

"AND EL LUCHADORE MAGNIFICO IS A HOUSE OF FIRE!"

 

"What the HELL does that mean?"

 

"It means he's kicking the ass you love!"

 

Flesher stumbles forward out of the corner as Mak Francis rolls out of the ring. Magnifico catches him and chucks him to the mat with a snap suplex. With that, he leaps to his feet and runs to the near corner. Climbing the turnbuckles quickly, he pauses briefly at the top before leaping off with a flying moonsault press. Flashbulbs go off as Magnifico arches his back perfectly, before floating down to the mat and impacting....

 

canvas.

 

"Flesher rolls out of the way!" shouts Riley. "Where's your messiah now, Stevens?!"

 

"Hey now, Magnifico's first name is definitely not Hay-zoos."

 

Magnifico lays on the mat, clutching his chest from the impact of the textbook moonsault. Flesher, acting largely on instinct, crawls over and grabs Magnifico's left leg. Tom stands up, holding the leg as if he were going for an ankle lock, and does a quick forward roll to pull Magnifico's leg out of joint. Mags grabs at the leg, in obvious pain, as Flesher gets back to his feet. He lifts the leg up and, lacking any better course of action, applies a single leg crab. Magnifico, within a foot or two of the ropes, starts to drag himself toward the sidelines. As Mak Francis and CIA settle into their corners, they cheer on their respective teammates. Mak hollers for Flesher to crank the hold, while CIA beats the turnbuckle to start a "CAR-NI-VAL! CAR-NI-VAL!" chant.

 

CARNIVAL! Magnifico drags himself an inch closer to the ropes.

 

CARNIVAL! Flesher works to drag Magnifico back to the center, but can't seem to step to the center.

 

CARNIVAL! Magnifico gets a extra inch of space, and Flesher begins to lose his balance.

 

CARNIVAL! ELM lunges, and he grabs the bottom rope! The referee gives Flesher to the count of four, and Tom compliantly breaks the elevated half crab. He stays close to the ropes, and as soon as Magnifico gets to his feet, Flesher gets on him like ugly on an orangutan with stiff palm strikes. Magnifico absorbs a strike, and returns a knife-edge chop. Flesher asserts himself with another shotei, and Magnifico knocks him back down a notch with another chop to the chest. Finally, Magnifico unloads a third knife-edge to the chest that staggers Flesher. With that, Mags throws a series of quick chops to the side of Flesher's neck, then whips him to the ropes. As if on cue, CIA bounds into the ring. Magnifico catches Flesher on the rebound with a picture-perfect hurricanrana that takes him straight to the mat. CIA struts up and drops a diving elbow into Flesher's sternum. The two Carnies grab him by the arms and whip him to the ropes. ELM chases him as CIA backs up against the opposite edge of the ring. As Flesher comes toward him, CIA bends down and basckdrops him over the top rope! Flesher lands in a heap, and barely has time to pull himself back to his feet with the guardrail before he looks over to see CIA bend down and send Magnifico over the top rope in the same fashion. Flesher looks up and gulps as ELM dives toward him, nailing him with a plancha!

 

"Crossing The Border all the way from Toronto to Tijuana!" shouts Grand Slam, much too excited to contain himself. "What a move from the Midnight Carnival!"

 

With the starch understandably knocked right out of him, Flesher lays on the outside. Magnifico, too, looks exhausted by the energy he expended on the suicida. Mak Francis enters the ring, and he and CIA square off. Assuming CIA is too fatigued to defend it, Mak drops down and shoots in on CIA with a low single leg takedown. CIA manages to see it coming, though, and quickly steps to the side. As Magnifico positions himself in the corner and Flesher begins to crawl up the apron, CIA follows the dodge up with a stiff elbow to the back of the head...

 

"... And with that, CIA is back in control!" Mark Stevens isn't even pretending to be impartial anymore.

 

"Mark, are you even trying to be impartial?!"

 

"No, and I never was!"

 

Told ya.

 

CIA positions himself behind Mak, waiting patiently for the Franchise to get in position. As Mak comes up to his knees, the Canadian Intelligence Agent gesticulates wildly and finally applies a Dragon sleeper! Francis struggles, caught completely by surprise, and tries desperately to fight the hold. He flails frantically, unable to break the hold.

 

"CIA has The Franchise in the Dragon sleeper! It's over! It's either tap out or pass out for Mak Francis!!!"

 

"Check for a choke! A hairpull! Is he grabbing the tights?! Christ, ref, break the hold!"

 

Mak's wild flailing begins to slow. It's clear that he's suffering the effects of the Dragon sleeper. Just as his arms start to fall limp by his sides.....

 

BAM!

 

Tom Flesher charges up behind CIA and nails him in the back of the head with a running enzuishotei! CIA crumbles to the ground, stunned by the palm strike to the back of the head, and Flesher looks at Mak Francis' limp carcass. He pauses briefly to come up with the best course of action, then grabs Mak's waist. He lifts his partner high into the air and releases him above his head, sending him flipping through the air onto CIA with a full-turn released German suplex! Flesher, the illegal man, exits the ring as Mak lands on CIA with a thud. The referee counts

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE- NO! El Luchadore slides into the ring and breaks up the pin, and Flesher reenters the ring. Flesher and Magnifico square off, both men battered, both men with their proteges on the mat motionless.

 

"There's no love lost between these two," cries Mark Stevens. "Ever since Ground Zero, Tom Flesher and El Luchadore Magnifico have been smoldering! Ever since Flesher won the Ultimate Submission match two to one to take the Light Heavyweight Title! Even when Magnifico won the World Title, by beating Edwin MacPhisto no less, Flesher still claimed his superiority, and now the junior members of the stables are down and out! It's one on one!"

 

Flesher and Magnifico stare each other down, somehow feeling the tension that wasn't there when either man could rely on his partner. Finally, Magnifico breaks the tension with a stiff knife-edge chop! Flesher staggers backwards, and Magnifico takes the opportunity to sock Flesher again! He spins Flesher around into position for a backslide....

 

"He's going for the Baja California Crusher!" shouts Stevens. "He's going to hit it!"

 

He runs to the ropes, but Flesher has the presence of mind to take a few steps forward and drop to his knees, executing a standard backslide for

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

NO! Magnifico kicks out! Flesher hops up to his feet, and Magnifico meets him with a dropkick to the chest. Tom falls back into the corner, stunned. "Mike White has given up trying to get control of this one," says Mark Stevens. "I can't believe it!"

 

"Oh god, just let it be over!"

 

As Flesher staggers forward out of the corner, the Luchadore nails him in the jaw with a superkick! Magnifico jumps over him and leaps to the second rope, positioning himself like a cat ready to pounce. Tom slowly pushes himself up to his feet, but as soon as he turns toward the corner, Magnifico leaps off the top rope and swings over him, executing a picture-perfect sunset flip powerbomb! As Mark Stevens calls, "TEQUILA SUNRISE, and this one should be history!!!" the ref counts

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THRE- NO!!!!! Flesher manages to get a shoulder up! Unfazed, Magnifico gets to his feet and starts to pull Flesher up....

 

BUT MAK FRANCIS HITS HIM BELOW THE BELT!!! "Mak Francis snuck up behind the Luchadore and nailed him in the groin! What a cowardly attack!" says Stevens. Fluidly, Mak spins through and catches Magnifico with an across-the-back neckbreaker to put him out of commission. Flesher stumbles over to CIA and the two groggy athletes engage in a quick slugfest until Mak Francis charges up and suckers the makes Canadian with a Yakuza kick! The fans boo as the still-somewhat-stunned Flesher whips CIA to the opposite corner. Mak runs into the corner and nails CIA with a flying forearm, and rolls out of the way just in time for Flesher to charge in with a running palm strike! CIA veritably folds up, and both Flesher and Francis lift him to the top rope.

 

"Oh, boy!" Riley sounds like an over-caffeinated toddler. "I've heard them talking about this!"

 

"They haven't even teamed before and already they have a finisher?!"

 

Flesher climbs to the top rope as Mak runs to the next turnbuckle, climbing to the top rope. As Mak mounts the turnbuckle, Flesher hooks up a front facelock, then lifts the cruiserweight Canadian vertically and slams him to the mat headfirst in the avalanche brainbuster known as the Boilermaker! CIA lands flat on his back, and Flesher rolls out of the way in time for Mak to dive off the top rope, pump in mid-air and land on CIA with a high-flying frog splash!

 

"EAST COAST **CK YOU!" shouts Riley.

 

"What the **ck?!"

 

Mak stays on CIA, and Mike White counts

 

ONE!

 

Magnifico tries to enter the ring.

 

TWO!

 

Flesher cuts him off, tying him up just long enough for......

 

 

THREEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

"Ladies and gentlemen," says Funyon, "the winners of the match... the EAST... COAST... LEGACY!!!!!!!"

 

Magnifico drops to his knees in disappointment and frustration as Mak Francis leaps into the air and high-fives Flesher. The two Magnificent Seven members mount the turnbuckles, and to a loud wave of boos...

 

"That's all the time we have this week, fans! Be sure to tune in on Friday for SWF Storm!"

 

"Yeah... Later ya bunch of boobs!"

[Guest BA_Baracus]

SINGLES MATCH

Frost vs. Ced Ordonez

- Frost beats the guy with the nutty name again.

 

FIRST BLOOD MATCH

Tod deKindes vs. Annie Eclectic

- The match is postponed due to glass-throw-Tod-throughage.

 

NON-TITLE SINGLES MATCH

Sacred vs. Thoth

- Thoth wins this match by DQ following some interference by that dastardly Tom Flesher.

 

TAG TEAM MATCH

El Luchadore Magnifico & CIA vs. Tom Flesher & Mak Francis

- As always...evil triumphs.